Story by Tim Stolz———————————————————————————————————————————————————–Pictures by everyone
The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page – Augustine of Hippo.
Laos is a Communist country but still wedded to Buddhism.
Laos is Southeast Asia’s most impoverished country. The population is about 7.5 million. It seems more. On a ten-day Northern Loop ride from the capital, Vientiane, one gets the impression that most of the 7.5 million live their lives by the roadside. In small villages that are mostly shanty towns, the Laotians ply their trade, or vanish into the small areas of cleared land to tend their rice crops, or crops in more secret locations in the jungle …..a jungle that makes them part of the infamous Golden Triangle.
The countries of Laos, Myanmar, and Thailand meet at the confluence of the Ruak and the mythical Mekong rivers, and are the principal area of Asia’s illicit opium production. While Myanmar has substantially decreased its cultivation of the opium poppy as a result of Western Law Enforcement Agency intervention, the Golden Triangle has now become the world’s leading producer of synthetic drugs, particularly methamphetamines.
The countries of Laos, Myanmar, and Thailand meet at the confluence of the Ruak and the mythical Mekong rivers, and are the principal area of Asia’s illicit opium production. While Myanmar has substantially decreased its cultivation of the opium poppy as a result of Western Law Enforcement Agency intervention, the Golden Triangle has now become the world’s leading producer of synthetic drugs, particularly methamphetamines.
An opium poppy pod leaking raw opium resin from shallow incisions made in the pod.
The drug trade is the dark underbelly of a country that is still third-world, poor, and by and large, not a target tourist destination for a travel-hungry western world. And this is exactly why it is such an enchanting place to visit. Undeveloped, unspoilt, and to date, largely unexploited. But when I say unspoilt, that needs some qualification. The country which already had a long history of intervention from its neighbours and colonial powers became entangled in the Cold War and became the battleground for the rivalry between the US and the Soviet Union for almost a decade. The invasion of the northern jungle areas of Laos by the communists was enough to trigger ‘The Secret War’. Laos, being a neutral country, could not allow US infantry to occupy these territories, so the US bombed the area for nine years, dropping 2 million tons, more ordnance than was dropped during WW2 by both sides. The bombing was intended to disrupt the communist supply lines of the Ho Chi Minh trail. The US dropped bombs every eight minutes, 24 hours a day for those nine years.
By the end of 1974, 200,000 civilians had been killed and many more displaced.
This ‘Secret War’ has had a long-lasting effect on Laotians, hindering their health, economic development and migration choices even today. Of the bombs dropped, 80 million remain unexploded, leading to casualties every year. Cluster bombs, now banned, could release up to a hundred mini-bombs that were meant to explode either in the air or on the ground, and which could saturate an area the size of several footy fields, with devastating results. Unfortunately, many of these mini-bombs failed to detonate, and it is these, often about the size of a tennis ball, that are littered throughout the jungle and farmland, that are still today wreaking havoc amongst people who stray into remote areas. Even with financial assistance from Japan and the US for bomb removal, the government faces constant budget shortfalls, leaving 90% of the government-operated Unexploded Ordnance Detectors in disrepair.
It is into this heaven or hell that 8 Madcats ventured on Nov 23. But being a bunch of nannies we engaged the services of an uber-nanny, Matt Reilly, from Great Escape Motorcycle Tours, to squire us around and ensure we did not tippy-toe off the road much traveled.
Rusted on to dust. The intrepid adventurers. From the top. Tim Stolz…
…Craig ‘Well Hello’ Stirzaker…
…Mark ‘The Muse’ Wormsley…
…Michael ‘Micky D’ Dazenko…
…Tony ‘The Maestro’ Mylius…
…Paul ‘ The Quiet Achiever’ Harris…
…Allan ‘The Standup Man’ Casey…
and Damian ‘Damo The Magnificent’ McGrath.
We kick off the trip with a few days in ‘Bangers’ where Tony ‘The Maestro’ Mylius has organized a packed program for us, trawling the bars and night spots of a city that, like New York, never sleeps.
