Going Homer

I have finished Homer's Odyssey, and have decided to elevate my standard of language and frequency of classical references. I have cast off the superfluous ejaculations of youth and have become as a man, like the thoughtful Telemachus, when he fought with Zeus' favourite, the lion-hearted Odysseus and his father, the steadfast Laertes. It was with this in mind when I set off, bound for Vang Vieng.

As Dawn appeared, fresh and rosy-fingered, I acquired a chariot and departed the happy home I had enjoyed in Luang Prabang. I approached Vang Vieng from the North, helped by a strong wind raised by the mighty earth-shaker Poseidon. Thereupon, I rested for some days, enjoying the warm hospitality offered there. I feasted like a king, on the fattest calves, and the wine flowed ceaselessly. And when the libations had sufficiently addled my wits, I would return to my bed, where the aegis-bearing Athene would close my eyes in blissful sleep until golden-throned Dawn would appear once more.

Alas, I grew restless once more on my long journey home and once more set off from my kind hosts. This time, with a favourable wind, I found myself in Vientiane, the capital of the country of the Laotians. This citadel has little to recommend it to a weary traveller on his way home. Zeus, who marshals the clouds, has seen fit to conjure a dark storm on the distant horizon.

I will arise and go on the morrow and will fly to Bangkok, like Hermes, the keen-eyed Giant-slayer, flies to Hades.

Tobius.

This is me during our 20km kayak (downstream) into Vang Vieng. The scenery was spectacular.

This a picture of my near-perfect dismount from the 'Flying Fox', the biggest rope swing I have ever seen.

Lessons Left Unlearned

Laos is a great lesson in when a country should just be left to do its thing. I mean, it may look quite sizable on the map, and that's probably as far as the President of the United States of America looked when he decided that its communist movement was dangerous, but this population of four million (compare with Vietnam's 80 million) had to endure the American air force dropping bombs on them throughout the American presence in Indochina. Laos had been declared neutral by the Geneva Accords, so the USAF pilots were dressed in civilian garb and flew single prop aircraft. The mortality for these pilots was as high as 50%.

As the Americans pulled out of Vietnam, more aircraft were available for Laos. In the end, there were 50% more sorties flown in Laos than Vietnam - a total of 580,944 for this diffusely populated country. That's the equivalent of one plane-load of bombs every eight minutes, 24 hours a day for the nine years from 1965 to 1973. B-52 bombers dropped 500kg of explosive for every man, woman and child in Laos, making it the most bombed country on a per capita basis in the history of warfare. What's more, up to 30% of the ordnance is still unexploded. Even given this (probably excessive) figure, a 350kg bomb exploding next to you is more than sufficient to kill you.

We can deduce two things from these figures. Firstly, that American bombs are badly made. Secondly, the pilots are rotten shots.

Finally, when the Americans were leaving, the area was divided up into 13 provinces whose borders were identical to those before war. Before the Americans bombed the life out of the proletariat, the communist Pathet Lao controlled two of the 13 provinces. By the end, they controlled 11. It just goes to show that fighting a population is going to drive them even further towards your enemy's ideology. This should come as no surprise. You can't convince someone of your argument by bombing them. If only that were the last time an American President were to make that mistake.

The main strip in Luang Prabang turns into this market at night. The street is named after a king called Sissavang Vong. I mention the name merely because I think he sounds like a character from Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

21 people on a tuk-tuk. New record baby! After taking this pciture the guy set off, so I had to run after him whilst putting my camera away and hop on the back.

I booked my bus to leave Luang Prabang one morning. Then I was hungover so had the date changed to the next day. Instead of sitting on a sweaty bus for the day, I went with some people to a waterfall. We swam here for an hour. Notice the rope swing in front of the waterfall. Today, my hands are covered in friction burns and my shoulders are killing me. Good time though. Something that looks like a praying mantis just flew over the keyboard and landed on the floor next to me. I swear it's looking at me. Ew.

This was my Luang Prabang gang. Maria (Danish), Dave (Irish), Tess (Swedish, Other Dave's Bird), Other Dave (Irish) and Greta (American).

I had a choice of posting this picture or a similar one where I was obviously sucking in my beer gut. I decided to stay true to myself and my alcoholically enhanced abdomen.

I was happy when I found somewhere to hang up my hammock that I bought in Siem Reap, Cambodia four weeks ago. I was happier still when I climbed in and cracked open can of (warm, cheap, Vietnamese) beer. Notice anything about the ring-pull? Remember the 80s?

In Vang Vieng there are 'cafes' like this one that do nothing but show episode after episode of the american sit-com, Friends, and serve idiot back-packers tasty treats. Once my brain had been sufficiently massaged to goo, I ordered a cheeseburger.