A little slice of paradise

“For me, the sea has always been a confident, a friend absorbing all it is told and never revealing those secrets; always giving the best advice – whose meaningful noises can be interpreted in any way you choose.”  (from The Motorcycle Diaries by Ernesto “Che” Guevara)

I have always loved the sea, and in its presence, more than anywhere else, my imagination has a tendency to run away with itself.   In the summers of my childhood, I would sidle along sandy beaches, lost in fantasies of enthusiastic and naive ambitions.   As an adolescent those same walks would entertain hopes and wonderings of future love, and in later years, seek solace and repair for a broken heart, damaged as a result of those relationships that never quite matched up to the imaginings of my younger self.  Family holidays sailing in the Western Isles, my mind would be firmly planted in lands unknown with characters who, sadly, I never did have the chance to meet.

 

It is with some level of astonishment that we find ourselves by the ocean in the Southern Gulf of Thailand, at a stage of our trip which, on embarking, seemed so very far away.  Here on the beaches of Koh Phangan and Koh Samui, it is so wonderfully peaceful that finally we feel able to truly relax and recover from the sheer exhaustion that comes from never staying more than a few nights in any one place. 

These islands are the closest thing I have ever seen to paradise.  They are the Thailand that one sees in pictures and hopes for when they choose to go there, and the tranquility that we found on their shores is exactly what we were in need of after nearly three months of travelling.  I am firmly of the belief that the sea soothes the soul, and during the nine days that we spent on these islands, it did exactly that.  It is easy to get lost in your thoughts, sharing them only with the waves; meditating on what has past and wondering of things yet to come.  The time we had was enough to suitably recharge ourselves, both physically, emotionally, and maybe even spiritually, too, for it is easy to see evidence of God when you are in paradise.  I could, however, have quite easily whiled away many more days wandering along their stunning shorelines, lying on their golden sands and watching their spectacular sunsets.  The sunsets, in particular, I would never tire of, so breathtaking are they that it is easy to imagine, just for a moment - this moment that you have been privileged enough to witness – heaven has touched earth.

A little more Lao

Places like Vang Vieng are the reason we have decided to boycott Lonely Planet.  Which we have since discovered is no mean feat, as all the book shops in Asia seem to sell no travel guides other than second hand or dodgy photocopies of these incessant books.  Admittedly, without our China guide we might not have made it out of Hong Kong, however as time has gone on and now we find ourselves on our fifth book, you start to notice patterns of vastly increased prices of the featured accommodation and eateries, and often lack of beds in the aforementioned accommodation due to every South East Asian traveller owning a copy of the same Lonely Planet and therefore arriving, en masse, in hope of a bed.

Vang Vieng is a very unexceptional town that happens to be situated amongst some of the most exceptional scenery we have encountered yet.  We have chosen to stay in the accommodations of an organic mulberry farm, which, I admit, were, once again, recommended by the Lonely Planet, however sounded too perfect to pass up.  Situated on the banks of the Nam Song River, it is surrounded by towering limestone karsts reminiscent of those in Yangshou, the sweetheart of our Chinese adventure.  So breathtakingly picturesque and peacefully silent but for the sounds of birds twittering and wind rustling the fruit trees, it seems almost too good to be true.  And unfortunately, on this occasion, it is.  

With its exceptional natural beauty, Vang Vieng was never going to avoid the tourist map, and in 1999 was finally “discovered” by one Laos-bound Lonely Planet writer.  But sadly, the ever-growing popularity of this place has turned Vang Vieng into the kind of tourist town that people flock to, no longer for her magnificent landscapes, but to party.  Riverside bars have appeared in their masses along the banks of the Nam Song and, with them, hoards of young travellers in search of a good time.  There is the opportunity for outdoor sports if one so desires, but the preferred “sport” amongst backpackers here is “tubing”; essentially floating down the river in a large rubber ring stopping at as many bars as possible to consume as many cocktail buckets (yes, buckets!) as one can physically manage before, inevitably, vomiting.  One particularly tragic sight for us was that of a lone, twenty-something girl, floating down the river, bucket in hand, at 11 o’clock in the morning.

The little devil on my shoulder kindly reminds me that once, not so long ago, I would have loved everything about this river, with its loud music, zip-lines, abundance of cocktails and influx of party-goers.  I, in turn, point out to him that the fact that everything in my being loathes this river just goes to show how far life has come from where, and who, I used to be.  I give thanks for God for his grace in saving me from myself, for without Him, I ascertain that I would not be at the point in my life that I am, blessed with a beautiful husband with whom to explore this world.  The little devil tries to tempt me, but to no avail.  Undoubtedly, there are aspects of this hedonistic river that still appeal to my sense of fun, but I imagine that the most one might get out of the experience is bad sunburn, a horrible hangover and maybe an injury of sorts.

