A tree-lined street in the sun slips slowly, the two wide pavements constructed on the side instead, they run as fast as the numerous Tapirulan shoes every day, regardless, trample them after a good cup of coffee. Dozens of cafes named after the most creative artists of the world arise one after the other sporting paintings decorated the walls and wooden tables inlaid with actual working magicians ready to welcome crowds of tourists eager to taste the magic mixture in a position to adopt conqueror of the intense aroma in the air!

Here we are in Bolaven Plateau region of Laos where the product is one of the most expensive coffee in the world, we are the place where you can find a coffee shop is discounted if it is not obvious .. perhaps in the dreams and hopes of a traveler never been here before. The plateau, the land of Laven coffee farmers for generations, is also one of the places where you can find the full-bodied dark beverage is a hard task. The area is studded, like the precious jewel of a queen, of precious trees, but the presence of ground grain, boiling water and a fine mesh to filter ... not even the shadow! From Thatheng, a town that comes alive with the early morning rather than during the rest of the day, thanks to its colorful ethnic market, the road to the plateau continues to rise inexorably. Along the 40 km that separate the city from Paksong, the only real town notable for its size of the entire area, we find only sparse villages and vast fields where the red fruits are collected and spread on large sheets in the sun dry. On the roof of every house and every garden, there are millions, perhaps billions absorbing even the most feeble ray of sunshine to reach as soon as the proper level and then be milled. Nearly 800 meters of altitude, a few liters of water in the body and a mirage ccoglie us by surprise: a large inscription years ago on a piece of rotten wood almost indicate the presence of coffee: our tires to the pressure of the slip smoking our fingers on the brake levers and cautiously and carefully we approach the porch now believed to be real only in our dreams. An old woman afflicted with a terrible throat cancer welcomes us with a toothless smile: "Sit down and drink a cup of tea", his gestures are expressive, "the coffee is ready in minutes." A big kettle primitive lies on the embers of a small fireplace made of stone, a thread of smoke rises from fast metal and a long quivering whistle stop our thoughts: the water is boiling. Sitting over a cup of hot brew improvise a kind of conversation with a Laotian farmer who, after five minutes, perhaps tired of not understanding a word, you leave with a nod and a smile hasty. Slurp black gold quickly burn your throat: the full-bodied flavor envelops us in a vice-violent, almost unbearable, so much so to drink even a sip of tea. The filtering is certainly not been the best, but at least we can be satisfied to have found a coffee in this land of coffee. Back on the bike, after 200 meters, slope and even the heart of the plain opens before our tired wheels, we are at the gates of Paksong, the Laotian capital of the grain. A few houses, a few guesthouses and restaurants. Paksong is the perfect prototype of the tourist town and in fact, around here, whites do not see really. A lunch break gives us time to ponder whether to spend a night here or continue on to the far more cosmopolitan Pakse. It's only noon in the legs and energy we have to sell ... quindis continues. The asphalt at the end of the sleepy town, he began his mad descent of over a thousand meters in altitude towards the Mekong. Just 12 km (10-of-convenience of asphalt and gravel demanding 2) the waterfalls of Tad Yuan dive to 35 meters in the beautiful nature of even the most cynical of travelers. In the pool formed behind them swim fish and frogs that have readily drawn attezione of two young fishermen, her quick rogues are scrambling to capture as much as possible. Two more kilometers and the water with his circus skills from experienced amazes us once again: the waterfalls of Tad fans throw themselves in a hole dug in the center of the pristine forest of southern Laos dramatically breaking the monotony of the tropical jungle. The plateau Bolaven is receding slowly, and behind us there are only a language of asphalt on fire and the shape of some top indistinct already too far away. A final blow to the taste of coffee caresses the taste buds at Sal Bolaven, a large space used to store products typical of the plain adjacent to a nice cafe that serves the precious treasure of the area. The traffic grew, the sun begins its slow but steady descent toward the horizon, a great river flows south: Pakse welcomes us at dusk between avenues swarming with people in thought and scents of spices hovering in the air.

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