Laos is the deepest, that of rural villages, the rice pickers working under the scorching sun in the rice fields flooded, roads dusty and full of holes that could swallow a rider and his bike without a trace, the colorful birds of Laos, the enterprising sacred monkeys and turtles, and the monks of Laos children, livestock producers, the sellers of tropical fruit and water buffalo: Laos this is what we also discovered a few days in Savannakhet province, district Champon.

The road runs straight to the east. The wind in your face only slightly slows down our system and the sun still high on the horizon and shows us how. The first few miles are just boredom, occasionally interrupted by a duel engaged with the many children who go to school at this time, most cycling.

Soon sopraggiungerà disaster, sudden and unexpected. We have already taken the road that leads inland towards Kengkok. A plate of khao pad and a cold beer can not comfort me to what happened a few minutes before: a strong, high-pitched sound came to my ears from the rear wheel and then the classic Tintin within broken slamming on the other, in the middle of nowhere and no spare parts.

Fortunately, the attitude of the bike does not seem to compromise and be able to arrive at least until the next town: hole tunnels that seem to us to hope that the asphalt ends and quickly gives way to bare ground, more regular in its irregularity! We are now satisfied when we go to Ban Nonkhou-Noua, lost and hundreds of other villages identical except for the presence of a small natural basin full of turtles considered sacred by the people and therefore protected. The sun goes down over the surrounding countryside, where hundreds of water buffalo grazing in the arid and dry rice fields. The sun disappears behind tall palm trees that dot the plain, and we are ready to return to the city back on the bike when the star will be raised again.

The next destination of our wandering is a forest not far where they have established three groups of monkeys, also venerated as sacred and cherished close human cousins. The path ahead is as true of those who love mountain biking despite being almost no difference. Just a couple of miles and you have already addressed the first difficulty facing a strip of concrete that blocks the water of a lake irrigation. Once on the other side, a slightly wider track than two meters is used as a way to scooters, pedestrians, carts, tractors and even small vans led by intrepid pilots. We do not have time to warm up the leg that a group of colored rice pickers to work with the mud up to their ankles draws our attention and we freeze for a shot. We turn our gaze on a dry branch that extends from the flooded land not yet cultivated a plot and we spot a kingfisher. Preda too far for our poor lenses, let him wing his fishing trip and hit the road again. The intense green of the rice once grew in contrast with the pale yellow of the former ones as well as the tin roofs of the houses in the village are opposed to the more modest of palm leaves. The trail runs between raised the endless rice paddies, but in front of us diving into the water where the pressure has taken away the bank on which we stand: let us lift our shoes and socks and water almost to the knees push the bike over ford. On the horizon a huge artificial lake used for the surrounding countryside forces us to a detour and strong side wind does not help us in the advance. The rural landscape is beautiful, unmoved and unchanged for decades, its slow rhythms and languid as they can be only in the tropics, there win and pervade our minds making us stop in the shade of a palm tree to eat fruits and drink fresh coconut milk straight out of the nut.

A few miles and we are in the forest of monkeys: three groups thrive undisturbed in the nearby temple, the homes of spirits along the river and the dense thicket that unites them. It allows our models with capacities ranging from surf shots and even novices to browse overlooking orange sarong, revealing the nature of child hidden behind the monk's habit. The river is there, low and modest at the bottom of his bed that reveals the grandeur of the course during the monsoon. The vehicles - scooters, SUVs, tractors and some trucks of the 60s - down the sandy shores, where dive seems cheaper and emerge the other side, so too do we take off our shoes for a second time. A splinter or a piece of shell under the rear wheel, forcing us to replace the tube with holes and just a handful of young people crowded to watch the show. The rest of the path is sweetly simple and regular so that the return on the tarmac Kengkok gives us an emotional trauma acora not exceeded. Still with parched fields and dirt roads we turned the bow toward the south, leaving us to drive a light breeze that accompanies us throughout the day. A plaque in Genoa Lao nothing affects our attention and curiosity, we stop: five bikers from various cities in Italy are enjoying a break to escape the hot midday sun. Chat, a couple of pictures and salute by removing the noise: the plateau of coffee waiting for us...