Vientiane - A capital punishment

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Monday, 16th August
An early bus. Hasn't been too many of those since our rotation East. The bus driver refused to pick up 4 people at our hotel because they weren't on his list. He picked them up 3 doors down from the travel agent they bought their ticket at. That was as eventful as this one got. I even managed a few winks. I said winks.

We arrived in the nation's capital, smaller than Milton Keynes and without the feel of a political centre. We did little but check ourselves into a hotel, pricier than elsewhere in Laos so far but still less than a tenner for satellite and air conditioning. Should help to pass the time whilst we wait for our Vietnamese visa.

Tuesday, 17th August
Vientiane, the capital I forgot to name yesterday, was ripe for exploration today, and a day could have been all it took. Within 10 minutes we could have walked from the centre to a point that nobody had even had heard of the place. From what we could see there was a distinct absence of any real capital buildings except for the Cultural Hall and the Palace. With the American penchant for carpet bombing we wouldn't be surprised if Parliament was in a little bunker under the local fish guts restaurant.

No signs of a capital but signs of capitalism; banks seem to be popping up literally as we walk around. I tripped over one. We even saw a PwC.

Our whirlwind tourism took us to Patuxai, the Laotian Arc d'Triomphe. Even with their heavy French influence the locals view this as an Arc d'Sh*t. Built as a victory monument in 1962 (2 years before US obliteration in a war that 'never happened'😉 the plaque on the side of it describes Patuxai as a monster in the city. Lost in translation? No, it is just that ugly. Such a gothic building may be revered in bohemian Barcelona but not here. Inside was a market that sold only cr*p. The view from the top showed just how little there would be to see in Vientiane whilst the administratives earned their $100 filling out a form and taking four days to do it.

In the afternoon we got ripped off at a bookshop. Not by much. Later we went in search of the National Stadium but it turns out another unwitting tourist had stood on it and crushed the entire thing. That's me telling you it's small. The Cultural Hall and the Palace as mentioned were much more what you would associate with a solid Communist era; high ceilings despite an average population height of 4ft8 adorned with portraits to scale...and then doubled. Whisky village woman has no bed. Money for the masses and all that.

We passed the US Embassy and it was HEAVILY guarded. It was a big f**k you to Jason Bourne and his endless opportunism.

In the capital with little by the way to talk about is a good place for a comparison between now home and old home (Thailand). The best way to sum it up would be relaxed Communism (same model as pick-and-choose Christians) versus shameless Capitalism (your homeless sitting by the ATM). Laos has definitely nicked it for me, but the signs are there for it just to be Thailand II by the time our kids wanna catch an STD or parasite out here. Vang Vieng was the perfect example - dodgy tuk-tuks, drugs, pushy salesmen. All hallmarks of Thailand. The saving grace is the Laotian demeanour; they just don't seem to have it in them to be pushy.

The Communist leanings in me are rising again. The people have nothing but they don't give a sh*t. In South America it was sympathy, here completely different. The spirit of Che Guevara will die once my first paycheque comes in.

Wednesday, 18th August
Another day, another search for a tourist spot. Just the 4km walk to today's. My name takes a while to write so the visa hasn't turned up yet. The hourly rate of these guys diminishes with each passing day. Anywho the weather was cloudy but humid so 4km walking meant 4 stone dripped away out through the armpit. Each tuk-tuk passed was evermore tempting, except the shirtless guy without teeth, but we resisted. It's like walking past a chicken coup - tuk-tuk-tuk-tuk-tuk-tuk-tuk neverending. Hugh Fearnley Whateverthefr*ghisnameis will be broadcasting his study on channel 4 next summer.

Like magpies we were drawn to the gold that sits on the outskirts of town. Pha That is a huge stupa of gold (colour) flanked by a couple of impressive and still working temples. Apologies for making them sound like mills. I meant that they had monks in them. It's typical of Laos and the main contrast to Thailand. The temples are maintained for use and not fallen to disrepair for that awesome sunset photo.

Other than that there wasn't a huge amount to describe. Ladies and children tried to sell us wild birds that they had caught and caged. Impressive, birds always fly away when you get near them. A guy in Phonsavanh told me that they eat them here, not like a partridge with plum sauce and a salad grown in a virgin's allotment but barbecued completely from head to toe. Beaks get stuck in your teeth.

They catch them using sticky bamboo so I understand.

Thursday, 19th August
Finally. Visas have arrived. Just in the nick of time too, we were 24 hours more in Vientiane from dropping dead in the gutter due to boredom. Half of this diary has been written in a phenomenally expensive coffee shop, but with absolutely immense cakes.

A first for us in South East Asia, a long sleeper bus. And when I say long I am talking Dion Dublin. I am talking watching local cricket. I am talking the length of the Roman Empire. Twenty-four s*dding hours on a bus. Now, we could have flown. Even turning a blind eye to the fact that I hate it the only airline we could take it with is Laos Airways. I will not get in a plane made of lollipop sticks flown by an illiterate. The price differential is about 8 times as well. We got dinner with our ticket too; dry rice, the most virus-infected sausage known to history and a partially fried egg. Laotian stomachs are lined with concrete. Dotcom.

You pay peanuts you get monkeys. Never has a truer statement been made to describe the farce of this bus. Let's start with the mechanics of the bus itself. 24 hour sleepers are effectively beds, slightly raised at the head so the person behind can get their feet underneath in a cubbyhole. Plastic mock-leather ensures that the sweat from the lack of air-conditioning can be wiped off. But isn't. My feet don't fit in the cubbyhole on my heels, I have 24 hours of discomfort to look forward to.

Hayley on the top bunk, me on the bottom. We were in early enough to watch the driver have a coronary at people getting on without his say-so, at the volume of luggage that won't fit in the bottom of the bus and at the stupid Israeli girl who won't take her shoes off despite a massive sign and repeated requests. The driver hit her in the back. Shame it wasn't in the face, we've come across this girl before and she is the very definition of the word d*ckhead. She tried to sit in someone else's seat because she didn't like hers. Sadly they didn't punch her in the face either.

Finally the coup d'grace. With all the beds taken the aisles were filled up. What. the. F**k? Literally on the bottom row now I was spooning some fellow from Argentina. Tell that to Maggie Thatcher. On the bottom the sweat flooded the aisles. A child drowned. On the top Hayley's teeth ground down from all the chattering as a result of air-conditioning trying to compensate.

Graffitti said "kill yourself now!" under one of the seats. I take back the thing about the monkeys, never was a truer word said of this experience. I wish I was better at taking advice.

The last insult to our emotional injury occurred at a 1am stop at a cafe. After a full hour (with the air-conditioning gone away with the keys to the ignition) it was evident we weren't moving any time soon. The drivers had gone to bed. Full 5 hours at this dump, uncomfortable chairs or sauna sleeptime. All because the border doesn't open until 7.

Why the f**k didn't the bus just leave five hours later?!?!?!?!?

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Photos

Patuxai
The blot on the city, apparently

The National Culture Hall
Bigger than your average hall