Cycling Luang Prabang to Vientiane, Laos
Cycling from Luang Prabang to Vientiane in Laos.
I haven’t got much background on Laos, it has never really figured in my thinking. I can remember back in 1982, standing in the banks of the Mekong in Thailand looking across at Laos with Burma just over the Ruak River tributary on the left. This is at the village of Sop Ruak in the Golden Triangle where you can gaze at all three countries from where you are standing. Laos was forbidden territory back then, this was reinforced a year later then I saw the film, ‘Comeback’, starring Michael Landon and Edward Woodward. Based on a true story, it is about a journalist who was kicked out of Laos and decided to go back to rescue his Lao girlfriend by snatching her from the banks of the Mekong and then crossing to Thailand by scuba diving along the river bed, sharing an oxygen tank. This it is the only part of the film that I can remember – logs and a dead horse shooting by in the murky depths; and the Lao guards firing at the couple as they disappeared beneath the surface. For years then, that’s all I had on Laos apart from the vague memory that, whilst it was a French Protectorate, it was known as the ‘Land of the Lotus Eaters’, presumably for the indolent lifestyle that prevailed. Hmm, there was also the not inconsiderable matter of the two Swiss cyclists shot dead on the road between Vientiane and Louang Prabang in 2003. This is what the Asia Times said about it:
The bus attack on February 6 along Route 13 that links the capital Vientiane with the ancient city of Louang Prabang in the north shattered the image of Laos being a safe tourist destination. As many as 30 gunmen jumped out from behind bushes along the highway five kilometers north of Vang Vieng and opened fire on a bus with M-16 assault rifles and grenade launchers. Two Swiss cyclists on the road were shot and killed as they tried to flee. According to survivors, the attackers looked Hmong and spoke the Hmong language. Time Asia magazine reported that a military officer at the scene said a calling card was left on the dead Swiss woman's corpse that read: “We have lost our nation and are fighting to get it back.”
If you cross-check this story on the Hmong websites they say that it was a government set-up using Hmong speaking collaborators and that the Hmong have scarcely enough ammo to fend off government assaults, let alone go on the offensive against civilians, which they wouldn’t do anyway. I don’t know but let’s face it, it is the sort of thing that governments do.
My guidebook charts some fearsome cross-sections of hills on Highway 13 between Vientiane and Louang Prabang, the most torrid of the five days being the last one when 130 kms of winding mountain road spells possible doom for mere cycle-mortals like me. The section on Day 5 is heavily prefaced with advisories like, “Don’t do this unless you are extremely fit.” “Consult a physician before even reading the next paragraph.” “No, not you, you dope, don’t even think about it.” “What are you looking at this page for? Dream on, podger.” I get the message and decide to do the trip in reverse; I mean, why arrive at the start of Day 5 all tired and saddle-sore, why not make it Day 1? So that’s what I do and getting to Louang Prabang is surprisingly easy, courtesy of Bangkok Airways’ whizzo online booking service; five minutes’ worth of clicking and the ticket is issued. I like the way Bangkok Airways calls itself ‘Asia’s Boutique Airline’ – brilliant – it means that they can charge what they want for tickets and customers thank them for it. Great ploy, boutique hotels do the same.
