After Don Det it was Champasak, the ancient outpost of one of Indochina's many long-extinct civilisations, the Khmer, and the seat of the pre-Khmer Chenla before them. It was a relief to find that the majority of the country's inhabitants aren't twenty-something white backpackers after all. Champasak is lowland Laos life at its best, and a little off the beaten track, being fortunately skipped by most travellers in their rush to get to the north of the country.

The chief drawcard of the area is the ruined temple of Wat Phou. Set upon the base of a mountain on a particularly pretty swathe the of the Mekong river flats, the time-blackened stone of the temple is the only physical and photogenic reminder of what this place must have once been like. The main temple, reached via by an unapologetically precipitous stone staircase—some of the steps offer less than half the length of a foot to get your grip—is slowly sinking back into the mountain, although with the help of the French and Indian governments, projects are now in place to restore the site to its former glory. Let's hope they don't 'restore' it too much, or some of its ancient crumbling charm may be forever lost.

The town of Champasak itself is little more than one long street adorned with colonial-era French villas and equally as graceful Laotian stilt houses on the banks of the lazy Mekong. We rented bicycles and rode out the nearly ten kilometres under the sapping burn of the Indochina sun. The temple lies conveniently at the end of the street. And I mean right at the end. Looking down from the vista afforded by the height of the main ruins, one can see that the road lines up exactly with said ruins and its staircase. Very nice.