My Laos adventure

Monday 18th August. 15.00. Book flights to Laos. Excited.
Monday 18th August. 18.00. Informed that all trips to Laos have been cancelled for the past two days due to flooding. Excitement reduced.

Wednesday 20th August. Arrive Luang Prabang, Laos. Raining. Heavily. Excitement evaporates.

Thursday 21st August. As the rain stopped, my three day trek started. A happy coincidence of timing. The only problem being that my trekking route was knee deep with water. All in all a soggy start to my Laos adventure.

However, things picked up when we eventually arrived in the local village that was to be my home for two nights. We started drinking the local whisky - Lao Lao. However, banter was restrained by the lack of a single word in common. Therefore non-verbal communication became essential. The only problem being that their non-verbal communication consisted primarily of commenting on the fact that I was larger than the average Laoitian (family, perhaps). We may have shared a common appearance of a slightly protruding belly (although the politically correct amongst you might find fault in comparing overnourished with malnourished), yet their gentle ribbing became slightly over-the-top when they made me climb onto a set of scales to gauge exactly how many Laoitians my body weight is similar to. Alternatively they may have simply been remarking on how slim I am looking at present, but I can't be sure.

Therefore (slightly drunk) I decided that I'd resort to what the English know best. A game of football. Or football voleyball as it seemed to be. My talents on the pitch seemed more appreciated than in the drinking circle, though communication remained an issue. My cries of "on me 'ead, son" and "send it to the back stick" were greeted with mere bafflement, although I am sure that I heard murmerings, regarding a recent match, that "the forth Cambodian goal was miles offside". It might have been lost in translation.
















Waking up to a breakfast of river weed was an unexpected treat on day 2, but the day's cuisine adventures had barely begun. As I watched lunch being served, I could not understand why they were catching beetles and removing the wings - the ground, mixed chilli certainly had an extra spice. Snails at dinner was a step too far for me (a little too French, perhaps).

The activity on day two might come as a shock to friends and family, but I actually did a hard day's work. Manual labour. In the rice fields. Cutting weeds. However, I did a hard day's work... Laos style. For every hour work, there was at least an hour's break. When this is added to the two hour lunch and siesta, as well as finishing at 3pm, some might question the work ethic of the people. Yet I salute them, having spent three years in employment attempting to bring in similar working practices, albeit to no avail.



















On day three I rode an elephant. Accusations abound that I am simply doing these 'touristy' activities, but if you saw my elephant turbo-charging over waterfalls at hair-raising speeds, I can guarentee you that I would seem like a local. Almost.

The New Vietnam

Proclaiming that a new idea, place or invention is 'new' carries with it inherent dangers. Particularly when a place is prefixed with the word 'new', the risk of it rapidly becoming old or established is omnipresent. The lack of foresight displayed by those naming 'newfoundland', for example is astounding. Also, those naming New York did not perhaps envision the lack of resemblance between the twenty-first century metropolis and its humble predecessor.

However, 'new' does give a flavour of a place and I have therefore designated some 'new' places and ideas based on my experiences in Vietnam.

1. 'New Goddess'. See below, need I say more.

2. 'New Kosher'. My fairly strict adherence to a 'no pig, no shellfish rule' was tested to its extreme by a Vietnamese cooking course in which both Wonton and shrimp were on the menu. However, whether or not I tasted this cuisine, it can be safely assured that its audience apprecaited my efforts.

3. New History. I think the 'Hanoi Hilton' prison in Hanoi deserves a special mention in this blog for affirming everything that I learnt at history GCSE. Propaganda does exist. The propaganda in the museum was particularly unsubtle. Even I managed to see through it. Whilst one section of the exhibition explains the horrendous atrocities committed against the Vietnamese, this picture below shows two American GIs laughing over a game of chess. I feel (and I believe that John McCain might well back me up) that the reality could have been significantly different.

4. New baseball camps. I thought making a Vietnamese hat with one arm was particuarly impressive.

5. New Scotland. The picture below showing me in traditional Vietnamese costume maybe deceptive. I managed to see through this facade as the two 'traditional Vietnamese music' events that I have attended have both concluded with a rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne.

6. New England (I suspect that this might have been used before). As I was giving an impromptu lesson in English, having gained the students utmost respect, I suddenly realised that my version of English might not have been the correct one to teach. As I encountered the word 'wall' in the textbook, my London twang became apparent and I feel that their promunciation might have eclipsed my version of a wall (waw).

