By Andrew Parkinson
Cheerful ... children play in Laos.Credit: Andrew Parkinson
THE kids are like mountain goats. As we climb, the views across the rice fields become ever more breathtaking. We'd made the right decision earlier in the day, hiring mopeds for $US10 and heading out to explore the limestone karsts surrounding Vang Vieng.
The small town is about a four-hour bus ride north of the Laotian capital Vientiane. It was once a strategic mainstay for the CIA's "Air America" covert operations in the Vietnam War; the abandoned airstrip remains a central feature.
These few dusty streets, nestled between the Nam Song River and the airstrip, used to be the independent traveller's best kept secret. Now, with the growing popularity of "tubing" - floating down the river on the inner tube of a tractor tyre, stopping in at various bars on the way - Vang Vieng has become an essential adventure travel stopover on the south-east Asian backpacking circuit.
It's mid-afternoon and the heat is heavy. We ride the bikes slowly towards the hills, away from the backpacker TV bars, pizza joints and internet cafes. It takes a while for the sound of canned laughter and the Friends theme tune playing on the TVs to disappear behind us.
On the dirt road up from the town, instead of Family Guy we hear the sounds of real families. A cheerful children's chorus of "sabadi bo!" (hello, how are you!) punctuates each kilometre as we move closer to the mountain.
Red clay mud paths make the terrain tough to manoeuvre. We come to a halt at a bridge busy with cows making their solemn way across. They pay our pitiful moped horns little heed. We reach a checkpoint, manned by a Laotian mum and her four young boys, everyone all smiles. She offers us a tour to the top of the mountain, her boys as guides.
We leave the bikes at the gate and pay mum a toll of 50,000 kip (about $6) to continue our journey by foot. The boys bowl along ahead of us, chattering to each other, pausing now and then to check we're still on track.
We clamber up the 45-degree slope, trying to keep pace. I feel my hamstrings about to burst. I realise too late that thongs are not the most sensible footwear for climbing mountains. It's gruelling but, finally, the view. Astonishing.
The emerald-green rice fields below glimmer in the afternoon sun. The boys have given us a rest. As we attempt to entertain them with our useless grasp of Laotian, one lad points up to show there's more mountain to climb.
They scatter off and we follow. We reach the top and my leaden legs feel light again. A simple bamboo shade hut crowns the summit, from which it feels the entire world is in view. None of us want to leave. It's perfect. The best treehouse in the world.
We give the lads a few kip as a tip before the descent. As we climb down, tumbling and stumbling over rocks and wet clay, the boys monitor our progress, ever attentive. We say our goodbyes and head back on the bikes.
We've lost one of our party - he ran out of fuel way back. A local from the rice fields comes to help, siphoning petrol from the car of a generous passer-by.
We've deliberately checked into the best hotel in town, $US60 for the three of us. We sit by the river, each with a Beerlao and our memories of the day, watching the karsts darken as the sun sets behind them.
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