Eventually a collective decision to move on was made, and a bus to Vientiane was booked. A few goodbyes were said, but we took some solace in knowing we were going to bump into most of our new friends somewhere down the line. 6 hours later we arrived in Vientiane, whose presence was surprisingly welcome to Finlay and I, who had not seen fully functioning supermarkets, banks and hotels in almost a month. It wasn’t exactly the big apple, but there was a certain charm in the busy hum of the city. We had heard from several people along the way that Vientiane was almost completely destitute of activities, something both of us hoped to rebuttal via 4 days of action packed concrete exploration. We managed this fairly effectively, some highlights include:

The Buddha park – this is a small park, some way out of central Vientiane, full to the brim with statues and sculptures of the Buddha, all from unknown and varying origins, in a rather striking hybrid of the weird, terrifying and crumbly stone. The trip we booked was made more entertaining upon our drivers announcement that today he would come with us into the park; to which we retorted with obvious surprise, suggesting that surely the park may lose it’s charm if you’ve been there hundreds of time in the last few years. He then proceeded to explain that this would in fact be the first time he had ever been inside the park, despite 2 years of driving there almost every day. In someways this was admirable, as one can imagine a certain joy that could be had in the unknown over the fence, and it was a pleasure to see the live disappointment on his face when he realised what the park actually was, and then his hasty retreat to the toilets, looking quite bored with a cigarette in mouth and clash of clans in hand.

Some either honourable mentions during our time in Vientiane include:

Ray’s grill – who served some delectable steak sandwiches, which although at £6 a pop, was visited almost every day by us, partly for the impressive rooftop vistas over Vientiane.

The champs Élysées lesser known, and slightly inferior counterpart – which rather confusingly was rated as trip advisor’s number one thing to do in Vientiane, which as red flags go, is pretty red and flaggy. A quick 10 minute jaunt around it was enough to appreciate the structure, and none of us were particularly impressed by what is essentially a glorified roundabout outside of which no displays of public affection are allowed in-front of (seriously). An interesting piece of colonial memorabilia, but definitely not a top 5, nor a must see.

The prosthetic limb and UXO museum – this was actually a really impressive, yet quite small museum, which carefully and tactfully displayed the effects of the American bombing on the population, harrowing in parts, uplifting in others, and all with a very local and handmade charm to it. Laos is actually the most bombed country per capita in the world, and it was fascinating/striking to see the effects of the American bombing campaign, which was seen as the easiest solution of cutting of supplies to North Vietnamese troops. The fact that a country not even directly involved in a war could be bombed with the equivalent of a planeload of bombs every eight minutes, 24 hours a day, for nine years, leaving around 350 million unexploded bombs littered around the countryside for unexpecting farmers and playing school kids to then set off some 40 years later really makes you think about the Politics and morality of the Vietnam war and the government at the time (Ken Burns eat your heart out). Nevertheless, the museum displayed different stories about people who had set off UXO’s, how it had affected their lives, and how the museum was helping via donations to address the problem. Probably one of the best things done in Vientiane.

Moving on – having feasted on the treats that Vientiane had to offer, we agreed it was time to move far away from the steak sandwiches, which were slowly burning an ever increasing hole in the budget, and towards Hanoi via a 26 hour bus which stops at the border at 3am to cross. When I say this journey was like something out of a nightmare, I am really not joking, this is perhaps the weirdest and most convoluted story in the blog so far, so please bare with as I try to explain.

First things first, we needed to acquire a visa, which admittedly we probably shouldn’t have left this late in our agenda, but nevertheless we paid the price with a pound of our own flesh, or a $25 rapid processing fee, definitely one or the other.

Anyway, in total we had now spent $80 on our 3 month Vietnam visa (in order to not be rushed in our melancholic coastline descent) – with an additional $25 stamping fee expected at the border, cut me and I bleed visa fees. In return we had received a black and white photocopied bit of A4 paper with some Vietnamese on and a relatively questionable signature at the bottom – the whole thing looked as if it had been slapped together on MS paint. Nevertheless, naturally we approached this in a perhaps too positive mindset, with the general attitude being ‘what are the chances that they will deny visa’s at the border’, combined with an untold belief in the reaching arms of the hostel we bought our visa’s from, who we suspected had the border guards on their payroll – perhaps my most negatively Nostradamic moment yet.

And so, a few days later we got aboard our first night bus and headed for the bustling Vietnamese Northern capital, buzzing with excitement and thoughts of things to come. The first leg of the journey to the Vietnam border was expected to be around 7 hours. However, confusion struck imminently, so imminent in fact that we had not even yet left the bus station, as for some reason, of the 15-20 odd westerners with correct tickets at the bus station, only Finlay, I and one German monk of similar age were allowed on the bus. This made little sense to anyone, and despite our best efforts to act shocked and infuriated, we were on the right side of the rain streaked windows, and so all things considered we had little to complain about, instead bunkering down in our plastic fox holes and hiding from the cries of ‘let me speak to the manager’ esque frustration. If anything, we were quite pleased by the almost complete emptiness of the bus, as a few hours of shut eye now seemed to be making a much more likely appearance. Thus, several hours later, the ghost bus spluttered into action and we laughed smugly into our barren air conditioned husk.

Several hours later we stopped for supper, and the bus’s 5 odd members (including locals) climbed down from our ivory bunk beds and into some sort of weird looking soup kitchen. The bus driver and his compatriots facilitated food with quite some ease, simply strolling up to where the soup kitchen serving station was and, in return for their leg stretch, being rewarded some weird looking hot (and cold) commodities. Obviously when I tried to gallivant over in what I assumed was similar fashion in hope of sustenance I completely failed, my leg movement had not translated well into Vietnamese and I was stranded in no mans land, with google translate my only helping hand to get me out of this hot mess. Eventually some money was handed over and we had our very own plate of unknown substances, which tasted significantly worse than it looked.

Thankfully, the evening entertainment proved to be much more exciting than the food, as I spotted some weird action going on next to the underside of our bus. This looked slightly suspicious to me, as there were huge tanks of gas and bags of what I assumed was petrol. Basically I wanted to check they weren’t about to blow our bus into pieces. I then walked over and in return found out that our bus was being used as a sting ray smuggling vessel, and that as the baby sting rays (caught from Thailand and valued at approx $350 per unit (50 units)) were kept in tiny bags of water, every three or four hours they needed feeding with oxygen, and this is exactly what was happening now.

