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Published: March 10th 2007
Reclining Buddha
The highlight of the buddha park.Vientiane: Sleepy Capital of a Sleepy Country
“Would you like to go to the morning market?” someone asked, “Very cheap price”. This sudden onslaught of English caught me by surprise as for hours on end I had been surrounded by chatting, laughing and uncharacteristically loud locals on the bus. During the six hour transit from Tha Khek to Vientiane the peak of my conversational interaction had been to learn the “other” five numbers between one and ten in Lao (I had mastered one to five during my motorbiking adventure when paying for petrol but had never required more than 5,000 kip worth of the stuff). Additionally, my usual retreat into western society - my mp3 player (god bless technology) - had been without a charged battery for longer than I cared to think about, so I was left with only a Hemingway and the vociferous Lao conversations to occupy my mind. I guess I was lucky, there could have been karaoke.
Being the only westerner on a bus has both upsides and downsides. The upside is that you are instantly famous; everyone wants to look at you, talk to you or just generally pester you. The fact that you
Buddha Park Tower
This turnip-esque building is actually chock full of statues and you can climb right up the middle of it to get a good view of the surrounding park. can not speak their language is regarded more as a quaint oddity than a limiting factor to their quest of knowing your whole life story, so they continue to jabber in your general direction for much longer than would be considered polite or worthwhile. The downsides, which I might point out are far more numerous and important than the upsides, turned out to be rather startling on this particular journey. For starters, the bus was a local Lao bus and was thus designed to fir Lao people. I am unfortunately almost twice the height of your average Lao which results in severe leg contortion each and every time I try to get into a seat. This problem was further compounded by the fact that the bus was packed full; not just full in the way that we understand the word when it comes to public transport, but full as in a can of sardines
with added dolphin. I had bags and boxes of something-or-other vying with my legs for the precious floor space and a small smiling man next to me who seemed to be going for the world record of most boxes stacked under a westerners legs; he just
Creepy Statuary
The religeon that the monk created has a very strange mix of influences when it comes to statues. Check out the skulls. kept pushing more stuff under me until I was sure that my legs had actually been absorbed into the mass of goods. The second most notable downside, which could have been viewed as a positive were I in a more optimistic mood at the time, was that the bus driver had a death wish. Not only that, every other passenger had a death wish.
“What’s going on driver? That other bus just overtook us; we cannot live with such shame! I insist that we race them”. So we did. As exhilarating as motor racing is we are all aware that buses are not designed for such pursuits, and normally we bow to this fact and sit back in our seats resigned to the fact that we will arrive at our destination later than the other bus, but still in one piece. Lao people clearly do not understand this and the entire bus was standing in their seats (or in the aisle for those lucky enough not to be confined to seats) yelling encouragement to our driver as he pushed the bus into what I can only presume was an abnormal operating mode. I give credit to our driver here,
Even Monkey-Men Like Buddha
Buddha was a conservationist. he did manage to make that bus move very quickly and he had an uncanny knack for keeping it stable when it was only on two wheels, however, as the only sane person on the bus I spent most of the time in the emergency landing position (read: foetal position), hoping that sanity would eventually prevail. It didn’t.
We quickly overtook the other bus, they weren’t nearly as insane as us, and I sighed with relief thinking that the ordeal was over. In reality, our increased speed had resulted in our catching of another bus further up the road; so why not overtake another? This insanity continued for a full half hour during which I attempted to restore sanity, one local at a time, by frowning with as much consternation as I could. Eventually we reached the outskirts of Vientiane and the pace slowed at which point the unexpected English hit my ears.
