Glastonbury to Langport: Day 19 of the South West Odyssey (English Branch)

The South West Odyssey was a long distance walk.

Five like-minded people started in 2008 from the Cardingmill Valley in Shropshire and by walking three days a year finished at Start Bay on the South Devon Coast in May 2019.

The same dauntless Odysseants gathered at the point where we finished last year for the seventh annual instalment of the South West Odyssey (English Branch). We were joined by Alison and Francis' daughter Heather (as we were on Day 9 into Andoversford,  Day 12 from Perrots Brook, Day 15 to Swineford  , and Day 18 from Wells) and by Vicky, a friend of Heather.



With a faintly bemused air Alison T and Hilary watch the Odysseants boot up and wonder
'Why are they doing this?'

Just west of Glastonbury we hauled on our boots and headed south over the River Brue crossing what I thought last year was the Pomparies Bridge. The sign clearly says ‘Pomparles’ but it is not always easy to distinguish ‘i’ from ‘l’ in the small print of a map. Some claim Pomparles is derived from 'Pont-Perles' (bridge perilous) which has a distinctly Arthurian ring. Before the marshes were drained Glastonbury and Street were islands joined by the Pomparles Bridge which crossed the eastern end of the lake into which Sir Bedevere threw Excalibur after the death of Arthur. Whether the Lady of the Lake appreciates her new drier quarters is not recorded.



Definitely Pomparles Bridge

We turned left over the water meadows north of Street, pausing only when Vicky volunteered to take a team photo with Glastonbury Tor as a backdrop. It was a cool and overcast morning, but it would soon warm up and the gentle sunshine – ideal for walking - would see us all shed our outer clothing within the next hour.


Alison C, Brian, Francis, Mike and Me
with Glastonbury Tor over Alison's right shoulder



For over a kilometre we followed a ditch known as the Old Rhyne over remarkably ordinary field paths considering we were on the edge of the Somerset Levels. Then we followed it down a minor road and across more fields, before turning south-west through wooded country to the village of Butleigh.



Following the Old Rhyne

From a distance we mistook Butleigh Court for the church. Built in 1845, it was the home of the Neville-Grenvilles, a family with an unpronounceable name and a home which boasts umpteen chimneys, all of them different. After the unpronouncables, the house fell on hard times but has recently been restored and divided into apartments. There was an unwelcoming fence and the church, which was part of the estate, did not look the sort of place to provide a bench for dissolute wanderers.



Butleigh Court

We walked into the village and found a pleasant bench on the village green, where we took a short coffee break.

 

Butleigh


From Butleigh a steady but gentle climb first across fields and then up Bolster Lane brought us to a minor road which we crossed to start the wooded descent of Combe Hollow. Despite the winter’s well-publicised inundation we had yet to meet much mud. Combe Hollow changed that. A greasy, slippery, sometimes ankle deep descent allowed me to bespatter my trousers to well above knee level.  I have a particular talent for covering myself in mud, but no one escaped unscathed.



Descending Combe Hollow

Two thirds of the way down was a swing where Francis unexpectedly encountered his inner child.

Francis encounters his inner child

Emerging from the forest we followed a drier lane into Compton Dundon where we planned to drink a glass of lunch at the Castlebrook Inn. We were seven weeks too late, as in March the Castlebrook had joined the ever lengthening list of closed pubs. It is owned by Punch Taverns and some believe that this particular company buys up pubs with the intention of closing them and selling on the site for other uses. I have no idea if this is true, but there is anecdotal evidence.



The late Castlebrook Inn, Compton Dundon 

The loss of our lunchtime drink was no great tragedy for Brian and me as we had consumed a full English at the Unicorn Inn in Somerton, but the others had enjoyed less calorie-packed breakfasts and would have welcomed a bite to eat.

 

A house in Compton Dundon

We thought of stopping in the Post Office to purchase some refreshment, but discovered that was only open from 9 to 12. Once the Post Office was a service and would be open at hours convenient to the public. Now, of course, it is a business.