I truly believe after spending two-plus weeks with him that there is no dark corner in the whole of Asia that he has not shone a bright light into.
In Bangkok, the flamboyant carnality leaves you slack-jawed, sometimes with a dribble of saliva escaping from its corners. The nightlife is at its epicentre with sex and gender variation all there. Girls, boys, lady-boys, trannies, cross-dressers and probably several others that my limited experience has not encountered. It’s all infused with alcohol, dope parlors, street vendors selling food, flashing neon, and brain-busting rock and electronic music that sounds like an entree to Armageddon. You wouldn’t miss it for quids, and suffice to say, we all survived.
Some of the madness that is ‘Bangers’. Allan would rather have a ‘ beer in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.’ He was rarely without one.
Micky D, not loving the love.
A recountable highlight after a memorable night visiting some of Bangers best bars was a long-boat trip up the canals on a seriously hot day and an intended hike through the back streets to one of the city’s cultural icons… the Reclining Buddha. Part way through the walk, dehydration was sapping our will so we stopped at a bar for a bottle of water. Out of the heat into a cute bar owned and operated by a dazzling girl we called Fancy Nancy. Well, that was it. We topped up our blood alcohol content over the next several hours as we consumed untold beers, shots, and lunch…..and yes, a couple of us reluctantly had some water. The beautiful, live Nancy ( she of the sparkling eyes and killer smile) was a far more enchanting proposition than a dead Buddha. He would have to wait until we got to Vientiane and we idly filled in the day before the ride began. Nancy, on the other hand, received several proclamations of undying love and marriage proposals as she served and entertained us.
Fancy Nancy, pouring us shots of some demon drink, designed to render us powerless
The boys are very happy in Nancy’s bar. Total cost each for hours of fun, food and booze….$15 each
A jaded group boarded the plane for Vientiane after three nights of dissolute living, and we could now turn our attention to the purpose of the trip, the ride. Yeah Right!
We arrive to find a city in marked contrast to the venality of Bangkok. It is the final two days of a two-week-long Dragon Boat Festival and all but a handful of the locals are out in the streets, food stalls and markets that line the Mekong River. Despite this, the vibe is much quieter, with family clusters everywhere. Diminutive in height, they are also slight in build. It is rare to see a fat Laotian.
We meet our uber-nannies the night before we leave. Matt, the organizer, is a 60-year-old Aussie from Newcastle who has been running tours around Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand and the Philippines since 2016. Lately, he has added European tours of Spain, Portugal and the Yugoslav coast. He is very flexible and will tailor a trip that suits you. He is a bloke who talks non-stop and while he has something of a FIGJAM approach to life that may cause some friction in Oz, he is perfectly suited for the ‘push through’ style often needed in Asia. He knows when to grease a palm and when to stand and deliver. In short, he gets shit done.
For all his brashness, he is very perceptive, and his attention to detail around our enjoyment and comfort is exemplary. With him, he has Veesay, a Laotian interpreter and procurer, and Youhan, a mechanic who hails from Pnom Penh. Matt regards them both highly, particularly Youhan, who on a slow day can fix a puncture within ten minutes and have you up and rolling again. We timed him…it included rear wheel removal, tyre removed, tube out, new tube placed, tyre back on and wheel refitted….impressive.
All three are effortless riders, with Youhan having had a history in motocross. He is 25 and a gentle, wise man.
Matt, our tour leader, with Micky D photobombing
Youhan, our bike fixit man
Veesay. You want it, he’ll find it.
If we thought this was going to be a predominantly off-road ride, we were about to be disappointed. Apart from an exciting level 3+ excursion for 20 minutes or so to a remote village, we stuck to main or secondary roads which were ‘sealed, although sealed is completely overstating it. Following the monsoons that had just ended, the ‘roads’ were in poor condition, with large sections of dusty, loose, corrugated gravel. All sections of the road had a multitude of potholes, some with their own postcode. This was more a motorbike tour of Laos than an off-road ride, but it suffered not at all for being that. The scenery is remarkable, with the jagged limestone karats slashing the skyline like shards of broken glass. This is a country of predominantly mountains, jungle and rivers.