Now, being the first comprehensible sentence that I had heard since the bus ordeal had begun I was caught by surprise. As such I did not really know the answer; did I want to go to the morning market? I had been to Vientiane before
and I was pretty sure I knew my way around and I had also been studiously reading my guidebook but the words “morning” and “market” did not instantly result in recognition of any kind. Not wanting to be duped into taking a supposedly cheap bus to some unknown and presumably hostile market I simply declined the offer of assistance. I consoled myself with the knowledge that the bus would stop at a recognizable bus station at which point I could haggle for a cheap seat on a tuk-tuk to my final destination. It was, after all, the safest course of action. Well, actually, this was all just a cover for not knowing where the hell the morning market was.
Shortly afterwards the bus pulled into a completely unrecognisable bus station that was not even mentioned in my guidebook. Furthermore, the locals I asked could not even point out where the bus station was on my map; presumably I was a very long way from the centre of town. I checked the book again, looking for any sign of a “Southern” bus station only to find a mention of the morning market which happened to be no more than 400m
Beerlao Brewhaha
The guys at the brewery getting pissed. from my desired destination. Curses. Of course, this was a long way from the end of the world so I approached a tuk-tuk driver (by that I mean a tuk-tuk driver raced up to me the moment I set foot outside of the bus and accosted me with his services). Being the only English speaker around I was in a tough bargaining situation, usually you can team together to fill a whole vehicle and thus reduce the price. In my situation though they would not budge from $2; all the while insisting that the locals were paying the same amount (yeah right). Eventually I had to relent as I truly did need to get to a hostel and haggling was not working at all. The following half hour can only be described as painful: the tuk-tuk was not moving as they wanted more passengers to pay the rip-off price, I was trying to ask the driver when we were going to leave (totally unsuccessfully of course) and the sun was blazing like in a Dulux advertisement (very bright, intense and hot for those of you who have not seen Australian television).
Thankfully another bus pulled into the depot, all
More Statues
I'm sorry, but in order to pad out the journal a bit I have to add a lot of photos of statues. I didn't take too many other photos that week. the way from Hanoi, and out piled ten westerners. Considering that they had just been on a 24 hour bus ride they all seemed highly composed and I was sure that the tuk-tuk would start moving soon. Of course, now that we had 11 westerners we could bargain properly (I even renegotiated my original deal) but we could not all fit inside a single vehicle. The others all wanted to stick together so they started to walk away to search out bigger transport, leaving me stuck in two minds. Ok, one mind and a little hesitation, then I chased after them leaving my original driver fuming from both ears. Outside the station we found a jumbo which we could perhaps squash into and bargaining began. Well, it should have but the impetus seemed to have drained out of my companions and they all stood around like stunned mullets so I took it upon myself to figure out prices. Thankfully I was now totally equipped to count in Lao! I threw numbers at the driver in his own language and bam! We had a 50 cent ride each. Of course we still had to determine if we could all fit inside
Vientiane Streetscape
This is one end of the road which has presumably been under construction (perhaps reconstruction) for at least 18 months. Behind the camera is where the road is actively being excavated, still, and ahead is the president's mansion which of course has a perfectly normal road in front of it. the truck but that was unimportant in the grand scheme of things (I really didn’t care as long as I was in the truck. Well, I did care but it makes a better story if I didn’t). In the end we did fit in the jumbo, but it could hardly move with all the weight and eventually it broke down.
Upon arriving at our destination (running repairs half way did not delay us significantly) we started to organise our money when the driver promptly demanded twice what I had agreed upon with him. Indignantly I tried to argue with him, a little, before I just gave my 50 cents to one of the other passengers and fled the scene before they realised. Hopefully they managed to successfully argue with him. Yes, I am a nasty man when it comes to saving money, but we did agree on 50 cents to begin with.
Thus began my triumphant return to Vientiane; a city which I had briefly visited 18 months ago and had enjoyed immensely. Vientiane is the capital of Laos, a small city of 200,000 which sits on a broad curve of the Mekong. Across the waters lies Thailand
Temple Number One
This temple used to house the emerald Buddha before Siam stole it. and the two are connected by the most famous bridge in the entire country which just so happens to be the least inspiring and impressive bridge I have seen, anywhere. What first impressed itself on my mind as I entered the city was that nothing at all had changed in the years since my last visit. As I walked the streets near my hostel I began to realise that the restaurants, bars, hotels, and everything else besides had remained completely static during my absence. Not only did everything look and feel the same, everything
was the same down to every last detail which took away the interesting period of exploration which comes with arriving at new destinations.