I haven’t got much background on Laos, it has never really figured in my thinking. I can remember back in 1982, standing in the banks of the Mekong in Thailand looking across at Laos with Burma just over the Ruak River tributary on the left. This is at the village of Sop Ruak in the Golden Triangle where you can gaze at all three countries from where you are standing. Laos was forbidden territory back then, this was reinforced a year later then I saw the film, ‘Comeback’, starring Michael Landon and Edward Woodward. Based on a true story, it is about a journalist who was kicked out of Laos and decided to go back to rescue his Lao girlfriend by snatching her from the banks of the Mekong and then crossing to Thailand by scuba diving along the river bed, sharing an oxygen tank. This it is the only part of the film that I can remember – logs and a dead horse shooting by in the murky depths; and the Lao guards firing at the couple as they disappeared beneath the surface. For years then, that’s all I had on Laos apart from the vague memory that, whilst it was a French Protectorate, it was known as the ‘Land of the Lotus Eaters’, presumably for the indolent lifestyle that prevailed. Hmm, there was also the not inconsiderable matter of the two Swiss cyclists shot dead on the road between Vientiane and Louang Prabang in 2003. This is what the Asia Times said about it:
The bus attack on February 6 along Route 13 that links the capital Vientiane with the ancient city of Louang Prabang in the north shattered the image of Laos being a safe tourist destination. As many as 30 gunmen jumped out from behind bushes along the highway five kilometers north of Vang Vieng and opened fire on a bus with M-16 assault rifles and grenade launchers. Two Swiss cyclists on the road were shot and killed as they tried to flee. According to survivors, the attackers looked Hmong and spoke the Hmong language. Time Asia magazine reported that a military officer at the scene said a calling card was left on the dead Swiss woman's corpse that read: “We have lost our nation and are fighting to get it back.”
If you cross-check this story on the Hmong websites they say that it was a government set-up using Hmong speaking collaborators and that the Hmong have scarcely enough ammo to fend off government assaults, let alone go on the offensive against civilians, which they wouldn’t do anyway. I don’t know but let’s face it, it is the sort of thing that governments do.
My guidebook charts some fearsome cross-sections of hills on Highway 13 between Vientiane and Louang Prabang, the most torrid of the five days being the last one when 130 kms of winding mountain road spells possible doom for mere cycle-mortals like me. The section on Day 5 is heavily prefaced with advisories like, “Don’t do this unless you are extremely fit.” “Consult a physician before even reading the next paragraph.” “No, not you, you dope, don’t even think about it.” “What are you looking at this page for? Dream on, podger.” I get the message and decide to do the trip in reverse; I mean, why arrive at the start of Day 5 all tired and saddle-sore, why not make it Day 1? So that’s what I do and getting to Louang Prabang is surprisingly easy, courtesy of Bangkok Airways’ whizzo online booking service; five minutes’ worth of clicking and the ticket is issued. I like the way Bangkok Airways calls itself ‘Asia’s Boutique Airline’ – brilliant – it means that they can charge what they want for tickets and customers thank them for it. Great ploy, boutique hotels do the same.
I decide to get the bus up the first steep section to give me a head start. I get to the bus station at 6.30 and seek out a bread-butter-jam-coffee place. It’s colder than the day before if anything – fog and dripping dew. The bus could fairly be described as a charabanc, I am also reminded of that attack in 2003 which was perpetrated against a bus on this road, one of the passengers has an automatic rifle under his parka – its barrel is protruding below his waist. I guess he is employed by the bus company like a sky marshal only a charabanc-marshal. When I am dropped off in warm sunshine, we are at about 3,000 feet. The crowd at the vegetable stall shifts its gaze to watch me put my bike and pack together – it’s my nice new bike versus sheaths of kale. No contest! My next destination is Kasi, it is not that far away but very up and down. If I get there before one o’clock, I might press on to Vang Vieng, we’ll see. According to the guidebook, this is the dodgiest stretch as regards attacks on travellers. It says, “Do consult your embassy before going; don’t travel alone, find a road-partner.” I expect admonishment from someone for not doing either – hope it’s not from a guy with a machine gun. “Excuse me sir,” holding up billfold containing silver badge, “H’mong Highway Ethics Patrol, sorry to trouble you, but you are travelling in violation of Highways Act 247/b sub-section C-12, where is your road-partner?”
This is spectacular karst scenery, the jagged peaks appear in serried ranks in the distance; backlit by the sun, in shades of soft blue, they look like appliqué work. I cover the 44 kms in bright sunshine at an average of 18 kph, the downhill parts are quite exhilarating. At the guesthouse in Kasi I pull over for lunch - there are fellow cyclists – this is a novelty for me as I didn’t encounter any, not even one, going the other way on the opposite side of the road, in Vietnam or Cambodia. I wonder what cyclists talk about? Bikes I suppose. But they do want to know about the security situation on the stretch of road that I have just cycled along.
