I'm going to let Brocky do the honors when it comes to writing about our last 3 weeks together. What to expect from his account: hyperbole, outlandish references, slander (directed at me, clearly) and probably very little of it to do with what we actually did. So I'll give a brief synopsis, most of which will be impossible to understand:
Reunited in Da Nang, the 4 year gap was bridged with a talk-a-thon over butter frog legs and games of pool. We left Da Nang with urgency and arrived to a cloudy day in Hoi An. Making a mockery of the term UNESCO World Heritage Site, Hoi An is the cheapest place in SE Asia to get tailored clothes. So of course we partook--which involved more than one fight with more than one local hustler. Brock had his RayBan Wayfarers stolen by a man purporting to measure his weight. Curiosity killed the cat.
After leaving annoying American girls for dead, we headed to Hue to meet up with our new Norwegian friends. They weren't up for another round of party and we had a bus the next morning, early, to head to Laos. Brock's fizzy beer at the border experiment failed miserable. But on we went to Savannaket, my third time, and bee-lined it for Mama's House to see Jookky and her lovely sisters--whom I'd met the first time through. Dissapointingly we were neglected Super Tuesday results for the time being, but Savannaket was nevertheless a highlight. Almost as if they were mocking Vietnam, the kind folks at Mama's House could be the most affable family....ever. We were treated like kings and brought into the family within minutes.
The night bus and a 30 Rock marathon on the iPod took us to Vientiane and the next bus out took us to Vang Vieng (with a quick NASCAR style pit stop). It was a marathon of buses, otherwise known as backpacking and Brock was handling it well. In Vang Vieng we met back up with Aussie Nick (Fiddles with his Piddle) who we'd met in Hoi An and the full on party was unleashed. The story of the next 5 days is best told through photos--mostly because I don't remember all of it so clearly. That or it was just too repetitive to be interesting. Something about ropeswings, whisky, shakes, laughing, cards, and near death experiences. I knew it was time to leave when, during my last day on the river an Australian guy named James funneled a bottle of whisky...only to be close to death 10 seconds later. Luckily 5 of us or so sobered up enough to carry him out of the bar and away from the river--when, for fear of him dying, I (and Nick) stuck my fingers down his throat to get him to puke. It was scary.
Champa Lao, our guest house, serves the best food in Asia. Sit (Paul) and company took good care of us and our hangovers.
Should we hoof it through southern China or head back to Bangkok and the beach for a couple of days before 'dominating' HK? The beach won, so after barely making it through the border (this time Brock did the honors) we boarded an overnight train that was fueled 80% by Brock's enthusiasm. Not a renewable resource. But 'the Grind' at Vang Vieng had worn me down too far, so it was a fever and the hypochondria that accompanied which kept us in Bangkok for a couple days too long. Revised plans, and Ko Samet was our destination. Anna Kournikova on the bus served to foreshadow the Russian Mafia's stronghold over the island. The beeratorium ended and good times were had. I beat Brock in several races and competitions.
Le Club led to the airport and Brock and I were whisked to Hong Kong by Kenya Airways. I didn't know they flew that route either. We were quickly put in our place, or dominated, by Hong Kong. Chungking Palace we found is a misleading name. From this ghetto we based our night shopping and walking expeditions. Brock managed to get sick just before leaving, mainly as a form of one-upmanship to me, but also to make sure that he left Asia with a bad taste in his mouth. Literally. It was great to see him, though, and so very cool that he just up and came to Asia for a visit--not knowing what to expect.
Post Brock Stage 4 of the trip will start with another reuniting of friends when my friend Kira, from Brazil, arrives in HK tomorrow. On Friday I will pick up my $150 Chinese Visa (it's reciprocally charged...thanks US policy) which I am not fretting about, Brock, and on Saturday I will board the train for a 24 1/2 hour journey to Beijing. Yes, I could have bought a perfectly reasonably priced plane ticket, but the romantic, Theroux Orient Express vision of passing through China while cavorting with her people was too strong to pass up. And so I'll hopefully arrive on the afternoon of the 24th in Beijing, where I'll meet up with the talented Manuela, a friend I've met on these travels, and who has been so generous as to offer me her apartment for my stay in Beijing. The Great Wall and the Forbidden City are in my sights for my time there. Then, after only a brief stint I fly to Shanghai where I'll meet up with a friend from Vanderbilt. After that it's to Hangzhou to meet up with Julia, then back to Shanghai for one last blow out weekend before I'm headed home! Woohooo! What an all-star end to the trip!
