Recently, a friend emailed me about a recent trip to Laos, a country he'd visited as a traveller over 40 years before. From the comfort of leafy Headingley, it was fascinating to here about his travels and some long-forgotten memories of my own rose to the surface.
I spent about 10 days in Vientiane, the Laotian capital, in 1975, while travelling overland from England to Australia.
Although I had a permit to go on to Luang Prabang in the North of the country (I think I still have it somewhere, along with my Indonesian driving licence!) , I never used it as I was freaked out by an incident at an international trade exhibition towards the end of my stay.
At the time there was an uneasy truce between the Laotian government and the Pathet Lao, the insurgency, and troops from both sides were much in evidence on the streets. I'd had such a lovely time in the first 6 or 7 days, staying in a decrepit but beautiful old French hotel with long balconies, invaded by creepers and undergrowth, allowing access to the rooms. The balconies were bordered with beautiful, but neglected wrought iron railings.
Daytime was spent in cafes run by French old timers who had just never left. I had the most beautiful banana flambant everyday for next to nothing in an old French restaurant that had seen better days. The owner was a french national, clearly a relic from the era of french indochina.
I also witnessed an act of incredible cruelty when the drunken or drugged owner got upset with a little kitten that had peed on the floor. He lifted it up above his head and threw it as hard as he could down onto the ground. Amazingly, it survived, but the incident was straight out of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. I was a bit too 'inebriated' to do anything about it. I wandered the streets of Vientiane, streets full of rickshaws, opium dens and with a 'Saigon just before the fall' atmosphere.
If Robert De Niro and Christopher Walken had appeared around a corner it really wouldn't have surprised me.
Among other signals to me that the vibes were not perfect was the number of travellers banged up at the local police station, several of whom I'd spoken to briefly when I got my Luang Prabang pass. (Their cells were alongside the main footpath) 2 Aussies and an American. They looked pretty chastened.
One afternoon I decided to take in the International Trade Exhibition, everything seemed very normal, lots of suits, no doubt attached to trade missions, wandering round, locals and a few freaks. I felt very relaxed, normal, not a traveller but a regular tourist. My instincts had gone awol for a while.
I was in the centre of a big tent, looking from a distance at the exhibits around the walls when I spotted a young Pathet Lao soldier. His livery was Vietcong circa 1968, and he couldn't have been more than 14. Starry-eyed, he was making his way round the walls. He looked quite sweet and innocent. I had nephews his age. I saw this clash of ideologies, the exhibition, East versus West. I had to have that image. Significantly, he was packing an AK47. It was almost as big as him! What a photo opportunity, I thought. I also thought I was quite a clever, seasoned traveller and I would point the camera directly at a section of wall and when the little soldier crossed the line of the camera I'd take the shot. What could go wrong? - you're thinking. I'm sure you aren't but I was!
He arrived, I took the shot that was going to get me the Pulitzer Prize and then all hell broke loose. The flash went off and he came running over pointing the gun at me and jabbing at my stomach, without making contact. Immediately an interested crowd materialised, more soldiers, on both sides, and someone translated what he was saying. "The light went through me". As you might imagine I was back-pedalling furiously, feigning innocence and looking desperate. He got more an more agitated and angry, emboldened by the support he was getting from some of his mates. The gun was still pointed at my stomach. "Was the safety on or off? He may panic, make a big mistake and loose off 30 rounds. I'll be dead and he'll, hopefully be sorry, but that regret will eventually fade and he'll get on with his life. Meanwhile, I'll still be dead. Why did I just do that?" Just a selection of my thoughts over a couple over the the following seconds that seemed like days. Did my cringing and snivelling help? No chance.
I was marched off to a P/Lao military hub where someone a bit further up the chain of command left me wetting myself for 2 hours and then gave me a right bollocking and exposed the whole camera film in an unnecessarily theatrical fashion, I thought (I didn't tell him that). It had been the last shot on a roll of 36. Instantly, Darjeeling, Thailand and Burma went up the spout, Including shots at sunrise from Tiger Hill. The photos may not have been much anyway but I was gutted. So I said to him, "I'm a British citizen and we were running 50 or more countries like this with one arm tied behind our back, before you were a twinkle in your Dad's eye, skylark and why shouldn't I just squeeze your head like a pimple - and come to think of it, where's the little git with the AK shot off to?" . Would I be writing this blog if I had said that ? I don't think so. I got what I asked for.
Thanking them profusely for their extraordinary compassion and generosity, I was then released but not heaved into the Mekong, as I was expecting. I was so shaken that I took the first motorised canoe out the next day. All in all it was a useful learning experience. Unfortunately the same experience rarely pops up twice. A lesson I continued to learn long after I left Laos - and still am!
