Another Day in Laos - Middle of Nowhere, Laos

The man sat, hiding in the bushes 100 metres away from us. His lackey, a 16 year old chain smoking boy was pacing back and forth. Under his loosely slung jacket was a semi-automatic assault rifle. He was the 'man' in charge. We were on the side of the mountainous road with a smashed up bus, somewhere between Luang Prabang and Vang Vieng.

The man was pissed. Smashed. Inebriated. Completely and totally drunk. He was our bus driver and was hiding from his vehicle and passengers. I should have known by his swagger, which was more like a stagger of his state. Or, after the driver's 10th smoke and piss break.

But I didn't think anything of it.

The bus' side had ripped through the concrete guard rail as we rounded a corner. We came crunching, grinding and screeching to a standstill. Richard stood up in defiance and yelled, "you're drunk! This man is drunk!" and knowing smiles came from the assault rifle wielding boy and his coworkers.

We were stranded.

By now the driver had done a runner, abandoning his crew, and deserting his vehicle and passengers. The boy with the gun reassured us, however reassuring a trigger happy boy with a gun can be. It became dark. A bus came. We got on and drove. Vang Vieng's bus station eventually emerged, eleven hours later. I smiled. Richard grumbled.

It was just another day in Laos.

Up the Nam Tha - Laos, South East Asia

I thought we were going to crash, though it didn’t concern me that much.

The boat was heading directly towards a large tree, jutting out from the banks of the Nam (river) Tha at full speed. Avoidance seemed impossible. The local man stood firm at the head of the boat with a long bamboo pole trying his best to steer up river through rapids. I was contemplating the inevitable crash and its potential outcome, when with sudden finesse the boat took a sharp right, narrowly missing impact. A large whoop came from the boatman and his wife and a collective sigh of relief from the rest.

We had escaped disaster.

I had thought that in order to charter a boat, one must be a fat, cigar smoking, and champagne swilling rich man with no less than three ex-wives. That, or Jay-Z. It turns out you can be a 24 year-old unemployed traveller.

Richard and I had just crossed the border from Thailand into Laos and were anxiously awaiting adventure. Wanting to avoid Falangs (foreigners/tourists) like a bad rash we decided to charter a small fishing boat up the rarely travelled Nam Tha. We pounded the pavement and eventually convinced three intrepid travellers to split the costs, effectively taking people on our very first tour. * Richard and I walked past Immigration and down to the river. A price was negotiated in the sand with sticks. We would set sail in the morning.

It was 8am. Our bags were packed and we were ready to go. We wished ourselves a bon voyage and left the confines of solid land. For the next two days the river would be our road.

Life is simple on the Nam Tha.

We spent the first day gob-smacked by the beauty around us. The river carved its way through limestone cliffs, rice paddies, forested land and villages. Water buffalo lazed around in mud pits. Pigs ran amuck through waist high blades of grass. Chickens ran away from the grasp of mischievous children and ducks waddled around with their ducklings.

Roads don’t exist along the Nam Tha. Instead, narrow footpaths connect the villages sporadically dotted along the river. Goods and cargo, including live chickens and goats are transported on handmade boats, no bigger than a canoe. Men and their young sons dive in their underwear for supper with homemade spears.

Night was upon us and our faithful fisherman and his wife stopped along the shore. They beckoned for us to follow the path into a village – his village. We spent the evening eating bamboo shoot soup.

Day two and we continued up the river. We eventually reached our destination. Life was good. Life on the Nam Tha was simple. And beautiful. And I liked that.

-Tossed Sallard-

Asia - Chennai to Bangkok

I thought I was going to die. Again.


I was stuck in the middle of an intersection for the third time that day. Four-wheeled rust buckets were hurling themselves in my direction. Barefoot rickshaw drivers were on a kamikaze course to who knows where. I didn't even have the pleasure of blinding headlights in my vision, half the time they don't even exist. I crossed my fingers, took a deep breath and ran.

The traffic doesn't stop in Chennai, at least, not if you're human.


I was cringing, bitter and annoyed. India was getting under my skin. Chennai is the fourth largest city in India with a population of 5 million. It's home to a less famous than Bollywood, but equally as popular film industry.


This isn't Hollywood.


I spent the day wandering around the city, counting the minutes until I was to depart. Trash heaps supported a cow farm just off one of the main streets. Another turn down that street brought Richard and I into a pretty little slum, filled with children in panties running rampant down the lanes.


I was leaving for Bangkok, Thailand, and that day, I couldn't have been happier. Never mind the last time I was in "The Land of Smiles" pleasant customs officials spat on my face, called me a piece of shit, took my money and threatened to send me jail. Thailand was going to be an Oasis.


Richard and I got off of our flight, went through customs, picked up our luggage and entered into a different world. It was posh. It was clean. The roads were paved. The taxis had air-conditioning. Road signs directed you to where you had to go. I was shocked. I didn't quite know what to do with myself. Bangkok is a bustling, vibrant, cosmopolitan city, not far off from the great cities of the Western World.


Asia seemed like a distant memory.


Richard and I had time to kill, so we took a Tuk Tuk. Our only objective was to eventually reach the Grand Palace. The man offered us a rate of 20Baht - what a steal! We jumped in, expecting to do the rounds around gem shops and tailors, we wouldn't be fooled. We were going to waste his time. Two tailor shops later the pleasant Tuk Tuk driver suggested a visit to a travel agent. Don't worry, it is the Tourist Authority of Thailand. We agreed. The shop looked professional, in fact there was even a Farang (foreigner) working in the offices. We told the agent where we wanted to go. He disappeared and reappeared a few moments later. Our week long excursion was going to cost £200/person. We scoffed, laughed and walked away...


"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" He screamed. I turned around, the agent was throwing out his finger at us, and screaming, beckoning for a fight. Richard, without thinking, jumped out of the tuk tuk chasing the man back into his hole. The man lacked balls. We tore off down the road with echoes of "Fuck you farang, fuck you!" trailing behind.


I smiled. Yes, we were still in Asia.