Brock should be safely home now but I'm not sure when he'll get around to exquisitely crafting his guest blogger entry. I'll post it when he does....
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Viet-f-ing-NAM
Feb. 1
Yesterday, I was fuious and Vietnam was the cause.
I should back up a bit.
I was given seat 33 on the bus from Vientiane to Savannaket. I asked if this was by the window--with flawless english the ticket booth attendant assured me it was. I got on the bus and seat 33, an aisle seat, was waiting for me. Because it was a 'VIP' bus...there was a blanket (or at least that was the only difference I could tell between non-VIP buses), but mine was soaking wet. I smelled it, not urine, so although confused I was fine with the situation. Then, as the bus jolted forward a steady stream of water poured out of the ceiling and onto my head. That explains it! Luckily it was all drained onto me within the first ten minutes and I could come out from my wet blanket tent for the rest of the trip.
Then, at one of the stops a little 20 year old guy with a glass eye said hello and stood next to my seat, waiting to see if I would participate in this conversation. I thought about using the normal line "Soy de Espana...no hablo ingles!" but I had sympathy for his eagerness to speak English..even if it was at 2am...so I answered his standard line of questioning and stared at the ground until he went away. It was only later that I realized that he was the one in the back of the bus enthusiastically singing thai pop songs at 4am...keeping me awake. I wanted to strangle him. (he would not be the first)
We pulled into the Savannaket bus station just after 4. So I made like a hobo and found a bench to sleep on until my 6:30 bus. Unfortunately, glass eyed pop singer was hanging around the bus station and belting out 'Killing Me Softly' for me, his English speaking audience. The shirt over my face and prone position did nothing to convince him that I was in fact not at all interested in his rendition of the song nor to dissuade him from sitting right next to me while singing it. Him, combined with the water truck spraying down the dust in the station kept me pretty alert for the next two hours.
Savannaket is, maybe, one notch above ghost town. So at 6am I was surprised to see (and join) 10 men in an otherwise empty bus station fighting to get access to the ticket window. I was confused, as were the other Westerners there except one, an Australian named Julie who is living in Laos and is familiar with the routine. She broke to the front of the line and bought us all tickets. Then I realized...our steed was really a fedex/budweiser/livestock truck that once was a bus. The center section of seats had been removed so that that part of the bus and the roof could hold crates of beer (which I would eventually help to deliver), the aisle was stacked half way to the ceiling with burlap sacks of who knows what and the floor in front of the seats was stuffed with boxes. Not much roof left for people. So it was like this that we started our journey, basically one on top of the other towards to border (and of course stopping intermittently for deliveries).
Entering Vietnam you find it at such a contrast to Laos that it feels like you are entering some sort of netherworld. Hell would be too aggressive, because I think that at one time it actually was like entering hell for thousands of Americans who came here. So hyperbole, maybe, but it is such a striking difference that you can really feel it. Maybe purgatory is more appropriate. Somewhere in Dante's grand scheme, it fits anyway. On top of it all was Tet, or Chinese New Year, which I had heard effectively shuts down the country. Fantastic.
Sunny skies give way to ominous clouds, and smiling faces are replaces by 'surly and unkind.' The Slovenian couple (on the same bus) and Julie made it past the scrutinizing eyes of the border idiots, but they didn't understand my passport with it's non-matching pages and long-haired photo that I guess looks very little like me. But Slovenia! They should have been hassled!