I report that there are a couple of police posts but the only concern I had was on the one long straight bit of road where I could see from some way off that the man ambling along the middle of the road had a rifle over his shoulder. There wasn’t a soul in front or behind, a good place for an ambush in fact. I decided to pedal confidently rather that hang back and was comforted to see that he was wearing an olive drab uniform as I got up close. Mind you it wouldn’t be beyond the possibilities for a guerilla outfit to get hold of some olive coloured kit would it? As the sun sets the chill descends, we are quite high up after all. Enough shivering for me, I shall go and buy a jacket. The little market has a perfect four-Dollar solution, an Adidas tracksuit top and a pair of child’s mittens with no fingers – perfect, as I’ve lost one of my cycling gloves.
This is truly a beautiful stretch of road, the limestone peaks soaring ahead of me. It is almost perfect cycling, there is warm sunshine and the fields are now being cultivated, the air smells alpine fresh and it looks like Grindelwald or somewhere. You wouldn’t be surprised to see this vista as the subject of a 1000-piece jigsaw or adorning the back wall of a local restaurant. It is quite common to hang big pictures across the wall of eateries in Asia, it might be compulsory – the favoured view is that of a waterfall taken on a slow shutter speed so that the water is a blur as it cascades over boulders. It is also de rigeur to put the pictures up with sellotape then leave them there for ten years whilst surrounding them with garage calendars sporting local pin-up beauties. I had read somewhere that this part of Highway 13 is like the Dolomites in Italy. Beautiful as it is, it’s not quite true though. I happened upon the Dolomites eons ago and they left a big impression. It is a valiant effort, even so!
Next stop: Vang Vieng
This is spectacular karst scenery, the jagged peaks appear in serried ranks in the distance; backlit by the sun, in shades of soft blue, they look like appliqué work. I cover the 44 kms in bright sunshine at an average of 18 kph, the downhill parts are quite exhilarating. At the guesthouse in Kasi I pull over for lunch - there are fellow cyclists – this is a novelty for me as I didn’t encounter any, not even one, going the other way on the opposite side of the road, in Vietnam or Cambodia. I wonder what cyclists talk about? Bikes I suppose. But they do want to know about the security situation on the stretch of road that I have just cycled along.
I report that there are a couple of police posts but the only concern I had was on the one long straight bit of road where I could see from some way off that the man ambling along the middle of the road had a rifle over his shoulder. There wasn’t a soul in front or behind, a good place for an ambush in fact. I decided to pedal confidently rather that hang back and was comforted to see that he was wearing an olive drab uniform as I got up close. Mind you it wouldn’t be beyond the possibilities for a guerilla outfit to get hold of some olive coloured kit would it? As the sun sets the chill descends, we are quite high up after all. Enough shivering for me, I shall go and buy a jacket. The little market has a perfect four-Dollar solution, an Adidas tracksuit top and a pair of child’s mittens with no fingers – perfect, as I’ve lost one of my cycling gloves.
This is truly a beautiful stretch of road, the limestone peaks soaring ahead of me. It is almost perfect cycling, there is warm sunshine and the fields are now being cultivated, the air smells alpine fresh and it looks like Grindelwald or somewhere. You wouldn’t be surprised to see this vista as the subject of a 1000-piece jigsaw or adorning the back wall of a local restaurant. It is quite common to hang big pictures across the wall of eateries in Asia, it might be compulsory – the favoured view is that of a waterfall taken on a slow shutter speed so that the water is a blur as it cascades over boulders. It is also de rigeur to put the pictures up with sellotape then leave them there for ten years whilst surrounding them with garage calendars sporting local pin-up beauties. I had read somewhere that this part of Highway 13 is like the Dolomites in Italy. Beautiful as it is, it’s not quite true though. I happened upon the Dolomites eons ago and they left a big impression. It is a valiant effort, even so!
Next stop: Vang Vieng