We perched on some stones for a short break before walking round Dundon Hill to the village of Dundon (no Compton and no pub in recent times - so at least it has not closed). We emerged opposite the church by this rather splendid bank of bluebells. While I am in grumpy old man mode, I might as well point out that these are not traditional British Bluebells but the intrusive Spanish Bluebell.

 

Bluebell bank, Dundon

Crossing the road, we slogged up Lollover Hill. At 90m it is not much of a hill, but it required some effort and I was reduced to a weary plod well before I reached the top - or at least the top of the path which does not quite cross the summit.



I plod wearily to the top of Lollover Hill
(picture credit: Francis)

'I thought these were supposed to be the Somerset Levels,' Mike observed half way up. He seemed to have a point, but then we came over the shoulder of the hill and emerged from the wood.



The Somerset Levels from Lollover Hill


These are the Somerset Levels, and the word is plural. There are more than one of them and they are separated by ridges and dotted with what were once islands - and during this winter's prolonged floods, became islands again. 'Somerset' means 'summer meadows', the inference being you could not expect to use them in the winter.



Mke and Alison descend Lollover Hill

We did not descend straight to the levels but looped round the end of the hill and through a farm yard. Some farms are arable, some have animals, others are mixed, but occasionally you encounter one which specialises in farming shit*.

There were two big slurry ponds, both of them empty, their contents liberally and pungently spread over the surrounding area. At the point photographed we were sinking into what appeared to be a ploughed area and started to wonder if we might be walking over the crust off something deeply unpleasant. A swift dash for the sanctuary of a grassy bank seemed appropriate.



Mike might be about to sink into something unpleasant

Eventually we reached the Levels and walked down a farm lane beside an unfamiliar crop. Somerset produces reeds for thatching and osiers for basket making, which remains a craft industry in these parts. I think these are osiers but I am far from certain.

 

Willow osiers?

On the other side of the road a small bird was singing its heart out. Francis opined that it was either a reed or a sedge warbler, it was definitely warbling and perhaps the 'osiers' were 'sedge' - though I think not. Although it was less than a metre away it remained frustratingly invisible in the nettle covered bank.

The field of osiers, if such they were, ended at Somerton Door Bridge over the River Cary. The bridge is relatively modern and leads onto a minor road. Turning west we walked for a kilometre and a half along the bank of the Cary, pausing for a breather at the older and more picturesque Park Bridge.



Heather on Park Bridge over the River Cary

We crossed the River at Pitney Steart Bridge and headed south to Leazemoor Lane and the site of a Roman villa. This was not the first site of a villa we have passed on the Odyssey, but we have yet to actually sight a villa.

Crossing Leazemoor Lane we followed a lengthy track aptly called Underwood Lane. Pitney Wood was above us to our left while a large apple orchard lay on our right. We had walked through an orchard last year, but the cold winter had meant the trees were merely considering the possibility of blossom, after this year's milder, if wetter, weather they were close to full bloom.



Apples orchard by Underhill Lane

We followed the lane round the end of the wood and then over field paths up Culver Hill before following a minor road into the village of Pict's Hill to what had originally been the finishing point for the day. The previous evening, over beer and curry, we had decided to move the finish some three kilometres further down the route to provide better parking for Mike's motorhome. Beer fuelled bravado does not always lead to good decisions, but although I was quite ready to stop at Pict's Hill, it turned out to be a wise move in the light of the next day's walk (and for Mike's parking).

We followed Union Drove across the railway and arrived at Huish Episcopi, where the Rose and Crown was open. Hilary and Alison T were already waiting at the end of the walk, so stopping was, sadly, out of the question.

Huish derives from the old English for household and Episcopi refers to the manor once being owned by the bishop of Bath and Wells. Why it could not be called simple Bishops Huish like anywhere else I do not know. The church is large with a classic 30m high Somerset Tower.