Eventually I was allowed to enter, but was still unprepared to be back in Vietnam. I was caught off guard immediately by their scheming pushiness---13 days in Laos and I had willingly and completely forgotten about Vietnam. The 4 of us with a Japanese guy were hustled into a van to be taken to Hue. Unfortunately I knew how much it should cost, so when the bargaining came down from $18/person to $7 for the 4 hour journey I was still unsatisfied. It should be no more than $5! (see Katherine, I am going crazy--somewhere along the way I forgot the price of sanity) So just like that I left my new travel companions that I was quite fond of, and hoofed it over to the bus station. This is when the real fight began! Delirious from a lack of sleep, I was suddenly invigorated for a fight--and there were plenty to be had.
'20,000 dong' I would yell, last offer! That's when the personification of anger, middle aged woman would come up to me and stare with a look that was pure hatred--only moments away from spitting in my face. And so I stared back, but I think with a little more of a 'I hate you too, but don't understand where your anger could possibly be coming from?' look. I went through less intense negotiations with a couple other vans, but they were empty so I knew it'd be a while before they left. Then, as they evil woman and her husband presumably (mercy be upon his soul) driving had filled up (I thought) and were about to leave I broke a rule of mine (never do business/trust someone with whom you've just minutes before been fighting) and hopped in the van.
My backpack was ripped off of my back and I was pushed into the back of the van. On the way in I felt a seemingly flirtatious pat on the butt and I thought--OK, so we're friends again and this is how it's gonna be. Rowdy. But I was wrong. This woman actually was evil, yelling at every person she packed involuntarily into the van. At one point I counted 21 people in the minivan and I doubt I could see everyone. Then, someone called her on the phone and she fought with them! Where was I!? At one point early on in the journey the woman's friend/sidekick/Dick Cheney type character told me that she would charge me as one person and my backpack as another. On top of all of the harassment and all of the butts in my face I was having seriously full bladder issues (AT what should I have done?) and I almost went for the Bangkok cab from the airport sans plastic bag option.
They dropped me off in Dong Ha, where I would very skeptically get in another van, that although charged too much, did not overcrowd as did the other and was a relatively peaceful experience. Strangely, one of the bus ladies (as I call them) was typically sour faced but then came to sit by me and fell asleep snuggled against my side. What a strange day.
The anger turned to bliss on that second bus ride because for the past month I had been perplexed as to what I should do with our itinerary once Brock comes. We had planned to hang out on the beach, play cards and relax. This isn't possible in Vietnam considering that it is rainy and cold this time of year. And my newfound desire to leave the country ASAP led me to the answer--we would return to Laos and skip the northern half of Vietnam. This would require buying another Laotian visa, but to return to a place like Vang Vieng...it was well worth it.
I arrived into Hue to a cold, overcast, but surprisingly rain-free early evening. I marched over the bridge and found the guest house that I had planned to stay in. At this stage my mood could be described as manic and I was happy to see that the women working at the guest house were similarly upbeat.
The next morning I decided that I would walk around Hue for a bit before catching the afternoon bus to Da Nang to collect Brock. As I was walking the bridge over the Perfume River at 8:30am a motorbike stopped next to me and a man and his wife said hello. I was still in a great mood from figuring out our plans and that I would soon be able to leave this place so I said hello back and kept walking. I thought that maybe their motorbike had stalled, but they soon pulled up again saying hello and asking me where I was from. I told them and they immediately asked me if I would like to come to their house. I said I didn't have much time, but they persisted, saying we could just have a drink. The wife was cute and what harm could there be in meeting a Vietnamese family? So I agreed, we left the wife at the market and headed back to the house--all the way I'm laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. We get back and I find that although his English is not very good, he is an English teacher and wanted a chance to practice and apparently to take in a stranger to celebrate Tet. The family immediately offered to have me stay at their house--we went for a ride around the citadel (Hue is a historically preserved moated city) and by 10am were back with the family in the local bar putting back rounds of beer. Buzzed, I was taken back to my guest house at 11:30 where I started writing this blog entry (almost 2 weeks ago). The bus came soon after and it was off to see Brock for the first time in 4 years!
By telling the bus driver that I had a plane to catch at 5 (not far from the truth) I was able to get us out of the regular restaurant stop and made it to the airport in time to catch Brock's flight. A quick hello and we jumped into a cab.
