Is it pronounced “louse” as in house or “lau” as in “how”?

Either way, the second stage of our trip through Indo China was to be a visit to the land locked, communist state of The Peoples’ Democratic Republic of Laos. To be fair, it had never been high on my list of places to visit, as I was of the opinion, based on absolutely nothing, that it was an uninteresting, poor nation covered in jungle and famous only for accommodating the Ho Chi Minh Trail that supplied the Viet Cong during the “Vietnam” or “American” War, whichever standpoint you come from.

Pat, on the other hand, had longed to visit and, in particular, to travel by boat along the Mekong from the Thai border to Luang Prabang, Laos’ second city. Pre visit research had revealed that there were several alternative boats. A basic, daily boat service, catering mainly to locals and the backpacker fraternity, was obviously the cheapest alternative. Up from that was what I would call the “glam packing” option. More pricey, at about 4 times the price, it offered a lunch on each of the days and a couple of stops to visit local villages and sites of interest along the way. The third boat was way out of our league, with its overnight onboard accommodation and cocktails served at sundown.

Pat had considered the low fare alternative until we learned that it was often overbooked and each 8 hour day of “cruising” might need to be endured sitting on the floor in any space you could win in a fight with your fellow travellers. Think of Ryan Air for cruises.

Our journey started with a 5.30am pick up at our hotel in Chiang Rai followed by a packed minibus ride with14 others to the border crossing. Breakfast of banana panckes, of course, coffee and toast was offered at a roadside cafe, where we were fleeced of our remaining Baht in return for a few Laotian Kip. It was going to be a challenge once over the border dealing with an exchange rate of 32,000 odd to the £.

Our fellow travellers were from UK and elsewhere in Europe and all much younger than us. As we disembarked from our bus at the border and prepared to exit Thailand, we were all buttonholed with a badge. Pat and I were given a different colour from the rest. This became a brief talking point but once it became clear that we weren’t going with the hoi polloi, we found ourselves on the edge of the conversation, cut adrift from the main group moving through immigration.

Once across in Laos (I trust you are all pronouncing that correctly), we were bussed with an older demographic, all wearing similar coloured badges, to our waiting “luxury” liner for our cruise. The younger travellers were, seemingly, herded on to seperate buses and as far as we could tell, would never be seen again. At least not by us.

It turned out that the cheaper and more expensive boats were pretty much the same except that we had about 32 on board while they had around 200!. We were arranged in groups of four around a table and the rear area was where the bar was located, the food served and the toilets were positioned. Up front (the bow for those of a nautical bent) was a sitting out area that could accommodate about 8 to 10 at any one time.

Our table sharers were a Germano-French couple, Kurt and Brigitte, from Berlin. In conversation with others, during the two day journey, we discovered a retired RAF Hercules pilot and a girl living in Formby! Small world.

Between the two days cruising we stayed in the town of Pak Beng. The town only exists to service the toing and froings of the boats and their passengers. There are a couple of half decent hotels in the town but mainly it is small family guesthouses and local restaurants. We stayed in one of the latter, up the hill from the boat pier. To be fair, everything was up the hill from the boat pier.

After writing the above paragraphs on the boat trip down the Mekong, I had thought it might be interesting to see what AI might produce for me. Who knows I might just continue with an AI generated blog for the rest of the trip. Anyway, I typed in to ChatGPT…

“Write a 300 word blog about a 68 year old Scouser and his 67 year old wife travelling by glam packing boat through Laos from Huay Xia to Luang Prabang which is informative and funny.” Is informative and funny what I try to do? In any event the following is what it came up with…

Who says adventure is just for gap-year kids? At 68, I’ve still got more life in me than most of these Insta-happy backpackers, and my 67-year-old wife is right there with me—though she insists on calling our travels “glam-packing” (because, apparently, bringing decent luggage and a preference for proper toilets elevates us above common backpackers).

Our latest escapade? The slow boat from Huay Xai to Luang Prabang, a two-day float down the Mekong River that’s as scenic as it is bum-numbing. But forget those rickety wooden benches; we splashed out on the luxury version. Proper seats, half-decent food, and beer that was only slightly warm—pure class.

The boat drifted past jungle-clad mountains, tiny villages, and kids who waved at us like we were celebrities. Occasionally, we stopped to let on more passengers, including one bloke carrying a live chicken under his arm. As you do. Meanwhile, a group of twenty-somethings next to us were discussing “finding themselves” in Southeast Asia. I helpfully suggested they check under their seats. They were not amused.

