We leave from Chiang Rai early in the morning via bus and make our way to Chiang Khong, Thailand, a small town on the border of Laos. From here we cross the river and take a bus to Huay Xai where we locate the lovely folks who will be our guides for the next 2 days of trekking and zip-lining in the jungles of the Bokeo Nature Reserve known as the Gibbon Experience. We gleefully zip-line, hike, and observe all sorts of wildlife. On the last day we board a 2-day ferry up the Mekong river toward Luang Prabang, the old capital of Laos. The ride is cramped but we keep ourselves amused with card games and cheap Laos beer.
In Luang Prabang we visit the requisite temple and palace sites and relax by the Mekong river bed in our well-adorned traditional Laos guesthouse. Next we make our way down to Vang Vieng to experience the party-scene of a lifetime. It's called tubing and it's out of control. We get a tube and make our way to the river where there are over 100 bars. We float down the river, drinking beer, stopping at various bars to dance or ride a zip-line into the river. There are all kinds of exotic delectables- some clean, some filled substances ranging from curious to illicit.
After a few days on the rubber and in the sun we make our way to the capital, Vientiane, for a brief stop-over. We're on our way back to Bangkok before heading to Cambodia or we're making our way south to the 1000 islands and over-landing into Cambodia from there. It depends on our mood, days left on our visa, and how the money is holding up. But either way, Laos is an out-of-control adventure worthy of it's own novella, or at least a short story.
That is how I planned Laos. That was what I had hoped to be typing for this post. The real story, tragically, is much less interesting as nearly everything I had planned went belly-up before we even set foot in the country. It all started in Bangkok. Before the beast took over and led me into the depths of Bangkok's nocturnal goings-on, we spent a few hours researching Laos.
First, what we read (and heard from other travelers) about the boat to Luang Prabang was that it was exceptionally dirty, uncomfortable, and a literal pain in the ass as you're stuck on a hard wooden seat for days. That's not so bad but what really started to put a pin in that plan was stories of travelers who, on the overnight stop, were unable to get housing for the night or the housing they could find had gigantic rats or cockroaches infesting the rooms. Additionally, my co-host was still in his phase of great apprehension of being around mosquitoes so two days exposed on a river no doubt made him uncomfortable.
But we probably would have gone ahead with it save for one thing: I reached out to the Gibbon folks twice but never heard back from them. I took that to mean they were full or weren't running the tours at the time. (I later- too late- came to find out they are notorious about not getting back to people but you can just walk right up and they almost always find a place for you). So without the GE to do, we really weren't all that keen to take the boat considering it was going to take about 52 hours in total. Upon a little research we found that we could make it to Vientiane via train from Chiang Mai in about 36 hours.
The other portion of the plan self-destructed long before we even shipped off to Asia when the Laos government shut down Vang Vieng last fall. During the entirety of my Europe trip I met countless travelers who had been to Vang Vieng and to a man (or woman) they lauded the scene labeling it as the "must do" activity in Laos. To be honest, that was the main thing I was looking forward to in Laos. We ultimately came to hear that 3 of the nearly 100 bars are still open but for the most part Vang Vieng is a ghost town. Certainly the form in which it once existed is now deceased.
In Luang Prabang we visit the requisite temple and palace sites and relax by the Mekong river bed in our well-adorned traditional Laos guesthouse. Next we make our way down to Vang Vieng to experience the party-scene of a lifetime. It's called tubing and it's out of control. We get a tube and make our way to the river where there are over 100 bars. We float down the river, drinking beer, stopping at various bars to dance or ride a zip-line into the river. There are all kinds of exotic delectables- some clean, some filled substances ranging from curious to illicit.
After a few days on the rubber and in the sun we make our way to the capital, Vientiane, for a brief stop-over. We're on our way back to Bangkok before heading to Cambodia or we're making our way south to the 1000 islands and over-landing into Cambodia from there. It depends on our mood, days left on our visa, and how the money is holding up. But either way, Laos is an out-of-control adventure worthy of it's own novella, or at least a short story.
That is how I planned Laos. That was what I had hoped to be typing for this post. The real story, tragically, is much less interesting as nearly everything I had planned went belly-up before we even set foot in the country. It all started in Bangkok. Before the beast took over and led me into the depths of Bangkok's nocturnal goings-on, we spent a few hours researching Laos.