Meeting again after 4 years, we were coming from very different places. I was convinced to not be ripped off by any more Vietnamese people and Brock was just happy to be on vacation. It wasn't long before our taxi driver refused to drop us off at the place that we had requested (he had another hotel in mind) and I was fully engrossed in a fight with him--at one stage getting Brock and I out of the cab and walking away from him without paying. Welcome to Vietnam! I'm sure Brock was confused (where was the formerly docile American that I once knew?), and I didn't blame him. It would only take a couple of days for him to come around, taking a similar dislike to Vietnam and it would only be a couple more days after that that we would be blissfully headed to Laos.
Yesterday, I was fuious and Vietnam was the cause.
I should back up a bit.
I was given seat 33 on the bus from Vientiane to Savannaket. I asked if this was by the window--with flawless english the ticket booth attendant assured me it was. I got on the bus and seat 33, an aisle seat, was waiting for me. Because it was a 'VIP' bus...there was a blanket (or at least that was the only difference I could tell between non-VIP buses), but mine was soaking wet. I smelled it, not urine, so although confused I was fine with the situation. Then, as the bus jolted forward a steady stream of water poured out of the ceiling and onto my head. That explains it! Luckily it was all drained onto me within the first ten minutes and I could come out from my wet blanket tent for the rest of the trip.
Then, at one of the stops a little 20 year old guy with a glass eye said hello and stood next to my seat, waiting to see if I would participate in this conversation. I thought about using the normal line "Soy de Espana...no hablo ingles!" but I had sympathy for his eagerness to speak English..even if it was at 2am...so I answered his standard line of questioning and stared at the ground until he went away. It was only later that I realized that he was the one in the back of the bus enthusiastically singing thai pop songs at 4am...keeping me awake. I wanted to strangle him. (he would not be the first)
We pulled into the Savannaket bus station just after 4. So I made like a hobo and found a bench to sleep on until my 6:30 bus. Unfortunately, glass eyed pop singer was hanging around the bus station and belting out 'Killing Me Softly' for me, his English speaking audience. The shirt over my face and prone position did nothing to convince him that I was in fact not at all interested in his rendition of the song nor to dissuade him from sitting right next to me while singing it. Him, combined with the water truck spraying down the dust in the station kept me pretty alert for the next two hours.
Savannaket is, maybe, one notch above ghost town. So at 6am I was surprised to see (and join) 10 men in an otherwise empty bus station fighting to get access to the ticket window. I was confused, as were the other Westerners there except one, an Australian named Julie who is living in Laos and is familiar with the routine. She broke to the front of the line and bought us all tickets. Then I realized...our steed was really a fedex/budweiser/livestock truck that once was a bus. The center section of seats had been removed so that that part of the bus and the roof could hold crates of beer (which I would eventually help to deliver), the aisle was stacked half way to the ceiling with burlap sacks of who knows what and the floor in front of the seats was stuffed with boxes. Not much roof left for people. So it was like this that we started our journey, basically one on top of the other towards to border (and of course stopping intermittently for deliveries).
Entering Vietnam you find it at such a contrast to Laos that it feels like you are entering some sort of netherworld. Hell would be too aggressive, because I think that at one time it actually was like entering hell for thousands of Americans who came here. So hyperbole, maybe, but it is such a striking difference that you can really feel it. Maybe purgatory is more appropriate. Somewhere in Dante's grand scheme, it fits anyway. On top of it all was Tet, or Chinese New Year, which I had heard effectively shuts down the country. Fantastic.
Sunny skies give way to ominous clouds, and smiling faces are replaces by 'surly and unkind.' The Slovenian couple (on the same bus) and Julie made it past the scrutinizing eyes of the border idiots, but they didn't understand my passport with it's non-matching pages and long-haired photo that I guess looks very little like me. But Slovenia! They should have been hassled!
