We would eventually find post-midnight action at a little place known as the Vietnam Bar, but aside from an extremely memorable tuk-tuk ride, which left it's mark on my favourite blue shirt, that night was little more than a few drinks which by that point we had had enough of. To pay off our break of curfew, a few us woke with the Laos roosters and paid our respects to the monks, offering small bundles of sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves, and of course running through a couple hundred pictures.

For the men of the group, if we can call ourselves that, the big day out in Luang Prabang was a trip half an hour down the Mekong for an afternoon of rock climbing. So while the girls had a day of pampering, tickle fights, and what ever girls do when they're on their own, us men tore through virgin forest and scaled mountains. And it turned out to be one hell of a day. Keiren, Kyle, Steve, Ali and myself paid something like $50 CDN for a full day of calloused hands and skinned knees traversing stretches of rock that had only been tackled a handful of times before us. With little experience or training, the five of us conquered increasingly difficult climbs with a couple of local guides manning the rope below. I'm sure seasoned climbers would laugh at our accomplishments, something made painfully clear as our guide free climbed the last route in flip-flops to set anchors, but we all came out feeling victorious. Imagine that, a day of fun that traded sun baking and alcohol for physical exertion and fresh air. Huh....

And so Luang Prabang came to a close. We spent our last night at a funky little theatre where we chose a dvd from the wall and piled into a stuffy room to watch our film in 27" Stereophonic glory. The impact of our choice, The Killing Fields, was somewhat dampened by the pirated copy cutting out halfway through the Khmer Rouge's atrocities, and everyone falling asleep from exhaustion, but it was still a nice end to our time in old Luang Prabang. Well I did go without sleep that night as the strains and stresses of my theoretical worm finally got to me, and brought on a feverish sweat and heart palpitations, but it eventually passed, and Kyle and I awoke to strike out for Vang Vieng, a day ahead of the crowd.

Once again we put our faith in Brakes and holy Tires, as we endured yet another roller coaster ride teetering at edge of mountain passes, hurtling towards Vang Vieng in a van that deserved retirement years ago. At the time it felt like we were sat helpless in a vehicle which would become our coffin. You can so easily imagine that one turn taken a bit too hard, and a set of tire marks slipping past the barrier-less edge as our final signature. But, with every semi that came a bit too close shaking the van in it's wake, with every stray cow blocking the road around the next corner, our "Oh God.." glances started to ease. Because at some point, if you spend enough time travelling on a budget in Asia, you just have to relax into it and trust fate. Either that or a heart attack is bound to get you long before that stray cow is.

Our first impressions of Vang Vieng were quite similar to that of Pak Beng. I imagine before Johnny Tourist came bursting onto the scene, Vang Vieng was quite quaint. The scenery is absolutely stunning. Massive limestone cliffs surround the town split by a little river that feeds fields of rice. Little outcrops of chilli bushes beside each house promising to test the most iron palette. But as it stands, the main strip of Vang Vieng is a smaller, dustier version of Bangkok's Kohsan, with a recipe three equal parts knockoff shop, internet café, and restaurant playing repeats of Friends. And it would be easy to pass Vang Vieng off for nothing more, if you didn't venture beyond it's main road.

After a bland stay in a dull hotel our first night, Kyle and I searched for the river side bungalows that were promised in the guide books. Our first find was a step up from our hotel, and in fact had once held Hannah and Kirsty who had already moved on, but was fully booked all the same. Fortunately we stumbled upon Le Jardin Organique, which is oddly ignored by Lonely Planet and the Rough Guide as it is a beautiful cluster of bungalows set along the river bank thankfully removed from the dust of the main strip. We spent our first proper day touring the countryside and a couple of the lesser caves until the group arrived from Luang Prabang.

Now six strong (Keiren was at this point flying home to the UK), the group set out for another day tour, this time armed with the transportation of the masses. The Motorcycle. If one is honest, "motorcycle" is somewhat flattering, as the term in my mind usually conjures images of Ducatis, Harleys and Dennis Hopper. And the two wheels we perched between wobbled under the power of one hundred tired cc's, but technically speaking, it was a cycle and there was a motor, so I'll refuse to admit we were on scooters.

To the bikes! Our first day was enjoyed simply buzzing around town on our new found toys. And in the tradition of the assembly of new travellers we found ourselves a new name, fitting of our hogs and rebellious ways. The Cobras. A name, and consequently signature move, stolen from Dodgeball. We had once again found ourselves a stupid nickname, surely foolish to any outsider looking in, but just as we travelled with the Spot On Crew in Australia, we were happy to continue to act like teenagers, ignoring the fact that all of us were well into our twenties.