The sting ray smugglers were alarmingly comfortable in our presence, and more than happy to share some insider tips on the trade. Essential information includes; make sure you sell your sting rays on Facebook marketplace, expect about 2/3 deaths per 50 sting rays, make sure you secure about $100 profit for each sting ray and also the famous mantra ‘if in doubt, feed them oxygen’.

The smugglers were slightly less than happy to receive questioning about whether or not the sting rays had visas for their border crossing, or if they had packed these bags themselves, and they quite rightfully replied sternly reminding us not to tell anyone. Eventually we climbed back onto our vessel, whose engine had been swapped out from an estimated 300 horsepower, onto a new 50 sting ray model.

Now the refusal of other passengers earlier on made significantly more sense, as probably rightfully so, the bus driver and his crew of accomplices assumed that the more westerners they had aboard, the more of a problem may be generated when cries of animal cruelty would inevitably exude from their easily offended mouths.

Finlay and I, on balance, decided not to call PETA as we agreed this would probably delay our already quite arduous journey to Hanoi by several hours. Still, we are yet to decide whether or not being judged as ‘least likely to care about animal cruelty’ out of the people in the queue for the bus is a compliment or an insult. The monk remained ambivalent.

The bus and it’s new on board aquarium trundled on into the early hours of the morning – eventually stopping at 3am at the border, where we would wait until opening at 7am to cruise through with our flashy new visa’s.

The next thing I remember is being woken up at around 5am, naturally I assumed I was hallucinating or dreaming when I saw instead of Finlay, a Vietnamese man’s ass in my face. Unfortunately this was not the case, it soon transpired that Finlay had been kicked out of his seat, and transfer season had begun for our flat bodied compatriots, our old seats had now become prime smuggling zone for sting rays, as we were at the back of the bus, there was, naturally, an extremely accommodating space behind for all things bagged and fishy, with around 35 in total now located there. In addition to this, all the empty seats were now being filled with sting rays, with blankets on top – to look like a sleeping person, in a weird sort of Vietnamese ‘We’re the millers’ knock off, where drugs are replaced with living animals. In fairness the new dummies were one Alcatraz escape fake head away from a pretty cunning guise.

Although no more sleep was had after my rude awakening, eventually the sun rose and it was time to cross the border. We said goodbye to our new long tailed friends and headed out into the pissing rain, trying to distinguish one soviet era brutalist border building from another.

After stamping out of Laos and successfully passing corona virus tests, we moved on in search of the fabled Vietnamese immigration, eventually finding it some 1.5km later across a few bridges and concrete paths. Thus began the start of the end, as after a 40 minute wait in the queue, where we watched many others sail through with varying lengths of visa’s, we were promptly informed that our photocopied visa’s were not original copies and were therefore about as useful as the paper they were printed on. This didn’t sit very well with me, and so began a long and painful google translate session. Highlights include; ‘how much to make this problem go away’ being read out in a Vietnamese Siri voice, much to the amusement of the other Vietnamese locals stacking up around us like a Jenga tower in the queue. The response was a defiant and robotic ‘no money, call people that gave you the visa’, and so I tried valiantly, but to little avail. We had thankfully been given a SIM card by some people in our hostel at Vientiane, and so I switched my current one out and began trying desperately to call Ana (she who sells visa’s). Unfortunately we were stuck slap bang in the middle of international waters, in an awkward no man’s land that viet Telecom refuses to bless with its speedy and usually consistent reception coverage.

Our only option after around an hour was to take a 15 day free visa on arrival and try to somehow sort our wasted $80 in an embassy in Vietnam, presumably with even more google translate expected. Downtrodden in spirits and health, (as Finlay had picked up Corona virus’s little cold sized sister Covid18 along the way) we headed out, with the growing realisation that as we had taken so long, our bus may have left with all of our bags and belongings on. This became an ever growing possibility, and another hour in the rain pursued, as the only other yellow bus, the German monk insisted had different number plates. The monk was wrong, and we just about realised the scale of his error as it was taking off to depart, we flagged it down and got aboard within the last moments of it’s departure. This was perhaps the saving grace in an otherwise horrible morning, all of which was being done on around 2 hours sleep.

A few hours of stressed slumber proceeded. Eventually I awoke, and was pleased to find my phone was now picking up signal. I quickly called Ana, and calmly informed her of how she had deceived, duped and diddled us for all of our hard earned dollars. She replied in an equally calm and apologetic manner, insisting that if we had just called her at the border the problem would’ve gone away, as she had forgotten that the guards who work Sunday’s are not on her payroll. If only it was that easy Ana. I’m not quite sure how she was expecting me to find service while technically not in a country. After a few more minutes of insisting on a refund she told us the only way to not waste our $80 visa’s was to get off the bus right this minute, in literally the middle of no where, where we would have an all expenses paid layover until the next morning, when we would head back on another night bus, and try again, this time she promised we would slip unnoticed in between with her dollar wealthy, fat pocketed border counterparts.

And so the next 8 hours was spent in a town who’s biggest highlight is probably it’s petrol station. All the while, we had no Vietnamese Dong (the local currency), as we were yet to come across an ATM. When we enquired about where the nearest one is, we were informed that it was an approximate 5km drive away. This meant that the only way we could pay for anything was to get Ana to bank transfer whoever we needed to pay, which resulted in many confusing payments, where I would just hand people the phone over with Ana on the other end.

To be fair, Ana was quite the Saint about the whole situation and spent almost her entire afternoon sorting everything out for us. Eventually after even more walking in the rain we found the motel which she had booked for us, which I had ignorantly walked past several times before, each time assuming it was a Car washing venue thanks to it’s long PVC strip curtains instead of a door. We were then introduced to the lady who ran the motel, in which we were now the only guests. She was around 4”2 and had a slightly confusing limp while walking which left her swaying quite considerably to either side on each step. Thankfully, she too was lovely, and although she didn’t speak any English, every time we saw her, she generously forced gifts upon us, including half eaten packets of biscuits, bundles of 5 cigarettes, her Facebook username and whatever she had left in the kitchen sink. Eventually this meant that Finlay had to stop going outside for cigarettes as he felt too bad taking almost all of this kind ladies confectionary on each visit downstairs.