St Mary's, Huish Episcopi

We made our way down to the River Parrett and followed it round the southern edge of Langport which likes to style itself ‘Heart of the Levels’. Langport’s church has another Somerset Tower, but less finely decorated. The two churches are only 500m apart but being on higher ground the town church seems to look down on its village neighbour. It was St Mary’s, Huish Episcopi, though, that was featured by the Royal Mail in their 1972 stamps of village churches.
 

Beside the River Parrett, with the tower of Langport Church right of centre


We met Hilary and Alison T at the western end of Langport, at the finale of a lengthy but very pleasant first day.

*At this point I discovered that my new Kindle Fire not only has a rather limited dictionary - I frequently have to add words - but it is also rather prim. Yesterday it did not recognise 'hell' and now I have just had to teach it 'shit'.

The South West Odyssey (English Branch)

Introduction

Day 1 to 3 (2008);Cardingmill Valley to Great Whitley

Day 4 to 6 (2009) Great Whitely to Upton-on-Severn via the Malvern Ridge

Day 7 to 9 (2010) Upton-on-Severn to Andoversford
Day 10 (2011) Andoversford to Perrott's Brook

Day 11 (2011) Perrott's Brook to the Round Elm Crossroads

Day 12 (2011) Walking Round Stroud

Day 13 (2012) Stroud to North Nibley

Day 14 (2012) North Nibley to Old Sodbury

Day 15 (2012) Old Sodbury to Swineford

Day 16 (2013) Along the Chew Valley

Day 17 (2013) Over the Mendips to Wells

Day 18 (2013) Wells to Glastonbury 'The Mountain Route'

Day 19 (2014) Glastonbury to Langport

 Day 20 (2014) Along the Parrett and over the Tone

 Day 21 (2014) Into the Quantocks

Day 22 (2015) From the Quantocks to the Sea

Day 23 (2015) Watchet, Dunster and Dunkery Hill

Day 24 (2015) Dunkery Beacon to Withypool
Day 25 (2016) Entering Devon and Leaving Exmoor
Day 26 (2016) Knowstone to Black Dog on the Two Moors Way
Day 27 (2016) Morchard Bishop to Copplestone
Day 28 (2017) Down St Mary to Drewsteignton
Day 29 (2017) Drewsteignton to Bennett's Cross
Day 30 (2017) Bennett's Cross to Lustleigh
Day 31 (2018) Southwest Across the Moor from Lustleigh
Day 32 (2018): South to Ugborough
Day 33 (2018): Ugborough to Ringmore
Day 34 (2019): Around the Avon Estuary to Hope Cove
Day 35 (2019): Hope Cove to Prawle Point
Day 36 (2019): Prawle Point to Start Bay: The End
+
The Last Post

That's All Folks - The Odyssey is over



Glastonbury: 12 Questions with the Answer 'No'

A Small Town with a Unique Personality

Glasto: An Intro

Somerset

This post is not about the Glastonbury festival, it's about the town of Glastonbury. I have nothing against the festival, in fact I am all for it, but this post is not about it.

Last May, Day 18 of the South West Odyssey took us over Pennard Hill and, we looked down on the festival site and the half completed Pyramid Stage, before walking on to finish at Glastonbury.

Glastonbury Festival site from Pennard Hill (May 2013)

Our route took us over Glastonbury Tor, so this post is not about that either - I wrote about it last year. But I cannot ignore it, partly because it is visible from all over the town and partly because the tor is a strange and some would say mystic place, and 'strange and mystic' are the two words that best characterise Glastonbury.

The tor is visible from all over town, Glastonbury (May 2013)

I arrived on the 2nd of May, it was not a date I chose, merely one that fitted between other commitments. Had I arrived a day earlier I could have enjoyed the town's Beltane festivities. Glastonbury is that sort of town.

At first sight the main street looks like that of any small Somerset town with a mixture of old stone and brick buildings,….

Glastonbury High Street

…. a small market place, though I had clearly not arrived on market day….

Glastonbury Market Square

…. and a large parish church.

St John the Baptist, Glastonbury

But it also has the ruins of a once prosperous Abbey which, along with the tor, have made Glastonbury a town about which many questions can be asked, all of them with the answer 'no'.