Our second day on the bikes we went out in search of caves, and after a rocky start, came upon the Blue Lagoon Caves. And after a year of travel and a decent dose of spelunking, the Blue Lagoon Caves easily take the cake. Where most caves offer a guided tour, devoid of any excitement, the Blue Lagoon is open to your imagination. Massive and more or less untouched. There is a small shrine that is dwarfed by the cave walls in the first main cell of the cave, but aside from that there are no lights, ropes, signs or man made paths. And because of it, you can find yourself deep in it's depths, in complete darkness with no one else around. After an hour of pictures and scrambling around in the dark, we came across a tiny opening that led to parts unknown. The girls at this point were obviously less impressed by endless damp rock, but Steve, Ali, Kyle and myself were all determined to find a piece of the cave less travelled. So, we peered into the darkness and crossed our fingers and toes.

Steve was first. With a small lamp on his head, he squeezed into the passage and disappeared. Eventually he called back, having reached an opening, so we all filed in. I remember almost backing out. The idea of a small crack in the rock just big enough to crawl in head first with no room to move was a bit concerning, but I swallowed and followed suit. Not much more that two body lengths long, the passage opened to a pit, realistically thirty feet deep, but in the moment endless. And to get around it one had to crawl halfway out of the passage, find a hand hold, extract your feet and find a toe on the ledge to shimmy around the void. All the time trusting the crumbling limestone and dirt that threatened to give way at any time. Of course, just as the climbing, our introduction to spellunking was amateur at best, but it was enough to remind us why we were all travelling around. Why we weren't behind a desk back home. And once we were drained of spellunk, we emerged to soak into the lagoon that is the cave's namesake. Once again victorious and not a finger, limb or man short.

Our last stop in Vang Vieng, and one of the "must do's" in Laos, was our day on the lazy river sipping Laos in rubber tubes. This is the ultimate projection of Sloth. From noon to sunset we drifted ever so lazily along the river, giving into the touts at the river's edge when ever we were in need of refreshment. And as long as you don't take too much comfort in too many bottles of Beer Laos, and avoid testing your ability to back flip thirty feet high off a rope swing, you're bound to survive the experience unscathed. Somewhat of a hard sell as one of the top attractions of Southeast Asia by description alone, and going in I could have done without if it wasn't on our way, but I quickly understood the attraction once I was in it's grasp.

By the time we crossed the finish line, we would have probably been well advised to stay away from the liquid refreshments, but we happened to be tubing on Halloween, and a toga party at Lucky or Happy Bar (can't remember which) seemed too attractive to pass up. So we returned our tubes, raided our bed for sheets-come-togas and immersed ourselves in Toga! Yeah, awesome. Unfortunately no one else got the memo that it was a Toga party, so we found ourselves as the only twits half naked draped in bed sheets. Unflinching, however, we jumped in and celebrated the Hallowed Eve. And when a Beer Laos wasn't enough, as we learned, there was always the option of a bucket. A "Bucket" is well known to any seasoned Southeast Asian traveller, but to us at that point in time, it was only myth, stuff of stories. The contents of said buckets are simple. One mickey of cheap whiskey or vodka. One can of red bull. One can of coke. There are, of course, different variations, but it hardly strays from the basic principles. So anywhere where there's loud music and alcohol you'll find strangers sharing buckets with strangers, straws handed out to any passer-by to empty the potent mixture as quick as possible. For if you wander with a bucket and slowly sip, your last sips are inevitably ones of sand, cigarette ash and whatever else finds it's way into the open mouth of yer trusty bucket. And like any other drug, one bucket leads to another, so Halloween proved to be a doozy. I'll let the pictures tell the rest of the story, as my memory has left most of the details of that night in Vang Vieng, but all in all we had a hell of a night. Momma Laos and her welcoming bosom. Switching togas with strangers. Bravely, foolishly playing with sticks of fire. And a foolish decision to board another bus the following morning to head to Vientiane.

And so we limped into the capital of Laos. And with all due respect, there's little to desire of Vientiane. Another dusty town with places to eat, shop and sleep. With so much ahead of us, and no desire to get back into city life, a day and a night were all we needed to see the city and arrange a flight east to Hanoi, Vietnam. Our last night in Laos was spent itching our mozzy bites and sharing a toke with a curious, generous Frenchman and his mysterious ass hash. It was then and there that I learned it's best to ask how someone's managed to smuggle a chunk of hash into a country before you put it to your nose for a sniff. A Laosy lesson to learn first hand. (Heh.. see what I did there? A little word play to end 'er off.)

Alright, every one on the plane.
To Vietnam my good man!

For all the pics click this:

Walkabout '06: Laos Gallery