Shortly after arriving I attempted to get some of my clothes laundered; this aim being something of a necessity more than a idle wish due to the fact that I had had neither the time to wash nor the availability of a laundry for well over a week and a half. To put it bluntly, my clothes stank, I stank, each pair of underwear had gone through at least two rotations (front-ways and back-ways) and basically I looked like a hobo (note
Temple Number Two
The first signs of Mandarin influences for this trip. that my muddy and wet clothes from my motorbiking were a part of the washing inventory). In my eagerness to get my bags of stinky clothes away from me and into some unsuspecting Lao hands I rushed out of the hostel and accosted the first westerner to ask where a cheap laundry was. “In the hostel” she replied while wearing one of those looks which says so much more than “you are really dumb aren’t you, here, have a ball to play with”. I guess it was an appropriate reaction, if not just a little bit over the top, as there were signs everywhere in the hostel advertising their laundry facilities.
The traveler who had provided such succinct and useful information turned out to be a really nice Dutch girl (turned out is perhaps a bad way of saying it as she was probably a Dutch girl prior to our meeting) and I sat down to have a quick chat with her. Well, one thing led to another, and her friends got on a bus to Pakse, so we decided to go out to dinner together. In what is probably a combination of terribly bad luck and poor planning
Temple Number 3
Ok, ok, I won't put anymore pictures of temples or statues in here. I really don't have anything else to show you except empty coffee cups. we decided to go to a venue known as the Full Moon Café. This fine establishment happens to be two things: a very nice restaurant which serves excellent food, and the site of my most famous and horribly terrifying use of a pick-up line. The story unfolded as follows: when I was last in Vientiane I went to aforementioned café for drinks with some friends and had need of the loo. Unfortunately, or otherwise if you chose to take pleasure in my misery, there was a line and I patiently waited next to a gorgeous tanned girl who looked like she had just stepped out of a Brazilian volleyball team’s group photo. Tanned to perfection as only South Americans can be and totally beautiful all over. What could I do but say hello? I asked her where she was from and then I received the most unexpected response: Scotland! “Wow” I thought to myself and in hindsight I should have left it there but no I came out with this pearler: “That’s a really nice all over body tan you have for a girl from Scotland.” She didn’t speak to me after that.
Considering my previous efforts at that
Sign at Patuxai
For the benefit of those of you who have not read Lonely Planet Laos, this sign is found under the Arc de Triomphe inspired monstosity in Vientiane. The descriptive way in which it describes the structure's impressiveness is so typically Laos that I had to share it with you. café I didn’t try my luck a second time with Sylvia (the Dutch girl), I simply didn’t have the cojones.
I have an admission to make: I came to Vientiane without truly touristic aims. It was simply a stopover to get my affairs in state; a Vietnamese visa was needed, my stash of US dollars was running frighteningly low due to my difficulties in finding ATM’s in northern Cambodia and I needed to sort out a few other administrative things as well (this journal is one example). Thus I had little interest in visiting the “sights” around Vientiane, most of which I had either seen last time I was here or was simply not interested in. However, with a five day wait for my visa (bloody weekends) I was forced to find something to do with my time.