First, what we read (and heard from other travelers) about the boat to Luang Prabang was that it was exceptionally dirty, uncomfortable, and a literal pain in the ass as you're stuck on a hard wooden seat for days. That's not so bad but what really started to put a pin in that plan was stories of travelers who, on the overnight stop, were unable to get housing for the night or the housing they could find had gigantic rats or cockroaches infesting the rooms. Additionally, my co-host was still in his phase of great apprehension of being around mosquitoes so two days exposed on a river no doubt made him uncomfortable.
But we probably would have gone ahead with it save for one thing: I reached out to the Gibbon folks twice but never heard back from them. I took that to mean they were full or weren't running the tours at the time. (I later- too late- came to find out they are notorious about not getting back to people but you can just walk right up and they almost always find a place for you). So without the GE to do, we really weren't all that keen to take the boat considering it was going to take about 52 hours in total. Upon a little research we found that we could make it to Vientiane via train from Chiang Mai in about 36 hours.
The other portion of the plan self-destructed long before we even shipped off to Asia when the Laos government shut down Vang Vieng last fall. During the entirety of my Europe trip I met countless travelers who had been to Vang Vieng and to a man (or woman) they lauded the scene labeling it as the "must do" activity in Laos. To be honest, that was the main thing I was looking forward to in Laos. We ultimately came to hear that 3 of the nearly 100 bars are still open but for the most part Vang Vieng is a ghost town. Certainly the form in which it once existed is now deceased.
I apologize for the excess of background info but I think it bore some explanation of what could have been before I get to what actually was. So, without further ado, this actually happened:
"This is going to blow." I say to Jon as we board the first of two overnight trains that will ultimately lead us to the Laos border near the capital of Vientiane. Jon mutters something to the effect that at least the journey will be interesting for the show. But I know he's thinking the same thing I am. Nothing we can do now, tickets were purchased days ago and we're locked in. We find our seats and notice two young women seated across from us. We come to discover they're Swedish and are embarking on a similarly absurd train journey with a connection in Bangkok.
We knock down our pre-train beers and make our way to the bar car hoping for a reenactment of the "Bogie Gourmet." No such luck- this car is more or less a standard food cart. We none-the-less guzzle a few large Singhas and put back a plate of "American Style" fried rice. Our invitation to the Swedes to meet us for drinks goes unanswered. Either they are as broke as they let on or we're not nearly as debonaire as we think. Eventually we retire to our bunks and attempt to call it a night. I toss and turn- it's another long sleepless night.
We arrive in Bangkok in unison with the Sun (or with the Sun in tow). I'm already out of gas and we're a mere 14 hours in. We've got about 10 hours to kill in the Eastern city of sin before our night train to Nong Khai on the Thai border. First order of business- get rid of our huge backpacks. I employ my old stalwart trick of rocking up to a nice hotel (the Westin Sukumvit) and (while claiming to be a platinum member) requesting they store my bags as I'm merely in transit for the day. They gladly do so and we are on our way.
Second order of business- try to sort out the problem with our Vietnam visas. So here's the skinny. When I initially applied the application asked for a date range of approximate entry. The visa was a one month tourist visa so I assumed that we would have 1 month from the date we entered the country within that range. Turns out, our visas are processed for that specific time range. Given the time we expect to spend in Laos and Cambodia there is no way we can be out of Vietnam before they expire.
After much difficulty we locate the Vietnam Embassy where they inform me that normally they could amend our visas but because they were processed through the Embassy in America, there is nothing they can do except issue a new visa for $70+. Frustrated we storm back into the sweltering Bangkok heat. We've only been in the city about 2 hours and I'm already itching to leave. We make the requisite stop at Pepper Lunch and then decide to avoid imminent heat exhaustion by catching a flick. Since he saw it without me prior to leaving for Asia, Jon offers to pay for my ticket to see Django Unchained. This occupies the majority of the afternoon.
After the film we make our way back to the Westin, collect our bags, and head to the train station. We purchase some snacks at the nearby convenient store and, of course, two pre-train beers. It's been almost exactly a week since we made our escape from Bangkok via night train and now we stand in the exact same spot, drinking the exact same beers, and waiting for an overnight train leaving at nearly the exact same time. But the destination, dear reader, it is the destination that is different. Laos lurks like a not-so-shiny pot of gold at the end of this long monochrome rainbow we've been following since Chaing Rai. Jon sips his beer dubiously.
