16th of July 2010. We enter the People's Democratic Republic of Laos. One of the few communist countries left in the world. Why every socialist nation has to call itself democratic still amazes me. Like some cruel joke. The dark red Soviet flags immediately manifest themselves along with the dark green uniforms adorned with little red stars worn by officials. In towns and villages megaphones are installed for the customary propaganda. Each and every note from 1.000 Kip to 50.000 Kip features the great communist leader, smiling as our benevolent grandfather. Ahhhh, like going back in time. Oh, and of course the power outage in the capital town of Vientiane we had the second night really hit it home. Around midnight everything went pitch black.

There are elections every four years, but as there is only a single party it's pretty much a joke. The Lao vote for a new president, actually believing that he is in control, make changes, while in reality he's just a puppet. We asked about the freedom of press. Yes, they are free to write everything they want, very good. Even the television station is no longer government owned! But when pressed about criticising the government, our conversational partner sulks. Oh yeah, you cannot do that... but everything else you can say. How's that free?

But if you were to dismiss these little things you wouldn't say it's such a bad place. Only the fear remains. The fear of getting caught of doing something illegal. There are so many things that can go wrong. The slightest violation of traffic rules, speeding, not wearing a helmet will immediately get you arrested. Only a healthy bribe of US dollars can save you from a few days in jail. Considering only Remko has $$ we'll be really good for now.

Of course the Lao don't give a damn about any rules, and the police doesn't care either. We have had the most amazing cab ride from the airport into town. Even crazier than all the traffic of Hong Kong and Bangkok combined, our driver was constantly on the edge of his seat. Red light? Pff, who cares? Double no-overtake line? Huh? What? Just pass the slow truck and hope that the incoming traffic will yield after frantic honking. Incredible. We're lucky to have survived.

The best law is this though: foreigners are not allowed to have relationships with Lao women... unless you are married to one. He he, great!! Not that we've seen any of this.

So, after getting our visa, having it checked by two, three immigration officers we are finally in Laos. Immediately, about a dozen cab drivers approach us to offer their services. They seem to bid against each other, each quoting a lower price than the other. Obviously we pick the cheapest one. Perhaps not such a good idea as I frantically reach for the safety belt once on the move. Which is nowhere to be found. The speedometer doesn't work either, according to which we're moving at a constant 20km/h.

I love dorms. You meet so many people. But I cannot find any, even Lonely Planet doesn't list a single one. So we finally settle for a hotel, paying EUR 5 per person. The standard procedure of the first afternoon begins. Find a place to eat, explore the surroundings at night. Oh, and get money! There are a few ATM's scattered around town and we hunt for one that is working. Most are momentarily out of service for maintenance. Finally we find one. Damn! Stupid communist country, you can only withdraw 700.000 kip per day, which is less than 70 Euros, paying 3% commission. Gaah!! We did have to pay four Euros for every cash withdrawal in Thailand as well, but at least you could get as much as you wanted. Stupid bureaucratic b******s!

The Lao love their food spicy. Really, really spicy. The first night I order some rice dish which is slightly spicy and my mouth burns with such intense heat it's unbearable. Sweat trickles down my forehead, the whole area around my lips is red like a lobster and I have to order another bowl of rice just to survive. I still felt the sting when drinking water an hour later. Another day - having learned from my mistake - I order something labelled "sweet". Heh; even that felt like I stuffed spoonfuls of sambal inside. I might need to reconsider my much touted tolerance for spices.

As the night is still young, we decide to go someplace. The bowling alley seems close enough so we start heading in that direction. We must've looked like a bunch of idiots. Well, the other two did definitely. Remember, Laos is not only communist, but also malaria area. And we're afraid of malaria. So these two put on their long jungle pants, their expensive mosquito-repellent long-sleeved shirts and jungle shoes; all in matching colours. They're like twins. I do put on some long pants and the mosquito shirt, but at least it looks acceptable.. But M&R are just ridiculously hilarious. More suited for the deep jungles of Africa than the capital of a nation of 6.6 million. Not that it's a big city, only 300.000 people and five minutes in any direction by motorbike and you're out of town and on dirt roads. Back to the bowling alley though.