Glastonbury Abbey

I started in the Abbey.

Joseph of Arimathea

The first church on the site was built by Joseph of Arimathea who was the uncle of Jesus as well as the donor of his tomb. He arrived with a bunch of disciples in 63AD and they lived a life of great piety and simplicity. He planted his staff which grew into the thorn tree that can still be seen at the Abbey to this day.

Joseph of Arimathea's Holy Thorn Tree, Glastonbury Abbey

Joseph of Arimathea among the Rocks of Albion
William Blake

Sadly for this story the very brief biblical mentions of Joseph say that a) he was a good man and b) he had a spare tomb. Nothing else is known about him.

So, Question 1: Did Joseph of Arimathea found the first church in Glastonbury? Answer: no.

Question 2: Individual thorn trees do not live two thousand years but is it possible that the current tree was been grown from a cutting of a cutting of……. the staff of a wandering ancient Palestinian? Again, no.

In another story Joseph was a tin merchant and regular visitor to these shores. On one trip he brought along his young nephew, the future Messiah.

Question 3, as posed by William Blake: 'And did those feet in ancient time walk upon England's mountains green?' No they didn’t.

St Patrick

Saint Patrick visited Glastonbury in the 5th century and observed that when the first Christians arrived a church already existed that could have been made by no mortal hand.

Question 4: Did St Patrick come to Glastonbury? No.

The Lady Chapel, Glastonbury Abbey

Question 5: Did the first Christians find a miraculous church ready and waiting for them? No.

The first church was probably built in the 7th century by the local Celtic population. By 658 when Cenwalh, King of Wessex brought Somerset under Saxon control, there was already a thriving monastery. It was further endowed by King Ine who ordered the building of the first stone church in 712.

Inside the Lady Chapel, Glastonbury

Miraculous Statues

The wealthy monastery was a great prize to the invading Normans and in 1086, according to the Domesday Book, Glastonbury was the richest abbey in the country. Unfortunately the church burned down in 1184; only a single wooden statute of the infant Jesus in his mother's lap survived. This was clearly a miracle, doubly so when the wooden infant was seen to clap his hands. Sadly, the much venerated statue was lost several centuries ago.

The remains of the monastery, Glastonbury Abbey

Question 6: Did a wooden statute of the infant Jesus clap its hands? No.

The Grave of King Arthur

Despite the pilgrims, and money, brought in by the clapping Christ child, the Abbey needed more money for its ambitious building programme. Excavating in their own graveyard, the monks were amazed to find coffins labelled with the names of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. The bodies were reinterred by the high altar, the pilgrims flocked to Glastonbury and the money rolled in.

Question 7: Were Arthur and Guinevere buried in Glastonbury Abbey? No. The cynical and shameless marketing ploy is not a new invention.

And on the same subject, Question 8: Is The Tor the actual site of the legendary Isle of Avalon? No.

The Tor from Glastonbury Abbey

All that is known of Arthur from contemporary sources (and in this instance contemporary means four centuries later) is that he fought at the Battle of Badon and was killed at the Battle of Camlann. Neither of these battle sites have been identified but it is conjectured that Arthur was a Romano-Celtic kinglet resisting Saxon incursions. The rest of what we 'know' about Arthur comes from Geoffrey of Monmouth (1110-1155) who claimed to be writing history, but nobody believed him even then, and from Thomas Mallory (died 1451). The distinction between fiction and non-fiction was not well established then, but Mallory never claimed not to be writing fiction.

The current site marked as the burial place of Arthur is in the ruins of the Abbey Church a few metres in front of where the high altar once stood. The ‘actual’ burial site was lost during the dissolution of the monastery, so this picture is of a fake of a fake.

Alleged Grave of King Arthur, Glastonbury Abbey

The Dissolution of the Monasteries came to Glastonbury in 1539. Today the site is green and calm with the sad, dignified beauty that only ruins can have. What is left are only fragments of the fine buildings that once stood here, but they are well preserved and interpreted, the vestiges of the old walls being made clearly visible in the grass.