Eventually the hour hit 2am and we prepared to board another night bus, straight back to where we came from. A small 1 hour minibus shuttle was followed by potentially the worst part of the story so far. Instead of being on plastic beds with sting rays, we were very much less than happy to find out we were on a local bus back to the border, this meant the bus was full pretty much 3x to it’s maximum capacity, which meant most beds had 2 people in, and the entire floor of the bus was being slept on. This really was comically bad, as Finlay and I could hardly walk along the floor to even find an area to sit on, I saw one spare bed and quickly clambered in it, put headphones on and hid in blankets, in the hope that whoever’s bed it was would feel too awkward to kick me out. This was not the case, and soon the ticket officer prodded me in the back, rightfully demanding his seat back. Eventually we each acquired around a square foot of space, for us and our bags, and tried to sleep on top of each other.

Unfortunately we also looked extra comfy to the locals, who apparently viewed us as straight out of the Vietnamese edition of the Dreams 2020 catalogue, making sure they rested theirs heads, feet, and arms all over us, meaning we could hardly see anything thanks to the ever growing limb orgy on our literal face. Favourite moment was probably waking up something falling on my face, only to find out this was dead skin from someone’s foot about 3cm above my face, making it tangible in just about all of the 5 senses.

Eventually we arrived at the border again and staggered through all the menial tasks we had completed the day before, this time with only 3-4 hours sleep in the last 48 hours. The walking zombies then became even more infuriated upon realising we would have to buy another $35 Laos visa for our 5 minute visit into the country between leaving Vietnam and re-entering with our 3 month visa. Eventually about 4 hours later, after scrounging on people’s cold leftovers (we still had no money at this point) we made it back to Vietnamese immigration to find ourselves greeted by the same face that had refused us entry the day before. This really was bad news, but thankfully he eventually got onto the phone with Ana, and hashed out the intricacies of our border crossing and we were officially free men in Vietnam. But, all the buses had left, so we were free men nominally only, and still stranded at the border. Eventually we sleep walked and talked our way into several buses and eventually some 4 hours later found ourselves in another equally small town where allegedly a few buses a day leave to Hanoi. Finally we boarded one and slept for pretty much the entire journey to the North of the country, trying to blot the last 60 hours from our mind, during which 9 buses had been taken, for a total of about 46 hours, and crossing in and out of countries a total of 6 times.

Immediately upon stepping off the bus, Hanoi slaps you in the face with it’s fast paced bustle and steaming hive of activity and noise. It was a city I almost immediately fell in love with, and found a certain charm and connection in the chaotic organisation of just about everything, where mopeds criss cross across the city and roads are navigated like a chessboard, who’s only guiding rule is confidence alone. The shops, houses and hostels are all carved out of pretty french colonial architecture, leaving the top and bottoms of these lanky structures mismatched in a confusing top down guide through the traversable narrative of each building and hinting suggestively at the history of a city so culturally polar and fascinatingly unknown you dare not turn your eyes for a second. Street food vendors slaughter fish in the street, poke snails at you on inviting looking bamboo sticks and serve fresh broths onto hobbled plastic stalls and chairs, fogging up the eyes of those brave enough to tackle them, while North face knock offs explode out of shopfronts like a jumble sale volcano, with waterproof clothing pouring into the streets in an unavoidable pyroclastic flow. Silk shops string their scarfs in pretty decoration around the carefully constructed displays, with elderly Vietnamese women invitingly beckoning for you to come and explore the variety of colours and textures available in the tardis like insides, where the roofs seem to rain patterned beauty and string it across the room in an equally deliberated manor. If Hanoi is anything to go by, I am sure the rest of Vietnam will speak volumes of untold beauty and lively culture, and I’m extremely excited for the months to come.

The next few days were spent exploring the city, and enjoying the nightlife – which in fairness was probably well earned. Highlights (of our daytime activities) include the Hanoi fine art gallery, which I would say is probably my favourite gallery I have ever been to abroad. Although not necessarily architecturally appealing, the six floors are packed from head to toe with incredible artwork, from the ancient to the contemporary – you could really spend days here, and on each day find an artwork you had previously missed. The blend of traditional eastern styles and more modern western influences, particularly through French colonialism and the American war, created many visually unique pieces, especially with the occasional, and not always obvious undertone of socialism.

The temple of literature, was equally steeped in history, though perhaps with less depth, as it was only really enjoyable on the outside and for what it was, being a now disused university for the previously wealthy and royal. However the almost entirely wooden courtyards were unique and the traditional architecture invited you to naturally flow through in a quite satisfying way.

Other highlights include – café Pho Co, a coffee shop hidden behind a silk shop, filled with leafy plants, and with an amazing view over the nearby lake, which was also in itself pretty cool, with a temple in the middle of the lake, reachable by a rickety wooden red bridge. Some sort of story about a dragon, a tortoise, a sword and an emperor exists, but I’ve since forgotten the intricacies and am worried I might get my characters confused if I try to repeat the story. Photos of both included below.

Signing off – we’ve just come back from a 4 day motorbike loop in Northern Vietnam called the Ha Giang Loop, this was probably the best thing we have done so far and is deserving of it’s own blog post, presumably coming in the next week or so. Until then we have run away to an Airbnb in downtown Hanoi, whilst we wait for our friend from home Stefano to join and try to spend as little money as possible, by passing our days drawing reading and blog writing. We have also been reunited with a bunch of friends, some old some new, even some reaching all the way back to Pai in Thailand. Special mentions for Jesse, Marchteld and Femke, who I’m told didn’t enjoy their first feature as ‘Jesse & the twins’ our new friend Nick and finally Luna and her sister Elea, friends from Laos who we just completed the loop with.

Having brutishly dismissed the package deal offers to get us from Pai to Laos as stuff of the Farang, we decided to make the journey across the border (and into Laos) independently, which for the sake of £10, may have been a slightly overly budget conscious decision. Luckily I had read many blogs promising a painless and relatively quick journey, and so we set off, full of adventurous spirit and ready to glare at any ticket office workers who dared inform us there were no spaces on their buses.