We play, I win... obviously :D Not the best game ever played, but 129 points is still good enough. Pondering what to do next - it IS Friday night - I walk up to some people playing on another lane. Some of them look Lao, the others European. So they probably speak English, and the locals must know what good place to go to at night. The English is still a barrier, they can't clearly explain to us where it is, so we are invited to go with them to the club they're going to. Since Lunar 36 is on the other side of town and we are on foot we are offered a ride. Their guests are dropped off first, then they come back for us. Wow, another surprise!

We arrive at this insanely luxurious hotel on the riverside and take the elevator to the top floor. The place is completely empty, deserted. It is 23:00 hours. We almost excuse ourselves, an empty club is no fun. But it turns out that this is the place to go. All other clubs close either at eleven or midnight, and then the crowd congregates here. Hmmmm, interesting. At home you wouldn't go anywhere before midnight. And indeed, the club starts to fill up slowly and as it does we start to feel more and more out of place. R&M still in their jungle outfit, me in long sleeves and everyone who enters has short skirts, revealing tops, and just generally dressed for a party. Even now this transformation still amazes me. It might be my mental picture of Asia of people working on the field, dressed in traditional outfits that I should drop. It just doesn't fit with them going totally wild to western music at night.

Noi invites us to visit her parent's farm. She and her two sisters were chaperoning the Belgians we met at the bowling alley. I happily agree, it's always great to do non-standard stuff. R&M are more reserved, the call of a motorbike is much more alluring. Plus, fear of local food, hygiene, whatever is just an added plus in favour of the bike. So, early morning the next day I meet her at the only place we both know; the bowling alley. I have rented a motorbike as well because it's just so much easier to get around on one of them. The four of us - me, Noi, her sister and the Belgian girl, Clementine (who is here to study Lao food culture) - head out of town. Within minutes we are out of the capital and not soon thereafter the paved roads end.

The place is not really a farm. A simple house, a garden in the back where they grow some fruit and vegetables for themselves and a sizeable rice paddy behind. They do not actually cultivate it themselves, but rent it to others. We don't even realise, but growing rice is insanely labour intensive. Sometime around May the rice seeds are sown into the fields. A couple of weeks later, when the rice has grown to about thirty centimetres in length the farmers go through all their fields, pulling out all the densely grown rice, tying them in small batches. Then, they replant them again! Every seedling going through their hands, it is replanted ten centimetres apart. For the next six weeks orso the weeds are constantly removed, and the water level finely controlled. Finally, as the rice-grass reaches about a metre in height it is harvested. Just like grain, or grass, the rice-seed itself is at the top. Because of the favourable climate, in Laos they can harvest three times a year. An insanely amount of human labour goes into this. A hectare yields about 100-125kgs of rice, so there is a lot of work going on for these little white suckers we eat, ignorant of what is exactly required. The price is about 7000 kip/kg, labour is really, really cheap.

As especially the replanting is a lot of work, the whole community is involved. They work in groups from field to field, everybody helping each other, the person whom the field belongs to providing the food & drinks while they work on his part. In the dry season the fields are reused for watermelon, or some other fruit to keep the minerals in balance.

Rice is everything to these people. Every meal has rice, with more or less meat, depending on how wealthy you are. After a quick tour at Noi's place showing us all the exotic vegetables they have, we start making lunch. Some meat, bamboo shoots and exotic vegetables. Of most I have no idea what they are, and neither do they, because they do not know the word in English. In rural Laos people eat with their hands. You grab a handful of sticky rice with your left hand, picking out smaller chunks from there with your right. These you work with your fingers to squeeze together into a tight ball which you either pop into your mouth or use to dip some sauce. With the ball of rice still in your right palm you can grab pieces of meat, eggs, vegetables to eat. A national dish, la-áp, is salad with ground meat or fish. The ball of rice in your hand you work into a flat disc and use it as an improvised spoon to work the meat onto it with your thumb. Only soup is eaten by a spoon, everything else is by hand. I am still undecided how much I dislike this eating. The fact that you sit on the ground, your feet either crossed or bent to the left is a major no-no. I simply cannot sit like this; it hurts everywhere, really not comfortable. The hand-eating is nice, kinda like playing with your food, but feels really uncivilised to me. I couldn't do this regularly. And the fact that the people usually don't wash their hands before eating... this; just this put me off the whole thing. Who knows where those hands have been, and while I know my own, all of us share the same meal. Chopsticks are waaay more civilised.... and just as fun :D

And oh my god! Everything is so spicy!