We board the train. It's somehow smaller and more cramped than the others. But the AC is working and the beers are working. Before the train pulls out of the station Jon notices a platform-based vendor hawking cold Singhas for less than we paid at the station store. I spring from the train and hastily procure four more before darting back aboard.
The train lurches forward, already ten to fifteen minutes behind schedule. We meet our bunk-mates, a German named Jasper and a Korean man who we come to call "Korean James Bond." Before we left Chiang Mai Jon and I purchased a small bottle of whiskey just in the event that we got tired of beers and wanted to increase the stakes. Well, folks, stakes is high. Out comes the whiskey. We move to the bar car to try and acquire a few cans of Coke and some glasses with ice but the food-car elitist-cunts simply won't sell them to us. Back in our car we get similar treatment from our local garcon. What gives?
Apparently if you don't buy food and alcohol from the train crew themselves they get quite testy (in light of the fact that they receive commission on each item sold). What are we to do with a mighty lust for whiskey and no vehicle in which to deliver it? Korean James Bond to the rescue. Using his pocket knife, he fashions some cups for us out of empty plastic bottles and from the depths of his bag he somehow produces a small sack of ice. Jasper is able to track down two cans of Coke and we, good sirs, are as they say in business... in business.
I opt for sans cup- drinking mine straight from the bottle as the gods intended. We kill the whiskey chatting about whatever four strangers discuss on a night train over cheap Thai whiskey and warmish Coke... movies, girls who have broken our hearts... the Matrix. Fine, not the Matrix. Clerks references aside, the discussions go quickly and it turns out KJB is quite the accomplished reader. We exchange info and literary suggestions. I know I'll never contact him or have time to read his suggestions. But I don't delete them. Eventually I retire to my nook and draw my curtain.
Akin to the day before, we hit Nong Khai with the Sun in tow. Getting into Laos itself is kind of a tricky proposition. There are a few options. From the Nong Khai train station you can take a tuk tuk or taxi to the border or, if you come in on certain overnight trains, they run a special train over the "Friendship Bridge" into Laos itself. We are lucky enough to qualify for this second option and in short order we are lumbering across the bridge into Laos. Flange takes the opportunity for a photo.
An interesting aside, because there is so little train traffic across the bridge they built the tracks down the middle of the bridge. Accordingly, when they do run the cross-border-train they must stop all automobile traffic on the bridge until the train is clear. I mutter to Jon that I've never seen anything like it. He ignores me. Just like that we're in Laos. I realize I need water and that I may have overdone it on the whiskey. Curse you KJB!
Once across we stop almost immediately at Thanaleng Station. It is here you can apply for your Laos visitor visa. As is typical in this part of the world, the visa office prefers you to pay in crisp new US dollars. It's actually significantly cheaper to get your visa in US dollars than in Thai Baht. Odd, right? After we get our visas we have no idea where to go next. Our old friend leads us to the parking lot full of vans and tuk-truks. Bless you KJB!
Laos, it seems, is tragically devoid of reasonable hostels. Or at least reasonable hostels that weren't booked up when I got around to planning. So we're holed up in some place called the Family Inn or some similarly innocuously named joint. The hotel looks fine but at this point we've slept maybe 5-6 hours a man in the past 60 something. Our 36 hour train ride complete, we drastically need a nap. The Family Inn had the saving grace to let us check in at this fresh morning hour. We crank up the AC and I drift into a deep day-sleep.
We wake up in time to take a stroll around town and get our bearings. Honestly there's not much to see in Vientiane. A typical street in the main part of town might strike you like this:
We've overslept the closing time of all the temples in the immediate vicinity but from peeks through the iron gates they don't seem overly impressive- especially after perusing the massive temple complexes of Thailand for the past weeks. We abandon this fruitless enterprise and eventually make our way riverside. From here there is a nice park boasting a statue of what I believe is the first non-monarchical ruler of Laos in the modern era. And speaking of the deposed monarchy, we locate the now-abandoned Royal Palace.
