Posted on Tuesday, 16 January 2018

Martine Brook enters Laos in search of jungle-clad mountains, exotic cultures and a little peace and quiet. But first, it was time for lunch.

Set beside a vast bend in the mighty Mekong is Vientiane, the sleepy Laotian capital. It's the natural entry point for thousands of tourists seeking a taste of a quiet, jungle-bound South East Asia that is hard to find elsewhere.

I arrived in the city after crossing the Friendship Bridge from Thailand. The Visa on Arrival process was simple enough: fill out a form and pay 36USD.

Boarding a clapped-out old bus with a mixture of locals and tourists, I crossed the 600m wide Mekong and passed the Laos flag which had been raised next to the Soviet hammer-and-sickle.

But while Laos' communist past appears to play a central role in the nation's identity, I would soon find that there was little genuinely communist about Vientiane, or Laos as a whole.

After several weeks in north east Thailand, one of the first things I noticed was how different the vehicles were: here were Lexuses, Range Rovers and all manner of top-end SUVs. In Thailand, all I had seen were Hi-luxes and Nissans (any car made outside Thailand is subjected to huge import duty).

But I wasn't here to scrutinise the traffic, I was here to explore Laotian heritage and countryside - particularly the sprawling jungle to the north, the mountains of Vang Vien and the charming town of Luang Prabang.

However, before all that, I was here to eat.

Despite Vientiane's communist aesthetic, I had been told by fellow tourists that Vientiane offered a plethora of western food, which, after weeks of eating rice and noodle dishes in Esan, had me rather excited.

I took a taxi from the bridge, which delivered me to the Lao Orchid Hotel, an establishment I chose due to its proximity to the city's top eateries. Thankfully, the friendly staff let me check in early.

After a quick nap on the gloriously comfortable bed, I rose and set about the important business of lunch.

Delhi Durbah

While I adore Thai cuisine, I had eaten it almost exclusively for two weeks. Now, I craved an Indian. I grabbed a tuk tuk to a well-reviewed restaurant near the Thai consulate and was welcomed by an older Indian couple of consummate elegance. Here I opted for the paneer tikka masala, washed down by the tasty local brew - Beer Lao. It was just as delicious as the high-end décor suggested it would be. By South East Asian standards it wasn't cheap, but still about half the price of a comparable UK Indian meal.

After lunch I hired a tuk tuk driver to take me around the sights of Vientiane, including the Patuxai war memorial and Wat Si Saket. But best of all was Pha Taht Luang - a majestic golden stupa soaring 44m. I then asked the driver to do a few more circuits of the city while my tikka masala digested, then concluded the trip at the riverside, where I attempted to walk off some of those calories. As I would find later, the riverside is the city's true social heart.

L'Adresse

As a former French colony, Laos has a wealth of Gallic gastronomy to enjoy. Of the many options available, I selected L'Adresse for dinner. The classy interior was matched by excellent service. Despite my heavy lunch, I devoured the tuna entrée and finished the perfectly-cooked steak in record time. The chef, one Monsieur Tinay, even came over for a brief chat afterwards. The only downside to this experience was the price: I promised myself I would stick to more local fare as I ventured north.

By the time I left l'Address, the sun had set and the air had cooled. The streets were alive with locals and visitors, now the flaring sun had gone for the night. On the streets approaching the riverside was a plethora of street food to choose from: crepes, fried bananas and bite-size meaty treats of unknown origin.

Further on to the riverside I discovered that the previously empty paved areas were now host to row upon row of red-canopied stalls. This pop-up market offered a kaleidoscopic choice of clothes, souvenirs, perfumes and exotic nibbles. I strolled past the stalls onto a quieter, darker stretch of the riverside walk, before returning in search of nocturnal refreshment.

Bor Pen Yang

Situated on the roof of a fourth floor building overlooking the Mekong is Bor Pen Yang, which roughly translates as "don't worry about it". Here were gathered the full gamut of foreigners, from well-dressed NGO workers to beer-swilling ex-pats and fun-seeking backpackers. There were also plenty of well-to-do Laotians present, quaffing cocktails and shooting pool.

Bor Pen Yang had the glamorous, edgy feel of a Western outpost in the Indochinese jungle. I imagined it had once been - and perhaps still was - a den of whiskey-soaked hacks and maybe the odd spy. The real communists may have turned into champagne socialists, but something of a Cold War buzz remained.

Tomorrow, I would push north into the heartlands of this beguiling land, per chance to experience its wilder, more rustic side.

Despite the throng of revellers in the bar, I knew that above all else Laos was known as a quiet country - and I intended to find it.

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