My first day was spent organising my affairs; a task which took a lot less time than I had hoped, leaving me with a lot of days and not a lot of ideas. One task however did cause some consternation: that of trying to get some US dollars out of my account. I walked back and forth across Vientiane, going
Thomas' First Ever Bowl
He actually beat me too, damn beginners luck. from one Lao bank to a Thai bank to a Vietnamese/Lao bank, to a Lao bank designed for foreigners, and so on. At each institution I patiently took a number and awaited my turn at one of the counters at which point I was quickly assured that I was at the wrong bank. Continuously I was sent on wild goose chases to some incredibly obscure banks (how can such a small city have so many different banks? I have been to about 15 of them!) where a young Lao cashier would simply tell me that they could not help me. Eventually I found one bank which gave me the delightful news that I could use my ATM card to withdraw up to 700,000 kip (70 US dollars plus some inhumane withdrawal fee) which I could then bring into their exchange to get dollars, presumably at some conversion loss of course. I quickly figured out the costs and discovered that I would probably lose somewhere between 10 and 20 percent of my money doing that, and seeing as I was after a large amount of money it was clearly and undesirable option. I told them as much and they shrugged, then
Me and My Wonderful French Friends
From left: me, Audrey, Tom and Severine. they sent me to another bank. The new bank seemed promising, big office, nice curtains, a second floor just for foreigners; this could be the place I was looking for. The attendant I talked to seemed very happy to see me and told me that he could withdraw US dollars for me without doing the double conversion so I whipped out my card. He had a quick look and said “Sorry sir, only MasterCard or Visa”. My card, being a Maestro,
is a MasterCard but he would not believe me no matter how many times I said “MasterCard Maestro, Same Same”. He wouldn’t even try it out for a laugh so again I left the bank without my money, and this time without my patience. Sod it all, I can wait till Ho Chi Minh City for my money.
Upon returning to the hostel I was definitely in need of relaxation, a beer I was thinking. However, in my room I ran into two old friends: Phil the crazy Englishman who had done the loop at the same time as I had, and Sylvia the Dutch girl from the previous night. Phil quickly convinced the other two of us
Lak Xao's Backdrop
Can you imagine waking up every morning, opening your curtains and seeing this in front of your eyes? If it were anywhere other than in Lak Xao I would be happy to live there. that we were in desperate need of a sauna and massage combination, a new concept for me. It sounded like fun, and for only $3 it was rather difficult to even consider refusing; so we were found not half an hour later to be undressing at a sauna. Saunas are nice, really nice. But typically you find them in cold climes, not in the tropics and definitely not in Laos. But then again, it was so relaxing the sit in the sweatboxes trying to breathe in as much of the eucalyptus scented steam as possible. Actually, it was probably a bit too relaxing when you consider that the men’s sauna was filled with a lot of fat, seedy-looking Lao businessmen. One such business man was sitting so far into the sauna that only his feet were visible in a very Godfather sort of way; creepy. This thought was further compounded later on after we had showered and were going next-door for a massage when Phil left me with the comment “Watch your arse mate”.
This was like extreme bungee jumping: where you face inwards and just before you jump, right after you pass the point of no return, someone runs out holding the untied end of a second rope yelling “Not Yet!” You don’t have time to change your mind and absolute, total fright takes over. I was trying to decipher what Phil meant by his comment; what kind of place was this massage parlor? What did he know that he hadn’t told me?
Thankfully everything was above board and the massage was fantastic, no worries in terms of my posterior. It was the perfect way to spend an afternoon after my stressful bank-chasing day; I had to return to the establishment a couple of days later.
Later that evening, as we three intrepid arse-watchers were enjoying dinner and a beer (after cleansing our bodies in the sauna we needed to drink something toxic to replenish ourselves) we met a group of girls that are best described as Canadian American Nose Boobs. They were so intense and mind-numbingly talkative that we barely got three words into the conversation, which only lasted some ten minutes but could have passed as a decade. They were that type of person who sucks out all of your energy just by being there and gives you a headache faster than a brick. The name I give to them is simply a collection of the first impressions that we each got from them, and serves only to fill the void created by my lack of manners in forgetting their actual names. They talked like they were from New York, hence the American title, although they professed to be from Canada. I personally had not met a Canadian with such a horrendous, screeching voice that just oodled with condescending; I believed that such voices only existed in bad mobster movies based in New York. I guess I was wrong. The second impression we got (Phil and I got, that is) was their noses. I don’t mean any offence by this but they were just very noticeable, very noticeable. What intrigued us most though was that the only girl in our group, Sylvia, did not notice their noses at all as she was totally transfixed by their boobs. Phil and I on the other hand had been rather oblivious to them which seemed to us to be opposite to the usual course of things. Suffice to say, we didn’t remember anything at all about what they had to say or think; they were just too damn annoying.
