Climbing Mount

Off the Beaten Path – Rock Climbing in Laos

It is February 2002 and I have come to Laos as a member of a German-American expedition to put up new rock-climbing routes. We are doing this mainly to encourage rock-climbers to come to the country, so that they will have a fabulous time whilst spending the cash that this lovely country so desperately needs.

I am apprehensive about being back in ‘Lane Xang’, the ‘kingdom of a million elephants and a white parasol’. My first trip here in 1996, reconnoitering Lao mountains for rock climbing potential, was somewhat less than a huge success. At that time the country was not yet fully open for tourism and was still in the process of shrugging off its fearful past. In Vang Vieng, where I am now, we saw more AK-47s than umbrellas. Armed men put paid, at gun-point, to one of our climbing trips. Whether they were terrorists or freedom fighters depends, of course, on your politics.

I made one or two tentative attempts to try to find out who they were and what the grenade launchers were in aid of, but to no avail. During another trip we found a human skeleton, right where we intended to start climbing. We debated what we should do. Finally we tried to ignore the skeleton and climb, but it didn’t feel at all right: we accepted defeat and returned to Germany. On the plane home the far-below clouds became a mirror for my feelings: I couldn’t resign myself to never again experiencing the beauty and tranquillity of Laos and the kindness of her people – I vowed to return.

Hopefully we’ll have better luck in putting up new climbing routes this time. The job consists of attaching a series of bolts to the rock-face, one every two or three metres. Alert and properly-equipped climbers who attach their ropes to these bolts can ascend in perfect safety as, when they fall off, their descent will be arrested by the attachment of their rope to the bolts.

When we climb a route for the first time there are no bolts to secure the rope to, so we must attach the rope instead to small metal nuts which we wedge into cracks and to loops of rope which we sling around rock spikes. It is a scary business, as the nuts and rope-slings can and sometimes do rip loose when a climber falls from too great a height.

We spent the last few days thrashing through the jungles around the little town of Vang Vieng, looking for steep, clean rock-faces. Eventually we found a huge cave called Tham Nam Them, whose stunning 50 metre-high walls are perfect for hard routes. Just getting to the rock-face was an adventure. After a 20 minute off-road ride in a truck we waded through a big river to reach a jungle trail, which led to the entrance of the cave. The climb was on the other side of the 300 metre-long cave, in which there is a chest-deep river. We carried everything above our heads, while watching out for snakes; we saw lots of them, including some 15-foot-long king cobras.

My surgeon’s salary back in Germany enables me to live life in the fast lane, climbing, skiing and partying as much as I want. Until a few years ago this was enough for me, but more recently the pleasures of self-gratification have paled and, to find meaning in my life, I now like to take five months a year off to serve as a volunteer at a hospital near Vang Vieng. During the week I work hard at the hospital, and on the weekends I work even harder to get the Vang Vieng climbing scene started.

Right now, halfway up a new route, this work seems to be too much for me. My muscles scream in protest. I scream in protest, at what I can tell is about to happen. I have been hanging on by two fingertips to a tiny ledge for too long, trying to throw a sling around a rock spike. Lactic acid overcomes my muscles, my fingers uncurl and gravity takes control. Falling off rockfaces is something I’m used to and which I’m usually unconcerned about. But today is different, as I am setting a new route. I have not managed to attach the rope to a bolt as there are none in place yet. Instead I have secured myself by wedging an 8-millimetre chunk of iron into a small downwards-tapering crack. I have already fallen off at this spot three times and on all occassions the small metal wedge has held my fall, but it is a scary experience to fall off onto such flimsy safety equipment, as I know that if the metal wedge is ripped from the rockface by the force of my fall, then I will hit the ground – at speed. A strangled whimper comes from my mouth. Two seconds later I am dangling at the end of the rope, with nothing wounded but my ego.

I am desperate to give up, but can’t. I know it’s only my pride, but my wife Isa is with me and last night I bet her a month’s washing-up duty that I could do it. She starts to sound panicked. She tells me to forget my silly one-sided bet, that when we get back to Germany she will be on permanent washing-up duty, if I will only agree to come down.