7. New Communism. The middle of a cave in splendid Halong Bay provided the perfect setting for these two noveau communist girls. Starbucks T-shirts and Vietnamese communist hats, the perfect juxtapostion that represents so much of modern Vietnam. Worn with a complete lack of irony, which I felt was the beauty.

The "Rafi Look" (patent pending)

For years, I have spent the majority of my waking life perfecting the "Rafi Look" (patent pending). The "Rafi Look" appears to suggest an inner state combining bewilderment, confusion and puzzlement. General confuzzlement, basically. This facade has for years lulled people into a false sense of security, meeting me and believing that I am 'dopey' without discovering my hidden intellectual (!) depths.

Since arriving in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), the "Rafi Look" has been inadvertently practised frequently. The first occasion was at the presidential palace. The wonderous oblivion with which I ignored a huge 'don't step on the [very expensive and historically significant Vietnamese - not stated, but clearly implied] carpet was confounded only by the fact that there was a group of passing tourists who I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye laughing at my misdemeanor.














Not a problem, I thought, as the advantages of travelling alone are the enforced brief interactions with people. I'll never see them again, I naively believed. Later in the day, it almost goes without saying, I found out that those 5 gigglers made up precisely half the group that I will spend the next ten days travelling with.

The "Rafi Look" has become common on the roads of Saigon too. There are over 2 million motorbikes in Saigon, each of which, I believe, is individually trying to shake me from my daydreaming. None have succeeded, despite coming at me from all angles, cutting across traffic, riding on pavements and the wrong side of the road etc. Traffic lights are a general principle to be followed when it suits and ignored at leisure, rather than a hard and fast rule. So I decided if you can't beat them (and two million vs one is not great odds), join them:




















Other occasions in which the "Rafi Look" has been brought out have been:

When meeting the Viet Cong for the first time:














When firing an AK47, in training to join the Viet Cong, who wooed me with their communist bravado:















When burrowing my way through the Chu Chi tunels, having become a fully fledged member of the communist revolution:

Phnom-enal

It's hard to write a pithy, witty blog having spent the day at killing fields and a genocide museum. To do so would be inappropriate to the millions of Cambodians who lost their lives to the brutal regime of Pol Pot or those whose lives have been destroyed by the landmines laid down by the Khmer Rouge. Hardly a soul in this country has been left untouched by this human disaster.

However (and there was always destined to be a 'however') I feel that to question other people's lack of respect is not itself disrespectful. After all, as I trawled around looking at numerous skulls and hearing tales of mass devastation I was quiet and respectful. I didn't chat loudly, cheerily, on the phone and in French (possibly the worst aspect of that combination). I also didn't write graffiti on the prison walls. Simply unbelievable that someone could plaster their name on the wall of a prison in which only 7 people out of 20,000 survived. The fact that John from California visited in 2007 is of no interest and immense disrespect to all concerned, methinks. And lastly, I didn't smile. This wasn't a smiling matter and I was told not to smile. I think the very fact that there was a no smiling notice perfectly exemplifies the aforementioned situation.

You Watt?!

So often the levels of sophistication, development and international standing of a country can be measured by its architectural achievements. Look at the Colosseum standing tall in Rome, the Harbour Bridge dominating Sydney or the Western Wall casting a shadow (in more ways than one) over Jerusalem. So I have decided to compare and contrast some architectural achievements that I have witnesses in the past few days.

Firstly there is Angkor Watt, Cambodia. Built by the Khmer empire between the 9th and 13th centuries, this is one of the modern wonders of the world, surviving in wonderful condition. Elaborately levelled with stunning bas-reliefs, yet built with limited resources and no modern machinery, this is truly a breathtaking phenomenon.















Secondly, the twin Petronas towers that dominate modern day Kuala Lumpur. Whilst Malaysia is not regarded as a first world nation (yet) these towers were until recently the world's tallest building with 88 floors, a lift that moves at 5 metres per second etc etc. Pretty impressive, in other words.




















Thirdly, I spent at least an hour looking for Britain's centrepiece of Kuala Lumpur, a colonial masterpiece that would make me proud of my homeland. Having built such wonders as the Milennium Dome and Wembley with such efficiency and prudence, I presumed that I would be in for quite a treat. Merdeka Square is regarded as the centre of KL, the sight of Malaysia's independence and something (for once) that Britain could be proud of in the empire. And here it is...














Yes, that is really it. A former cricket pitch. With a flag at the end. Britain's total architecturtal contribution to the region seems to be a cricket pitch. And not even a good pitch with swinging wickets, barmy army shouting and beer flowing. Just an empty cricket pitch where apparently they play once a year. And that was it. Rule Brittania!