Happy Hanoi Birthday

Good morning Vietnam! Now that I got that out of my system, I would like everyone to know that May 11 is Gregg's birthday. After the cool mountains of Laos, we are sweating profusely in the hot city of Hanoi. We made it here after an arduous journey and to celebrate Gregg's birthday, we got an air conditioned room with a TV, big beds and cable television. It's going to be a long post because the last few days have been quite interesting. So maybe you should put on your reading glasses.

Those of you who know both Gregg and I know that we tend to make decisions by default - we hem and haw and then have to deal with the consequences of waiting too long. Most travellers in Laos take a southern route to cross into central Vietnam because according to tourist police, foreign embassies, other travellers, and guidebooks like Lonely Planet, the only legal crossings for foreigners are in the south. We weren't too excited about that because we would have to do a lot of backtracking in order to see what we want to of Vietnam. We heard from a few sources that we could actually cross further north at Na Meo. So about half an hour before the bus left for Northern Laos, we decided to go. We threw all our belongings into our backpacks and headed for the bus station, bidding Vang Vieng's cliffs adieu.

The bus was definitely not a VIP bus. Along with two other foreigners and a plethora of Lao people, we boarded an ancient sturdy bus reminiscent of Air Streams. As usual, our stuff was thrown onto the top of the bus. I've never seen anything fall off. Gregg's seat companion, a very tired man, kept falling asleep on his shoulder. They passed out plastic bags for people to puke in because the terrain is crazy. It's all up, down, right, left. It's like a crazy roller coaster. You have to hold on for dear life. One girl in particular suffered from motion sickness.

But the scenery was gorgeous and made the carnival ride worth it. I can't describe the beauty of the green green hills and the villages nestled beside the side of the road. Laos is incredibly beautiful and I know that my words and my pictures could never convey to you the wonderful things we saw as we snaked through the countryside on that bus.

On the bus, we made friends with John, a well travelled Australian who told us travel tales of places I've never really heard of. He's a former Navy man who served off the coast in the Vietnam War - which we are learning to call the American War. We spent the next day and a half in his company. It was kind of weird - we're the same age as his children.

At one point, the bus stopped and everyone started jabbering. A lady had forgotten her cell phone at the restaurant where we'd stopped for lunch. A motorcycle went back to retrieve and the bus stayed parked partway up a hill around a bend for over half an hour. That wouldn't have happened in the western world.

After 8 hours and only about 150 kilometers, we arrived in Phonsavanh and the most heavily bombed place in the Vietnam/American War. The hills were sprayed with Agent Orange so now only grass grows on them. They've brought in eucalyptus trees because they're the only ones that will grow in the ravaged soil. Bomb craters dot the landscape and the people can't stray off established paths for fear of blowing their foot off on an old landmine. The British organization MAG is working to clear the land of UXO - unexploded ordnance - left over from the war. We went there to learn about the war and to see the mysterious Plain of the Jars.

On Sunday, Gregg, John our Aussie friend, and I went on a tour of the Jars and other sights. When the promised air con van refused to start, we were placed in an ancient Russian car that appeared to have been painted with house paint. Our guide Malan told us a little about the war - like the Americans getting the people to grow opium to fund the war - but mainly quizzed us about drinking and social life in Canada. He told us his dad had lived in a cave for five years during the war. A lot of the caves in Laos served as residences during the war.

The Plain of the Jars is really just that - a field full of huge old stone jars. They are probably about five hundred to a thousand years old and their origin and purpose are unknown. It's speculated they were funeral urns or vats for making rice whiskey. No one knows for sure. The biggest one weighs 6.6 tonnes (we think). They think that some of them may have come from as far as three hundred kilometers away - quite impressive given Laos' rugged terrain. There are several sites. We saw one. We had to keep to the paths because MAG hasn't totally finished clearing the site.

We also saw an old Russian tank, the old American airstrip, a cleared mine field full of little craters, and tons of old bombs that haven't been disarmed yet. It was a little scary at times following the guide through all the bush. He took us to a Buddha cave where a lot of Buddhas had been hidden for protection. The Americans had also used it during the war. We also saw a medicine cave full of glass medicine bottles and a coffin cave with old bones in a wooden coffin. We felt uncomfortable at all three caves and don't recommend them to anyone. We also went to a UXO village. With all the bomb casings and scrap and shells readily available, the people have gotten quite creative. They flatten barrels for roofs and use casings as fence posts. Pots and cutlery are made from metal from airplanes. We ate dinner with such spoons.

There were two highlights to the day. Gregg and I both tried some barbecued frog legs. We also stopped and played Lao football with some village kids. This game is like volleyball played with the feet, head, shoulders, legs and chest, but no arms or hands. I was no good, but luckily the driver was awesome so we beat the kids.

Monday, despite negative news from other travellers and the Canadian embassy, we continued our trek into northern Laos by boarding yet another bus bound for the town of Sam Neua. We were the only foreigners and thankfully there weren't too many Lao either so we had our own seats. They got over staring eventually. This trip was even windier than previous ones. Gregg counted the straight stretches and never made it past five Mississippis. He usually only made two or three. We couldn't sleep because we had to grip the handles on the seats.

When we stopped for lunch, a kind non-English speaking lady understood my pantomine and lead me far away through a restaurant into the back of a yard to a toilet. I ran into a foreigner in the restaurant who gave me discouraging news about the border I intended to cross, but it was too late. I was headed there. The bus driver and his domineering wife were changing the bald tire on the bus in favor of a slightly less bald spare. Gregg got in there and helped them, wielding a 5 foot snipe to tighten the bolts. The driver's skill amazed me. He drove for hours on end on a tiny road only wide enough for one vehicle, honking his horn to announce going around a corner. He could maneuver that bus anywhere.

Sam Neua is a beautiful and surprisingly large town in northern Laos. It's well off the tourist circuit so we were stared down pretty hard upon arrival. We actually saw three other foreigners in this valley settlement. We went to the riverside market. Shops and fruit vendors are scattered outside. There is a main building of the same quality as a fifty year old granary where tons of little shops are set up in a labrinth. When we first walked in, we were in the meat department. Gregg saw a leg lying on a table and wanted to throw up. We pinched our noses and ran to the other shops where you could buy almost anything needed for your typical Northern Laos lifestyle.

We were walking down one of the gravel streets and a boy came walking up to us. I saw a knife in his hand and he put it behind us as he drew near. We thought he wanted to stab Gregg, but thankfully, no.

My hands are getting sore and I'm sure you're tired of my verbosity. The story gets more interesting as we make our way from Sam Neua to Hanoi. You'll have to wait for the next installment of our travel narrative.