The former part of these promises pertained at least 50% accuracy, as the next 4 days spent on tuk tuks, sleeper buses, boats and songthaews, were, in fact, surprisingly enjoyable and we managed to visit some interesting locations along the way. However, on the flipside, it was also 4 consecutive days where nothing apart from movement from one location to another was accomplished. Here is a brief summary of these four days;

Day 1 – sometimes, in order to move forwards, you have to take a few steps back. Thus was the justification for finding ourselves firstly back in Pai (having been dropped off post trecking) and then today, on the bus even further south (and away from Laos) to Chiang Mai, the second location we visited in Thailand. Not thrilled with our slightly counterintuitive border retreat, we were convinced it would be worth it as once in Chiang Mai we would be able to take a bus to Chiang Rai and then finally finish our journey off from there by finding a much cheaper local bus to Chiang Khong, the border town before Laos (good luck trying not to get confused by all the Chiang’s).

We arrived at the Chiang Rai bus station at 5:15, ready to sail off into the sunset on a no frills budget vessel. Unfortunately, however, we then discovered that the last bus had left at 5, and so we had just about arrived to see the bus driver waving goodbye as he left us in his smoke, much to the delight of various Thai taxi drivers who saw this as a fantastic entrepreneurial opportunity. Eventually we managed to convey the message that we couldn’t afford a £5 pad Thai let alone a £70 taxi, and despite repeated attempts to push us into their taxis we managed to make it out of the bus station unscathed. Determined not to let this get us down we headed in search of a hostel and some food to calm the red mist of bus fury which had started to cloud around us.

Day 2 – having accepted this initial complication, we decided to try and use it to our advantage by visiting the famous white temple of Chiang Rai, built by a Thai artist out of his own pocket as an homage to all things pure and Buddhist, we were excited to explore, if a bit dubious about the expected crowds. Thankfully the temple was stunning, and we spent a very enjoyable morning admiring the ornate details – whilst simultaneously regretting not bringing sunglasses thanks to the glaring white surfaces, and glittery coruscant detailing.

Temple completed, we managed (this time) to successfully board a bus to the border town of Chiang Khong, where we blitzed our way through various visa procedures, passport photos in one hand and dollars in the other, in a slightly odd akimbo of organisation. A few hours of weird border procedures and extortionate 50 metre tuk tuk journeys passed (as you cannot physically walk across the border) and we had officially planted our feet in Laos.

We quickly found a guest house that had been recommended to us, which had a stunning view over the muddy Mekong. A few sunset beers were enjoyed with some local Lao food – both of which were paid for with our newly acquired Lao Kip, a currency which has suffered dutifully at the hands of hyperinflation – thoroughly confusing an already mathematically challenged duo to no end, still, some comfort in becoming a millionaire in under 5 minutes. An early night followed – in lieu of an even earlier rise for the start of the 2 day boat journey to Luang Prabang, and into the heart of Laos.

Day 3 – Thus marked the start of the boat journey, which we had managed to book through our hostel for around 220,000 kip (approx £17). We arose early to acquire a) some snacks for the 7 hour journey and b) find some good seats on the boat, to ensure we wouldn’t find ourselves located near the fabled engine room, land of all things loud smoky and sooty. Eventually we made our way aboard, and after some tactical seat swapping we found ourselves perfectly located, also reunited with our new neighbours, a triplet of Canadians we’d met in Pai. Thus commenced the 7 hour Mekong descent, which was beautiful (and only slightly hindered by the sonorous clamouring emanating from the engine room), as we twisted through limestone peaks, small fishing villages, river rapids and jungle alike – all the while chatting, playing cards, and enjoying the more malty and slightly stronger Beer Lao, which at half the price, had sent Thailand’s Chang beer packing in a watery and less flavour filled dismissal.

The journey in itself was slightly farcical, in so far as the boat was filled with travellers from completely different backgrounds and countries, wedged together for 7 hours of forced interaction, which led for some comical conversations between hardcore 50 year old brexiteers, 70 year old Swiss pensioners and 18 year old free spirited dreadlocked Israeli travellers. Several embarrassing drunk renditions of wonder wall ensued from the Newcastle party, much to Finlay and my embarrassment on behalf of the country. Needless to say, my school remained an unnamed secondary school in Windsor.

Eventually we made it to Pakbeng, a small town which existed almost entirely as a stepping stone on the boat journey to Luang Prabang, with some nice accommodation and decent restaurants. We proceeded to eat at an Indian restaurant, which made Finlay the happiest I think I’ve seen him so far – two butter chicken curries were quickly consumed, and we set off to explore the (now dark) town. Highlights include the search for a loo, which somehow ended with us in a military training camp surrounded by confused soldiers, I’m still not sure who was scared of who more, although to be fair they did have guns on their side, needless to say, they won the stare off and we were quickly escorted to the exit. The night ended at Happy bar, which although scarcely populated, was quite good fun.

Day 4 – we reveille’d for the second day of our boat journey we set off in a slightly less organised manor than the night before, arriving this time 5 minutes before departure. This was a catastrophic lapse in judgement, as we quickly found ourselves not on seats, but instead – small plastic stalls wedged in the middle aisle of the already very full boat. This meant we now not only had no space of our own, but also allowed no space for other people to walk down the boat. Having secured our new reputations as public enemy number one (and two), we were surprised to see even more backpackers turning up, which set off a chain reaction of commotion as the Thai boat captain tried to fold them inside the engine room, much to the complaints of the subjects and the other people on the boat who were now dealing with quite a stressful situation. Eventually he quit his bluff and rightfully agreed a second boat may indeed have to be employed, despite many promises that we would all fit on the one, and so the lanky English walkway blockade was removed and we hopped over onto our new, much more spacious boat. I guess we had the last laugh, as Finlay and I stretched out across our new cushioned benches.

The rest of the day was very enjoyable, and perhaps even more pretty, the views generally speak for themselves, and we eventually found ourselves in Luang Prabang, the final stop on our boat and the second biggest city in Laos (still with a population of only 400,000). Eventually we found ourselves a hostel room and settled in for the next few days of exploring the colonial architecture, food and nearby waterfalls.

Luang Prabang(ing) – after some umming and ahhing we eventually found ourselves staying at ‘Chill riverside hostel’ which lived up all three parts of it’s triple barrelled name, therefore ticking almost all our required boxes and securing reputation as our favourite hostel so far. The next few days were spent absorbing the views from viewpoints, drawing, making new friends and walking around town – I particularly enjoyed playing ‘if I was a french colonialist, which villa would I want to rule Laos from’, the winner being a quaint cream house, located next to a temple – with olive shutters and wooden detailing, combined with carefully manicured banana leafs outside, the photo shown below doesn’t quite do it justice.