Eventually I do what she says: what we are doing is quite dangerous enough without making it more so by succumbing to silly testosterone displays. Today has scared me witless, bashing my slightly-superannuated bones against the spikey, almost untouched and so loose limestone, whole chunks of which often come off in my hand, sending me on not-so-leisurely and unplanned trips southwards.

I have got as used to falling off when a handhold gives way as it is possible. What I will never get used to is a huge big lump of limestone falling off from under my feet. It‘s a uniquely scary feeling to be following a bike-sized boulder down a rock-face. It feels as though both you and the boulder are destined to continue the plunge to its conclusion and it is the hugest of reliefs when you feel the rope tighten around your waste and arrest your descent. It’s even more of a relief to then look down and see that your wife has not been squashed flat.

Many people have asked me why I do something so dangerous. Other than the opportunity to get into the outdoors with a good group of friends and undertake a physically and mentally challenging sport, I have a theory. I know that, while climbing, I totally forget about everything except the problem at hand. This is a common thread in adventure sports: by intense concentration and involvement in the present moment you achieve a release from everyday problems and worries. I personally prefer the longer release afforded by climbing to the much briefer moment which for example sky-divers gain. I regularly spend hours in this state of self-forgetfulness through intense concentration. Maybe the sky-divers’ and base-jumpers’ brains are wired differently from mine. Perhaps their brains need adrenaline in an intense, short burst, while I prefer my terror to be a lengthy and drawn-out experience. The way I see it, why should I be content with only being scared witless for a few moments when I can choose to be petrified for most of the day? I suppose I ought to point out to those of you who were, until you started reading this article, considering climbing in Laos and are now thinking that you’d rather climb into Parkhurst jail or maybe don a straight-jacket and then free-climb London’s Post Office tower blindfolded, that the rock-faces there are now as safe as anywhere, thanks to the assortment of intellectually-challenged adrenaline-junkies who have done the scary stuff for you already.

You can now climb in Laos without wading chest-deep across snake-infested rivers, and you won’t get hurt unless you behave foolishly. There are about 100 bolted routes of all grades, including some spectacular multi-pitch routes. I hope you will come and enjoy the climbing, not just so that the Laos economy can benefit from your spending power, but because both novice and experienced climbers will love the climbing here, in SE Asia’s most unspoiled country, peopled by the friendliest people it’s ever been my privilege to get to know.

If visiting Thailand, why not visit one of the country’s currently best three beach destinations:

Koh Lao Liang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/kohlaoliang.shtml

Ao Nang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/ao_nang.shtml

Railay/Tonsai: http://www.andamanadventures.com/railay-tonsai.shtml

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This isolation has kept Chiang Mai’s distinctive charm relatively intact to the present day. It is pleasant to be able to report that a destination has improved over recent years, as has been the case in Chiang Mai, where the moats have been dredged and repaired, many roads repaved in attractive red bricks, lumpy concrete lamp posts replaced with ornate ones and the city walls restored.

On the one hand, the northern Thai city still holds on to its rural roots and the earthy local culture known as ‘Lanna’, which literally means ‘one million rice fields’. On the other hand, Chiang Mai has its own airport, three universities and outlets representing all the country’s main chains of shopping malls and restaurants.

Its main attractions, however, are its style and its splendour. Wander the Old City’s backstreets and you will stumble on some of southeast Asia’s most alluring Buddhist temples. There are over 300 temples in Chiang Mai and its outskirts, of which maybe be most magnificent is Wat Doi Suthep, topped by a stunning 24 metre high gilded chedi, partially shaded by gilded bronze parasols. Established in 1383 and famous for its large gold-plated chedi, it overlooks the city from its 1,073m eerie on the slopes of 1,685 metre Doi (Mount) Suthep and is visible from the city on a clear day. The site was selected by sending an elephant to roam at will up the mountainside. When it reached this spot, it trumpeted, circled three times, and knelt down, which was interpreted as a sign indicating an auspicious site. Centrally-located Wat Phra Singh temple’s small wooden Phra Viharn Lai Kham building is perhaps Chiang Mai’s most beautiful. The front of the building’s exterior is ornately decorated with gold leaf flowers on a red lacquer background whilst, in the interior, exquisitely carved window frames compete for the eye’s attention with fascinating and detailed wall murals.