By the time we reached our overnight stop in Pakbeng, we were ready for a soft mattress and a stiff drink. Instead, we got a guesthouse with a bed harder than my old school headmaster and a toilet that made my wife reconsider her life choices. Morning arrived, we powered through with strong Lao coffee, and back onto the boat we went. Luang Prabang finally appeared, golden temples glistening in the sun. Worth it? Absolutely. Would we do it again? Maybe after my backside recovers. But one thing’s certain—glam-packing or not, we’re still living life in the fast lane. Well, the slow boat lane, but close enough.

Frighteningly close to the tale what I wrote! I will leave it to you to decide from here on in, which is AI generated and which is AL generated!!

As we approached Luang Prabang we stopped at the Pak Ou caves.

The old town of Luang Prabang is a United Nations World Heritage site. It has a very calm and sedate feeling to it.

The temples here have very different look and feel to them compared with those in Thailand.

The old town sits on a peninsular and is bordered by the Mekong to the north and the Nam Khan to the south and east. We were staying at a small hotel overlooking the Nam Khan and just around the corner from the confluence with the mighty Mekong. They are very contrasting rivers with the smaller being green while the larger river is quite muddy.

A thriving night market sets up each evening in the shadow of Phousi Hill which dominates the centre of town. A steep climb of nearly 400 steps takes you to the evening rendezvous to watch the sunset.

At our hotel one morning we met a Ken Hom lookalike American guy, who broke away from his talking at a young American couple to greet us like long lost family. He was loud and brash and like most Americans that you meet, very confident. He guessed we were English from our accents. He was an expert on accents, apparently. This discovery led him to talking about soccer. “Which roster gets your backing?” he enquired. I was taken aback. However, as I speak fluent American, having travelled extensively in the Land of the Free, I was able to understand and offer Ken a translation of his own question into my native English. I informed him that “The team that I support” is Everton. Ken looked quizzically at me. I was obviously not speaking in a language with which he was familiar. He informed me that he followed English soccer as his best friend back in Arizona was a Tottenham Hotspur man. He had, however, no knowledge of a team called Everton. I hate the Yanks!

Next morning Ken was haranguing the same American couple as the day earlier. They broke off this time to exchange WhatsApp numbers with us, in order that they could let us have details of a Homestay in Northern Vietnam which they highly recommended. Ken jumped in, “Would you like my contact details?” I declined his offer with a succinct “No.”, to which Ken muttered “You’ll regret that one day.” Somehow I dont think so. Thanks but no thanks Ken.

Our final destination in Laos was the capital, Vientianne. To get there we were taking the newly built “High Speed Rail.” The line runs from Kunming in China to the Laotian capital. The station is way out of town and has airport like facilities. Checking in our bags resulted in aerosols and liquids over 120ml being confiscated. it seemed a bit dracoian for a train ride but if it means that the security staff smell nice and have fresh breath then my donations will not have been in vain.

Vientianne was a little disappointing. The old town was a bit grubby and tending more to the shabby side of shabby chic. The waterfront housed the night market, which was decidedly a downmarket local affair, and a decidedly dodgy looking funfair. The area around the Victory Monument, an Arc de Triomphe like edifice, was better kept and the views over the city from the top were very good.

When travelling getting a good breakfast is quite important. Not only does it “set you up for the day”, but it can help you soldier on if finding lunch proves difficult. The first meal of the day doesn’t have to be haute cuisine. Indeed, eggs any style will do the job, accompanied by a piece of toast/bread/croissant type thing. Maybe a bit of fruit. All of the above are readily available anywhere in the world…or so you would think. I was once on a business trip in Karachi, Pakistan and for one reason or another I ended up being moved from the Sheraton to a local hotel for my first night. In the morning I went to the breakfast room where an elaborate buffet was set out in a horseshoe arrangement. I proceeded along one side, around the top bend and back down the other side and continued out of the breakfast room to order a cab back to the Sheraton. It wasn’t that there was nothing that I fancied. It was just that there was nothing that I recognised!

In Vientianne the scrambled eggs arrived looking decidedly grey rather than yellow. I suspect they had been prepared in the same pan as the soy noodles being consumed at the next table. For the rest of our stay we ate breakfast at a nearby French bakery and cafe.

As the French would say enough is enough.

Au revoir Laos. (Good to see you pronouncing it correctly).