The remains of the transept, Glastonbury Abbey

The Chapel of St Patrick and Statue of Sigiric

The medieval chapel of St Patrick, standing behind 'Joseph of Arimathea’s thorn tree,' was built to serve a set of alms-houses lining the monastery wall. The alms-houses have gone, but the chapel has recently been restored with modern stained glass by Wayne Ricketts and brightly coloured murals in medieval style.

St Patrick's Chapel, Wayne Ricketts windows

Outside is a bronze of Sigeric by Heather Burnley. I like the sculpture, though I do not know the story it represents, nor do I understand why Sigeric has been so honoured. Educated and ordained at Glastonbury he went on to be Archbishop of Canterbury, but his main claim to fame was to have advised Æthelred the Unready to pay off the Danes to stop them ravaging the countryside. Unsurprisingly, the Danes took the money, went away, and then came back for more. ‘Unready’ is a mistranslation of ‘unræd' meaning ‘ill-advised’. Well done Sigeric

Sigeric by Heather Burnley, St Patrick's Chapel, Glastonbury Abbey

The Abbot's Kitchen

The 14th century Abbot's kitchen has survived and reopened last month after extensive restoration. It is tricked out with a plastic meal while plastic pigs and fowls rotate on the spits.

The Abbot's Kitchen, Glastonbury Abbey

The visitor centre/museum is light and well set out. Glastonbury Abbey enjoys its myths and they are all rehearsed, but properly acknowledged as myths. For the true believers you have to venture outside.

New Age Glastonbury

The streets of Glastonbury were busy with school partiesfrom France and Germany, tourists from all over the world and local people, a significant number of whom could be said to stand out. Glastonbury is the gathering place for those who believe, in Joni Mitchell’s words, that 'We are star dust, we are golden.' They may be busy trying to 'get themselves back to the garden' but the New Age flummery has a hard business edge.

Many shops have stickers warning that they are protected by witchcraft. One, called the 'Cat and Cauldron,' has a board outside promising 'tarot card readings today.'

The Cat & Cauldron, Glastonbury

Question 9: Do tarot cards, horoscopes, crystal balls or any other method of divining the future actually work. No, they don’t.

There are shops called The Mystic Garden, Moon Mirrors,.....

The Mystic Garden and Moon Mirrors, Glastonbury

Lilith, The Goddess and the Green Man, Enlightenment, Natural Earthling......

Natural Earthling, Glastonbury

....and even one called Get Real which, does not really apply in Glastonbury opposite.

Get Real, Glastonbury

Question 10: Could I be healed, assuming I needed healing, by the power of crystals, the realigning of my chakras, the adjustment of my aura or by any other therapy that cannot explain how it works? No.

Sprigs that Run Red and the Holy Grail

I did not have time to visit the Chalice Well. The well is surrounded, I have read, by beautiful and peaceful gardens popular with neopagans – and other people. The waters of the spring gush red and as Glastonbury is associated with Joseph of Arimathea, who once (allegedly) guarded the Holy Grail, and King Arthur, whose knights sought it, any fool could work out that this is where the Holy Grail is secreted.

Question 11: Are the waters of Chalice Well red from the blood of Christ, or possibly from the rusty nails of the cross? No, they are red because they come through from a stratum of iron ore under Pennard Hill.

Question 12: Will the Holy Grail be found somewhere in the Glastonbury area. No, no and thrice no.

For a reality check you can visit the Glastonbury Lake Village Museum hidden in the recesses of the tourist information centre, at least you can if you turn up on time. I arrived as it closed so I never got to see it. It contains artefacts from a crannog excavated a few miles north of the town, though the site has now been re-covered to preserve it. Glastonbury’s Iron Age inhabitants were neither stupid nor unsophisticated, yet they were further 'removed from the garden' than the town's modern inhabitants, many living lives that were nasty, brutish and short. They were, though, the real people of Somerset and the ancestors of many of us.