Eventually I was allowed to enter, but was still unprepared to be back in Vietnam. I was caught off guard immediately by their scheming pushiness---13 days in Laos and I had willingly and completely forgotten about Vietnam. The 4 of us with a Japanese guy were hustled into a van to be taken to Hue. Unfortunately I knew how much it should cost, so when the bargaining came down from $18/person to $7 for the 4 hour journey I was still unsatisfied. It should be no more than $5! (see Katherine, I am going crazy--somewhere along the way I forgot the price of sanity) So just like that I left my new travel companions that I was quite fond of, and hoofed it over to the bus station. This is when the real fight began! Delirious from a lack of sleep, I was suddenly invigorated for a fight--and there were plenty to be had.
'20,000 dong' I would yell, last offer! That's when the personification of anger, middle aged woman would come up to me and stare with a look that was pure hatred--only moments away from spitting in my face. And so I stared back, but I think with a little more of a 'I hate you too, but don't understand where your anger could possibly be coming from?' look. I went through less intense negotiations with a couple other vans, but they were empty so I knew it'd be a while before they left. Then, as they evil woman and her husband presumably (mercy be upon his soul) driving had filled up (I thought) and were about to leave I broke a rule of mine (never do business/trust someone with whom you've just minutes before been fighting) and hopped in the van.
My backpack was ripped off of my back and I was pushed into the back of the van. On the way in I felt a seemingly flirtatious pat on the butt and I thought--OK, so we're friends again and this is how it's gonna be. Rowdy. But I was wrong. This woman actually was evil, yelling at every person she packed involuntarily into the van. At one point I counted 21 people in the minivan and I doubt I could see everyone. Then, someone called her on the phone and she fought with them! Where was I!? At one point early on in the journey the woman's friend/sidekick/Dick Cheney type character told me that she would charge me as one person and my backpack as another. On top of all of the harassment and all of the butts in my face I was having seriously full bladder issues (AT what should I have done?) and I almost went for the Bangkok cab from the airport sans plastic bag option.
They dropped me off in Dong Ha, where I would very skeptically get in another van, that although charged too much, did not overcrowd as did the other and was a relatively peaceful experience. Strangely, one of the bus ladies (as I call them) was typically sour faced but then came to sit by me and fell asleep snuggled against my side. What a strange day.
The anger turned to bliss on that second bus ride because for the past month I had been perplexed as to what I should do with our itinerary once Brock comes. We had planned to hang out on the beach, play cards and relax. This isn't possible in Vietnam considering that it is rainy and cold this time of year. And my newfound desire to leave the country ASAP led me to the answer--we would return to Laos and skip the northern half of Vietnam. This would require buying another Laotian visa, but to return to a place like Vang Vieng...it was well worth it.
I arrived into Hue to a cold, overcast, but surprisingly rain-free early evening. I marched over the bridge and found the guest house that I had planned to stay in. At this stage my mood could be described as manic and I was happy to see that the women working at the guest house were similarly upbeat.
The next morning I decided that I would walk around Hue for a bit before catching the afternoon bus to Da Nang to collect Brock. As I was walking the bridge over the Perfume River at 8:30am a motorbike stopped next to me and a man and his wife said hello. I was still in a great mood from figuring out our plans and that I would soon be able to leave this place so I said hello back and kept walking. I thought that maybe their motorbike had stalled, but they soon pulled up again saying hello and asking me where I was from. I told them and they immediately asked me if I would like to come to their house. I said I didn't have much time, but they persisted, saying we could just have a drink. The wife was cute and what harm could there be in meeting a Vietnamese family? So I agreed, we left the wife at the market and headed back to the house--all the way I'm laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. We get back and I find that although his English is not very good, he is an English teacher and wanted a chance to practice and apparently to take in a stranger to celebrate Tet. The family immediately offered to have me stay at their house--we went for a ride around the citadel (Hue is a historically preserved moated city) and by 10am were back with the family in the local bar putting back rounds of beer. Buzzed, I was taken back to my guest house at 11:30 where I started writing this blog entry (almost 2 weeks ago). The bus came soon after and it was off to see Brock for the first time in 4 years!
By telling the bus driver that I had a plane to catch at 5 (not far from the truth) I was able to get us out of the regular restaurant stop and made it to the airport in time to catch Brock's flight. A quick hello and we jumped into a cab.
