Luang Prabang is mostly a starting point for the many activities in the area. Hiking, kayaking, rafting, home stay, and elephant rides are available from the many travel agencies in town. I decide on the elephant tour. But not one of these "stupid half-day touristy crap", but a real one. For a matching price of course. I still can't believe I paid $400 for a four day elephant trek in the dense jungle of northern Laos. According to the brochure we would ride our own elephant, control them, bathe them and stay two nights in small villages in the hills. Sounds really exciting.

I leave early Thursday morning, the 22nd of July. As I wake up I hear a strangely familiar sound. I've heard it many times, mostly the sound of the fan creating the blissful breeze of coolness. But it is different this time. The fan is at its lowest setting, it could never make so much noise. My worst fears are confirmed as I look outside. It's raining. But with such ferocity that it scares me. I scramble for the dry bag I bought back home and wrap it around my backpack. My umbrella is gone, I cannot find it. Probably lost it somewhere along the way. More than two-thirds of the way to the travel agency I can share an umbrella with Melissa, but it's completely futile. The remaining 100 orso meters I could've just as well jumped into the swimming pool and not gotten any wetter. At least my backpack is safe and dry.

There are two of us on the tour - the other one is Jama, and American girl - and the guide. We walk down to the docks in the rain and go upstream the Mekong by slow boat for the next 9 hours; ever towards the Burmese border. It is raining the whole time. Sometimes less, sometimes more, but never stopping. As I change into dry clothes I find my umbrella. It's exactly where I put it the last time, at the very top of my backpack to quickly grab if it starts raining. Bah! We finally arrive and transfer over to a sâwng thâew, a pick-up with benches on either side and a canvas against the rain. The next two hours are gruelling. We cross two mountains on a mud-road. There are more potholes than one could imagine and we stop every once in a while to check if we can still continue. Parts of the road have simply transformed into makeshift rivers. Or just disappeared and slid into the ever gaping abyss on our right side.

Hong Sa is the biggest village around here, with a paved road on the main street. We spend the night and continue early the next day to pick up our elephant. Yes, elephant. There should be an elephant for each of us, but something went awry and there is only one. So me and Jama have to share one for the day. Disappointing. Oh. And it's still raining.

In the village the elephant is already waiting for us. A double-seat is on its back. From the terrace of one of the stilt-houses we simply step over to our ride, whip out our umbrellas and start the journey. Two hours of fighting off rain, the overhanging branches that seem to have taken a liking to sticking out our eyes. The first hour or so are quite enjoyable. The rhythmic move of the massive beast, the high vantage point, this very first time adds a certain amount of adrenaline that suppresses any unpleasentries. But once it wears off...

The wooden sides just start to hurt your back with every step, you lean forward to avoid the pain but your stomach muscles begin protesting at the unusual stress. You squirm, try to find a new, bearable position, but after a while they're all gone. You don't know where to put your legs and as nothing really interesting happens it quickly becomes very, very annoying. Jama decides after a while that she's had enough and starts walking. Now at least I can stretch my legs, find a better position. It doesn't help much though. Just prolongs the inevitable. After we stop for lunch I too get off and just do the rest of the trek on my own feet. My back and sides are all bruised. "Kinek a hülye ötlete volt ez az egész?"

"És még fizettem is érte. Teljesen buggyant vagyok". Did I already say it is still raining? I think I did.

The baby elephant we visit is really, really cute, and small, and funny, and everything else. But just at that moment it starts pouring again. All you think about is not getting wet. All you want to do is go inside, shelter from the rain. And try to get dry feet for at least a few minutes. Damn! Eventually we do have to get back on the elephant. After our last stop we take a sharp turn and head for the forests, away from civilisation. At least we do get some pillows for the seats. The Lao must probably think we are bunch of wusses, but even I would've rather walked. And swim. Yes, swim. Anything, just not to bang my bruised sides in the railing with every step. There are no real roads to the village where we will spend the night. Just trails. And trees to fight off. And rain. Loving it!...

Yes, I am being sarcastic.

I am serious about swimming. We have to cross several rivers along the way. Bridges? I don't think they ever heard of them in Laos. At least not in the hills. That we cross them on an elephant, okay; I can understand that. But several villagers who are coming from the opposite direction obviously cross the rivers swimming. A whole group of them. Stop by the banks, undress to your underwear, stuff your clothes into garbage bags, swim over and put them back on. And do this every few days when they go into town. Or even daily if you go to school. How hard can it be to build a footbridge in the dry season? I don't get this. Or do these people not even care?

Even in the hill tribe village. Ten or so bamboo buildings on stilts surrounded by rice fields and mountains. There is no electricity, no phone coverage, no plumbing, no running water, nothing. Fine, they have a simple life, nothing wrong with that. I can see that they are happy, or at least satisfied, unstressed. But why oh why do you make the whole village into a public toilet? People pee everywhere they feel like, even number two is in plain sight. What the? When we didn't have plumbing we dug a hole in the ground and used it as a makeshift septic tank. You are civilised or you aren't. So, so very strange. I still cannot understand it.

For a change, we are the curiosity here. Some villagers take out their cell phones - no coverage here! - and take our photographs, curious eyes follow all our moves. We take up residence in one of the houses. Cook dinner together with the cook and guide who accompanied us, and that's pretty much it. Around seven the sun sets and darkness descends upon the village. It is still raining. There is nothing to do. Our old hostess who is constantly high on some local drug just sits in the doorway and stares outside, the mahouts - elephant drivers - just lie on their mattresses looking at the ceiling in silence. Whooo! I couldn't live here; I would go mad with boredom. At least our guide speaks English pretty decently so we talk to him about local customs, politics, rice and so forth. Still, we are already asleep by nine o'clock.