I am a devout sceptic, but not a cynic, and I hope I have not given the impression that I dislike Glastonbury. The town has its own style and in a perverse way I admire the new age traders, while maintaining my belief that they are clueless. There is room for everybody in this world and if Glastonbury has rather more than its fair share of oddities, then good luck to them.

Vientiane (2) A Buddha Park and a Fond Farewell: Part 16 of Following the Mekong through, Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos

An Eccentric's Buddha Park, A Textile Museum and our Last Day in Vientiane

Laos

02-Mar-2014

Driving Out of the City to the 'Buddha Park'

Next morning we set off with S towards the ‘Buddha Park’ 18 km to the south.

‘The road is good until the turn-off to the Friendship Bridge,’ S told us, ‘then it deteriorates.’ When the Thai-Lao friendships bridge opened in 1994 it was the first bridge over the southern Mekong, and only the second over the river anywhere. It has since been renamed the First Thai-Lao Friendship Bridge as there is now a second further south. I have never driven across a border requiring a change from driving on the right (Laos) to the left (Thailand). There must be potential for interesting mayhem. [Update: We crossed the bridge 18 months later, but the public shuttle bus was so packed I could not see how the change-over was managed]

The Beer Lao Brewery

We passed the Beer Lao Brewery and stopped for a photograph. It is nothing special to look at, but we had enjoyed the product so it seemed appropriate.

BeerLao Brewery, Vientiane

After the turn-off the road did deteriorate, but less than S had suggested - it still had tarmac.

Khao Lam: A Ready Meal in a Bamboo Tube

After a kilometre or two S asked the driver to pull over, got out and strolled across the road. We followed. Beneath a tatty awning was a small production line for khao lam, the bamboo tubes of sticky rice we had first encountered at Skune in Cambodia, where they are called grolan. A man was chopping bamboo, cutting just above the rings to produce tubes with one naturally closed end. He stuffed the tubes with a partially cooked mixture of sticky rice, coconut and palm sugar and popped them into the ashes of a fire to finish cooking.

Khao Lam production line, near Vientiane

When they were done a woman carved off the charred bamboo and pared the tubes down until they could be split open with the fingers. Her colleague in the red apron dealt with sales.

S peels the Khao Lam with his fingers

They are rather too filling for a snack, but perfect for a manual worker’s packed lunch. Lynne pronounced them good, but I would have preferred less of the stodge and more of the flavoursome elements.

Despite the apparent grimace Lynne did say they were good, and she ate all of it.
Eating Khao Lam near Vientiane

Xieng Khuan - The 'Buddha Park'

We soon arrived at Xieng Khuan (other spellings, and indeed other names, are available), usually referred to in English as the 'Buddha Park'.

Lynne and a three headed elephant, Xieng Khuan Buddha Park, near Vientiane

Bounleua Soulilat (other spellings and names etc) was a self-styled holy man who claimed to be the disciple of a mysterious cave-dwelling Vietnamese hermit. He began the sculpture park in the late 1950s to witness to his eclectic blend of Buddhism and Hinduism and quickly filled a field beside the Mekong. The sculptures, which tend to be large, were made to his designs by local people who also donated the concrete from which they are made.

Mytholigical scene, Xieng Khuan Buddha Park, near Vientiane

The resulting collection of what is most kindly called, art naif, is best described in pictures.

Reclining Buddha, Xieng Khuan Buddha Park, near Vientiane

The globe near the entrance is the largest and most remarkable of the sculptures.

Globe, Xieng Khuan Buddha Park, near Vientiane

Squeezing in through the mouth you enter the underworld from where you can climb crumbling unguarded concrete stairs in semi-darkness through the realms of men and of gods. I enjoyed their version of the 'churning of the ocean of milk' which we had seen so finely carved in Angkor Wat a couple of weeks earlier. [Update: I have since made a collection 'Churnings'. It can be seen by clicking here]

Churning the Ocean of Milk, inside the globe, Xieng Khuan Buddha Park, near Vientiane

Emerging into Nirvana (?) beside the tree of life gave a fine view over the park.

