Vang Vieng – three pairs of pants

7 December 201511 January 2021

Day 84 (Mon 7 Dec): Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang (Royal Palace museum)

Eating breakfast when the local school kids laboriously made their way to school:

Then back to Luang Prabang on the road cut into the side of the mountains with nothing to hold back the sheer walls of earth but small terraces. No wire mesh, no concrete, just exposed rocks and clay just waiting to become a landslide. The environment is against them – as fast as they’re building the roads, the weather is destroying them. Without the money to tunnel through the mountains, they have to go over the top. As a result, journey times are lengthened which keeps many areas remote. But the scenery more than makes up for the bumps and the hours:

A younger, faster mini van driver for the journey back to Luang Prabang was welcome, although the Laotian music wasn’t. Sorry, I really am trying but it’s cheesy love songs. One after the other. For four hours. There’s only so much a woman can take.

Stopping at a petrol station, I wandered into what I thought was the garage shop. It was someone’s living room. Huh, wah? Yep, someone (presumably whoever worked at the garage) had designed their home with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the forecourt. Only in SE Asia:

And then back to staring at the Lao countryside all the way back to Luang Prabang:

No photos allowed inside the Royal Palace Museum, but don’t worry, you didn’t miss much. We hadn’t left ourselves much time. We started with the temple on the edge of the grounds.

Reaching the top of the steps, we both looked at the shrine inside. No photo, but just substitute any previous Buddhist shrine photo and add gold spray paint. Rudy looked at me. “Done?” he asked. “Done,” I nodded. Halfway down the steps I started killing myself laughing. And didn’t stop for a while. Being a tourist can easily get like that – feeling like you have to see things so you don’t miss out. Luckily, neither of us can be bothered with the tourist tick list.

Refurbished in 1959 by the incoming king, the throne room is impressive with a mural made from Japanese glass. Now I’m going to be honest here. It was nice. But Picasso it was not. I couldn’t help but feel that it thought it was more important than it was. Another case of “Che Guevara’s pants “, me thinks.

After some China planning in our room:

… we hit the town for dinner. I walked back to our street food table to catch the man respond to Rudy (who’s from Belgium, in case you missed that bit) with the line “You’ve got quite a few Muslims there, haven’t you?”.

Err, what?! Did i hear that right? Yes, he was commenting on the large number of Muslims in Belgium. News to me, and I was intrigued as to why this was relevant anyway. It turns out that Mr Las Vegas had heard about the Paris attacks and that the eighth member was in Brussels, and also about the Syrian refugee crisis and had concluded that Europe was being “overtaken by Muslims”.

And the problem, he said, wasn’t just in Europe – they were taking over the world and nobody was safe from terrorism. Wait, wait – it gets worse… When I gently suggested that not all Muslims were terrorists, he replied, “but you just can’t tell which ones are which.” I’ll admit, he floored me for a moment. Never have I come across such blatant ignorance and prejudice. His Thai female companion started looking a little uncomfortable. I composed myself.

To stay silent felt like condoning his behaviour and I couldn’t do that. Calmly, I pointed out that Laos was bombed by the Americans during the Vietnam war and that, as he was American, he was, by his reasoning, a threat to Laos. Because he looked American, how did I know that he wasn’t going to bomb the place? His ignorance and stupidity was so deep that he didn’t flinch. He didn’t really understand, wasn’t really listening and was only hearing what he wanted to hear. His friend, on the other hand, understood the point I was making and looked even more uncomfortable. I decided any further discussion was futile. I’d made my point and he was too closed-minded and unintelligent to listen.

I also realised that I was being prejudiced against him and tried, for the next ten minutes or so, to listen to his stories and comments on his extensive travels. And I didn’t want to make his companion uncomfortable. She clearly wanted him to shut up and go but he wasn’t picking up on her attempts to remove him from the situation. But eventually they left. We sat there in stunned silence. In the interests of international relations, I strongly suggest the American government confiscate his passport.

6 December 201511 January 2021

Day 83 (Sun 6 Dec): Vang Vieng (Blue Lagoon, Patok Cave, Water Cave)

Cruising through the Laos countryside on the back of a motorbike (bruise is much better, thanks). Motorbike is often the best, and sometimes the only, way to get around and this time I’m in very safe hands – as a professional driver it took Rudy all of about 10 minutes to master the machine. I felt safe.

Hanging (quite literally – check out the ropes) with the locals at the Blue Lagoon (which, I will assume, requires no explanation):

Many people couldn’t swim: few were actually in the water and of those who were, quite a few were wearing life jackets… including some who were jumping in. Asians aren’t swimmers, but there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be if they’re given the opportunity to learn. If I wanted to live out here (which I don’t), a swim school could be a good business opportunity…

The tree overhanging the river was the main focal point, with a swing rope and two branches from which people were jumping in. Nobody was controlling who was jumping from where so there were a few near misses. Health and safety is non-existent: no lifeguard, no rescue equipment, slippery exit routes, variable water depths (not marked, but it was the first thing I checked after I’d carefully lowered myself in) and exit ladders that, I found out, weren’t actually attached to the side! If it had been in England, the place would have been closed down a long time ago.