The following day dawned with the prospect of sad farewells. Both Phil and Sylvia were leaving town and I was to be left by myself with yet another four days to fill. This led me to the realisation that Vientiane itself is quite a dull place. Without friends around to occupy my time, I often found myself drifting listlessly around town trying to think of what the bejeezny I was going to do with myself. Vientiane is always asleep. Asleep in the way that your grandmother is asleep in her armchair in the afternoon, appearing to be constantly on the verge of waking and with the promise of picking up exactly where she left off before drifting into sleep the instant her eyes reopen. Only that I can’t remember every seeing Vientiane before it went to sleep, perhaps it never was awake. This is evidenced by the slow pace of the capital, and Laos in general. People here actually seem to repeat things over and over in an effort to make things slower; you get the impression that people don’t want things to change, or move. For example, as I mentioned this is the second time that I have visited Vientiane and on both occasions the roads have been in a state of reconstruction. The one road which runs in front of my hostel was being built last time I was here and it still is, in exactly the same spot. In fact, early every morning a bulldozer begins tearing up a three meter wide strip of the road which is further dug out by a team of men before lunch time. In the afternoon the bulldozer pushes all the dirt back into the hole and it is compacted down to make the road again, albeit in a considerably worse condition than it began. The next day they repeat the process slightly further down the road. I read a newspaper article in the Vientiane Times (a venerable publication which is a remarkable achievement considering the journalistic talents on hand. I met an Australian woman who works as an editor on the paper who informed me that it is often hard to say that any part of what the original journalists write gets to the printing press) which proudly touted the futile procedure as a part of the National Road Number 1 upgrade project which is receiving funding from Japan. If that counts as an upgrade then I’d hate to see what resulted from the initial construction project.
Other facets of local life show the slow, lazy and sleepy nature of Vientiane as well. Everything closes by 11pm in the city, and most shops close well before this leaving only a handful of clubs and bars to fill the western appetite for late night shenanigans. This causes a little consternation as it is often hard to force oneself to eat dinner before 7, thus leaving little time for post-dinner entertainment. Also, the local tuk-tuk drivers are even too lazy to sell drugs properly! Their half-formed English sentences barely include the relevant words you need to understand what they are selling, they don’t bother to get out of their hammocks (yes, they have hammocks in the back of their tuk-tuks) and some of them barely even bother to put on that seedy grin which indicates that they are selling something illicit. Really guys, even if I was in the market for such products I wouldn’t buy them off someone that lazy.
Faced with this totally lack of energy and excitement, factors which you can usually count on in a capital city to drag you kicking and screaming from one adventure to another, I was left with only one option: a frenetic burst of sightseeing in which I would see every last temple, statue, museum and monument that I had ever heard of within a 20km radius of my hostel. I had to find something exciting to do with my time and with this plan I was at least guaranteed to spend a lot of time in transit which was better than nothing. My first order of business was a trip to the Buddha park, a park filled with Buddhas (wow, I bet you could have guessed that one) created by a monk in the early 60’s. This particular monk created a religion which combined aspects of Hinduism Buddhism and a few others on the side and subsequently became a revered teacher.