Meeting again after 4 years, we were coming from very different places. I was convinced to not be ripped off by any more Vietnamese people and Brock was just happy to be on vacation. It wasn't long before our taxi driver refused to drop us off at the place that we had requested (he had another hotel in mind) and I was fully engrossed in a fight with him--at one stage getting Brock and I out of the cab and walking away from him without paying. Welcome to Vietnam! I'm sure Brock was confused (where was the formerly docile American that I once knew?), and I didn't blame him. It would only take a couple of days for him to come around, taking a similar dislike to Vietnam and it would only be a couple more days after that that we would be blissfully headed to Laos.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
13 days in Laos (written late January)
Really for the first time on this trip, I'm inspired to write about where I've been.
Laos has been fantastic. Of course there wasn't enough time, but seeing as this is a prospecting trip--I've formed a good plan for what I'll do when I come back.
From Vientiane I headed north on the overnight bus to Luang Prabang. Friendly turned to over-friendly "inadvertent" touching by the guy sitting next to me on the bus. This made for an awkward 10 hours and didn't allow for much sleep--so when we finally arrived to Luang Prabang I was plenty relieved.
We were there before the the guest houses were open so I waited outside of my prospective hotel with a couple of tuk-tuk drivers and we watched the sun rise as an endless line of saffron-robed monks went on their daily 6am procession to gather rice from the townspeople.
Luang Prabang is a very beautiful town but it was a little too gentrified for my taste (being a UNESCO World Heritage Site..ya know), so the next morning I met our captain down at the dock and at 9am we shoved off for Nong Kiaw. I had read that this boat journey was especially beautiful and I was not disappointed. We started up the Mekong, but after 15 miles we took a right onto the Nam Ou River. The brown water gave way to green and limestone cliffs starting climbing out of the side of the river. Where the banks of the river were settled, there'd be men fishing by the river with nets, boys with snorkel masks and spear guns and smaller children naked and waving to us, yelling SA-BA-DEE (HI!) at the tops of their lungs. There were also a fair number of water buffalo, up to their ears in water and in no hurry to get out of the way of an oncoming boat.
Our vessel was a 35-40ft long boat (4 ft across) that had the captain at the front, the 15 passengers crammed into the front half, the horrible toilet and engine in the middle and no cargo in the back. I don't claim to understand how it worked, but somehow this boat was able to navigate a river with serious rapids while only drawing a foot and a half of water. Only once did a few of us have to spill out the sides and give it a push. I was the last person to board our boat and because we were over capacity I had what I think was the good luck to be able to lounge in the back on the packs instead of having a seat.
Nong Kiaw is the definition of a sleepy town--a couple guest houses, a few restaurants, fishermen and stunning riverside sunsets pretty much define the place. I think I went to bed the first night at 7:30--not much to do after dark. The second day I met up with the couple, Claire and John, staying in the bungalow next to mine (who had also been on the boat with me) and proposed that they come to try the traditional Lao fishing with me. They were happy to give it a shot, so we each paid $5 and were introduced to our guides for the day. 12 and 14, our guides introduced themselves one at a time. The first said that his name was Pis. Odd, I thought, looking to the others to see if they had picked up on the unusual name. Then the other little boy said that his name was Poo. I couldn't help but laugh quietly, and the British couple were enjoying it as well--we thought that the little guys were taking the 'piss'--but those were their names. For fear of laughing uncontrollably, however, we would have to call them by 'hey' and 'you' for the rest of the day.
When we thought 'traditional Lao fishing' there were visions of us going out in a long-tail canoe on the big river with spear guns and nets, searching for a big catch (which, as part of our package, we were supposed to eat upon our return). Instead, we walked to a little creek much further away and spent a couple of hours laboriously throwing our nets to catch minnows. We caught about 6, the biggest 2 inches long. So after the stop to tour the cave that the town hid out in while the Americans were bombing, we got back to the town and politely declined our minnow feast.
