Phonsavanh & the victorious Pathet Lao
Complete with motorcycles tied to the roof, we relaxed into our stained reclining bus seats for another snaking traverse of the typically Laos terrain. We read, listened to tunes, and for the most part were subjected to a whole six hours of some terrible comedy stage show recording blaring from the TV up front in the native tongue. It was atrocious to think that somebody had assumed it to be a good idea to record this event and make a DVD, let alone distribute it. It was like an adult version of the 'Wiggles'. We felt we were being tortured. Trying to zone out and sleep with the assistance of Stemetil and Valium, or think louder than the repetitive 'comic' theme songs we made it into the dusty one-horse town of the province's capital.
Phonsavanh or Xieng Khuang as it was formally named and still more commonly known, is famed for it's prominence in the 'Secret War', being one of several northern provinces to be relentlessly bombed by the US Air Force. Over nine years, one plane load of bombs were dropped "secretly" every 8 minutes, 24 hours a day; permanently erasing small towns and villages off the map and driving the entire population, including the administration council to live in caves! One local man has been quoted saying that the 'bombs fell like a man sowing seed' during the '60s and '70s, as the district borders the famous Ho Chi Minh Trail used by the Vietnamese in the War against the French Colonialists and then America. The US intelligence supposed that this region was harbouring Vietnamese military troops and pro-communist Laos revolutionaries keen on overthrowing (the US backed) Laos government at the time.
The province retained a tough, retaliatory line of defence between 1964 and 1973 from the Laos Peoples Revolutionary Party, headed by Kaysone Phomvihane, whereby the French and Americans were driven out of the north eastern quarters and eventually the entire country. Of course they left their mark; - scattering around half a tonne of ordinance for each member of the population and remoulding the countryside with craters the size of swimming pools across this small landlocked country.
With the aid of the Vietnamese, Laos sealed it's fate in becoming the independent pro-communist country it is today. However from what we have gathered, this seemingly peaceful and beautiful country is still subject to sporadic political instability and anti-government protests, allegedly a consequence of the way it's leaders govern, and the influential powers of their neighbours on top of the obvious divide between the rich and poor.

Adam, with his keen historical and political interests, has learned that a lot of hard lined Laos officials were educated in Vietnam and maintain very close ties to past and current Vietnamese government representatives, whilst supporting and applying Vietnam's communist policies into local government. After some discussion with nationalistic university students we have met, and members of the poorer community, he discovered that discontent among the general population is growing, more so notably in the younger, 'New Age' generation.
　
The lay out of Phonsavanh is simple but spread out. The main street where the two largest markets lie (the fresh produce and the dry goods market, and the additional enclosed Chinese market and food hall) also houses most of the small guesthouses, as well as a multi-storey hotel at the centre of the main intersection. In between the guesthouses are small restaurants, general stores, internet shops and motorcycle hire, repair and parts stores. An important attraction along the main street is the MAG (Mines Advisory Group) Information Centre.
MAG, partially funded by the United Nations, has been stationed in Laos since 1994, as a proactive NGO charity group. Their work has been directed toward locating and deactivating UXO (Unexploded Ordnance) country wide. Most importantly they have been disseminating information and education to rural villages that have since been fixated with collecting the (often still live) mortar shells and bombies for the re-sale value in the black market and scrap metal industry. This tempting trade, together with indirect uncovering of UXO during agricultural practices, continues to kill and maim innocent citizens (around 40% of which are children) each year. They have thus focused their education programmes to target schools. In recent years MAG have launched a large scale project to place local Laos people through an intensive training program to become UXO Advisors and field experts to help minimise and hopefully eradicate this enormous problem. This is a cause we both strongly support and wished to share with you Zig Zag followers. J
We opted to hire a moped for two days for our sight-seeing adventures around Phonsavanh and to the main tourist attraction: The Plain of Jars. This is in actuality, exactly as it says on the tin. Big stone 'jars' spread across plains. Site 1 was sufficient to get a real feel for this stone henge-esque unexplained phenomenon. The jars were carved directly from granite boulders in situ, and would have had lids also, but their purpose remains mysterious. Some theories suggest they held a funerary function, but the best guess is that they were for rice wine fermentation, although in light of today's known methods of 'traditional' rice wine making this also seems to produce perplexing questions. After parking the bike in the shade so that the seat didn't melt in the rising heat, we zagged our way along the ridge overlooking the 'plains' systematically following the signed pathway which had been designated safe by MAG, in this otherwise UXO riddled landscape. We paused to reflect on the horrendous devastation as we passed craters inside which vegetation was only just beginning to re-establish, some of which were around 10 metres in diameter and 5 deep.