From the top of the globe, Xieng Khuan Buddha Park, near Vientiane

Bounleau was described as eccentric by his admirers and barking mad by the less sympathetic. When the revolution came in 1975 he thought it wise to decamp to Thailand where he set up another version of the park on the other side of the Mekong.

His death in 1996 may have been connected with a fall from one of his giant statues, or perhaps not. His mummified body is preserved at his Thai Buddha Park.

I have no idea what this is
Xieng Khuan Buddha Park, near Vientiane

The Lao park is now owned and managed by the government. They have not quite mastered ‘exit through the gift shop' but they do have the snack bar well organised and we ended a hot morning with refreshing green coconuts before heading back towards Vientiane.

JCBs in Vientiane

On the way we bemused S and the driver by requesting a stop so we could take the picture below. JCB may be an international brand leader with factories on four continents, but they are still a private company wholly owned by the Bamford family of Staffordshire and have their head office in Rocester barely twenty miles from home. We feel a little vicarious pride in these things.

JCBs, Vientiane

An Inexpensive Lunch in Vientiane

We had lunch in a basic, entirely non-tourist restaurant. I am not sure what they menu said….

The prices are cheap enough (£1= 13,000 Kip), but I am illiterate
Family Restaurant, Vientiane

… but we had soup and fried rice with pork. It was a family restaurant. A young waitress broke off rocking a baby in a cot to bring our food. Her father fetched some beer and went straight back to helping her seven-year-old sister with her reading. Mum chopped vegetables, cooked and cooed over the baby while her oldest daughter, the other waitress, hung around wearing a tee-shirt with the slogan Califormia (sic) Surfin'.

Soup, pork and fried rice, family restaurant, Vientiane

Textiles in a Teak Mansion

Next stop was a private textile museum, hidden in one of the quieter outer suburbs among side roads which could have been in a village. All over the world people keep showing us looms and textiles, but unfortunately it is a subject that interests neither of us very much. The buildings, though, were splendid. The museum, run by a brother and sister and their respective families, is housed in beautiful teak buildings, with verandas, carved wood, filigree work and polished floors.

Veranda at the textile museum, Vientiane
Sundowners were invented to be drunk on verandas like this

They showed us their collection of looms, several of which they still use, and explained some of the technical differences – I almost wish I could remember them. They showed us their tie-dye work and large pots of indigo which changes colour from green to blue as it is processed.

Yarn and Looms, Textile Museum, Vientiane

After giving us coffee and some extraordinarily sweet little bananas from their own tree, then led us to the gift shop. The textiles and clothes were all high quality - and with prices to match.

Beer Lao Dark at the Belgian Beer Bar and a Barbecue Dinner

By the time we had returned to our hotel and said goodbye to S the hot afternoon was demanding a cold beer, so we made the short walk back to the Belgian beer bar. Beer Lao has two varieties, the regular lager and a dark lager which was a little more expensive and comes in smaller bottles. We ordered one of each. The dark lager is strong (6.5%), full bodied and just a little too sweet for my taste.

Lynne, Tintin and Beerlao dark lager

Later we returned to a nearby barbecue restaurant.

Barbecue, Vientiane

We had one of the large fishes, see above, half a duck chopped into bite sized portions and some chips. It was our last dinner in Laos, and a very fitting finale it was too.

Fish, duck and Beer Lao, Vientiane

03-Mar-2014

A Final Day's walking Round Vientiane

I don't like last days, if you have to go it is best to go quickly. This was to be a long last day and we negotiated a late check-out so we had somewhere to retire to as the day wore on.

After wandering round the shops and buying a few gifts, eleven o’clock found us on Fa Ngum road beside the Mekong. We paused for a coffee and then continued our riverside walk. The Mekong here is wide but in the dry season much of its width is made up of shoals and sandbanks. We could see the outline of buildings on the Thai side, but it was too hazy to make out any detail.

In a small park beside the River is a statute of King Anouvong. Those who know their Lao history, (or read the previous post) might remember that Anouvong rebelled against his Siamese overlords in 1828. The rebellion resulted in the complete destruction of Vientiane and Anouving being hauled off to Bangkok and put in a metal cage where he died a year later.