That night after the sunset we headed to 'Le Cinema,' a house with 3 rooms that you can rent to watch one of the movie house's 700 DVDs. The next day Claire and John took off, but I decided to stay for one more night in the peaceful place that gave me the feeling that I was at Maranon. Another night of going to bed at 7:30 was one too many, so the next morning I made my way back to Luang Prabang (by bus) to try to catch the noon bus to Vang Vieng.
The bus actually left on time, so I missed it by 8 minutes. So it was the 3 o'clock bus out of town that would carry me up into the rugged Laotian mountains--a gorgeous bus ride through picturesque valleys and precariously placed (on the side of the road, usually on curves that trucks and buses take way too fast) villages. Ben, from Ireland, the two Swedish girls and I would end up walking around town for about an hour before we found a place that had put mattresses down on a floor and would let us stay there.
Bed or no bed, it didn't matter because Vang Vieng was going to be the most fun place that I had visited. I met up with Devin and Ryno from Vietnam and the next morning we set off for the tubing for which the place is famous. Tubing, rope swings, being out on the river on a sunny day is the kind of thing that I absolutely love--and it wasn't long before I was nicknamed the Prince of the River for my gung ho attitude.
It isn't 100m into the trip that you are brought into your first riverside bar. We were greeted with free shots of Lao Lao, a rice whiskey that should more appropriately just be called gasoline. The buckets of cocktails are soon to follow, then it's Beer Lao and we're off to the next set of bars. It keeps going like this all the way down the river--turning from fun to probably just dangerous. Unfortunately you don't make it all the way down the river because there is one bar with the best and biggest rope swing, great music, volleyball and the most people...which is where everyone ends up staying. It was here that I met back up with the Swedish sisters that I'd crossed the border with and that I would maintain my status as Prince of the River with back flips off of the rope swing, platform...or anywhere else that offered a relatively soft landing.
Dave and I were supposed to go rock climbing and I did get out one day for a good bike ride to a blue lagoon and big cave--but it was the river that dominated the agenda. Devin and Ryno were, as always, a ton of fun to hang out with and they did me the favor of introducing me to Champa Lao, they're hotel, which has the most beautiful views over the valley and serves the best food that I've had in Asia. I delayed my departure until the very last minute and got one more good day of sun out of it. But Brock was flying into Ho Chi Min, then Da Nang and I would need to spend just about every minute of the next 48 hours to make it to meet him. Luckily my second Vietnam visa had come back without issue and I could be on my way--saying goodbye to my favorite country of the trip.
Laos has been fantastic. Of course there wasn't enough time, but seeing as this is a prospecting trip--I've formed a good plan for what I'll do when I come back.
From Vientiane I headed north on the overnight bus to Luang Prabang. Friendly turned to over-friendly "inadvertent" touching by the guy sitting next to me on the bus. This made for an awkward 10 hours and didn't allow for much sleep--so when we finally arrived to Luang Prabang I was plenty relieved.
We were there before the the guest houses were open so I waited outside of my prospective hotel with a couple of tuk-tuk drivers and we watched the sun rise as an endless line of saffron-robed monks went on their daily 6am procession to gather rice from the townspeople.
Luang Prabang is a very beautiful town but it was a little too gentrified for my taste (being a UNESCO World Heritage Site..ya know), so the next morning I met our captain down at the dock and at 9am we shoved off for Nong Kiaw. I had read that this boat journey was especially beautiful and I was not disappointed. We started up the Mekong, but after 15 miles we took a right onto the Nam Ou River. The brown water gave way to green and limestone cliffs starting climbing out of the side of the river. Where the banks of the river were settled, there'd be men fishing by the river with nets, boys with snorkel masks and spear guns and smaller children naked and waving to us, yelling SA-BA-DEE (HI!) at the tops of their lungs. There were also a fair number of water buffalo, up to their ears in water and in no hurry to get out of the way of an oncoming boat.
Our vessel was a 35-40ft long boat (4 ft across) that had the captain at the front, the 15 passengers crammed into the front half, the horrible toilet and engine in the middle and no cargo in the back. I don't claim to understand how it worked, but somehow this boat was able to navigate a river with serious rapids while only drawing a foot and a half of water. Only once did a few of us have to spill out the sides and give it a push. I was the last person to board our boat and because we were over capacity I had what I think was the good luck to be able to lounge in the back on the packs instead of having a seat.
