I saw my first ever instance of cock fighting today. We were riding between places in Notorious Vang Vien when we rode past a group of men and children under a tree with two birds wrestling each other.

It’s a bit contentious the subject of cockfighting so I best be careful how I write about it I guess.

Let me therefore start with what I saw…
There were two large roosters more like a wild chicken that the domestic chickens we think of naturally. And it was halfway through a fight. I pulled over and the locals immediately tensed and it was very much apparent to me that they were nervous of me sitting and watching both them and the fight. I smiled whenever they looked at me to ensure that I was as disarming as possible. I very much imagine that it in a town so popular with westerners that the locals may have been somewhat chastised for this practice. By the same token, and judging by some of the westerners and the reputation of Vang Vien the truth may be quite the opposite.

The roosters puffed themselves up in a prideful display of male dominance and looked quite magnificent to be perfectly blunt. They strut in towards one another and stretch their long necks out to meet each other. They them proceed to rub their necks up and down in an almost bobbing motion and being circling each other whilst continuing the bobbing, which must be the initial size up process.

Once this has been established 4-8 seconds, the birds escalate their dance. And I think dance is an appropriate word. It’s not a simply pecking fest at each other’s heads.

The birds will each employ a level of strength and tactical manoeuvre. They will entwine their necks to peck at the feathers on the back of the opponent bird and this motion causes them to turn, twirl if you will. They will employ tactics such as wrapping a wing around the neck of the other bird, which only serves to further the impression that you are watching a dance, two ballroom chickens twirling together across the mahogany floor boards…

There is a brutal elegance and grace to how they turn together and fight for advantage, they will then tear apart from each other like two salsa dances pulling apart only to come back together in a fury of claws and wings. The birds will buff themselves up and leap at each other claws first wings spread like majestic eagles swooping in for the kill, and the receiving bird will rise to the challenge with a deflective kick of its own.

I watched not exactly knowing how I should feel. I am not an animal activist but I don’t believe in cruelty to animals either. I’ve been told cockfighting is a brutal cruel activity indulged by those with cruel hearts, and that activists challenge it’s practice across the globe. But sitting there watching the whole scene the men and children watching the chickens engage was somehow strangely pleasing.

I honestly thought the birds looked stunning, normally these birds would look decrepit and gangly, and I have seen plenty of them and kept my distance but not here. Here they looked majestic and proud and stood tall and moved with a swift deadly speed and grace that it was mesmerising to watch. It’s a scene of nature and even though it’s not a civilised scene it is nonetheless entrancing and beautiful in a morbidly satisfying way. These birds that I have seen everywhere and thought were ugly and sickly were transformed and I saw them in a whole new light.

The spectators sit mostly quietly and watch with a vested intensity. Adults and children alike watch the dance of death with the same intrigue that was possessing me.

I say deadly, as I was fully expecting to see a bird brutally ripped apart, but I found to both my relief and disappointment that the birds were separated and each returned to his owner.

The birds were checked over for injury and treated and cleaned and then washed down. The birds themselves once separated are instantly calm and resort back to their cooing and strutting. Another two birds were awaiting their turn in the ring and were being vigorously wiped down with an oily substance over their bodies and feathers which I assume is to prevent them holding properly on each other and causing serious harm. Clearly this is not a scene for the demise of these birds but perhaps the pre-fight sparring training.

In my mind I am ‘searching for stan’ as a metaphor for seeking out different cultures and seeing the world from other perspectives other than Western, which is all I know. I wish to seek out culture and experience that is non-western and struggle to reconcile it within my own mind and I was happy to find this scene today so I could if only from a distance and the outside engage/witness this spectacle from that perspective, a more wholesome and untampered angle perhaps, as it feels that as we travel through South East Asia we travel in a tourist bubble, no matter where we go we are shown the tourist perspective of what these people wish us to be apart of, and sometimes you break through that barrier and it matters.

Another two birds are flung together and the whole saga begins again, still I do not leave but find myself eagerly watching, waiting…

Tucked away beside the flowing Nam Xong River, is a little place called Organic Farm. With a backdrop of mountains curling along on the opposite bank.

Located about a 5 minute Henry ride out of town.

The place has been setup by a Mr. T and is designed to grow organic farm produce as well as form a platform for teaching English to local Laoation children.

I gifted our stockpile of cheggo to their school. Secretly I wanted to play Chego with the kids but I could quite convey that and ended up just giving it to them.

The first night I was here by myself (the others were all out adventuring) and the second group of kids aged around 15 finished their class and I was sitting watching and it didn’t take them long to approach me and start asking me questions about how to speak English and some just simply enjoyed talking in English to further their skill.

The farm looks for volunteers to stay and work or teach English. They have a jobs board where they keep track of what they need with English teaching being the most critical, but jobs range to building and working on the farm as well.

August was one such volunteer. An American who had spent the last 3 months teaching at organic farm by day and living it up at night.

The first thing you realise about attempting to teach English to a non-English speaker is that you don’t know how to teach English.

