First of all I must apologise for the long delay on writing this. A few of you have asked me why and the answer is that I'm far too busy most of the time. Busy doing nothing but observing most of the time which for me is what traveling and writing are about so I'm sure you'll forgive me. Internet connections out here don't help much either and I've found that with typing on Off Exploring each character typed takes 3 seconds to appear on the page which doesn't really help a 2-fingered typist like me. You type a whole page without saving and suddenly the connection is lost. I wish I had somebody to type for me as I've fallen in love with writing again and you're only getting half of what's in my journal I'm afraid. Anyway, on with the story…

Leaving Borseelaim behind was tough; a month later and I'm still missing the place and the people but it's impossible to be downhearted for long when the next jaw-dropping event or scene is one footstep away. The border crossing into Laos and the slowboat to Luang Prabang awaits and trepidation while traveling always turns out to be a fleeting thing. The slowboat lives up to its name but this is nothing to complain about as there is no greater to way to cover over 200km of one of the world's greatest rivers than to meander along with the Mekong. Those that are pushed for time, or just looking for the next adrenaline rush, opt for the small speedboats. Not particularly the best idea as we find out from the 'victims' later on. Their boats allow no leg room or movement for the 6-hour blast and no lingering views of the white sand beaches that the river in the height of the dry season has revealed. Also revealed, and sometimes not until too late, are rather large rocks that have claimed a few boats and lives over the years but there are no such things as health and safety records in Lao PDR. It's just common local knowledge and the statistics are never published. I get a first hand account later on of one boat running out of fuel, being topped up by a fellow speedboat with half the contents of the petrol can going over the boat and the driver tells the passengers it's still okay for them to smoke. Priceless!

We'd been advised to buy cushions for our own boat journey as the seats are wooden benches but the first of us on board consider ourselves fortunate when we find there are a dozen or so car-style seats near the back of the boat. Fortunate that is until we realise our proximity to the open engine room. It's not so bad. The fumes and heat are minimal but the noise drowns out almost all attempts of soundtracking the journey with an MP3 player. Games of cards and conversations with other travellers accompany the cruise past jungle-covered banks as a welcome alternative. We're not completely detached from the locals as we sit in our backroom den. As a lower member of the non-English speaking crew loads our packs into the hull beneath our feet he makes playful actions of stroking and plucking at the hairs on Ed's exposed legs while a very sombre but very beautiful looking young woman breastfeeds her baby next to us. Unsmiling I wonder how devastating she'd be if she did.

We arrive in Luang Prabang as the sun is setting over the Mekong to choruses of "What's goin' on Mekong??!" (Roxanne Shante) from my music-loving fellow backpackers. The royal capital of Laos and you feel like you're in the south of France surrounded by well turned out colonial buildings with the odd pristine vinatge and classic Benz or Citroen proudly parked in front. Games of petanque are played out on the bank of the river in the shade of towering trees with incredible buttress roots. It's really a sleepy town for the older generation and more affluent traveller, a prime romantic destination but has the prices to match. A slow, luxurious pace of life with patisseries and gourmet restaurants abound to enjoy a leisurely coffee and croissant or something more but by default it's an expensive place for a budget traveller to be.

Luang Prabang is my first real experience of the effects of the government-imposed 11:30pm curfew. You can't see them but the feeling of police control is omnipresent and you soon realise why in that they're rarely in uniform. Taxi drivers and other ne'r-do-wells constantly offer opium, marijuana and mushrooms in Laos. First-hand accounts of the way the police deal with farang that are caught in posession will follow. The Hive Bar is by far the greatest bar, somewhere that wouldn't be out of place back in the Western world and with a quality plethora of music to match. The DJs are just using CDs and MP3s but you couldn't ask for better beats. After hours there's only one place that the authorities allow open past curfew which is a bowling alley a short tuk-tukride away with drivers packing so many passengers on board that the solitary front wheel leaves the ground as it does a 360 pulling away. To quote Anthony Burgess it's "quite horrorshow" and typically what you come to expect when young Westerners are allowed to drink more than they should while travelling. The alley itself though is just so out of place in such a distinguished and blissful locale that most discerning travellers 'split' (pardon the awful pun).

In general the Lao share many similarities to the Thai people including the language. They're softly-spoken, friendly and genuine but more formal and unspoilt by the Western world than the Thais. They've held onto their traditions, values and mores much better. Being a former French colony it's sometimes easier to communicate with the French language and most understand Thai. For example my first realisation of this is over a degustation breakfast overlooking the Mekong and I ask for butter in English at the restaurant. The young waitress looks at me blankly and despite making the action of spreading it on my baguette I realise I'm making no progress. Clutching at straws here I think to myself but "La beurre?". My question is met with a smiling response and soon enough my butter appears.