Nong Kiaw is the definition of a sleepy town--a couple guest houses, a few restaurants, fishermen and stunning riverside sunsets pretty much define the place. I think I went to bed the first night at 7:30--not much to do after dark. The second day I met up with the couple, Claire and John, staying in the bungalow next to mine (who had also been on the boat with me) and proposed that they come to try the traditional Lao fishing with me. They were happy to give it a shot, so we each paid $5 and were introduced to our guides for the day. 12 and 14, our guides introduced themselves one at a time. The first said that his name was Pis. Odd, I thought, looking to the others to see if they had picked up on the unusual name. Then the other little boy said that his name was Poo. I couldn't help but laugh quietly, and the British couple were enjoying it as well--we thought that the little guys were taking the 'piss'--but those were their names. For fear of laughing uncontrollably, however, we would have to call them by 'hey' and 'you' for the rest of the day.
When we thought 'traditional Lao fishing' there were visions of us going out in a long-tail canoe on the big river with spear guns and nets, searching for a big catch (which, as part of our package, we were supposed to eat upon our return). Instead, we walked to a little creek much further away and spent a couple of hours laboriously throwing our nets to catch minnows. We caught about 6, the biggest 2 inches long. So after the stop to tour the cave that the town hid out in while the Americans were bombing, we got back to the town and politely declined our minnow feast.
That night after the sunset we headed to 'Le Cinema,' a house with 3 rooms that you can rent to watch one of the movie house's 700 DVDs. The next day Claire and John took off, but I decided to stay for one more night in the peaceful place that gave me the feeling that I was at Maranon. Another night of going to bed at 7:30 was one too many, so the next morning I made my way back to Luang Prabang (by bus) to try to catch the noon bus to Vang Vieng.
The bus actually left on time, so I missed it by 8 minutes. So it was the 3 o'clock bus out of town that would carry me up into the rugged Laotian mountains--a gorgeous bus ride through picturesque valleys and precariously placed (on the side of the road, usually on curves that trucks and buses take way too fast) villages. Ben, from Ireland, the two Swedish girls and I would end up walking around town for about an hour before we found a place that had put mattresses down on a floor and would let us stay there.
Bed or no bed, it didn't matter because Vang Vieng was going to be the most fun place that I had visited. I met up with Devin and Ryno from Vietnam and the next morning we set off for the tubing for which the place is famous. Tubing, rope swings, being out on the river on a sunny day is the kind of thing that I absolutely love--and it wasn't long before I was nicknamed the Prince of the River for my gung ho attitude.
It isn't 100m into the trip that you are brought into your first riverside bar. We were greeted with free shots of Lao Lao, a rice whiskey that should more appropriately just be called gasoline. The buckets of cocktails are soon to follow, then it's Beer Lao and we're off to the next set of bars. It keeps going like this all the way down the river--turning from fun to probably just dangerous. Unfortunately you don't make it all the way down the river because there is one bar with the best and biggest rope swing, great music, volleyball and the most people...which is where everyone ends up staying. It was here that I met back up with the Swedish sisters that I'd crossed the border with and that I would maintain my status as Prince of the River with back flips off of the rope swing, platform...or anywhere else that offered a relatively soft landing.
Dave and I were supposed to go rock climbing and I did get out one day for a good bike ride to a blue lagoon and big cave--but it was the river that dominated the agenda. Devin and Ryno were, as always, a ton of fun to hang out with and they did me the favor of introducing me to Champa Lao, they're hotel, which has the most beautiful views over the valley and serves the best food that I've had in Asia. I delayed my departure until the very last minute and got one more good day of sun out of it. But Brock was flying into Ho Chi Min, then Da Nang and I would need to spend just about every minute of the next 48 hours to make it to meet him. Luckily my second Vietnam visa had come back without issue and I could be on my way--saying goodbye to my favorite country of the trip.
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