The sun begins to retire and we're unimpressed. I can already feel Jon emanating his this-is-a-waste-of-time-angst. Before we follow the golden orb's lead, we stop for dinner in the restaurant below the hotel where I introduce Jon to the first redeeming event of what I'm already beginning to feel will become known as the "Laos debacle." That "event," of course, is Beer Lao. Beer Lao comes in three flavors: light, dark, and gold. Just like Persians.
The light tastes like most Asian lagers, that is to say, not great. The gold is apparently the same as the light but it's filtered one more time so it has slightly less aftertaste. The dark, however, is where Laos strikes gold... errr... not like the gold beer but gold like the element. Meaning it tastes really good. You get it. Anyway, it's our first true SE Asian dark beer and it tastes tremendous. Especially in the wake of a delicious plate of Laos fried rice with fresh red chilies. The dark beer cools my throat as fast as the chilies set it ablaze. I acquire a few more for the room and we call it a night. I'm suddenly feeling moderately optimistic about Laos considering everything that hasn't gone our way.
The next day is St. Patrick's day. In Laos. What in the greater Eastern Hemisphere are we going to do in this near-dead city on such a great occasion?! Research is required. Jon locates two options: an Irish pub near the riverside park we visited the day before and a St. Pat's party being hosted by a local Laos pub on the other side of town. Since, coincidentally, the Formula 1 season is kicking off on this exact day, and Jon had never seen a race, AND the race was in Australia and thereby on SE Asia time, we decide to head to an Aussie pub nearby where the Irish pub is supposedly located to take in the race.
Before I continue with what I can recall of that day's events, I should note here that this was the day selected for me to wear the Thai boxing shorts from the bet I lost to Jon way back in Bangkok. In case you're wondering how my sexy pale legs look in Thai boxing shorts... BAM:
Now that I've scarred your retinas for life, let's continue. We arrive at the pub nearly an hour before the Grand Prix is set to start. Apparently even with the iphone world clock I've gotten the times screwed up. We place another series of bets and decide to ease into the day with a nice Magners Irish cider. It tastes odd- turns out it is 6 months expired. The race goes on, I win the bet, and we consume a fistful of beers along the way.
Next up, let's try and locate that pesky Irish pub. We stagger up and down the street in the searing heat. No luck. Finally, we walk into a guesthouse and ask the owner to point out the address. He directs us to a bar, but not the one we anticipated. This one, however, looks new. Too new. As in, brand new club new. We regretfully submit to the hand fate has dealt us- the Irish pub has closed and been replaced with this bar. And the worst part... the bar wasn't even open! A city without an Irish pub on St. Pats!?! What a travesty. A sham. A mockery. A traveshammockery. I'm crushed and expectedly very antsy. My grandfather would be furious with this turn of events.
OK, backup plan. We hire a tuk tuk and speed toward the other side of the city in hopes of locating the St. Pat's party allegedly being hosted in that vicinity. Again, we can't figure out the exact address. We are strolling down the street when I notice some sort of hoopla from a nearby edifice. Hoping it's our St. Pat's party I casually inquire "say, what's going on here fella?" The man at the gate eyes us wearily for a second or two and then replies cheerfully, "birthday party!" and without another word ushers both Jon and I inside the courtyard/garden insisting that we meet "the party."
We're passed around the table, shaking hands with a few folks and mostly just smiling embarrassingly at the rest. We're each handed a large Beer Lao and escorted over to make the acquaintance of the lucky chap turning another year older. We shake hands, say our congratulations, and then, as quickly as we were invited in (and all pleasantries aside), we are cast back onto the street. We stand, holding our free beers, flabbergasted at what has just transpired. Confused but grateful for our beers we amble forth, chopping through the searing heat and attempting to pound our large beers before they go from cold to boiling to gaseous.
Eventually we do locate the St. Pat's party where an Aussie band is playing (or attempting to play) a few Irish classics. We order beers and meet an Aussie, some Americans, and a host of girls of whom I can remember neither the names or nationalities. Darkness begins to settle and inexplicably we are all dancing jigs- or trying at least. A group dance ensues- chaos engulfing us all. After what seems like ages we excuse ourselves and stumble from the proceedings.