The next morning we have breakfast and wait. Rain. Still Raining. We are told that we might be stuck here for another day; or longer if the rain keeps on. The rivers have already swollen significantly in size and if they continue to rise we cannot cross them anymore. Poor Jama is already freaked out. Yûnnan, just north of here - in China - has seen a huge amount of rainfall in the past few days with hundreds of deaths and tens of thousands of evacuations. She has dreamt about biblical floods washing away the whole village, dying on the spot, nobody knowing where she is. I'm still okay, as long as we survive I'll just regard this as a big adventure! But the rain doesn't let down, so we decide to abort the tour and go back.

Well... the rivers. We have crossed three of them on the way here and we'll have to cross them again to get back. Even yesterday it took quite some persuasion to get the elephant across; she wouldn't go. As we are going back I see we might have a problem. Where there was a road by the side of the stream, it is no more, under at least half a metre of raging waters. That's a worry for later though. As we continue fighting off the branches from atop the elephant we are attacked by vicious, gigantic red ants. They were probably camping on one of them, just waiting for a silly tourist to pass below. Dozens of them drop amidst us. And these f***ers bite! And they're everywhere. Some get under my shirt, in my neck, my arms, my back. "A kurva anyátok ti szemét dögök! Bazzmeg". Jama looks in amazement as to what I am doing until she gets her first bite. Giving such a high and loud shriek that even our elephant is taken aback it looks like she has an epileptic attack, wishing the very best to our ant friends in the most colourful of English words. This was the moment I started not liking things. I was quite fine until this point, but if huge ants start biting me over and over again, I too get annoyed. f***. We do get the occasional visit by various bugs, wasps and tons of spiders, but they all fade in comparison. Oh, and it's raining, right? Don't forget that! And we still haven't crossed the river.

It is indeed much higher than yesterday, its current much stronger. This time our elephant would not cross, just turn back over and over again. Too afraid of the deep water. Thank God we had the second elephant today, a big male, that eventually went through and ours followed.

I can probably tell this as a funny anecdote since nobody got hurt, but it does make you wonder. On this trip we are accompanied by two mahouts to an elephant, an English-speaking guide and a cook. The cook is a woman, but not such a good swimmer, and she too was afraid to cross the raging waters on the way back. She too would not go. So the mahout of the big male agreed to let her on the elephant so she wouldn't have to swim, but first check if it's okay to cross. He probably changed his mind halfway and continued on the elephant, not coming back. Leaving the lady on the far shores with her jaws dropped in the Asian version of being hysterical. What to do? Welcome the Lao solution: our guide picks her up and throws her into the river, forcing her to swim... eh; ok. He goes after her, helping her to cross, getting to the other side far downstream from the road. Good God!

Raining. We get back to the town and as we do, the rain stops. Awesome. Not. We spend the afternoon doing nothing, again. As a sort of compensation for all the rain, our hosts hold a Buddhist ceremony for us in the evening. Whenever you leave home, leave your loved ones behind, you keep thinking, worrying about them. In the Buddhist-animistic belief of the local Hmong people parts of your spirit are left behind. During this ceremony pieces of cotton rope are tied around your wrists, helping the spirits find their way back to you. Something similar happens when you go into the forest. It siphons off parts of your spirits and these braces will make you whole again. I think it is a very nice gesture.

I love the ceremony. On a round tray some ornaments are made, food, drinks are offered to the gods and the usual mambo-jumbo spiritual text is spoken. But the people enjoy it, laugh during the whole thing, make little jokes, are visibly free to do whatever they want. This is in such a huge contrast with for example Christian proceedings. So gloomy, reserved, serious. Boring. I love this! Especially as the twelve or so old(er) men and women, taking their turns, come up to you and tie the strings. They say something, tie them, then rub the knot a bit and say something again. As I look them in the eye whilst doing this, such benevolence radiates from their faces, that I have very rarely have seen in my life. Just wholehearted love, well-wishing, truly, from deep down below, without any hidden meanings. So very endearing.

The very next day we say goodbye to our host and take the pick-up back to the boat. Again, typical Lao. The pickup is already late, we could just make the boat in time if we hurry. However about halfway up the mountain we stop. Some genius put his bag on our ride, but he's on another car. We wait at least half an hour for the guy to arrive and when he doesn't, the truck just turns back to bring it back to him. With my small backpack. With my passport, my money, everything. God, and I'm not on it. Idiot! Idiot!

Nothing happens though luckily and I swear never to lose Mr. Sheep from my sight again. But back to the story.

Everyone on the pick-up is en-route to the boat. Nobody seems to care though that we'll probably miss it. Just get out, chit-chat, wait, sit, so totally relaxed. We would've gone mad in Europe ages ago. No wonder Lao PDR is abbreviated as 'Please Don't Rush'... for some unknown reason the boat is still there as we arrive - no, there was no phone to call them. Incredible. It does start raining. For the whole seven hours of the way back.

Raining. Once again. No. Still raining. Even the locals haven't seen so much and such relentless rain. And for me? I am not really liking this. At least I have my trusty umbrella. I cannot believe I left home without one, and so very, very happy I bought one in Bangkok. More as a joke, me and Remko got one from a street vendor the very first day we were there. I have the most pretty light-blue 'Hello Kitty' umbrella, adorned with little pink hearts and a golden plump on its end. So kawaii :D. And I am so glad. It kept me dry from the rain, valiantly fought off branches and bugs from atop an elephant and gives a welcoming shade in the burning sun. How could I have ever survived without one? Love you too umbri!

Shall I sum up this trip? Rain. Rain. Rain.

Oh, and more rain.