Our steel horses are Honda 250CRF, and very capable they are. Like the Royal Enfield in the Himalayas, these bikes are very much at home in the Laotian habitat. Lightweight, plenty of ground clearance but still easy to touch the ground with both feet, well-shod with off-road knobbies, some with a sonorous pipe, with Damo’s being the envy of us all. With a throaty burble that quickens the blood, he was a man who strode the world stage like a Colossus. Tapped out at about 110 clicks on a slight downhill with a tailwind if you wring its neck, the bikes nevertheless had sufficient power most of the time, even with a 25-40 L tail bag on the rear. Super reliable and virtually indestructible. Micky D wanted to take his home.
Veesay had just bought his, an immaculate machine, for $1500, as Matt had promised him an extra USD25 a day if he provided his own bike. A 41-year-old man with his third wife, he started each morning with his bike completely washed and cleaned. JP would have loved it.
What we were not aware of before we left was that the bikes were not insured. You prang, you pay. Our concerns were allayed somewhat when it was explained to us that replacement parts for the bikes were a fraction of what we pay in Oz.
The bikes were definitely Kings of the Road, especially when we rode in close convoy. The speed differential between us and the other traffic allowed you to be as creative as you could make it. It’s much like India but now we’re on the other side of the road. You do not encounter angry drivers. Everyone shuffles over or around obstacles and other traffic and there is no fist-shaking or horn blowing. The biggest problem is the dust and sometimes all you can see in front of you is the silhouette of something that has loomed out of the gloom.
As we pass through villages we feel like Roman Conquerors returning from another conquest. The villagers stop and stare, the children wave excitedly and often run into the road to high-five you. It is an extraordinary feeling to be showered with so much attention.
The children going to and from school are a wonder…. immaculately turned out in snow-white shirts, long skirts for the girls and dark trousers for the boys, hair clean and brushed, scrubbed faces and gleaming white smiles. A good number ride family mini e-scooters that cost about $300. The times they are a’ changin’.
There is a need for extreme vigilance when riding, dogs and cows and exuberant children in particular. Matt has warned us in the pre-ride briefing…..hit and kill a child and you will not be going home. You WILL be jailed, and no amount of money will buy your way out. If you hit anything else, just keep going ( if you can). This last piece of advice I got to test out on the very first day. Two hours into the ride, and me in the middle of the pack, when, of three dogs fighting, the one taking a beating darted into my path. A medium-sized dog, I hit him at about 40 clicks, smack in the middle of his body. The gods smiled on me ( reward for leading a depravity-free life) and I managed to keep the bike shiny side up. Micky D, who was following, said the dog got up, but there was a chunk of skin missing from his flank where the footpeg passed over him. If not a broken back, he must surely have suffered broken ribs. The airy comment when we finally pulled up half an hour later was that he may well end up in someone’s Tom Yum that night. I felt awful.
The distances we travelled each day were not prodigious. Even then, a 165 Km day through narrow twisty broken roads filled with trucks seemed interminable. It ends at Viengthong, where we strip off our dusty sweat-filled gear and spend a couple of hours soaking in hot spring baths and drinking cold beer. At the end of each day we are covered with more dust than you’d get on any Madcat ride and Damo’s collectible shirts require a good scrub under the shower.
The Maestro being treated to a lunchtime shower
Luang Prabang, our destination on day 2, is probably the most sophisticated town we visited, with fabulous restaurants and night markets. It is fair to say, that being the gentlemen Nannies that we were, we seldom had an early start, often taking a leisurely breakfast by the Mekong, or an extended lunch in the middle of the day under a tree-covered outdoor area of one of the many roadside shanties that, without fail, served a delicious soup, chock full of rice noodles, freshly picked Asian greens from the adjacent garden, and the option of supercharging it with the addition of chilli sambal. All washed down with a Beerlao.
Riding days, except for a couple of cool mornings in the mountains, are effing and blindingly hot. The temperature in the mid-thirties, coupled with high humidity, made it taxing. We generally consumed 5-6 litres of fluid during a day’s ride.
