Land of Secrets and Lies

As the Beer Lao douses the red dust in my throat, it is difficult to establish what's most incongruous.

The airbrushed poster of the perfect Pacific island resort, or the rocket launcher, bazooka and American machine guns propped up against the restaurant wall, and looking like a macabre umbrella stand.

This is the frontier town of Phonsavan in Xieng Khuang province in Northern Laos. A place where clandestine goings on and secrets have defined the last 40 years, and other, much older secrets are now drawing an adventurous breed of traveller. Huge stone jars up to 4000 years old of unknown origin, weighing up to 6 tonnes and standing up to 3m tall.

Welcome to the Plain of Jars.

I arrive at Phonsavan's desolate airfield on one of Lao Aviation's Chinese Yun-12's, a 15 person flying ballpoint pen, squeezed into a seat designed for Asian torsos. Radar at provincial airports is a luxury the Lao Government can't afford, so most pilots rely on visual flight rules. As recently as 1993 a Yun-12 crashed into a mountain near Phonsavan killing all on board. Today's flight crew are looking outstandingly visual, decked out in sharp leather bomber jackets and mirrored aviator frame sunglasses, so I'm cautiously relaxed despite Lao Aviation's unsafe reputation. The pilots' shared sense of cool must make a difference as the flight is perfect, the tiny plane tracing a careful path through verdant mountain valleys, with sheer cliffs escalating high above us. Across the mountains, a wide plain is revealed. The green perfection of the mountains is gone, replaced by desolation, defoliated and pock marked with craters, the tell tale linear trails of a bombing run. Around Xieng Khuang province was ground zero from 1964 to 1973 for the Secret War. A clandestine war characterised by a huge North Vietnamese presence illegally using Laos as part of the Ho Chi Minh trail, the shadowy CIA-run Air America, and massive US bombing raids designed to choke North Vietnam's supply route.

Welcome to a forgotten theatre of the Vietnam War.

At 1000m altitude, the barren steppe around Phonsavan feels more Central Asian than South East Asian. It's barely 9am, and a crisp blue sky is still masked by wispy morning fog welded to the surrounding valleys. A hand painted sign reassures me "Lao Aviation - All Passengers are Covered by Insurance".

I'm reminded me of another unique notice at another Lao airport - "Please show all weapons".

Fully insured and wishing I'd brought something bigger than a Swiss Army knife, I'm met by Sousath Phetrasy. He's a busy man. Local tour guide, owner of the Maly Hotel and Restaurant, collector of war debris and sometime explorer for American MIA's.

A very interesting man with a very interesting past.

As Sousath's Russian jeep bounces along the four lane red dust avenue from the airport, we swerve to move to the other side of the road.

"The other side is almost finished", Sousath explains, and indeed the rest of the journey is slightly smoother, enlivened further by the prudent dodging of oncoming traffic.

The town itself feels unfinished and temporary, a dusty frontier outpost at the edge of an overlooked country. Phonsavan is only a recent creation, built after the previous provincial capital Xieng Khuang was destroyed in 1969 during the Secret War. Despite the temporary feel, it's a quietly cosmopolitan boomtown. Chinese and Vietnamese road engineers are constructing the Laotian component of a trade link from Thailand and Malaysia to China and Vietnam. The international Mine Advisory Group is in town with shiny Range Rovers, and the never ending job of clearing land saturated with UXO (unexploded ordnance).

As we travel for 45 minutes to Thong Hai Hin, the most easily accessible of the three main jar sites, Sousath continues the history lesson. His father was a member of the Communist Pathet Lao revolutionaries who finally gained control of Laos in 1975, and subsequently became Lao Ambassador to Russia. From 1971 to 1973 Sousath actually lived in caves further north at Sam Neua with the Pathet Lao, surrounded by saturation bombing by American B52's. Tiny landlocked Laos has the dubious distinction of being the most bombed country in history, a staggering half-tonne for every man, woman and child.

Sousath's wry but reasonable bitterness has not faded across the years.

"Everyone talks about the French War, or the Vietnam War - what about the Lao War?"

Thong Hai Hin was both heavily bombed and the site of major land battles, and even now it is unwise to venture far from the marked tracks. Across a rolling plain, lie up to 250 jars, some intact, but others damaged by the trials of the last few decades.

The other Plain of Jars sites are further from Phonsavan and involve full day trips along challenging roads. The highways of Laos resemble one giant road maintenance site, dotted with contractors from neighbouring countries. The entire colonial history of Laos is reflected on the roads as aging French Citroens, 1960's American sedans, and more recent Russian Volgas bounce on unforgiving suspension through the pot holes. Contemporary colonial interests are also served, with countless road crews wearing tell-tale North Vietnamese green pith helmets, and Chinese lorries with stencilled signs in English - "No. 6 Road Construction Company Yunnan province."

Various theories have been advanced to the function of the stone jars, from sarcophagi for human remains, to wine jars or rice storage. The years of war and resultant problems with UXO have slowed archaeological discovery, but progress is now being made with the assistance of Western universities.

Apart from UXO, the Secret War has had other effects in Xieng Khuang Province. We stop at a village where the detritus of war is being used functionally. War junk from planes and tanks is a valuable commodity, and stored under houses until it can be used in construction. The cylindrical casings from American CBU's (Cluster Bomb Units) are used for everything from fence palings and house foundations, to planters for flowers and herbs. It's a deadly legacy as many are maimed each year, when fist sized "bomblets" resurface in muddy areas during the wet season.

Later back at the Maly Hotel in Phonsavan the bazooka, rocket launcher and machine guns are still leaning on the wall. A second Beer Lao is further easing two days' residue of red dust in my throat. A group of tourists on a "First Class Tour" of Indochina are bemoaning the fact that Phonsavan's facilities are not up to scratch. As one of the local tourism notables, Sousath is hearing the complaints.

He is also showing admirable restraint.

"Last night the power went off and we couldn't have hot showers. This just isn't good enough"

"Why aren't there any first class hotels in Phonsavan?"

Sousath maintains a generous and forgiving attitude and doesn't mention the 1.9 million tonnes of bombs, 200,000 gallons of defoliants and herbicides, or the years of illegal occupation by North Vietnam.

Across the restaurant I'm choking on my Beer Lao. Only this time it's not because of the dust.

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Published on 2/6/04