Lazy Hazy Laos

I woke this morning to the sound of two roosters crowing. The bus had stopped, and these birds either had had enough of being cooped up for 10 hours), or they were well aware that the sun was rising. They were on the seat behind me, next to whom I presume was their owner. Welcome to Laos.

Arrived in Vientiane, Laos' capital, a few days ago. A few people ventured out from our plane, and the immigration official smiled as he gestured me through (all I have ever received from immigration officials is a dour-looking glance - so this is a first). The place had a surreal calm to it, and you could feel it right from the airport. No haggling, no chaotic scramble, no seedy opportunism that is usually a given with transportation hubs the world over. Our taxi driver was a tad shy, but friendly and all smiles. Gentle. I immediately took a liking to the place. Add to that the deep hue red of a Mekong sunset, as our taxi drove slowly along the riverside to our guesthouse.

Vientiane is by far the smallest and most relaxed capital city that I've been to. A city of perhaps half a million, there are no buildings higher than a few stories (the exception being a large highrise built for an ASEAN conference in 2004, somehow flouting the state rules). There is a great french feel to the city, and despite my initial sense, there is more french spoken here than in Cambodia (I'm sure the french tourists are happy!). It is praised for its french food and BeerLao is the national pride ( and has the greatest motto ever - "the beer of the wholehearted people"). Crumbling old colonial buildings with arched verandas are mixed with more recent soviet concrete behemoths. The hammer and sickle fly prominantly on all government buildings, alongside the Lao national flag. I found a little french cafe that served beautiful flaky croissants and strong espresso (they grow beans here in Laos as well).

(A small observation: The corruption level here is less apparent than Cambodia - you can generally tell by the vehicles people drive. Fewer luxury vehicles than Cambodia but some even more oppulent (I saw two Audi R8s driving side by side in downtown - absurd). Great old cars dominate the roads, alongside the usual tuk tuks and motos - toyota, morris, opel, all from the 1960s. Plenty of vw beetles! And if you're into aged 40 year old military trucks, dented, green and powered by groaning diesel engines, this is the place to be.)

You can sense the change here too. Laos is opening up, and welcoming foreigners, after decades of (more or less) shutting its borders to the outside world. Through some of the discussions had (over BeerLao of course!), it is apparent that the government is seeking a different approach than Cambodia's free-for-all business model. I suspect that they are looking at the economic success of China, which still maintains a single party system in a market economy (a head scratcher for many political scientists). They are presumably reluctant to allow too much de-regulation too soon. They are hoping to open a stock exchange system here, but I don't think you're going to see a blossoming democratic system at any point too. Laos is a communist country, and they are well aware of what happens when too much change happens too quickly - they see Russia and baron capitalism.

Jared and I have made our way up to Phonsavan, in the centre of Laos - an overnight busride from Vientiane. There are virtually no tourists in this town, and it is clear that we are definately off the backpacker route (always a plus!)

It is known for the plains of jars, massive ancient stone jars that litter parts of the countryside. Archeologists speculate that they were used for burial purposes but the historical evidence is slim. Alongside these jars are scores of trenches and massive bomb craters. We walked up to the top of a hill today and you can see that among the rice fields there are deep suppressions, evidence of bomb craters.

Indeed, the presence of war here is everywhere. Laos is one of the most bombed countries on earth. For those that may not know, the US conducted a secret proxy war in Laos for close to a decade, in an attempt to destroy the Ho Chi Minh trail, which partially travelled through Laos. It was repeatedly invaded by Vietnam. The CIA funded the Hmong people (a minority in Laos) in an attempt to overthrow the Pathet Lao, funded by North Vietnam (the Pathet Lao eventually reigned supreme). As a result, the countryside is absolutely littered in spent ordinance, as well as UXO (unexploded ordinance). It is not safe to travel off a path here. Cluster bombs and mines are still responsible for many deaths each year. There are active campaigns to rid the countryside of UXOs but progress is slow.

Here for a few days and then we continue our politico-historical adventure northeastward - to the secret Pathet Lao headquarters deep in the caves of Vieng Xai. I shall post some pics of the Phonsavan region as soon as technically possible. But now it's time to sample some local cuisine...

Kampot province

Back in Cambodia after a smooth three weeks in Australia visiting family and friends. After a few days back in Phnom Penh, including a night out at the Do-It-All Bar for west african night (a story in itself) it was time to head out and explore a bit more of Cambodia's southern region: Kampot province. Jared was also interested in chasing a couple of potential stories in the region, so on assignment we went.

Until recently, travel in Kampot province was risky, its main highways frequented by bandits. In 1994, three tourists were killed in this region by members of the Khmer Rouge. Now you're more likely to run head on with a water buffalo.

The 'VIP' bus was in fact mottled with mold – I wondered if the thing had been partially submerged in a river, pulled back into the light to dry, engine flushed and put back on the road to eke out a few more trips. Surely a mobile health hazard. Problems with the A/C meant a late departure but after a bit of jury rigging, we were off. Sort off. A couple of stops on the way meant 6 hours to travel 170 km. Most of the trip was made with the bus door left open, the french tourists onboard huffing and puffing about the heat, clambering uselessly with the vents, as if one more turn of the knob would somehow be the magic touch for that ah cool (read: slightly moldy smelling) air. We sweated while the Cambodian karaoke blasted in choppy form, thanks to a bad cd. Karaoke, like volleyball, seems to be a way of life here, and a common form of entertainment during intercity travel. I have yet to hear anyone actually perform karaoke.