Our drug of choice was Gastro-Stop. This was closely followed by alcohol with tobacco making a late charge. Most of us got some sort of stomach bug, and while we kept our friends close, we kept a dunny closer. Drugs were distributed liberally as bowels grumbled. Damo probably suffered the most and longest. His crowning glory was a night where he spent more time on the throne than in bed, and managed to block it by morning. The drain pipes are much narrower than the 12 cm ones we have in Oz and don’t handle a lot of toilet paper well. Because of this, the use of toilet paper is frowned upon. Instead, they have a flexible hose with a water gun on the end of it, and the jet of water is so strong it’s guaranteed to give you a freckle pucker when you use it. The things you have to learn in a strange land.
Alcohol came in two forms mostly. Beerlao at about a dollar for a 660 ml bottle, or G and T’s if we could get them. With the prices of cigarettes in Oz above $50 a pack, and no one a smoker at the start of the trip, suddenly, when we discovered smokes at 75 cents a pack, reformed smokers popped up like mushrooms.
Another piece of advice Matt gave us was to rub Vaseline on our bums each morning before we got on the bikes, to prevent what he called Monkey Arse ( a red bum from the pressure points and chafing in a hot and humid climate sitting on a fence- paling seat. Most of us did it and it worked well, but I was certainly happy to give my bum a rest from ten days riding over endless potholes. Each of us carried out a forensic examination of our bums at the end of each day and it was the chosen topic of conversation over dinner, along with the daily poo reports. It’s fair to say that men never grow up.
One morning, as we gathered across the road from our lodgings, we watched a young woman, little more than a girl, working skillfully on a scooter with a flat tyre. She is barely 19 yo, her husband is working in the rice fields, she has a toddler playing at her feet, and she squats on her haunches and demonstrates deft skills as she goes about her work, including the use of power tools when required. She runs the workshop most of the season while her husband works the fields. On another occasion, at a mid-morning drink stop, we encountered a child/mother who was only 14 years old with her baby on her hip. Veesay questions her and explains that it is her baby. As Westerners, we are shocked that these kids have their independence and youth wrenched from them by motherhood at such an early age.
The mechanic mum who would put all of us but Peter Whitmore to shame.
The big downside for me was rubber. The cultivation of rubber has increased massively in Laos, and the white resin that is collected from the trees, and carted away for processing, smells like rotting flesh. It is an assault on the olfactory senses, and is pervasive for kilometre after kilometre, especially as we pass a procession of slow-moving trucks heavily laden with the vile stuff.
In the final few days of riding, we became more indolent and spent more time off the bikes. Spring River Resort is tucked away in the jungle, well off the beaten track, on the banks of a river that is fed by a spring that runs for 7 km in an underground cave. Most of the guys risk more Monkey Arse by sitting uncomfortably at the bottom of a long boat as they travel for two hours to the end of the cave and back.
Looking back to the entrance from inside the cave that runs for 7 km.
The penultimate day is a short ride to a two-hour zip-line adventure. There are six zip lines, and in between we have to scramble up limestone karats using safety harnesses and clipping onto guide wires to prevent falling hundreds of feet. It is a heap of fun, until at the end, a 350 m vertical climb out, brutal in riding boots. I was completely gassed when I got to the top and am happy to tick that one off. I will not be doing it again.
From the zip line, a super dusty ride to day end, with the group separated into two bunches when a refuelling stop was missed by stragglers. We rode into a wall of dust with the sun in our eyes. All we could see is the silhouette of something that may be in front of us or could be coming toward us. The potholes are invisible. It’s risky but we all arrive safely. The following day is a three-hour dash to Vientiane, a shower, pack, and a boozy night at our favourite watering hole, The Tipsy Elephant, where enthusiasm overtakes common sense.
In conclusion, I would say that Southeast Asia was not the first place I would choose to ride, but having done it, I would go back in a heartbeat, heat, humidity, dust and dysentery notwithstanding. It is so colorful and vibrant that you pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. Travelling it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller. To quote Mark Twain… “ twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than the things you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover”
Looking across the Mekong River from Laos to Thailand on our last night