To get to the park I took a local bus, local being a funny sort of adjective in that it has more meanings than any dictionary will admit. This bus was your typical small bus, about 20 seats, fairly cramped, and a good laugh to try and tip over. In this case, “local” means a minimum of 50 people, each with their groceries, packed into the vehicle however we could. It was worse than the Hong Kong subway! Being the last person on I had the pleasure of standing in the doorway (door open of course) while the entire mass of humanity inside attempted to push me out to my imminent doom. I couldn’t move for fear of touching up some innocent passenger (or 20 as they were all within arms reach) so I stood there in cramped enjoyment saying to myself how great it was to be out and doing something. Also, it only cost 40 cents. During the ride I met a group of six university students (various courses) who were also heading to the Buddha park. Nothing beats close quarters to spark conversation, and they did speak excellent English, so away we chatted for the whole trip. They pointed out salient landmarks and I politely answered their questions about Australia, the whole exercise was quite agreeable.
Once we got to the park the students all wanted to take photos with me (once again I was famous). What I did not realize however was that all of them were about two feet shorter than me which made the photo shoot somewhat uncomfortable. Short of kneeling (which would have to be condescending wouldn’t it?) I made myself as little as I could as they proudly stood as high as they could. I’m sure that the tension showed quite clearly in our faces, but I guess they didn’t mind. Now, the park itself was nice (with all the things that word entails, not a bit more). A collection of strange and beguiling statues lies in a green field; really it is a long way from Angkor Wat. I did the perfunctionary photographic circuit and then went back to wait for another bus. My plan of wasting a morning failed I searched my mind for something else in the vicinity which could fill hours of a bored Australians life. The Beerlao brewery was just down the road.
Arriving at the front gate I realized that it was Saturday so no tours were running (damn days not being uniform) so I walked around for a quick look at the plant. At the far end I found the Beerlao sporting facility, a glorified football field with a small thatch building next to it, a small building which served beer, next to a brewery. That has to be a good thing. As I walked towards it though I started to have doubts as there were no waiters, menus, fridges or anything resembling a bar. What followed however was quite amazing. A group of engineers who were either employees or students training at the brewery were sitting around drinking free beers provided by the company. They invited me over and started pouring me drinks, all the while getting rowdy and making nerdy conversations as only Engineers can. I had a long chat with one, and electrical engineer like myself and found that his education was relatively the same as mine; so we continued to have drinks together. In all honesty, it was exactly the same as the parties I used to have with my mates back home while we were students. People made the same jokes, played the same games, they looked the same, sounded the same. It was such an uncanny resemblance with the only difference being that I was in Laos. I guess anything that involves me and free beer is going to be an awesome experience but this really went over the top. The only problem was how to get home, but in Lao fashion I simply ignored it (in hindsight this was a bad move because true Lao fashion would result in me
never getting home).
So as to not leave you all hanging on the edge of your seats I will explain how I got home, in an excruciatingly long and detailed manner as fits my mood right now. Just kidding, I ended up getting a lift back with one of the students which, much to my satisfaction, resulted in a "quick" stop-over at his university college. Now, university students are not a diverse bunch - I ought to know having been one until only recently - and this was proven to me first hand. As I entered the room I was met with a young engineer doing what engineers do: procrastinating by making two-minute noodles. I half expected to see packets of macaroni cheese lying strewn across the floor but to my delight they were all packed neatly in a cupboard. All of the students (I think there were four but I had consumed a couple of beers by this point so my recollection is at best hazy) sat around playing guitars and just generally not giving a rats about studying. Ahh, just like my student days.