From around 10.30am until sunset every day, the peace of this place is polluted by what you might describe as a pop/rave/head-banging/beat-thumping/mess of music.  It is, evidently, hard to describe!  It is as though someone has obtained every overplayed song from 2010, and is now playing them all very loudly, all at the same time.  It is enough to bring on a headache.  Though we loved the organic farm and found it a beautiful setting to spend a few days, it has undoubtedly suffered from its situation next to this riotous river, and a few days was all that we, in what may be the start of our old-age, could handle.

Our third and final stop on our whistle-stop tour of Laos was the capital, Vientiane.  Laos’ only official city, Vientiane lacks the reputation for beauty held by Luang Prabang, and is certainly not known for its party scene a la Vang Vieng, much to our relief.  It has, instead, the quiet hustle and bustle of a relaxed city without the unfortunate tourist surge of our other Lao destinations, and with its balcony-clad cafes, relaxed bars and unmistakably French architecture, we found it to have feeling that was almost Parisian.  The streets are lined with fairy light-adorned restaurants selling cheap but tasty fare, and we can’t get enough of them.  In fact, we have had to stay an extra day in attempt to do so.  If Vientiane is to be famed for anything it should undoubtedly be its weaving which is in wonderful, colourful abundance all over the city.  This, of course, delighted me to no end and self-control had to called upon once again.

If we had had the time to do so, I would have liked to have explored more of Laos’ more remote areas, for what we glimpsed of its landscapes were, I imagine, only a taste of its exceptional rumoured beauty.  But alas it was, on this occasion, not to be, and suddenly, feeling as if we have barely just arrived, our time in Laos is over and we are on our way back to Thailand.

Gently down the stream...

Getting from Pai to Luang Prabang can be described in only one word: mission.  And a mission that takes three days, no less, which is most frustrating for the traveller who feels like the time in their current destination is melting away faster than a snowman on a sunny day.

One morning on a lovely private air-conditioned bus took us back to Chiang Mai followed by seven hours on a horribly sweaty, plastic-chaired public bus to Chiang Khong; a town that, with good reason, travellers only come to with the sole purpose of leaving as soon as possible, over the river to Laos.  On day two we took this very journey across the Mekong River that, at this point, separates these two countries.  Border control, though unusually scenic, was typically chaotic.  By midday, we, along with approximately two hundred other backpackers, we crammed like sardines into two, aptly named, “slow-boats” that after much waiting around (we have learned that nothing happens fast in Laos), headed, oh so slowly, for Luang Prabang.  This journey down the river takes two days (including overnight stop in Pakbeng), and is generally the preferred method of transportation amongst travellers, favoured over the sweaty seventeen hour bus journey and six hour speed-boat ride that has been reported, on occasion, to end in the death of one of its passengers.  We opted not to take that risk, and though slow, it was pleasant enough to drift down the very beautiful Mekong, past mountains, jungles and those little Lao villages that sit quietly among them.

Whilst on the slow boat, we met a couple who, though have considerable years on us, are backpacking through South East Asia.  They recounted to us the familiar experience of quitting their jobs (albeit for them it happened in 1970), and the less familiar, but equally appealing, act of buying a Volkswagen bug and caravan and driving from England to India.  The cogs in my head started turning.  Could we do that?  We were, just a few days ago, enviously eyeing up the multitude of VW Campers parked around Pai (one of our many dreams).  The route might be a little more roundabout these days, but what a truly awesome experience it would be! 

Before we came on this trip, I feared travel and all the difficulties that come with it, but my desire to see the world was strong, and, ultimately, won out over those fears.  Though difficulty does, occasionally, rear its ugly head, I know now that there is little to be afraid of.  This world is full of treasures – most that are to be experienced and enjoyed, and a few that are yet to be discovered.  Now that the fear is gone, the desire to see more of the world intensifies and, on occasion, overwhelms me.   The possibilities seem endless and our list of desired destinations substantial.  Will this lifetime be long enough to experience all that our hearts hope for?  I fear maybe not. 

Arriving in Luang Prabang on the evening of the third day we breathed a sigh of relief.  Albeit, we realised in hindsight, prematurely, for the task of trying to find accommodation in a not very big, but VERY popular town is not an experience I would choose to repeat.  Though the second biggest place in Laos, it has a population of only 30,000 (who, in the midst of all the tourists, you would be hard-pushed to get a glimpse of), and we quickly realised that this sumptuous town was somewhat lacking in backpacker budget accommodation.  Though beautiful, it is difficult to see much evidence of real Lao life amongst the shutter-adorned buildings, luxurious restaurants, elegant coffee shops and pricey patisseries.  It did, however, have the most incredible night market; very possibly the most beautiful we have seen throughout our time in Asia.  Such a magnificent and colourful display of textiles that it made me go weak at the knees; I had to muster all the self-control in my possession to restrain myself from splurging.  We did, however, indulge ourselves in the purchase of two hand-embroidered cushion covers for our (currently imaginary) future home.  So bright in palette they may well not match with any sofa we should eventually choose to buy, but they will still be a lovely little reminder of our time in Laos.