The highlight of Luang Prabang was without a doubt Kuang Si falls, which according to many is in the top 3 best waterfalls in the world. It was, in fact, so good that I went 2 days running (partially due to a severely food poisoned Finlay who was unable to make it the first day). The second day was probably more enjoyable, as we had a task at hand; that being our own recreation of Alex Garland’s ‘the beach’. We had heard via word of mouth, that if you take the less travelled path to the right of the waterfall, and start climbing up it, there should be a small exit to the left about halfway up, partially blocked by barbed wire and bamboo trunks. This should then bring you to the top of the waterfall, where we were sung promises of untraveled aquamarine waters and views straight down the towering waterfall and onto the unsuspecting tourists below. Sure enough, we managed to find the hidden path – and the morning was spent relaxing in our newly acquired private blue heaven.

An otherwise perfect day was only slightly burdened by the disappearance of our bus to take us back. This was really quite frustrating, and we tried to employ several Lao men to call our hostel (who we booked the trip through) and berate the bus driver for his speedy take off, fortunately (for our own sake) none of these phone calls went through; as we quickly realised there did in fact exist another car park, and perhaps it was not the ineptitude of the bus driver that had led us down this path of misfortune – but, instead, our forgetful recollection of where we agreed to meet afterwards. We sheepishly retreated in to a tuk tuk, despite my best cost efficient pleas with Finlay to hitch hike.

Eventually we decided we had peaked in Luang Prabang and headed onwards to Vang Vieng, a town who’s reputation proceeded it – essentially Vang Vieng was once the capital of hedonism in south east Asia, with around 100 bars along the river, where most of the day was to be spent tubing and drinking. Unfortunately around 5 years ago 6 tourists died in a year from drink/drugs and so the police cracked down and the government have tried to force new means of income from the town in the form of more organic and sustainable tourism. However, we had heard from several other travellers that the town was currently in the limbo phase between the two, leaving a sort of post apocalyptic party husk, where neither party (if you’ll excuse the pun) really benefited. Nevertheless, we set off (once again via bus) and despite the drivers best efforts to split Finlay and I up, we made it intact to Vang vieng some 5 hours later. It was striking to see the mountainous ridges slowly popping up in the horizon the closer we got, which made for an enjoyable drive.

Vang vieng – our first impressions of the town, resonated very much with the aforementioned rumours, and we checked into an almost entirely empty Nana hostel and set off for a walk and in search of a smoothie, or some other people, as the town was pretty much desolate.

By the time the evening came around all our questions re scarcity of people were answered, and the nitties slowly began crawling out of the woodwork. It turns out that at Nana’s hostel, the only time of day where people are awake is 7pm onwards (when the free vodka and whisky starts) and the day is spent recovering in hungover hibernation. Here we met up with a bunch of friends from the boat, including Luna, Kiro, Jana and Lia.

The next 3 days were a bit of a blur, the only certainty being that they passed. Vague memories do exist, highlights include one of the most bizarre encounters so far, between a Preying mantis and an Australian bloke, who decided his face would make a good home for the next 10 hours of the Mantis’s existence, much to the delight of various intoxicated chants of, ‘Straya’s got a Mantis’, as-well as him trying to use his new pet as an arthropodal wingman by approaching ladies and asking them if they wanted to kiss his Mantis, or if they would like to host his six legged friend on their bikini for any amount of time – an interaction that was made far more confusing by the sober discovery the next morning that he has a girlfriend, and that she was with him during the tubing trip – definite dog house behaviour.

Another confusing feature about this hostel was the amount of people that got arrested, initially Finlay and I reacted with quite some shock while eating breakfast at our hostel and seeing the police parade two tourists around in cuffs. However this became less of a novelty when each morning we would hear of two or three people getting arrested and/or deported. We remained vigilantly on guard (when awake). The first time it was such a shock that I took a photo, which I rapidly regretted 1 hour later when I found out that Lao police will also arrest and charge for the same crimes any onlookers who take photos or videos. In the wild Wild East, the iPhone is the greatest weapon of all, and I’m now on the run from the law.

Eventually we retreaded with around 10 friends to magic monkey hostel, where the last 2 days have been spent lounging, swimming, enjoying the views, and hiking to nearby viewpoints. We are currently debating our departure time to Vientiane, the main prospect of the visit to the capital city being organisation of our Vietnam visa’s. Desperately in search of warm clothes, as the forecast has just informed us of 14 degree temperatures in Hanoi, the Slazenger shorts just aren’t going to cut it.

Having finished off our, admittedly brief, time in Chiang Mai we decided it was time to head even more North, in a bid to escape the relentless and magnetising pull of the Chang. Our chosen destination was to be Pai, a sleepy and slightly hippy town right at the top of Thailand. In typical fashion we cut things very close to the wire – just about managing to buy ourselves onto a bus the night before. Although pleased with our opulent and surprisingly successful organisation this quickly flittered out of the other ear as the German girls in our dorm were keen to explore the local party scene, a task Finlay, I and 2 other guys from Tonbridge gladly accepted, the evening ending in ‘Spicy bar’ – where the beer is cheap and the Russians bottle each other, quite literally, perhaps a story for another time.

The next morning Finlay felt, slightly unsurprisingly, worse for wear and although the 5 hour journey loomed over our heads, we were in surprisingly chipper moods, gladly watching a complete Farang (Thai for immense tourist noob) berate the staff in the hostel lobby for making him pay 50 baht for the sheets he stained – rumour has it he’s still searching for a solid defence. Just grow up, pay the £2 and get on your way.

Said good moods did not last long, at all, the snowflake that started the avalanche being the crisps Finlay and I bought from 7/11, which were plain, but came with a separate sauce to dip them in – thus explaining why they were 10 baht cheaper than the Lays. Pretty embarrassing all things considered.

Personally I would say the journey was beautiful, with over 200 hairpin turns and stunning vistas over rivers and rice farms, all the whilst slowly drifting up to the mountainous north of the country, needless the to say, the kindle remained packed away. Unfortunately, this journey was really a tale of two cities, as Finlay found himself in the chunderwagon from hell, trying so hard to not throw up that he refused to communicate with even the bus driver, leaving me to be his confidant for all things ‘how far to the nearest loo’ and ‘are we nearly there yet’. I’m still not quite sure why he could ask me to ask the bus driver but not ask the bus driver himself, some explanation about not being able to move his head from one spot on the window for fear of a new paint job later leaked from his mouth – an argument I dared not pick into too much.