After getting our fill of empty jars, we sought the old kingdom of Muang Khoun, the original site of Xieng Khuang, 35Km away. Speeding along on our nippy little scooter we enjoyed incredible scenery outside of the rather bland plains. We paid our foreigner duty tax at the entrance to the town site and rode on to find the Wat Phia Wat ruins, where a tall, stone, seated Buddha image remains calmly, looking on, in front of the columns of this former temple. Following this somewhat moving site we moved on to That Foun, a 30m towering brickwork stupa, on a hill overlooking the town. The stupa had reportedly been looted by the Chinese (as they searched for gold and valuable Buddhist relics) and whom had built a tunnel through the centre of the base, revealing the smaller original stone structure inside. It is now possible to walk inside the now picturesque cavity in the rock invaded with tree root growth. Adam's cultural sensibility was once again on full display as he scaled the fragile ancient structure, as eagerly as he tore his clothes off to bathe in the sacred lakes on the Mera Peak trail. You can take the boy out of the country but you cannot take the country out of the boy! Karma delivered its payback with a flat rear tyre on the return trip, but luckily this was easily patched at a roadside hut by a friendly young man for just 5,000 Kip.
We went out of our way beyond Muang Kham to locate some hot springs, with great anticipation and visions of enjoying bathing in warm waters with cold beers and the novelty of being able to boil eggs from the edge of a stream. The reality of the 'hot springs' attraction quickly smothered our disillusionment. After a short walk through a forested ground beyond an abandoned looking holiday camp set-up, we were confronted with the scummy pond which bubbled away gently, behind a wire fence. Not wishing to indulge ourselves completely in the fetid, simmering waters we defied the fencing to dip in a toe. Adam made a nature photographer's effort at capturing some large iridescent blue winged bugs who were hovering around and attempting to mate whilst Lana wandered off along some of the small trails leading into the woods, in hope of locating the true location of 'The Springs'. Concurrently a large group of locals, many of which seemed to be older ladies, arrived in a fleet of utes and motorcycles. They made offerings to a small shrine at a decrepit wooden hut and then huddled around the springs with much excitement. Apparently we were in the right place.
The 60 km ride out through Muang Kham had still been worthwhile just for the experience of the villages, and seeing the traditional silk weaving looms operating underneath the stilted houses. After the let down of the springs we continued in the opposite direction passing again through the town's centre to a notorious cave known as Tham Piu, near to one of the small villages which had been eradicated during the war. Tham Piu is a large cave in the cliffs which was directly hit by a rocket mortar shell. The first attempt hit the outside wall, the second fire made a beeline for the broad entrance.
At the time it was reported that women and children were taking shelter in the cave, but later evidence suggests that the cave was being utilised as a hospital for the sick, injured and dying Vietnamese soldiers. The Vietnamese cleared the cave and repatriated the remains of the estimated 400 dead, to Vietnam, following the devastating attack. Standing in the large entrance, it was possible to imagine some of the terror in those peoples' final moments, seeing the rocket heading directly towards the gaping entrance, and the consuming fireball and deafening explosion which would have surely rocked the entire mountain.
A band of cold air hits you as you enter a few meters inside the cave, and then disappears into a more temperate dank atmosphere characteristic of all caves. The chills this sends down your spine is noticeable (as though not entirely due to the contrast from sunlight into shade) as you walk through countless rock cairns, some topped with incense sticks, and notes. Within the cave, which extends back perhaps further than the 200 meters we followed it for, it quickly became pitch black, and silent. This is possibly one of the most moving places we have encountered. Walking back down the concrete steps which now exist up the hillside, we passed several numbered mass graves, and wondered if anybody actually has record of the names of those who died at this site during the terror years.
Retracing our route back to Phonsavanh, Lana had her first ride of a scooter, but over a badly patched section of road/loose rubble we encountered another flat tyre. The same wheel. Luckily we were in the vicinity of a village and after heralding the attention of some locals who were sitting about their homes we were directed to a man with a small workshop and grocery store. He took no time at all hauling out the inner tube, locating the tear and melting a hot rubber patch over the top. His wife stood by and gave us cold refreshing Lao tea, and some local kids hung around curious at the Falangs in their village. We watched with interest as a woman opposite wound metres of thread around the thick stilts of the length of her house.
Fixed up and back on the road, Adam realised we were low on fuel despite the gauge being far from in the red zone. The next fuel station was closed…12Km to go - we thought we could make it. Unfortunately not. Pushing uphill for about a kilometre, we were grateful of the logic of what goes up must come down, and managed to coast, low profile, all the way to the next station at the base of the hill.
Back in the town we realised we still had time to head out to see the Old Russian Tank which was highlighted on our very rudimentary mud-map of the area (which actually proved to be far more accurate than any Lousy attempt). Fleeing the main highway down a sandy dirt road the tank was, well, smaller than we had anticipated. There were no informative signs. It was basically a shell, and being marginally surprised that it hadn't been completely dismantled and sold as scrap, we clambered inside the rusting dust covered skeleton, pulling childish poses around the gun and out of the hatch. Returning before dusk we decided to head up to one of the two victory monuments on small hilltop positions overlooking the town. It was very serene, a pyramidal white washed stupa, topped with a red star and surrounded by an ironwork fence mirroring the simple form of the monument inside. We realised looking down at the 360 degree view, that Phonsavanh was bigger than we first thought. On returning the bike, we made the decision to stay an extra day. Our first wedding anniversary would be better spent here, despite the shortage in local entertainment facilities, than on another 8 hour local bus trip. A few beers and several, terrific, naked couplings we figured would be a perfect way to celebrate! J