Luang Prabang is renowned for captivating travellers into staying many days longer than they had originally intended, although, on this occasion, we were not among them.  Though undoubtedly beautiful, we felt in want a more authentic Lao experience, and so, after four days, we packed our bags once again, and headed south.

The Life of Pai

Nestled amongst pine-covered mountains, with log cabin shops and restaurants that sit peacefully between autumnally changing trees and babbling brooks, one could quite easily imagine themselves, if only for a moment, in the American mid-west on a sunny October day.  But this is Pai, so far north in Thailand that we’re almost waving at the Burmese.  A self-confessed hippy town, Pai is filled with vespas, chai shops and tie-dye t-shirts, and dread-locked Thais playing acoustic guitars whilst wearing said tie-dye t-shirts.   At the heart of this quirky little place is a music scene unlike any other in South East Asia (so I believe), which inevitably draws backpackers (also dread-locked) by the bus load.  Yet whilst so unashamedly touristy and border-line cheesy, both of which would usually spoil my enjoyment of a place, Pai is so delightfully charming that you can’t help but forgive it.  Tourists come to Pai and and end up becoming locals, finding so much enjoyment and comfort in the place and the people.  We encountered one American traveller who had arrived in Pai in September and decided it was just too wonderful to leave.  Though it seems there isn’t much in the way of “things to do”, one could quite easily while away the music-filled days and nights just being here; falling in love.  

My family have always poked fun at my hippy tendencies.  On one occasion, when in pirate fancy dress, my brother asked, “but isn’t that what you always wear?”  Throughout my explorations in the world of fashion, the little hippy inside has been kept safely locked up.  Over the past year, dressed head-to-toe in “Jigsaw”, there has not been even the slightest glimpse of her.  But here, in Pai, she has finally been set free, escaping in a flurry of tie-dye and long skirts.  Travelling the world, shoeless and carefree, she is given mostly free reign, but in Pai she is in her element.  

Our days have, mostly,  been whiled away enjoying steaming cups of chai, exploring the kooky shops and markets and with me trying to convince Phil to buy a tie-dye t-shirt (I’m pretty sure I got close with this, but to no avail).  Our accommodation is essentially a wooden tee-pee with a mattress on the floor, but the setting is gorgeous and we feel wonderfully relaxed.  Everyone here emits an incredibly chilled out vibe, and you can’t help but catch the bug.

On the third day, we rented a motorcycle to explore the surrounding area.  The landscapes around Pai are mountainous and spectacular, although exploration is limited as there isn’t far you can go without ending up a) in Burma, or b) on the road headed back to Chiang Mai (which was great but not a patch on Pai!).  What we did discover was a spa resort that charges the Thai equivalent of a pound to use their hot springs and swimming pool.  We had heard about the famed hot springs and this is what we went in search of, but, disappointingly, they turned out to be too hot and unfiltered, with an overwhelming stench of sulphur (which, if have never smelt it, smells exactly like rotten eggs).  But the swimming pool was a lush infinity pool surrounded by wooden decking and comfy loungers that looked out onto a picturesque view of clear blue sky and glorious green mountains.  That morning I had been hormonally grouchy, but spending the afternoon in this tranquil paradise, I felt so at peace that I could quite easily gone back to our tee-pee and fallen straight to sleep.  

Instead we went out for a delicious dinner and then headed, on our motorcycle, to an art exhibition opening on the outskirts of town.  This can only really be described as the biggest gathering of hippies I have ever encountered together in one place.  The exhibition itself was fairly small and very weird , but the event surrounding it had stalls selling handmade jewellery and textiles, tasty vegetarian fare, vegan cakes and steaming cups of chai and herbal tea.  There was a huge fire pit around which you could sit, cross-legged, to enjoy the open-air acoustic concert, which we did and it was wonderful.  Uncharacteristically peaceful, I slept very well that night.

These few days have shown me exactly why people come to Pai and never leave (not, obviously, in a morbid way!)  Everyone, it seems, is relaxed and happy and enjoying this new life that they have discovered here.  We spent four days enjoying its delights, and, though there is nothing to really do, per say, it felt like such an inadequate amount of time.  However, as is inevitable with travel, our visas are fast nearing their expiry, and so we are forced to leave Pai, with all its bohemian loveliness.   Though heading for a new place, and all the excitement and cultural changes that come with that, we feel that this time in South East Asia is fast running out.  Reaching Laos, our fifth country of the seven that we are visiting in this part of the world, reminds us how quickly the time is passing, and the desire to slow it down is rife within us.