The river was a murky brown as the little long tailed boat slipped through the water, its hull low with the weight of the heavy farlang and all our luggage. It was in this manner that the 7 of us that our traveling party now consisted of, crossed the Mekong river and the border between Thailand and Laos.

We were greeted on the Laos side by a small man holding a bottle of Beer Laos. It was only 7 am but out of politeness we took a swig each and thanked him before the undertaking the tedious task of formally crossing into his country. An hour or so later we embarked on a 2 day river journey down the Mekong to Luang Prabang.
The boat was larger than the long tail but not much more comfortable-being the last to board all the seat wee already occupied and we found ourselves on the floor with our recently purchased (ultra cool) cushions(mine was red and purple and had dolphins on it!)
Sleeping, drinking a little and admiring the dramatic scenery occupied us for most of the day until about 8 hours later we arrived in a little town for the night.

Disembarking we were immediately bombarded by locals persistently promoting their own guest houses as they desperately tried to find business for themselves. Like a pack of wolves having found a straggling sheep anyone that strayed from the safety of the group found themselves immediately surrounded and pulled away up the muddy bank. The poverty here was much intense than i had seen in Thailand and the peoples attitudes towards us differed greatly from the friendly banter of the Pai residents - the westerner was a giant dollar sign and they could not risk loosing a customer by using niceties, they gave orders not requests.
"You come to my guest house. I take your bag. Come." and within seconds the bag was on the back of a small man heading up the crumbling road. It was a little intimidating, and I was glad of the group.

(The group which we left Thailand with consisted of Heather - A welsh girl I had met in Pai, Jason - the dread locked Canadian guy she was seeing, Phil - a very funny guy who was traveling with Jay, Jim - Phil's very nice but opinionated dad, Matty - an overactive Londoner living in oz that Phil and Jay had met when they were living in Perth and Harold a German man that we had also met in Pai. We were joined by a younger German -Jonias on the boat. The dynamics of the group made for entertaining evenings and never a lonely moment especially with such an interesting mix of personalities but traveling in a group this big was inevitably going to cause some problems.)

Having had a better nights sleep we all enjoyed the next days boat trip considerably more and the scenery got more and more spectacular the further into Laos we got. The tall mountains covered in a thick layer a green slid gracefully into the water and the odd hut would perch obscurely seemingly abandoned in the middle of nowhere. We would stop occasionally for children to swarm around the boat selling fruit with an enthusiasm to match the guest house owners the night before, only the children had the cuteness factor in their favour, and somehow a group of 4 ft pineapple bearing children ae much less intimidating!

We arrived in Luang Prabang that evening a lot earlier than we expected and this time walked straight through the throng of yelling tuk tuk drivers into the nearest bar sending Phil and Jay like intrepid explorers out into the wilderness on a reckie to find a suitable base camp or I think thats how they liked to see it. In reality they went around the corner to sniff out the cheapest deal more like David Dickinson than Rambo - but I should not understate their task too much after all they did sacrifice beer to do so!

Luang Prabang seemed like a sweet little town with a huge market and lots of quaint little bars and we spent an afternoon sitting on the riverbank watching, intrigued as a young boy worked his way along the bank placing small sticks in the mud. He went about it with great diligence but without much enthusiasm, a little after he had left an older man came to the bank with some long bamboos he was using as fishing rods, in a similar manner he made his way up the bank and stuck each one deep into the mud with the line dangling into the water. Presumably the young boys sticks served a similar purpose though what he intended to catch with such small rods I am unsure. Crabs perhaps? Bait for the old man? Who knows what lives in the murky depths of the Mekong! But we used Luang Prabang only as a stop over on our way to Vangviene so didn't really settle in enough to appreciate it fully. The fact that the majority of our time there it rained didn't help the place either, but we had a good evening with a box of goon and some French bread - Laos is known for its essentially French feel as it clings to certain aspects of the French colonial past. The bread was a welcome treat!