Most importantly however, we had made it to Pai – which was needless to say, stunning. As Finlay headed for a little lie down, I went out exploring. Pai is a small town, situated next to a river, with quaint bars, pretty cafés and steaming street food carts sprawling into the street at every turn. Whilst all the time inundated with floaty live music whispering it’s way into and around the colourful back alleys. Bordered by gaunt and shadowed mountains, staring you down from all corners. This truly did feel like a home away from home (perhaps more Shoreditch than Sheperds bush, but the same city nonetheless)

We had been recommended to stay in Common grounds hostel by a friend we had made in Chang Mai, a pizza chef by the name of Henrique, who is all things considered a great bloke, but fancies himself as a bit of a Casanova and treats hostels like a mini love island with all his romance related drama (@badboypizzasoc on Instagram).

We headed out on the hostel pub crawl together, and met some interesting folks along the way. Quickly one Chang became 7 and the night drifted on into the early hours. The most amusing game we played was ‘who needs to get out of the Pai hole the most’ which basically involved spotting who had frankly spent too much time in Pai and needed to go home. The winner was a spot on John Lennon lookalike, who had clearly failed in his hunt for a Yoko, and instead found himself sitting on a wall for 3 hours playing the maracas. It’s time to put the maracas down John and go back to Brighton.

The next few days were spent exploring Pai and the local area, Finlay and I eventually retreating to a small hut next to the river as we had forgotten to book more nights at the hostel, this was extremely romantic, perhaps too much, but nonetheless enjoyable. Here we met up with the German girls from Chang Mai – who had lost a member to go inter-railing. We headed out together to a renowned once a month jungle party, which seemingly fancied itself as Techno capital of the world. The party was made especially fun by some of the characters we met, including ‘angry bird’ a Thai bloke with an angry bird hat and a slowly developing magic mushroom addiction.

We also met back up with Jesse (shown left of angry bird) and his harem of twins from the Netherlands who also made for very enjoyable company.

Now firmly settled in Pai, we made it our mission to complete some local activities, the first of which to be river tubing. Chang’s in hand Finlay the German girls and I were driven up river and dropped with rings to float back on, or atleast this was the intention. What was previously known as the lazy river – rapidly became the dark depressing and lonely stream. Dry season was a fact we had callously overlooked pre float, however, luckily my protruding tailbone made light work of scanning the river bed for any pointy rocks and/or sharp objects – leaving my back littered with golf ball sized tumours and bruises a plenty. Unfortunately this was really not the end of an already arduous journey – as the clock ticked onto the 5th hour of an intended 3 hour tubing session a headcount revealed we had two missing Germans on our hands, who unbeknownst to us had taken a wrong turn several lumpy rapids back. We therefore assumed this was just the way of the river and continued bobbing down. The key fallacy in this whole adventure was a belief in a celestial Thai saviour, who would come and pick us up at some point and drive us back into town, it soon became apparent that this was not the case, and, as we now drifted past Pai itself; my arse and Finlay collectively decided enough was enough and jumped ship with 50% of Germans in tow. We waited 5 minutes and still no sign of Eva or Olivia (pronounced öööliviaaa). Thus, Finlay and I strolled angrily into the dark of night in search of our Thai messiah who’s once ubiquitous presence became almost mythical within minutes. Eventually we tracked him down and angrily sign languaged our frustration, he retorted with laughter and we headed on our way – big flop – in the hope that the other Germans would turn up and be found by the other half waiting by the bank. Scheise! Was the announcement from Olivia and Eva when we bumped into them in the night market. They had panicked at not being able to find us and climbed out in the pitch black about 700m before – after floating past a dead dog in the river. From there they had walked in skimpy bikinis through a 5* hotel and then the entire night market to get back to the tubing rental place – with Thai men jeering and whistling all the way, very reminiscent of that Cersei ‘shame’ game of thrones scene, with the added bonus that they were suspected lady boys, amusing stuff. Still, we were pleased to have found them, as were the other Germanic half at not having to bring home their cremated bodies home in a coffee cup. Thus the dog was the only casualty for the day, and so we went to get a drink to calm everyone’s nerves.

The next morning we headed out to the ‘rabbit café’ which was known not for serving the animal, but, instead for having them jumping around the tables, cute in theory, less cute when your £5 chai latte gets bumped off by an angry fat necked wilder beast. Sure enough when the inevitable occurred the café owner then proceeded to grab the rabbit by its fat neck and hurl it across the room, not all cuddles in the café after all.

The rest of the day was spent cycling around and exploring the hot springs/ canyons that Pai is famous for, finally our adventures were problem free and we had a genuinely very enjoyable day (excluding the tepid temperature of the springs and the peeling Phillipa off the floor after a fly flew into her eye and she collided with the pavement).

The evening was spent saying our goodbyes to the Germans and other friends as we had booked ourselves onto a 2 day hike with ‘Mr God’ the man for all things activity in Pai, unfortunately as we had to wake up at 6am the next morning for the hike the goodbyes were disappointingly brief. Nevertheless we were very excited to be going into some of the most rural areas in northern Thailand.

Mr God’s omniscience of the local countryside had become obvious several days before as he detailed the villages we would be visiting, full of information about tribes, waterfalls and gaping caves. However his omnipotence and omnibenelovence fell into the line of fire when he turned up 30 minutes later than the intended pick up time, still pissed from a jungle party we had so studiously avoided the night before. Perhaps not a traditionally evidenced inconsistent triad but this was the man we had entrusted for the next 2 days of our lives so we dubiously climbed into a van whilst God cooled his hangover by lying in the shade of his shop. Then followed an hour of driving out of Pai along bumpy dirt track roads, where eventually we made it to the Black Lahu tribe (where we were to be staying tonight) and met up with 2 other English guys and our guide, Jacka, whose appearance was hilarious in itself – he was wearing traditional hill tribe baggy trousers in a royal blue floral colour way, complimented by a backpack almost bigger than the man itself – with slingshot in one hand and machete in the other, definite weapon. Jacka quickly informed us that he was known as eagle eye by several village members, which initially sounded like a slightly bold claim but gained some sustenance when no less than 5 minutes into the hike he stopped moving and fired a rock from his slingshot high into a tree canopy – sure enough a very small bird then fell down from the tree, dead, Finlay and I both found ourselves mixed between laughter confusion and feeling bad for the dead bird. A weird sort of role reversal of David and Goliath were Goliath gets the slingshot and David sits in the tree making loud noises in wait for an angry Thai Mogli-esque assassin.

