Laos, at least the southern half, feels remarkably similar to outback Australia. Very flat, very hot, very dry. I feel I have to keep reminding myself where I am. I'm sure if you came here in monsoon season, though, it'd be a very different story. And of course, some things are still the same. The pot-holed roads, the dust, the dykes and dried-out paddies, the 50cc motorcycles. Laos has a reputation for being chilled out. "Forgotten" is another word often bandied by Lonely Planet and their ilk. But there's nothing 'forgotten' about anywhere in Southeast Asia these days. Laos, like Cambodia and Vietnam, is another well-trodden leg of the backpacker trail. Chilled-out, however, it is. That could have something to do with its tiny population, some six million people. Tiny especially for this corner of the world. Even though it has one of the lowest-ranking economies in Southeast Asia (though I suspect this has more to do with the size of its population than with the financial situation of its people), Laos is surprisingly quite a bit more expensive than its more popular neighbouring countries. Especially the bus fares, where you find yourself paying around $10 from one big city to the next, being bounced around on your arse bones with Laos' not-quite-finished road infrastructure. That may not sound like much, until you consider than an overnight train in India costs something like $2.50, chump change. And those pennies add up quick.

First stop: Don Det. New Years was spent here on Don Det island, right at the base of the palm-tree shaped country, with the Cambodian border just a bit over the Mekong. The area is called Siphandon, which translates to Four Thousand Islands, though the majority of these 'islands' are more glorified sandbars with maybe some palm trees sticking out than the kind you could actually live on. But there still are a lot of islands here. Which is pretty strange for a land-locked country like Laos.

I thought Don Det would be pretty far off the beaten track, but the reality turned out to be quite the opposite. As soon as I crossed the border, and this was around eight at night, I was packed into the back of a pickup truck with a dozen other foreigners and our bags, no locals at all aside from the driver and his helper. Don Det was much the same. For a place that was just connected to the electricity grid a few years ago, they sure haven't wasted any time catching up. Mini supermarkets, wifi, all the luxuries of the modern world, in no small part thanks to Lonely Planet, Inc. You can find the most extensive waterfall system in Southeast Asia here and the remnants of a metre-gauge railway built by the French to bypass said waterfalls. That and hallucinogenic-laced beverages and pancakes galore. You'd be forgiven for thinking that Don Det was some kind of theme park for twenty-something backpackers, much like that other infamous riverside drug-and-alcohol Disneyland, Vang Vieng. But not quite as taken over just yet. Let's hope that after all the ruckus from that failed experiment in Western culture gone wrong, the local inhabitants on Don Det have got the message. (Although, having said that, Vang Vieng is a lot quieter these days after the government crackdown, in part due to pressure by the Australian government).