(Note: the return trip we thought they were playing the beginning of an excellent recent documentary on Burma called Burma VJ, but it turned out to be a Cambodian-dubbed version of the latest Rambo, an almost unwatchable gore-fest. Another apparent form of bus entertainment: violent martial arts/police drama/war movies.)

First stop: Kep. Established in 1908, Kep was the place to go for the local french elite of this part of Indochina, who built dozens large beachside villas along the coastline. It was renovated into a seaside resort in 1960s during then-Prince Norodom Sihanouk’s regime. The name Kep is reportedly derived from the French words le cap, or cape in English, although I have also read that its name is derived from a legend, although I'm sure the French would be happy to claim it as their own.

The villas are long abandoned, shot up by the Khmer Rouge, now decaying relics under final assault from the salty sea air. For some, nature has started to reclaim old ground, with trees and vines growing through the windows of the old buildings. A few appear to have been recently renovated, but most maintain a gloriously eery look to them: windowless, doorless concrete behemoths, with stained yellow and black exteriors, surrounded by grand, albeit decaying, stone walls.

Kep is like now similar to what it once was before the French arrived – a small fishing community. It is well known for its fresh seafood, and crab is the local speciality. Jared and I dined that evening on fresh crab with Kampot pepper, and grilled prawns with pepper lime sauce. I was converted to the delicacy of fresh crab meat, the messy ritual of shells cracked between teeth, meat sucked and slurped from knuckles and joints.

Locally revered for the quality of its fruits (durian, coconut, mango) Kampot province was once world famous for its fine pepper plantations, it was revered in the earlier part of the last century as the finest pepper on earth, sought after by French chefs, and beyond. At its height, Kampot was exported 8000 tonnes of the stuff annually. Production all but ceased during the Khmer Rouge years, as the plantations were abandoned or destroyed. It is being revived and now the Kampot pepper growers are seeking Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) certification (like champagne from Champagne, France, and balsamic vinegar from Modena, Italy). I had never actually seen, let alone tasted, fresh pepper, which looks like fresh green berries tightly wrapped on thin stems, and is grown on vines which take 5-7 years to reach full maturity. Fresh green pepper has a slightly sweet pepper taste, a rounder flavour than the dried pepper that we are used to. Red and white pepper all come from the same plant, and the colours are derived from the curing process.

Next stop: Kampot. We travelled by tuk tuk from Kep, a 25 km ride. A sleepy riverside town of 30,000, Kampot seems busy compared to nearly comatose Kep, with a pretty promenade along the river's edge, the usual motos of youth, flirting side by side. It is a town where many local expats come to get away from it all, and wish to avoid the more boisterous backpacking scene that is found in Sihanoukville, further to the west.

Crossing the river are two bridges, one that reminded me of a much less dramatic version of the Eiffel-built bridge in Saint-Louis, northern Senegal. On closer inspection this rather unremarkable bridge – an aching steel and rivet structure, was clearly bombed and then rebuilt. The twisted metal of the earlier bridge still hovers just slightly above the top of the water.

Apart from a little rest and relaxation, Jared was doing a story on the Saoch, a minority group found in pockets of Cambodia and Thailand. We met with a Belgian (?) who was working with this group to build a record of their language and culture. A truly interesting character himself, he spoke 16 languages, was fluent in Khmer, and from discussions on the car ride up to the village, had a deep knowledge of local Kampot history. He has been working for several years to document the Soach language and customs and is in process of creating a rudimentary dictionary – 4000 words so far – to preserve the language. Prior to being scattered by the Khmer Rouge, they were landowners, but as they lost their land, they in turn lost their economic base. As he explained, the Saoch no longer view their language as 'having value', and the elders have more or less stopped teaching it to the younger generations. Listening to Jared interview the local heads, I felt that I was present to the very extinction of a language, and through it, a culture. Indeed, once the elders pass, the language will be gone forever, and oddly enough it will be a distant foreigner who may be the last link to preserving it.

I took a day to visit Bokor National Park and within, Bokor Hill Station, an abandoned French resort built in the late 1920s (I suppose for when the elite got bored with the beach, they could relax in the cool mountain mists). With a group of very hungover tourists, we started 2.5 hour hike up the side of the mountain, followed by a short truck ride up the newly graded road (a real eyesore) to the top of the mountain. Here lay some magnificent abandoned buildings – an old casino/hotel, a ufo-like water tower, a church. The mists rolled through the buildings – very picturesque. Sadly, the area is currently being developed to build a new 650 room casino and hotel (in a national park no less). But at the pace that they seemed to be working it may take 20 years, or never be completed. I would hope it would be the latter. Again, it is an example of the new construction-crazy Cambodia: huge ugly developments, focused on big money and flashy tourism. For a second time in two days, I felt that I was seeing things at a cusp, before it all changes.

Finally, a little taste of the Bokor mists...