The Luang Prabang experience

Temples,


temples,


temples,


temples,


temples,


temples.


And a temple artist who clearly enjoyed himself too much painting Buddhist hell.


Desperate for a change of scene, I’ve just been on a day trip. This morning I travelled by boat


to the Pak Ou Cave, containing… well, OK, more images of the Buddha.


Thousands of the little Buddhas, in fact.


Ten minutes before I was due to board the boat again, I suddenly realised there was a second cave, up a steep flight of steps, and nearly killed myself running up them. This one was fairly pathetic, which might explain why they haven’t bothered to light it, and the POV video footage of me stumbling into its gloomy interior gasping for breath plays like a deleted scene from Halloween.

In all honesty the first cave wasn’t much cop either, but it does draw the tourists in so I’m thinking of emulating it when I get back to the UK. All I have to do is find a secluded cave somewhere, fill it full of old jackets with furry hoods and call it the Parka Cave. Or perhaps I could exhibit used cardboard milk cartons and call it the Tetrapak Cave. There must be thousands of people as daft as me, willing to shell out good money to see a load of old tat in a cave, I reckon.

Oh well, never mind. My afternoon at the Kouang Si waterfall and bear sanctuary was delightful in comparison.


Here I go again, chasing waterfalls. However, these were more spectacular than the Erawan falls in Thailand and I even had time to climb to the top and have a paddle.


In my happier frame of mind, it occurred to me how churlish I’d been about Pak Ou, Luang Prabang and possibly the whole of Laos. Compared with most people, I’m having the time of my life.