It appears that Christian missionary groups are trying to regain a foothold in predominantly Buddhist Laos. The Lao constitution forbids religious proselytising, and foreigners caught distributing religious material, risk arrest. This guy is paranoid that he may be mistaken for an undercover missionary .
We try to steer the subject towards useful Opium smoking tips. He snipes that we can simply "put it in a pipe and smoke it," and returns to his blathering about the police and how, yes, how he is married to a Lao woman.

We go in search of a carrot with which to make a pipe. At the night-time market all we can find is an apple. It will have to do. We hurry back to our room, where Eric fashions a pipe. He contributes his flute in the interests of "higher-science", and incorporates it into this rudimentary set-up, as a stem.

The apple-method gets Eric well-baked. He seems able to smoke more and take-in more, while I write in my diary saying ,"I can't really figure out the big deal." We listen to music on the Walkman-Voodoo Phunk, Orbital, Acid Jazz; cheap copies bought in Kho San Road, Bangkok.

One Cheerful day, I suggest a walk into the surrounding hills to check out some of the hill tribes. The division of Lao people into different ethnic tribes is a highly complex process. The Lao nation is made up of a conglomeration of tribes and languages, broadly categorised by the altitude at which they live. Many still rely heavily on Opium as a cash crop. Chickens and pigs find shelter under the huts, which stand tall on stilts, and women can be seen grinding rice and preparing their evening meals.

We eat a delicious lunch at the local "restaurant"; little more than a canvas awning and table. The meal is a dish known as Tam Som: green papaya, finely grated, with lime juice,coriander, chilli, peanuts, and dried prawns, all pounded together with a traditional pestle and mortar. Early in the morning, the owners of the guest-house gather hundreds of brown beetle-type insects. They roast them with a variety of herbs and spices; a delicious accompaniment to the local staple, sticky rice. Still, its not a substitute for an Opium den- and that's the focus of our adventure. We have an early start on a truck along Route 13 to Luang Prabang. We're too stoned to be nervous, but we should be; it's very mountainous and there's a real danger of attacks form bandit rebels. A transport truck trundles alongside us. Straddling the cargo is a Buddhist monk in his saffron robe. Far from the pious, monastic attitude I imagined, this young monk is all "Phunk and Phashion". He's wearing way-trendy sunglasses and smoking a fag. In spite of a minor collision, we arrive safely in Luang Prabang.

Luang Prabang was recently added to the UNESCO World heritage list, a distinction shared with the Taj Mahal. Encircled by mountains, it sits at the junction of the Khan and Mekong rivers. A large hill called Phu Si dominates the skyline, dotted with opulent temples and crumbling French provincial architecture.
We stay at a civil-servant style 70's monstrosity. A clean bed and hot shower compensate for the lack of aesthetics. At night, the restaurant below becomes a disco, but we are insulated from the loud combination of Western and Thai/Lao pop.
We mosey over the road to a little café where an affable woman makes us cups of rich Lao coffee. This syrupy brew contains sugar, sweetened condensed milk, and a hint of chocolate- the perfect way to awaken the numbed senses.

The side effects of prolonged Opium usage start to become apparent. Constipation is one of these. Our problem leads us to the market to seek a local remedy. We find a kind of tea, called Tre Fitne, a vacuous, unconstipated-looking young woman in 80'style aerobics gear, poses on the packet. A couple of other backpackers buy some and we know why. A guy from San Francisco tells us where we can find a den.

In the evening, we knock on the door of the alleged den...