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Detours

The first thing I notice about the kayak is the holes in the bottom. 'That's in case we take a wave,' says my guide, Mick O'Shea. 'When you get 300 litres of water in the boat, it's got to go out somewhere.'

I'm not convinced about the boat. It's made of inflatable rubber and barely wide enough for a pair of hips. It seems a flimsy thing to put between me and the swirling rapids and rocks of the Mekong, the 10th longest river in the world.

As I step in, the kayak twists beneath me like a strand of cooked spaghetti. 'Do I sit on this?' I ask, pointing to a sausage-shaped cushion in the middle. 'Up to you,' says O'Shea. 'If you sit on that, there's a greater chance you'll be thrown in the river. If you sit on the floor, you'll get a wet bum.'

A sudden thought gives me courage. The previous night, O'Shea had told us he'd taken Kylie Minogue kayaking not long ago. I was now being invited to park my behind in the exact spot where that famous derriere may once have rested. I lower myself in.

Putting myself in Minogue's, er, shoes for a minute, I can see the appeal of kayaking in southern Laos. Once we are on the river, people disappear. Instead, there is primeval jungle, coffee-coloured water and a huge blue sky painted with wisps and tufts of white cloud.

Mountainous, thinly populated, warm and, above all, wet, Laos is excellent kayaking country. And it's barely been explored. O'Shea has been in Laos for three and a half years and made the first ascent of 12 of its hundreds of rivers.

Among them are the Nam Ha, which runs through the territory of about half a dozen hilltribes, and the Nam Ngum, three hours north of the capital, Vientiane, which offers some serious white water. The Hinboun flows through cathedral-sized caves for 12km, followed by a two-day run through steep limestone gorges, and ending with another 1km passage through a cave that emerges at a hidden temple. I'd like to try that one day, but for the moment I'm glad to be in the same boat as O'Shea.

The foamy water begins to skim and burble. 'What's causing the turbulence?' calls Matthew from the other kayak being escorted downstream. 'Rocks beneath the surface,' O'Shea yells back.

I'm more worried about waterfalls. We are in Siphandon, meaning 4,000 islands. Waterfalls are to Siphandon as flyovers are to Hong Kong: they're everywhere, and once you're on the approach, there's little chance of turning back. The one we are heading for, Khone Phapeng, is the biggest in Southeast Asia, and we are making for it at the tail end of the monsoon with the river in full spate.

But that is still several kilometres downstream and there are other things to think about. As the kayak bounces and twists over the rapids, I begin to see the sense in its design. Matthew and Caroline, who have a day's more experience than me, zigzag happily about the river. We hit a whirlpool and get drenched. This is starting to be fun.

We pull into a village on the bank for a drink, and draw a crowd of several dozen people, curious about the falangs (foreigners) in their weird outfits: groups of tourists are clearly not an everyday phenomenon here. Thirst quenched, it is time to strike out again. We cross more rapids, O'Shea yelling instructions constantly to the other boat, telling them which line to follow.

Then, in front of us, plumes of foam become visible. We hug the shore in single file until we come to a beach where a vehicle stands ready to take us to the other side of Khone Phapeng.

The waterfall itself turns out to be a 15-metre deep, kilometre-wide torrent of crashing foam: you'd be mad to kayak over it. The only way to paddle through is on the far side of the river. There, the Mekong rushes through gorge after gorge for hours, and there's no escape as waterfall after waterfall cascades on you from left and right as you run down towards Cambodia. For kayaking tours contact Wildside, PO Box 9909, Vientiane, Laos PDR. Tel: (856 21) 251 563, e-mail [email protected], website www.wildside-laos.com

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