But it wasn’t in England, so I just used common sense and applied basic water safety. And my instinct. I warmed up with the swing rope and by jumping off the lower branch:

Then I started up the bamboo ladder to the higher branch. The ladder itself was, er, basic – pieces of bamboo held together with twine. When I got level with it, I peered along the high branch. To get to the jump point I’d have to balance along the branch with only the help of a rickety handrail (of the same construction as the ladder but even less robust) and some “two by one” nailed to the branch. Whilst the water entry point was obviously deep enough, there were rocks under the first bit so falling would almost certainly put you out of action for a while. Maybe forever. My whole being told me that this was a bad idea. A quick internal assessment confirmed that it wasn’t “good fear” but survival instinct. I had no hesitation in going back down the ladder. Later that day I pondered where I’d be if I’d have overruled my instincts – I’m fairly sure it wasn’t pretty.

Patok cave is impressive:

Especially the walls:

Walking back to the motorbike, the sign on the bamboo bridge declared:

I offered a clearer translation to the staff at the other end. They looked sheepish rather than grateful. And that they hadn’t asked one of the many native English speakers who they meet every day before they wrote it says much about their character.

Through more beautiful scenery:

… to the water cave, where we sat for a while watching the groups of (mostly Laos) tourists tubing into and out of the cave:

Then the journey back to base across more bamboo bridges:

… past a mountain that “might fall down” (Rudy admitted he’d been watching too many Road Runner cartoons!):

… negotiating the many pot holes in the middle of the “highway”:

… and the cows:

… before stopping to watch a game of volley football (same rules, but you can’t use your hands):

Very impressive and they seemed to enjoy the attention, playing up to the camera with ever more flashy moves. Asians aren’t camera shy 😉

Just beyond the “corner shop” with an unusual guard:

… there was a sign that read “Thai massage”. I wanted to believe them but had doubts. I tried anyway. Manoi was amazing – as good as Mat in Bangkok, but different.

Loved the toilet sign(s) – transcends languages:

And this passenger looked so comfortable:

Brilliant day, with roti for dessert:

What more can a girl wish for? 🙂

5 December 201526 January 2018

Day 82 (Sat 5 Dec): Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng

Step ladders made out of bamboo, dogs wandering the streets and beautiful scenery:

The bus ride from Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng had been slow. Another oldster at the wheel 🙁 The four-hour journey took 6.5 hours.

Sticky rice is a really good discovery. Best served in bamboo, sealed with banana leaf and coconut bark, it lasts for up to a week. Perfect as a healthy snack on the go:

Toilet stop near a view point. And when I opened they toilet door, this is what I saw:

Surely the best view from a slammer in Asia, if not the world..?

A second stop half an hour later, where the driver pulled up, left the engine running and suddenly disappeared. No explanation, nothing. Same story my whole trip – they’re good at many things, but telling people what’s going on isn’t one of them. We waited, and then I went to find him. He was tucking into sticky rice. I guess that meant a lunch stop, then 😉

Bamboo scaffolding still fascinates me, but with a dearth of metal it’s a resourceful solution. Just looks odd to my first-world eyes:

Vang Vieng is renowned as the party capital of Laos. But look the other way and you’ll see spectacular natural scenery. People I’d spoken to seemed to either love or hate the place. Tubing is the activity of choice. At its most innocent, this involves floating down the river in an inflated tractor inner tube. But backpackers punctuate it with stops at riverside bars where copious amounts of alcohol are consumed. Add hanging ropes over water of varying depth and it’s not surprising that the fatality rate of tourists in the area is ridiculously high. Authorities have tried to turn the place around (for instance, apparently they prohibited venues from calling themselves “bars” which may explain the numerous “restaurants” in town). On my original schedule I didn’t have time to detour, but now I had a few days to spare I was looking forward to making my own mind up on the place:

That it was touristy goes without saying. But it wasn’t as bad as I’d been led to believe (or maybe I’m becoming more of a party animal in my old age), although there may well have been another side to the place that bypassed me completely. Either way, I’m not complaining.

I saw lady boys for the first time on my trip which was cool. Self-confident, exuberant and, er, “top-heavy”, they’re easy to spot. I’d always assumed that they were males who aspired to be female (and who can blame them? 😉 ), but I think they’re actually males who want to be lady boys: they clearly liked attention and seemed comfortable that they’re so identifiable. Or maybe those were just the ones I noticed…

Random stuff from today includes the man in the mini mart who reached in front of me and put his beer on the counter. The sales assistant then, naturally, picked them up and started putting them through the till. “Oh no, no, no”. I actually said this. He looked only marginally embarrassed at his rudeness, and backed off without a fight. Brazenness like this just wouldn’t happen in England. Not in a mini mart, anyway.

And the second incident of note was the hotel member of staff who just walked into my room. She wanted to sort the air conditioner, but there no knock and she didn’t even register me when she entered. It was like she thought she was invisible. She wasn’t. I think it’s a manifestation of the submissiveness that seems a more common trait here. A stark contrast to the mini mart man. On average, they would be about right, maybe?!