General Sing, who sacked the city, and Lady Mo who played a part in destabilising the rebellion are national heroes in Thailand and schools and streets are named after them. Although the timing and conduct of the rebellion raise serious questions over Anouvong’s judgement and competence, the Lao have responded by turning Anouvong into a hero too.

King Anouvong faces Thailand, Vientiane

The Friendship Bridge was built in 1994, and in 2010 Anouvong was placed on his plinth, his right hand extended in a gesture of friendship, though the sword in his left looks ready just in case. The Lao and the Thai are related people with a similar language written in a similar alphabet. Relations are generally good but like all families they can squabble. The Lao attitude to their bigger, richer neighbour is one of deference mixed with envy*.

We took off our shoes to approach the statute. A family was there at the same time, a young child running round the monument under dad’s vigilant eye while his mother laid flowers at the feet of the king.

Leaving Anouvong we walked up to the Presidential Palace, which is used for state occasions rather than as a residence. It is not a great building and this is not a particularly good photograph of it, but at last there were no security guards and I could stick my camera through the railings without being shouted at.

Presidential Palace, Vientiane

We had lunch at Makphet. Like Romdeng in Phnom Penh, Makphet is a training restaurant for former street kids. As in Romdeng the trainees were a credit to their teachers and we had an excellent chicken curry with pumpkin and mushrooms, and Luang Prabang sausage with assorted dips. My dessert was the sort of dish that makes my heart glad: coconut ice cream on fresh pineapple with palm sugar syrup and the lightest dusting of chilli. If only they had worked in some ginger all my favourite things would have been on one plate.

Top dessert, Makphet, Vientiane

We made our bags ready for departure and walked up to the Belgian bar for a final pastis. It was closed, so we went back to the hotel and had one there. We sat and waited for our holiday to end and the punishing and lengthy business of flying home to begin.

Last pastis,Vientiane

Postscript

This had been our second trip to friendly and dynamic Vietnam, where the ‘economic miracle’ is following closely behind that of China. Last time we noted similarities between the Mekong delta and the Garden of Eden and we had seen nothing to change our view. Cambodia is fascinating, its ancient history is enigmatic but its modern history is the saddest story in this recently war torn region. It was, perhaps, our least favourite of the three; the land was too flat, the food too sweet and the people too inclined to blame anyone but themselves for their troubles. Cambodia is small and maybe we have seen enough not to need to return. Sleepy Laos is beautiful, smiley, relaxed and utterly beguiling. I know it is one of the world’s poorest countries, the government is corrupt and opposition is not tolerated, but nobody seems to worry about it. There is much more to see and I hope we will be able to return in the not too distant future [We did return, 18 months later, click here for the next Vientiane post].

*The rather more ‘chippy’ Cambodians, on the other hand, cannot forgive the Thais for being so much more prosperous than they are and for avoiding the horrors of the Indo-Chinese wars in the third quarter of last century. They consequently blame the Thais for anything they have not already blamed on the Vietnamese.

Following the Mekong through Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos

Part 1: Return to Saigon, Cookery and Music

Part 2: Through the Mekong Delta by Sampan
Part 3: Chau Doc
Part 4: Phnom Penh (1) Royal Palaces and Museums
Part 5: Phnom Penh (2) Killing Fields and Torture Chambers
Part 6: Across Cambodia to Siem Reap
 Part 7: Siem Reap (1) Angkor Wat
Part 8: Siem Reap (2) Angkor Thom and Other Temples
 Part 9: Siem Reap (3) Tonle Sap Lake
Part 10: Luang Prabang (1) The Old Town
Part 11: Luang Prabang (2) Back on the Mekong
Part 12: Luang Prabang (3) Elephants
 Part 13: Luang Prabang to Phonsavan
Part 14: Phonsavan, the Plain of Jars and UXO
Part 15: Vientiane (1) Wats, Stupas and a Heavy Buddha
Part 16: Vientiane (2) A Buddha Park and a Fond Farewell