Keen to remove the swathes of hedonism which had found themselves so easily attached to us in Pai, we pressed on in pursuit of a long neck tribe or as Finlay tactfully referred to them as ‘long nekkers with tekkers’. The journey was made slightly awkward when one of our 40 year old fellow hikers starting telling us about how we 100% should get a ‘soapy massage’ when back in Chiang Mai, as he had spent most of his 3 month budget on ‘soapies’ (an abbreviation which made even the wildlife around him cringe) as-well as paying girls to talk to him at local bars. Possibly the biggest antithesis of lad culture I’m yet to meet in Thailand.

We found ourselves yo-yo-ing up and steep and sheer rock faces for the next 2 hours which was hard work at times, especially with my previously mentioned excess of limbs, which did absorb a bit of a battering. Upon falling over for the fifth time in an hour and rolling down 2 metres of rocks I was actually just quite angry, and Jacka’s repeated calling to the animals started to irritate me, fortunately he compensated for this when we stopped for lunch with soapy and co, as he disappeared with no explanation, and then returned 20 minutes later with handcrafted bamboo cups and plates which he had just made, quite impressive to be fair.

Lunch was made even more amusing when our favourite sex tourist started talking to Jacka like he was some kind of alien, despite the fact that he speaks 25 languages and has written a book, think ‘Jacka you tribe have water?’ Or ‘it very nice your house Jacka’ perhaps even the odd ‘Jacka lot of tribe people live mountain?’

Lunch wolfed down, we headed off for a waterfall which Finlay and I gradually started needing more and more as we had both only packed one small water bottle for a 6 hour hike in a slightly skewed weight-benefit analysis. I thankfully consumed about 2 litres of water before we left and was getting dehydrated very slowly, meanwhile Finlay did not and drank his 6 hour supply of water in about 30 minutes thus completing his prophecy as the epitome of a Farang.

Still we continued trundling through the sweat box, all the while accompanied by a score of animal noises made by Jacka, including one very questionable repetitive grunt which Finlay and I had to try our hardest not to laugh at especially given the context of our lunchtime conversation about his penchant for ladyboys. Finally however we made it to the river and waterfall, accompanied by blackface gibbons which Jacka claims was the result of his calling, however, it seems equally possible that it is the allure of the cake/apples that he gives them in return for their presence which summons them.

The end of the walk was particularly enjoyable, it was the first bit of flat we were yet to encounter, but also at the crest of a mountainous ridge, with incredible views into Burma on one side and looking back into Thailand through the woodland on the other. Jacka also had lots of fascinating information to pass on, telling us about how these paths were originally made by the Japanese to infiltrate into Burma, showing us locations were weapon depositories had been found previously, often guarded by Pythons, which he was more than happy to show us how to fight off if we ever found ourselves on the wrong end of one (the pythons, not the Japanese).

The rocky paths did carry a certain unspoken potency and one could imagine Japanese soldiers treading these very steps in the thick of night ready to fight for the weeks ahead, an area certainly steeped in history and beauty alike.

Following this we were picked back up by the truck, which proceeded to take us back to the Black Lahu village, stopping briefly at a viewpoint for a pretty incredible sunset.

Once back in the village of the Black Lahu or ‘Ban Luk Khao Lam’ to be precise – we made it our mission to meet some locals and share a few Chang’s, there was one shop in the whole village with a rickety door and one cooler full of brews. We then sat down, enjoying the last moments of light whilst being sold various items we had no need for but felt too bad to say no to, including our very own Black Lahu trousers, which Jacka looked only slightly impressed by when we walked back into his hut that evening. If cultural appropriation was a competition, we’d both be professionals. Jacka was extremely welcoming to us and cooked a feast, including spicy fried chicken bits (some with bone, some without) and various beautifully spiced curries. Once back here we chatted away and he showed us the book he’d written about all the local tribes in the area, it was heartwarming to see his passion and devotion for his home town, despite his university education and employment in Chang Mai and Phuket.

Finlay and I then went out to purchase some of the local rice whisky, which we managed to acquire a half bottle of for 40 baht. This was actually very tasty, and attracted the locals like moths to a lamp. Who we then accidentally led back to Jackas house, like the pied piper of piss-heads. Jacka was thankfully not at home, however we had no idea if we had committed some sort of social faux pas by accidentally inviting these strangers into our house. The rest of the evening was spent by Thai men trying to sell us their wives for the night, and when that failed their daughters, both of which were politely refused. One of the girls we had bought back to Jackas house had a habit of uncontrollably dribbling whilst talking, I still don’t really have an explanation for this, but naturally assume it is something psychosomatic about seeing two Leo dicap/Brad Pitt lookalikes in their own village. Jacka eventually returned, and upon his arrival everyone fled, and we went to bed on a mattress in the other room of his house, which although was very cold, did have a very homely feel.

we awoke the next morning at 8:30, to a slightly disgruntled Jacka, who would only be receiving half of his normal rate thanks to the other people that were meant to be coming with us cancelling. Anyway we packed up and ate a Thai omelette which he prepared for us, this was slightly too oniony but nice nonetheless.

The day would be spent hiking to a Lisu tribe, some 20km away, along a dirt track sometimes used by locals on motorbikes. This was equally as hilly as yesterday’s walk but thankfully had more grip thanks to the various motorbike trail marks, limiting myself to only falling over 3 times in the whole day.

Finlay and I then dutifully decided that when in Rome, we should engage in some guerrilla warfare. This was started by his putting of a dandelion down my back, which stuck to almost every part of my sweat slicked back. Not happy, I decided to retort with operation rolling thunder and crunched up a dead leaf in my hand, preparing to drop it onto his unsuspecting backside. Unfortunately this leaf turned out to be a) poisonous and b) covered in tiny cactus spikes, like a prickly pear. This was all made much worse by my decision to crunch and rub the leaves between my hands, in order to get a fine particle based bombing, thus pursued burning agony which almost bought me to tears. The cherry on the cake being Finlay was situated about 10 metres ahead of me, so I couldn’t even deliver my prickly poisonous package and instead had to drop it and start screaming while water was poured all over my hands and legs where I’d been rubbing them. Bear grylls ended up suffering at the hands of the karmic judicial system, and I felt Farangtastic.

