Tubing Schmubing

Wednesday 27th January 2010, 7.30pm, Pack Luck Wine Bar - Luang Prabang

Why did no one tell me? Ask any practised traveller about Laos and all they mention is sodding tubing. Yes, Vang Vieng was buckets and buckets of whisky drenched, hedonistic, half-naked, Magaluf style fun. But why on earth, pray tell, did not one person ever bother to mention what a completely utopic, charming, picturesque and enchanting town Luang Prabang is? To be honest, at the moment my only conclusions are that either No. 1 no one ever escapes the lure of Vang Vieng to go anywhere else in Laos or No. 2 everyone is an idiot, and I'm veering towards the latter.

Luckily for me I am too curious and seeking of culture than all these idiots I've been talking to, because here I am in Luang Prabang, wondering how I will ever leave and casually looking for estate agents to see if I might use my credit card to purchase a house. Oh dear, I've just realised I've turned in to my mother. Going on holiday, liking it too much and then looking for estate agents is pure Pat Gillman behaviour. If anyone hears from Ella in 3 weeks to say that I haven't turned up at our Malaysian meeting point then I think your best bet is to tell her I'm still here. Here, with it's wooden slatted cottages, Gallic wine bars, Italian coffee shops, ethnic jewellery retailers, lantern-lit gravel alleys overflowing with shisha pipe gardens, live music venues, spa parlous, portrait galleries, and lovers sharing spaghetti on the street over candlelight. The indigo placidity of the river paralleling the town juxtaposed with the sunburnt orange robes of the monks who ride their wicker basket bicycles along it's ebony banks, and all of this encircled by soaring misty mountains dense in vegetation, peaks visible above thin white clouds.

After a lonely and hellish 8 hour bus journey throughout which I found myself praying for my life every time the coach too quickly rounded a mountain curve or overtook a motorbike on a clifftop bend, I arrived here and instantly all near death experiences were forgotten. I could have cried for the second time today, but on this occasion with happiness at being alive - and alive in Luang Prabang. This was exactly my sentiment on my first night in Siem Reap, I was cautious on this occasion to realise I was making a snap judgement, but I fell in love with Cambodia so I'm throwing caution to the wind here, how can I not? I'm sat in early evening warmth on a bean bag, outside a bar which stocks 200 varieties of vino, Ella Fitzgerald serenading me on the stereo, a bowl sized glass of rich Merlot in hand, overlooking the main street and revelling in the easy flow of human traffic which wanders past. Clearly I am not the only tourist enamoured with the place for everyone who walks past is staring starry-eyed at their surroundings, smiling at strangers (such as myself) and stopping to converse with locals; they're probably all asking where the nearest estate agent is.

It would have been quite easy for me to have already made friends in the past 3 hours that I've been here. Numerous groups of backpackers have looked on me sympathetically and invitingly, obviously terribly sorry for me sat all on my own. I have taken the conscious and indulgent decision of solitudinous selfishness this evening though. I want to be on my own to meander the streets at leisure and breathe it all in, I do not want to talk, I just want to basque in the beauty and see with grateful eyes. There will be plenty of time for making friends tomorrow, or the day after, or in 3 years time when I still live here.

Right, that is all I will tell for now, I'm nearly at the end of my wine and off in search of spaghetti... no lover to share it with but that's good as I'm hungry and not in the mood for conversation. The only sweet nothings I have to whisper are about Luang Prabang, and I'm sure I will whisper them to my notebook again soon. Come to think of it though, even a hard-nosed, distrusting, too often burnt cynic like myself might easily fall in love here - there's just something in the air. Either that, or the second glass of Merlot was a grave mistake.