With me? See not easy!

Explain what a verb is using English in a way that a non speaking English person can understand? No chance.

A lot of the time you find yourself resorting to comparing an English word to another English word, but that only helps you, not the person starring at you with a quizzical expression.

Instead I resorted to the online dictionary to help me explain the words and phrases being thrown at me by a bunch of very studious kids. It was hard, even Blake (who turned up just as they were leaving) couldn’t quite explain himself.

The next day I was more prepared. I found idiom and phrase teaching pages online and was ready to go when I was blocked out by the French!

A large group of French students had arrived that morning and were staying at the farm as part of their Laos tour. They were from what I could understand a group that tours together once a year with a guide (also from France). They had arranged to pair up with the kids and I was left tearing up at the side as I watched the French (who lets be honest, were struggling nearly as much as the students) attempted to teach English. It was fine I simply ordered more food.

Once they were finished the group that hounded me the night prior re-approached. They really are simply loverly kids. We sat and we talked for a bit but it was late, I made arrangements with some of them to come back the next day at 9:00am to spend a few decent hours.

Then we went out! August took us into town (yes we rode) to an Irish bar where we had an amazingly good shepards pie and chips. I believe it was so good due to the absence of pie in our life for about two months. Nonetheless, it satisfied.

August weaved in and out of the pub almost as if an alter ego had taken over and the quiet glassed eyed chap we met on the farm was taken and consumed by party menace. We followed suit. Pool and alcohol flowed and we moved around a bit drinking before it was time to head home.

I awoke early the next morning to fulfil my teacher obligations. They arrived on time and I spent the next 3-4 hours talking and teaching with the two students that returned, both who are now my latest Facebook friends.

I really wanted to return to this place to spend time teaching but mostly connecting with the locals, And maybe I will.

We stayed in Phonsavon for about 3 days. The town Is pretty unexciting as far as towns go. Basically a long street of modernish buildings offering all sorts.

We stayed because we needed to. After a week pushing ourselves down to the border and crossing the border we needed a place we could just stay to unwind. We took it pretty chill. It mostly rained. A constant pattering turning the landscape into misery and mud.

Phonsavon is hailed as having beautiful scenery and the fields of pots. Large stone pots that were placed in fields somewhat sporadically. They were mined from nearby mountains.

This region is also contested as the number one ranking land area for the most ordinance dropped. There are numerous international firms still working to ensure the area is cleared up and that the human casualty element is dealt with. Farmer and other civilians are still injured today by unexploded ordinance.

We met a couple of expats working for an American firm in agriculture and an Australian woman working with an aid agency.

Blake ran into a British couple who we decided to ride with the next day to Luang Prabang. Rumoured to be a very desirable place. Another 250 k day of riding and it started out as expected with mechanical issues, and of course they were with Henry.

The mechanics got him running again. Carburettor issues. They also affixed a new kick start and clutch level. The kick start is in the wrong place and stuffs up my leg position when I’m riding.

We left at nearly midday and made luang after a long stretch by about 7ish.

Luang Prabang is amazing. I simply love it. Nestled along the mighty Mekong River it’s blend of colonial French architecture, small streets and alleys and Buddhist Wats almost makes you feel like your on the frontier.

There are night markets and food alleys, and the food, oh the food! Whole sides of chicken wrapped between bamboo shoots and fried over coals… Drooling right now writing about it and I’ve had three today!!! It’s fresh untouched natural chicken and boy is it good! But the other food here is also good, unlike Vietnam which has been inundated with sugar, here we can find fresh bread and well cooked tasty food. Even western food is well cooked enough to pass for home.

We visited the famous Waterfalls which were really something else. A 40 minute ride from the town these beautiful blue cascading pools can be found flowing from one to the next. As you walk up past these turquoise pools you finally reach the main falls and can even take a brutally steep ascent to the top to find the river and more pools and a view to top it all off.
These attraction, however, is spectacular and as such attracts a hefty number of tourists of all fashions every day. You can swim in all parts of the falls which is very pleasing. There is also the hidden and unexpected delight of a black bear conservation area.

Needless to say, Pigly had a blast!!!

I’m staying in the old town but even the outskirts are not without their charm. I find though that the Laotian people are very different from Vietnamese. I am a huge fan of Vietnam it’s culture and especially it’s people who I find incredibly resourceful and friendly. I’ve never felt unsafe in either of my two trips to Vietnam and I especially love the way the people there love westerners especially considering that they were effectively fighting us not too long ago, it amazes and perplexes me. The Laotian’s however are not nearly as friendly or welcoming.

However, that being said, I have spoken with many people who argue the opposite with me, it may simply be individual experience, or that Laotians don’t like me.

The biggest and most noticeable difference is that they use the old script language, which unlike Vietnamese which has been converted to the Roman alphabet, is simply unrecognisable or derivable.

We have been here now in Luang Prabang for 3 days and tomorrow I think we shall be moving on to the notorious town of Vang Vien. I need to keep moving but I may return here it has certainly captured my imagination.