After my long sojourn at the brewery I headed for home to sleep off my drunkenness, clearly falling short of my sightseeing total for the day. Of course, that meant that the next day was going to be even more packed with rampant wanderings about Vientiane in search of entertainment. I walked quite a distance that day as I tramped across half of the city looking at temples and markets and I can say with complete certainty that I was exhausted by the end of it; a good thing then that I had organised to meet my French friends for a sauna/massage. In all I managed to see somewhere between six and a whole lot of temples (I lost count) and three markets at which I bought absolutely nothing. Was it fun? Well, some of it was and the rest of it wasn't, but at least I killed the last day before I could get my visa and leave. I actually found myself killing time in some remarkably obscure ways: reading a Bill Bryson book under a bad replica of the Arc de Triomphe while eating an Australian ice-cream was certainly an enlightening cultural experiment. Late on I even found myself going bowling with my friends at a venue where the only sign that we were in Laos was a red flag on the wall (and one old local man who had the most retarded yet successful bowling action imaginable. Think of someone holding the ball as though it were a deadly animal that could strike you at any time, and then attempting to thrust said animal deep into the earth with a deft flick of the wrist for added retardedness).
This now leaves my story at an important juncture: today. I could be en-route to Vietnam, but I have decided to give Vientiane one last chance, also, today happens to be my birthday and I would hate to spend it on a bus. Anything is better than a bus. So what does one do with a special day in a city like Vientiane? Why, indulge ever desire of course! To this end I now find myself facing the most arduous of decisions: which cafe should I patronise while I read the next chapter of my book? And, what drink shall I have when I get there? I started the day, following breakfast that is, at a small cafe that makes nice, cheap cakes. Black-Forrest was the pick of the menu. Now, I didn't see it myself but I am sure the sight of a single young man sitting in a cafe voraciously consuming (note that the word "eating" is not appropriate here) a slice of cake brings about thoughts of pity and disgust, but I cared not, it was my birthday. The remains of my day were then split between JoMa's (a cafe with excellent mochas), my favourite fried rice restaurant (which makes an excellent fruit shake, especially their mixed fruit variety. Just imagine getting sequential tastes of mango, papaya, banana and dragonfuit with every sitp!) and the Scandanavian bakery (which of course sells cappuccinos). Am I happy? Well actually I am more content now than I have been since Tha Khek but I am starting to get the shakes from a sugar/caffeine overdose. Even though Vientiane is quiet, perhaps verging on boring, it is still possible to enjoy oneself by indulging in the small things which we all enjoy. However, I do not think that I could actually live here because I would end up broke and with a severe liver disorder. The cafes would be very rich though.
Peter Moore once wrote that the time you spend awaiting a visa can often prove to be the most enlightening, interesting and worthwhile days you spend in a country, for it is during these days that you manage to slide comfortably down to the real vibe (ughh, did I really use that word? It apparently has no synonyms) of the city; below the thin film of tourism. This is when you find the unexpected pleasures which are generally hidden from view. In stark contrast, in Vientiane there is nothing hidden, everything is merely overshadowed. The pleasures of this town are not extravagant like those of Vang Vieng to the north so they are always there in plain view, it is just that tourists simply do not come to Vientiane expecting a touristic heaven and thus they do not leave disappointed. The true pleasures of this town (in light of the information at hand the word city seems to be a slight overstatement) are in quiet reflection, relaxation and the consumption of large amounts of addictive chemicals in the form of cappa-, frappa- and mocha-ccinos. It took me six days to find interesting things to do in this place, and when I found them they were just the things that I had been doing all along. I only needed to increase frequency and dose. My time here has not been my idealised travel experience, the one that I was in futile pursuit of, but nevertheless it was an experience very worth living.
One question remains: should I continue to relax as Vientiane desires or should I throw a birthday bash the likes of which has never been seem by this town. Either way, it will have to end by 11 - clearly Vientiane will always have her way in the end.