At each corner of the Old City moat, you will be distracted by the spicy aromas that waft from the woks used to cook the region’s distinct cuisine, which fuses Thai, Lao, Burmese, Mon, and Chinese influences. For visitors whose bums are bored of bucket seat restaurants, the city has droves of restaurants that serve every kind of cooking imaginable, from water buffalo beef to tapas. Chiang Mai is Thailand’s fifth biggest but second most-visited city and is a magnet for settlers from around the globe, many of whom are eccentric or unusual.

Meet silversmith Steve McCarthy, who designed the chalices that grace the spectacularly successful 2006 religious mystery movie The Da Vinci Code. McCarthy calls Chiang Mai “as close to paradise as you can get”. He likes the way that locals know neither the time nor day, have few wants and no pretensions. “People laugh at people who spend money ostentatiously,” he says, adding that everyone who visits Chiang Mai returns.

The temples and museums are as good as culture vultures would expect from Thailand’s second city, but what you maybe wouldn’t expect is that the shopping here is so good that even unreconstructed males might miraculously find themselves actually enjoying it. Chiang Mai, along with Bangkok’s weekend Jatuchak market, is one of the two best places to go shopping in Thailand. The city is the country’s best place to buy art and sculpture, of which the value and the quality of the higher-priced items is amazing. It’s best to buy it here as most of the best pieces never leave town: the best artists, like those the world over, are more interested in painting than selling. At the Sunday market here you can pick up beautiful oil paintings at less than a tenth of what comparable quality would cost you in the West. The market is open from 3 till 10pm, but don’t leave too early, as the best painters are a bit bohemian and don’t bother turning up till quite late, as they don’t have to try too hard to sell their work.

Whilst in Thailand, why not visit one of the country’s currently best three beach destinations:

Koh Lao Liang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/kohlaoliang.shtml

Ao Nang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/ao_nang.shtml

Railay/Tonsai: http://www.andamanadventures.com/railay-tonsai.shtml

Dawn Breaks over Bali

Six hours earlier, the noise of waves crashing ashore had woken me from a deep sleep. Mounting excitement propelled me from the bed when I realised from the volume of sound that the waves were substantial. It was still dark, but I knew that I could catch the dawn from my suf-board if I left immediately. A while later I was several hundred metres out to sea, battling my way further out and, between soakings, watching the dawn paint the sky from a celestial palette of pinks, yellows and crimsons. I was totally alone and knew that this was not safe or sensible, but I did not care. I felt that my daring to be there gave me a kind of spiritual ownership of the place and that this feeling more than compensated me for my almost complete lack of other worldly possessions – the most valuable of which I had with me, my board. I usually love my board, but sometimes I blame it when I fall off and swear at it big-time. One of the reasons I love my surf-board is that, after I’ve blamed it for my shortcomings and sworn at it, it never holds it against me or sulks in any way. I can just jump on and ride away, as though nothing had happened.

I am now having lunch with my Dad, who has flown in from Perth, en route to a business meeting in Tokyo, to see me and presumably to try and coax me into his company – or any company at all, provided it’s not the company of surfers. He’s not had much luck at this task. Six months ago, when I was having a blast, neglecting my university studies in favour of chasing Perth surf, he tried pleading that I should pack in surfing as my Mum was worried sick that I might be eaten by a shark. This happens to a fair few surfers down-under. I felt a bit sorry for both my parents when their plan rather back-fired on them: I agreed that it wasn’t safe, quit uni and came surfing here instead. I just hope he hasn’t heard about the surfer who washed up here drowned the other month. I think a blow on the head from his board after a major wipe-out was probably the cause. I’ll probably not make an old corpse myself, but I don’t care. My Dad’s hotel, the Maya Ubud, is quite a contrast to mine. It looks like a palace compared to my lodgings, but then so does everywhere. I look again and realise that I’m not doing the Maya Ubud justice by including it with ‘everywhere’; it really is tastefully and typically Balinese, whereas mine is about as basic as you can imagine – thin mattress, fly-sheet, fan, shared cold shower.

My Dad asks me what I think of the Maya Ubud.