Currently back in Pai having said good bye to Jacka who we dropped at his girlfriends house on the way, washing is needed badly as almost all clothes are coated in dusty red mud/or have been worn for too many days to count, kinda buff to be fair. Sending my thoughts and prayers to the lady at the laundromat that we just handed all our clothes to. Sitting in a hammock writing this up and then probably going to go and sunbathe, expecting 1 more night in Pai and then heading to Chang Rai in pursuit of a boat to take us along the Mekong to Laos. Will update on our progress in around a week, until then, adios.

Last few days in Bangkok were thoroughly enjoyed by the both of us – setting out on a fastidious search to find the ideal temple (situated somewhere between being cheap/pretty and not too strict on having to wear trousers – Buddhism Lite). The lucky equilibrium was Wat Arun, at a well priced 50 bhat and speckled with dashes of ornamental colouring with towering Stupa’s- a cracking shout all things considered, as it was also over the river from the more busy and overwhelming golden palace which meant less sweaty tourists interrupting my search for Nirvana

Post enlightenment; we decided it was time to sort out our ‘train tickets’ for Chiang Mai – I use inverted commas as they were all sadly sold out for the day we intended on leaving, feeling a bit downtrodden about this we waited a few hours to decide if it was worth waiting another night in a hostel and going on the train the next day, eventually we decided not to and instead get the bus the next morning; thankfully in our brief moment of consideration all the bus tickets had sold out too. It turns out that the Thai people are all smiles to your face, but turn your back and they’re keyboard warriors snapping up train tickets like it’s Glastonbury. Instead we set out immediately to find a travel agent in the hope they could sell us the very same thing we had just missed out on for double the price, as sometimes they have some leftover for those on the slightly less organised on the spectrum. Intro Star travel – after half an hour of her phoning up to see if the booking office had any seats left on the ‘special government trains’ which were sadly unavailable, she retorted by offering us two bus tickets for 8am at the eye watering price of 1200 baht / £32. Thus commenced the haggling process, or as Finlay would call it, the instant agreement process, As he ‘didn’t realise it was the sort of establishment where one can change the price’ – a fact he later regretted when my steely gaze knocked off 100 baht at the cost of the lady calling me ‘ugly boy’. Wallet now empty we headed home in search of some food a Chang and some more cash, unfortunately the nearby ATM’s had other ideas as they were ‘hungry’ and ‘ate’ Finlay’s debit card like pac-man when he got the pin wrong three times. Which he insisted for quite some time was a ‘technical glitch’ until we checked his banking app and he realised he had forgotten that he changed it. Entertaining stuff…

Supper was perhaps the highlight of the day – with my 40baht dirty noodles still being the dish of the trip so far, zesty. spicy and greasy in all the right places – washed down with a game changing 60 baht Chang

Following the kind lady’s promises of ‘5* new bus from Sweden with good WiFi big meals and a loo’ we were only slightly pleased to find that the bus was a) 2 hours late and b) had literally none of the above – however the seats we were given made up somewhat for her scathing lies – front seat on the top deck, lanky limbs no longer folded in like an ikea flat pack, we set of for the north in good spirits. (below is Bangkok sunrise the morning before the bus and a breakfast that looked as if a Thai man may have enjoyed cooking it perhaps too much)

12 hours later we made it to Chang Mai – pleased that the whole ordeal was over and ready to wash our hands with all things scammy, smoggy and superfluous to the budget. We quickly checked into our hostel and demolished a ‘khao soy’ – crispy curry noodles, a local speciality. We were equally delighted as intrigued upon finding out we were to be sharing a room with 6 German girls, thankfully our own age. A few beers were shared whilst trying to sus out who the snorers were going to be, Finlay and I respectively backing a different horse. Thankfully no mans land was not crossed and all peace treaties remained intact, a fun evening followed by a good sleep, hard to complain really.

This morning was spent hiking to Wat Pha Lat – a Buddhist temple and meditation retreat practically untouched by tourism, nestled high in the Mountains of Chiang Mai, it truly felt like something out of the last air bender as we snaked around the Monks path chasing lizards and listening to the distant murmuring of Tuk Tuks, all the time cooled by sprawling banana leafs bigger then us and undergrowth of a beautiful noxious green shade

Currently sitting back at hostel after catching a slightly odd songthaew/big red Uber pool that anyone can get on and be dropped off anywhere for 30 bhat. Looking forward to the upcoming week and seeing more rural Thailand as we loop around the north of the country – more posts coming soonish

After a few confusing shuttle buses and taxis we made it to the world renowned ‘chillax resort’ from the airport, which upon drop off looked remarkably un ‘chillax’ when faced with a crumbling facade and a sign for the hotel, however fortunately this was nothing more than a real estate sized signpost and we managed to find our way to the hotel. Thankfully we were still in great moods from the red Thai curry on the plane which was sensational, even managing to somewhat counterbalance the shortage of leg room.

Having made it to Bangkok we enjoyed a quick swim with cityscape vistas and enjoyed the smogset, which we agreed was an apt description for a sunset where you could only see about 3 inches from your face thanks to copious amounts of smog. Greta thunberg would’ve likely self combusted on sight.

Smog enjoyed, we headed out in search of the khao san road, were light work was made out of a pad Thai and several Chang beers – much to the delight of various wristband vendors to whom we may as-well have had targets painted on our backs – one taking a particular interest in selling Finlay an ‘I fuck retard kids’ wristband. We then set about to find a rooftop bar, which inevitably ended in more Chang’s located around the corner for 30 bhat cheaper – thriftiness which I hope would make the busk fund proud.

Currently sitting at a café at 7am enjoying a smoothie waiting for Finlay to arise from his non jet lag plagued slumber – big day ahead, with lots of temple staring, train ticket purchasing, and hopefully a few more Chang’s down the line – sitting opposite from me is a sign for 70 bhat Chang’s which would be a new personal best, and likely will be explored later today

Cheeky pint of asahi dry pre takeoff – excited for the adventures to come

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

– no idea who izaak Walton is but WordPress automatically posted this, enjoy anyway, definitely adds an aura of charm to the site