Having moved hotel rooms at 11pm the night before last after finding myself lying in bed in the previous occupant's piss, then last night listening to my next door neighbour drunkenly trying to determine if his hooker was male or female, travelling for 2 days and 2 nights to get to Kong Lo cave was a breeze. I won't dwell on the hotel traumas, such are the delights of budget travel, but the trip to the cave deserves a mention.
I chose to use public transport rather than the quicker tourist VIP bus. I wanted to experience the real Laos by travelling with the locals. Also I needed a break from the banal traveller chat about how cheap a room was, how high someone got last night or how they managed to save 15p on a tuk tuk ride from a driver who hasn't got two grains of rice to rub together.
The first 11 hours of the journey were spent with Weun, from Laos, and her husband Cvchau from Canada, who looked after me so well and were such interesting company. We shared the bus with at least two dozen large sacks of rice, copious crates of clucking chickens and about fifty passengers, some of whom had to sit on the rice in the aisles. The roof of the bus was buckling under the weight of the luggage, which included numerous planks of wood.
The next leg involved three trips on a sangthaew, a converted truck with narrow benches. These get so cramped that on many journeys passengers hang off the back. This journey was no exception. On this occasion my travelling companions consisted of young chicks (of the poultry variety), coconuts and various building materials. People don't have their own cars so public transport is their only means of moving things from A to B.
I spent the night at a homestay in a village close to the cave, living as primitively as the locals. My bed, a thin matress on the balcony next to a family of three women in the corner of the hut, was protected from the cold open-air only by a sheet pegged onto some string. I don't know how they sleep there every night. A simple meal of chicken, vegetables and the ubiquitous sticky rice was prepared on a stove resembling something from the stone-age. It was an enlightening and sometimes difficult experience; I was the talk of the town. The family watched as I ate my dinner, fascinated by this alien in their midst. I know I wanted to get away from travellers for a bit, but I was the only foreigner in the village (although it was more League of Gentlemen than Little Britain). It was frustrating not being able to communicate with my gracious hosts and I missed my privacy, for they watched everything I did. Once again I was grateful for the life I miss so much in Manchester. What a privilege though to be welcomed into their home. It came at a price however, $5 for dinner, bed and breakfast.
The trip so far had been such an adventure, but nothing was to prepare me for the specatular journey I was about to embark upon through Kong Lo, where a winding river diasappears into a magnificent pitch-black limestone cave. It was like being on a boat at night, for what seemed like a very long time. The dark, cavernous walls looked like menacing trees, my flashlight simulated moonlight. I was fondly reminded of many exhilarating trips on The Goldmine, a fairground ride at Blackpool Pleasure Beach - the spray from the river, the cluncking of the motorised wooden boat, the sheer black tunnel, yet this time it was scarily real. I felt a medley of emotions from glee to terror, yearning for the other side yet not wanting the ride to end.
For many the highlight of the trip is the abundance of gold-hued stalagmites and stalactites. Impressive though they are, the climax for me was reaching the other side of the cave. The juxtaposition between the eerie gloom of the cave and the bright stunning beauty of the mountains and river on the other side was astonishing. It's a good job I enjoyed the trip; we had to repeat the 7km, hour-long voyage to return to the village.
I chose to use public transport rather than the quicker tourist VIP bus. I wanted to experience the real Laos by travelling with the locals. Also I needed a break from the banal traveller chat about how cheap a room was, how high someone got last night or how they managed to save 15p on a tuk tuk ride from a driver who hasn't got two grains of rice to rub together.
The first 11 hours of the journey were spent with Weun, from Laos, and her husband Cvchau from Canada, who looked after me so well and were such interesting company. We shared the bus with at least two dozen large sacks of rice, copious crates of clucking chickens and about fifty passengers, some of whom had to sit on the rice in the aisles. The roof of the bus was buckling under the weight of the luggage, which included numerous planks of wood.
The next leg involved three trips on a sangthaew, a converted truck with narrow benches. These get so cramped that on many journeys passengers hang off the back. This journey was no exception. On this occasion my travelling companions consisted of young chicks (of the poultry variety), coconuts and various building materials. People don't have their own cars so public transport is their only means of moving things from A to B.
I spent the night at a homestay in a village close to the cave, living as primitively as the locals. My bed, a thin matress on the balcony next to a family of three women in the corner of the hut, was protected from the cold open-air only by a sheet pegged onto some string. I don't know how they sleep there every night. A simple meal of chicken, vegetables and the ubiquitous sticky rice was prepared on a stove resembling something from the stone-age. It was an enlightening and sometimes difficult experience; I was the talk of the town. The family watched as I ate my dinner, fascinated by this alien in their midst. I know I wanted to get away from travellers for a bit, but I was the only foreigner in the village (although it was more League of Gentlemen than Little Britain). It was frustrating not being able to communicate with my gracious hosts and I missed my privacy, for they watched everything I did. Once again I was grateful for the life I miss so much in Manchester. What a privilege though to be welcomed into their home. It came at a price however, $5 for dinner, bed and breakfast.
The trip so far had been such an adventure, but nothing was to prepare me for the specatular journey I was about to embark upon through Kong Lo, where a winding river diasappears into a magnificent pitch-black limestone cave. It was like being on a boat at night, for what seemed like a very long time. The dark, cavernous walls looked like menacing trees, my flashlight simulated moonlight. I was fondly reminded of many exhilarating trips on The Goldmine, a fairground ride at Blackpool Pleasure Beach - the spray from the river, the cluncking of the motorised wooden boat, the sheer black tunnel, yet this time it was scarily real. I felt a medley of emotions from glee to terror, yearning for the other side yet not wanting the ride to end.
For many the highlight of the trip is the abundance of gold-hued stalagmites and stalactites. Impressive though they are, the climax for me was reaching the other side of the cave. The juxtaposition between the eerie gloom of the cave and the bright stunning beauty of the mountains and river on the other side was astonishing. It's a good job I enjoyed the trip; we had to repeat the 7km, hour-long voyage to return to the village.
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