Epilogue: Lak Xao
I found myself in Lak Xao for the third time in my life. This time it was as a part of my "get your arse out of Laos" initiative which was incepted as a way to hasten my procrastination through South-East Asia (I really need to get a move on if I'm going to make it to London). Lak Xao is a truly remarkable town in that it is totally un-remarkable. Well, that is an exaggeration as I am obviously devoting this epilogue to remarks about it, but you get the ghist don't you? The people in Lak Xao are truly blessed as they wake up every morning to what I believe is the most stunning view this side of China, a mountain of such improbable size and shape as to make you question physics juts out of the ground some 500 meters from town and reaches some height that I cannot count on my fingers and toes (those being the best implements I have at hand, no pun intended). When I was first in this part of the world I was quite impressed as I had both a good hotel and a good restaurant situated within a good range of each other; not bad for a stop-over between Vientiane and Hanoi I thought. Because of this I reached Lak Xao with an air of expectation, hoping to once again be treated well.
Let me know relate to you the state of restaurants in Lak Xao. Or more to the point, let me tell you what I saw so that we can all be puzzled together. As I entered the restaurant which I had deemed to be the best in town (it was) I was promptly ignored by everyone. That is, the one staff member sat at a table watching television and totally ignored me. She even got up at one point to switch on a fan and a light and then went to sit back down, totally oblivious to my presence. This puzzled me as I had been sitting there for ten minutes so I got up to walk around a bit; still no recognition, she even left the room for a while. Eventually, and I stress the long time involved here, she saw me and put on one of those "Oh, when did you sneak in here" expressions and then took my order. Unfortunately they were out of chicken offal so I had to choose again. She took my second order but the random duck dish that had no English translation was also out of stock. "Ok then, at least fried rice chicken will be acceptable.", "No you say? No chickens? How about pork?". This continued for a while before I had ordered
something.
The waitress quickly picked up here puzzled look again and asked me if I wanted "Fry". Hmm, that really was a tricky one and I didn't know if I wanted Fry or what the consequences of not getting my recommended daily intake of it would be (I must consult my nutritionist) so I mimicked her expression. Being a compassionate person she took my hand and dragged me away to where I would presumably see what she was talking about. Instead we moved into a lavishly large dining room with places for at least 100 guests. That has to be the entire population of Lak Xao! The room was decorated in the style of a contemporary ballroom: pink and stucco detailing on the roof, a polished wooden dancefloor, a raised platform for a DJ, expensive scotch bottles carefully placed in hardwood cabinets, and elegant woodcarvings of deer. The dining room was also fully staffed in a kind of vacant, absent-minded way; just like the front room only with more people to ignore me. What turned my head most however, and was something that did not immediately register to me, was that all of the seats were still covered in plastic shrink-wrap. Fair enough, the room was clearly new and unused, but why then were there decorations advertising a big party from a week prior to my arrival, and why was it so well staffed when I was to only guest (and I quite obviously was unexpected)? This all began to creep me out and I started to ask myself questions.
How does this establishment exist? And once that problem is ignored, how does it make money so as to continue existing? There weren't any patrons other than I, and there definitely wasn't much chance of 100 guest parties occurring with the required frequency for the place to be able to stay open all the time. Also, if there had been parties and were going to be parties they would have to have removed the plastic, right? The only fathomable explanation which has come to me is that some eccentric millionaire (perhaps Richard Branson's Lao equivalent) has set up a kind of "hobby restaurant" in the hills of far eastern Laos in the hope that 30 years from now there will be patrons in the area. Perhaps it is that eccentric guy from Iron Chef? At least when the patrons do appear 30 years from now, just like baseball players in bad Kevin Costner films, they will all be able to say "Good thing we built this ballroom all those years ago 'cause now we can boogie!".
I was well creeped out by now and I wanted to go back to my hotel for a shower so I started eating faster. Just before I finished however, the waitress started peeling an onion at the reception desk. I fled before Norman Bates arrived.
Once I had escaped I returned to the luxurious hotel room that I had, only to discover that the water was not turned on, ever. Lak Xao is a freaky town, do not go there! It was also bloody cold.
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shelley
non-member comment
still going
glad to see that you are still out there having fun and have not piked like Jeff. It doesn't sound like you are getting a lot of fruit in your diet, have you been eating enough new zealand apples?