An incredibly scenic and stomach churning bus journey later (the 5 or so hours were spent trying to block out the noises coming from the monk across the aisle. I don't think the green tinged, orange robed boy could have been any older than 9 or 10 but he spent most of the journey violently wretching, poor bloke.)we arrived at the bus stop which, for no apparent reason except for providing jobs to tuk tuk drivers, is situated about 1km away from the town itself. And so it was early afternoon by the time the 8 of us tumbled out into the the infamous Vangvieng! The long street of crooked bars and restaurants standing shoulder to shoulder, dwarfed by the surrounding mountains towering above, looked back at us in the warm drizzle. The mix matched buildings with their peeling paintwork and rickety blackboards advertising an asortment of cuisines, huddled lazily in the valley. A few shops sported Tubing T-shirts and other souvenir goods which hung coloufully under canopys in the street and you could see a few more lanes leading off the main street towards the river but apart from the buzz of television sets the place was quiet. Stepping inside one of the cafes it became apparent that the blackboards outside are not the only menus on offer. The activity levels of the travellers insides resembled a koala or possibly a sloth and we looked around atthe piles of zombie like characters staring half heartedly at the Friends, Simpsons or Family Guy reruns. The "Special" menus that the locals offer were a popular alternative here.

The next morning we found ourselves once again jammed into a tuk tuk but this time the small vechicle topped with a selection of tyre inner tubes hurtled away from the town and up the river. A few kilometers later and we were rolling the tubes down a muddy bank into the fast flowing water, jumping (ever so gracefully) into the centre hole before it drifted down the river unaccompanied. Tubing is the main attraction in Vangvieng!

Floating out into the middle of the river reveals a jumble of alcohol selling shacks lining the banks. Each bar with its own zipwire or trapeze suspended high over the river. Imagine a water park made entirely of bamboo with no health and safety regulations and surrounded by huge green mountains. Then you may be able topicture the scene. A hundred meters or so down the river and already we had been dragged to the bank by some local children and our tubes had been piled up on the bank as complimentary arak shots were thrust into out hands.

A bucket of cocktail later and we had hurtled down the first zipwire and were back on our way. The day continued in a similar manner as the sun beat down on us and we slowly managed to loose all of our belongings (Heather even managed to loose her tube and had to hitch hike her way back) and our sanity to the river. It was early afternoon by the time we scrambled out of the river and stumbled back to the guesthouse. Collapsing at the top of the 4 flights of stairs and began the task of breaking into our rooms without the key, which by this ppoint was somewhere along the river bed.

We tubed a few more times before leaving Vangvieng. On one occasion not returning before dark and in a group of new acquaintances we refused lifts from the extortionately priced long tails and formed a raft of tyres. Then we attempted to navigate our way back; finding the right bank to climb out at is a skilled task! I wonder how many travellers drift past the final stop and find themselves the next morning floating through the city of Vientiene.

The rest of out time in Vangviene we spent exploring the surroundings; hiring motorbike on one day a few of us rode out through mud and sand and a couple of small villages where children ran out and chased after the bikes, to a cave in the heart of the mountains. We spent the afternoon scrambling and swimming through the huge dark cavern and I befriended a small local boy, well maybe not befriended but he took pity on me and I tried my best to make conversation with him. My Laos vocabulary is a limited though and so for the majority of the time he silently followed me through the cave and on multiple occasions stopped me from cracking open my head as I slipped on the slimey rocks. Everytime I lost my footing a small hand would grab my arm. I don't know how such a small boy supported me but if it wasn't for him I would have emerged black and blue. Bam I think his name was, but his timid voice was so quiet I can't be sure. Either way I emerged incredibly grateful for his help and was glad to see that even though he was still shivering he ran off with a grin on his face when I handed him the few of the kip I had on me.

On our last intended night in the sleepy town Phil, walking down the street spotted Cedric in a small bar, a french friend of Phil and Jays from Perth, he had just arrived. (Cedric will be introduced properly at a later date) The arrival of Cedric changed everything. Jay wanted to stay to catch up with his friend but with Matty's loss of his passport, Jims tight schedule and Harold having met a German girl he intended to accompany. The group split up. The next morning Heather, Jay and I waved goodbye to the others as they left on a bus to Vientiene.

And then there were 3. oh and Cedric...