“It’s lovely, Dad, exquisite”.

“Wouldn’t you like to be able to afford to stay here?”

“Not really, Dad. I think that right now, at this very moment, I’m enjoying being here more than you are, because you’re used to staying in these places, whereas for me to come here and eat this fab food is a really special experience”.

I suddenly remembered that Dad gets offended when I put his values down that bluntly. I had been talking to him just as though he were one of my surf buddies. To try to make amends I quickly added “I really appreciate your coming all this way to spoil me, but honestly there’s nothing I need that I don’t already have. I really enjoy my life here. Better than that, I love my life here, because I always live in the present. Everybody knows that living in the present is the key to contentment.”

“Son, if you live in the present you’ll never achieve anything in life. In order to achieve things it’s necessary sometimes to dwell on the past and worry about the future”. I had to disagree. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I totally disagree .There’s no intrinsic meaning in achieving anything anyway, so why should I bother? I might as well live in the present and be as content as possible.”

This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. My parents are so cool about my complete rejection of their value system, I really respect them, not just for their attitude about this issue, but also for all they’ve done for me in the past. Actually, there is one source of intrinsic meaning in my life – she’s called Jenny and she’s from California. In order to go and be with her in the States, I’ve realised that I’m going to need to go back to Oz and get some money together. So I discuss this with my Dad, who’s delighted.

“I wasn’t so different from you when I was your age” he said.

“Not quite so idle, but not far off it” he continued. “In those days there wasn’t a sub-culture of idleness, so people who wanted to laze about had to laze about with low-lifes. The problem these days is that civilized young blokes like you can laze about with other decent young people, so it’s much more enjoyable. “

“Your mother’s more worried about you than I am. I reckon that you’ll get bored rigid with this sooner or later. Besides, you said you were doing this to reject meaninglessness, but your life of pleasing yourself has got to be the most meaningless life imaginable. I stopped idling around when I set up home with your mother. I spent over a decade in jobs that were often rather dull, but it never really bothered me, because I knew exactly why I was doing it, I had all the meaning I could possibly have in my life, in providing for you and your sisters. So I’m not too worried, I reckon what you need is to really fall for some woman, then start imagining what you could do to make her as happy as you possibly can.”

After Bali, why not visit one of Thailsnd’s currently best three beach destinations:

Koh Lao Liang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/kohlaoliang.shtml

Ao Nang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/ao_nang.shtml

Railay/Tonsai: http://www.andamanadventures.com/railay-tonsai.shtml

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Angkor Wat

Travel can be wearing when that much-vaunted heritage tour ‘treasure trove cave’ proves to house one shabby Buddha and a few burnt-out joss sticks. Likewise, even the Giza pyramids can seem hyped when seen in context, squashed up against Cairo’s filth. Disappointment abounds.

Few tourists, however, report feeling let down or jaded when they witness Angkor Wat: the Cambodian temple complex built at Angkor on modern Vietnam’s fringes for King Suryavarman II in the early 12th century as his state temple and capital city. Angkor Wat (‘Mountain Temple’) is one of the largest monuments to religion ever built and is a magnet for superlatives. Lonely Planet calls it ‘one of the most inspired and spectacular monuments ever conceived by the human mind’.

The scale of the monument makes it hard to grasp: it features the five towers shown on the Cambodian flag, covered galleries, chambers and courtyards on different levels, all linked by stairways. The whole stands for the cosmic world with the central tower symbolising Mount Meru: the mythical, sacred mountain at the core of the universe.

Nothing about the structure of the world’s biggest temple is mundane, not even the moat. Symbolic of the world’s seas, the moat makes the one that rings the Tower of London, built at about the same time, resemble a rut. No army ever made it across its gaping expanse. The temple’s restrained monumentality and precise proportions amply justify its status as one of the seven wonders of the world. No words are up to the task of adequately describing its sublime power, unity and style. Language fails, the reader must see Angkor with his own eyes.

Smothered by jungle, Angkor Wat only became known to the west in 1861. Thank the French botanist Henri Mouhot, who ‘discovered’ the architectural marvel while hunting orchids in North West Cambodia’s jungles. Like many who would follow in his footsteps, Mouhot was blown away.