In the early afternoon of this Saturday it started raining. And not like the small tropical downpour I have had so far that stopped after an hour; or at least slowed down. This was relentless. A gash in the heavens, it just wouldn't stop and with so much fury that we felt we would get huge floods any minute. For hours. There was a small pause, but just enough to get the stupid outside and get really, really soaked once the torrential rains resumed. So we were just there relaxing, listening to Lao, Korean music, basically the very first day of my holiday where I did absolutely nothing. Except for the beaches, but those were planned activities of tanning :)

As the afternoon wore on, we did have to leave at some point. So rain it is. I let Noi battle the muddy roads, hanging on at the back, enjoying my free shower.

The next day was the beginning of the Buddhist Lent. We were invited again. This looked safer than a trip to an Asian farm, so I got my friends to join as well. Little did they know that they would be offered breakfast which is very impolite to refuse. Hehe, I watched with delight as Remko had his first non-restaurant Asian meal.

We bought some candles at the local market and as the procession passed by right in front of our door, we joined in. A truck was going up front with a huge wax Buddha on top adorned with flowers. Then another truck with drums and musicians, monks, girls dressed in local outfits and the rest. Almost exclusively women, all were dressed in white, carrying a candle for offering. As we moved around the town, more and more people joined us. The people who couldn't participate were standing on the side of the road, offering us drinks or food. After what seemed like ages we finally entered a temple, circled it around three times and finally stopped. I was pretty tired by then, my arms burning with the weight of the huge dragon candles I was carrying around for the last hour, so I was very happy when I could crawl up to a monk and finally be rid of them. And I received a blessing. That's always good.

These candles will be used for the ceremonies and will turn into next year's wax Buddha. Lots of offers, big statue, no offers, small statue.

We spent the afternoon exploring the city sights, trying to enter closed wats, and finding a working ATM to get money. It's almost a daily struggle to hunt for money in Laos...

In the evening I meet up with Julia - whom I met in Malaysia, she's volunteering here, teaching English to children. At night, Noi takes us to Penguin, a club where traditional Lao music is played. And of course Lao dance. It resembles the grouped dances of old where everybody does the same moves, either going around in a circle or some other pattern. Obviously I had to try it! I don't think the youth was offended though, they were more laughing at my futile attempts. By the time I started to get the moves - which weren't really hard - the music was over though. Loved it :D

Early the next day, we booked a bus to Luang Prabang. We are supposed to get picked up at eight in the morning so I arrange with the motor-hire place to return the motor before that time. He has my passport as a deposit. We wait, we wait, he isn't showing up. The minibus arrives for the pick-up, the guy still isn't there and I start to get a bit frustrated. Well, this is lightly put. I cannot leave without my passport! Dammit! I call the place to inquire where the hell he is, he forgot... The minibus doesn't, or cannot wait, unloads our stuff and we miss the bus, seemingly forced to stay another day in Vientiane.

"sorry, sorry, so, so, sorry" is all I hear from his wife when she arrives a few minutes later, but that doesn't help too much. All I can do is smile. This is a holiday, things like this happen. However... the hotel manager is so nice as to make several calls for us, and we do get on the nine o'clock bus. Lao people are so nice.

For the next ten hours the VIP bus is our home. The ride is supposed to take only seven hours... if we are lucky. Well, apparently we are not. Not even an hour out of town, the VIP, Royal 3-star, air-conned bus breaks down. We wait for at least half an hour before something in the back is fixed; at least for the time being.

The flat landscape is soon replaced by a steep climb and a mountainous road full of bends along a breathtakingly beautiful area. No wonder some people call Laos the most beautiful place on earth. Steep karst cliffs rise up from the valleys, lush green forests fill up the mountain sides and clouds cover some of the tops. From time to time you get a view of the gorges running alongside the road. We pass broken down busses, its passengers waiting on the sides of the road, small villages, wooden huts, the local children running to see the scarce traffic on the main north-south highway.

About halfway through the trip, we suddenly stop. A landslide blocks the road, overflowing to the bottom of the deep gorge to the right. The bus revs up, and starts forward... just to start slipping on the muddy road, its flank sliding to the right, into the abyss! Az anyád! As one, the whole bus starts yelling for it to stop and we all get off as quickly as possible. The driver is just smiling...

We watch for the next twenty or so minutes as our transport tries to make its way across the mud-slide, being almost perpendicular to the road, slowly inching forward trying not to end up in the ravine. After this, the rest of the trip really was uneventful.