Our next stop was Champasak. The motorbike rental lady told us quite aggressively that ‘You haven’t been to Laos unless you have been to Champasak!!’ Alright love. What’s so special about it anyway? The Lonely Liar says it’s just a single road with some old French houses and an Ankorian age Wat. Temples Temples Temples. Enough already. However. I had realised that I was not going to be able to do Cambodia thoroughly in the time I had left in Asia. Angkor Wat in Cambodia was on my MUST DO list and it looked like I was not going to make it. This Wat Phu in Champasak might be a kind of substitute. I’ll go there instead. So, I drank coffee and spent too much money on the phone to my bank (who for the 3rd time had stopped my card working as it was being used abroad. How many times you have to tell LloydsTsb that you are just away for a bit and not some Asian fraudster, was certainly not clearly laid out in the small-print) whilst Courtney went to find us a boat trip to Champasak down the river. She returned very pleased with herself after shopping around a bit, she scored us a sweet deal with a local boatman that was to leave the pier at 8am the next morning.

The ‘Pier’ was a dirty end of a road where the sewage came out. It was next to the massive market, but closest to the pig market section. At 8.46am I went to find some delicious breakfast baguettes as the ‘8am’ boat was clearly a ‘Lao 8am’ departure. Lao PDR (Peoples’ Democratic Republic) had been re-named by Billy as Lao- Please Don’t Rush. Anyway, the market was intense. I could buy 14 different types of frog, a full selection of bats, eels, fish, crab and I swear I saw an Albatross. I settled on a sandwich containing some sort of meat-paste with chilli sauce.

I recorded a little birthday video message for Gay-Face and the boat set sail (2 stroke motor) down the river. We were a fine selection of women onboard so we were. Courtney and I had the most teeth but they were such fun ladies. Each with their wares from the market, they chatted to us in Lao, touched my jewelry and we all shared bread. One pulled out a thick wad of A1 sized white paper. I’d say about 50 sheets. From the top one she tore a little rectangle and pulled out a big carrier bag full of tobacco. Rizlas be different in these here parts.



We dropped these ladies along the way at their river-bank homes. Children ran to meet them down the bank; offspring or grand-offspring, it was hard to tell due to the lack of teeth. They waved us off one by one and soon we were the only ones left in our own, private little boat.

The driver took us to the bank steps of his friends’ guesthouse and we promptly went somewhere more decent.
Ooooh so it is basically one street…. Oooh so there are lots of lovely French houses.
When we took our bags to our room, the guesthouse owner was sitting with some of his friends on chairs drinking BeerLao litres. As it was 10.02am, I of course joined them but had some in a wine glass coz I is a lady. The now empty bottle was carefully placed under the table.

Courtney and I rented bicycles and rode in the hotheatyheat the 10 km to the Wat Phu place that the militant Laos motorbike rental lady insisted we visited.
It was so amazing. We climbed to the top of many many many steps and were blown away. You could see for miles and it was so quiet. Until that is, someone, somewhere in all those miles started playing Laos pop music on some ridiculous sound system.

After the long climb down, a pineapple shake and a bowl of noodles, we were done in. It was roasting hot and we had both burned ourselves on the shadeless ride there. The thought of doing the same back was all too much so we persuaded a tuk tuk driver to take us, and the bikes back to Champasak. Lazy westerners.
When we got back to the guesthouse at 5pm, the owner was still cheerfully sat on the same chair in the back yard, surrounded by the same friends. They were still drinking BeerLao and placing the bottles under the table. I counted 43 empties. Good lads. But what of the women?! I hear you cry. What were they doing? Working. Kids. Cooking. Washing. Fetching BeerLao..

That night we went to the only restaurant on the road that seemed to have lights. It was actually lit up like a gym-palace and looked ridiculous. It was electricity show-boating. It was guised as an Italian restaurant and after so much Asian food, we were both gagging for a Pizza. And wine- ooooh WINE!!
The food was crap and we poured the ‘wine’ on the road when the waiter was not looking. When in Rome…stick to delicious Laos food! Also, on the next table down, obviously with the same idea that lights=good time, was an American that I recognised from a bus or guesthouse further north with a very annoying voice and face. The combination of him, the soggy pizza, the vinegar wine and mild heat stroke was enough to finish my day.

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