Here we relate the ecstatic reactions of Mouhot, of a medieval monk and of two more recent visitors, all of whom attempt to dig beyond the superlatives and explain what the supreme masterpiece of Khmer architecture means to them.

Henri Mouhot, 19th-century explorer One of these temples — a rival to that of Solomon, and erected by some ancient Michaelangelo — might take an honourable place beside our most beautiful buildings. It is grander than anything left to us by Greece or Rome, and presents a sad contrast to the state of barbarism in which the nation is now plunged. At Angkor, there are ruins of such grandeur that, at the first view, one is filled with profound admiration, and cannot but ask what has become of this powerful race, so civilised, so enlightened, the authors of these gigantic works?

The temple is of such extraordinary construction that it is not possible to describe it with a pen, particularly since it is like no other building in the world. It has towers and decoration and all the refinements which the human genius can conceive of.

Antonio da Magdalena, Portuguese monk who visited in 1586

Michael Di Giovine, author: ‘The Heritage-scape: UNESCO, World Heritage and Tourism’.

I first fell for Angkor in 2002, when I was directing group tours to Cambodia and Vietnam. Cambodia was really just coming into the mass cultural tourism market, and many of my travellers simply did not know what to expect.

They came for many different reasons and had divergent expectations. Yet, like me, all were struck by the sheer vastness of the place, the beauty and exquisite artistry of the monuments, and the uniquely Khmer melding of Hindu and Buddhist depictions.

I remember being particularly struck by an Angkor Wat sunrise where I felt like a spectator to the melding of man and nature. Unlike the sunsets that are greeted rowdily at the Angkor mountain temple Phnom Bakheng, this was a solemn and transcendent occasion, imbuing me with a strong sense of the enormity of life and the sublimity of creation. At 4 am, I recall, the mist hung heavy and wisps of steam rising from Angkor’s moat made the long causeway I was crossing almost imperceptible. Despite the crush of people, most were silent, and I felt as if I were the only person entering the immense temple complex.

I sat in the courtyard just inside the outer wall, gazing like the others at the thick blankness before me, wondering where exactly the telltale pine-coned towers would appear. When daylight finally threw its first streaks of colour across the sky, Angkor emerged – at first a silhouette, an almost two-dimensional rendering of this crowning achievement of humanity – and then gradually became clearer, fuller. When the world awoke in a soft blue-gray wash, so too did my understanding of the power and diversity of mankind and the variety of its symbols, motivations and achievements.

Martin Gray, author: Sacred SitesFor my visit to Angkor, which lasted more than a week, I had decided to arrive before the time of the rising sun. Sitting to the west of the great temple, alongside its wide moat of water, I watched as the sky changed from black to purple to pink. The water mirrored the sky and thus born from the night’s darkness was the most sublime temple of all southeast Asia.

Constructed by the Kings of the Khmer civilisation between 802 and 1220 CE, the temple complex of Angkor is exceeded in size only by that of Bagan in Burma. There are more than 100 stone temples at Angkor, of which Angkor Wat is the largest, and altogether they represent one of humankind’s most astonishing architectural achievements.

During the half-millennia of Khmer occupation, the city of Angkor became a pilgrimage destination of importance throughout southeastern Asia. As such a pilgrim I had also come. Wandering about Asia for several years I had explored the temples of both Hinduism and Buddhism. There is a sense of holiness and power to these places that reaches to the very heart of every visitor. Pilgrims speak of miracles of healing and mystic visions, of spiritual insights and enhancement of personal creativity.

I experienced such wonders myself and was also amazed at the magnificent beauty of the site. The temple of Angkor Wat is itself only a part of a vaster complex, which includes such jewels of sacred art as the Bayon, Ta Prohm and Bantai Serai. Take your time when visiting this ancient holy place, let it work its magic on your heart and mind. It is an experience you will never forget.

If visiting Thailand, why not visit one of the country’s currently best three beach destinations:

Koh Lao Liang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/kohlaoliang.shtml

Ao Nang: http://www.andamanadventures.com/ao_nang.shtml

Railay/Tonsai: http://www.andamanadventures.com/railay-tonsai.shtml