As with all heavy drinking green-outfit-based holidays, emotions are running high and Jon and I conjure up a row about some sort of totally inconsequential nonsense. I'm incensed, he's in a typical fury. We part ways. I end up at a filthy riverside bar that seems to attract almost as many vagrants as it does mosquitoes. I pour back a beer and another and another and then start to make my way back to the Aussie bar on the far end of the city. I have a feeling I might run into my co-host there- and I certainly don't want a repeat of Bangkok. By this point the anger is subsided and I'm just feeling tired.
As luck would have it I do eventually find him and we reconcile the petty difference. It seems in my absence he located a veritable hive of cheap whiskey and is in an even poorer (or greater, depending on your interpretation) state than when I left him. We proceed to the Aussie bar where I meet the Laotian (is that right?) man in charge of approving all government construction projects. He tells me that the Laos government is not happy with the Chinese demands of control on the new railroad they are building linking southern China with Luang Prabang and Vientiane. He tells me that if I can come up with a proposal and financing of $1.4 billion US, he'll award the deal to me and I'll control all of the future rail power in Laos.
The offer is tempting. I think through my connections back in NY, in high finance, in private equity, the few really wealthy chaps I know, and I think... there is no way in hell I can come up with $1.4 billion. But he presses on. He gives me a contact email address and his card. He offers to send me the Chinese propsal with all of the blueprints and supply charts. Normally my B.S. alarm would be going off in full alert but, oddly enough, this guy is legit and this offer is dead serious. Damn I wish I had $1.4 billion. I'd love to be THE railroad baron of Laos. That gig has Mike Steele written all over it. Alas, even a great man and even greater dreamer has to realize when something is beyond his grasp. I'm neither of the former, and this certainly is the latter.
After many many many hours of doing even the most staunch Irish drinker proud we finally call it a night. Here is the only picture I managed to take from that entire day/evening. I believe it is Jon and possibly two of the girls from the earlier shindig.
The next day is lost. We're in hangover recovery mode but, moreover, there's simply nothing to do in Vientiane. The following day we're scheduled on a day bus to Luang Prabang: the last vestiges of my once-so-carefully-thought-out plan. We do muster enough courage to check out a place that had stuck in our collective craw every since noticing it the google map of Vientiane: the Swedish Pizza & Baking House. It is not a misnomer. And despite what I assume will be a complete and utterly ineffective pie at the hands of a Swedish chef (but notably not THE Swedish Chef), the pizzas here are really tasty.
Early morning. The bus we've booked is supposed to include a ride to the station but when we get to the lobby there is no taxi awaiting us. The guys at the front desk have no idea what's going on. We find one eventually but it costs us about $10 to get to the station. Then, at the station, the people at the ticket booth at first refuse to acknowledge our ticket receipt and issue us actual tickets. It's far too early for this type of SE Asian nonsense. I see the red tape and I start to see red. I try one last window on the verge of going into berserk mode and to the luck of the ticket office people, this man decides to take our receipts, make a call, and sort us out. The alternative would have been a loud and likely grotesque scene as I rampaged throughout the station obscenities flying from my mouth- likely directed at the unsuspecting (and largely undeserving) Lao people as a whole.
Soon we've boarded the "King of Bus" and we're on our way. 10 hour daytime bus ride to Luang Prabang. It's a hell of a ride and the latter 2/3 of it is all along windy mountain paths. A woman boards about midway through the ride and for the 2+ hours she is on the bus she is vomiting constantly into the little pink trash bags they issue upon boarding. I hand her mine. We pit stop in a restaurant/hovel that has to have the most disgusting bathroom I've ever seen. I believe the water in this picture is equal parts kitchen runoff and sewage.
We eventually make Luang Prabang just as night falls. In typical SE Asian fashion the bus station is quite a ways outside of the town proper. One might wonder perplexedly why such a situation should exist. Is it just too much traffic to have the station in the middle of town? Is the real estate too valuable? Hardly. The simple reason is that by putting the stations outside the city center, local tuk tuk and taxi drivers can earn extra fares to transport you the short way into the city. In fact, in most SE Asian cities the bus stations were originally located in the center of town and were then moved to the outskirts just to create this additional cash flow. Smart, but a bit annoying. We pile in a group-tuk-truck and within 20 minutes we're at our guesthouse.
Despite the journey to get here, as we walk down the street of traditional guesthouses which form the backbone of accommodation in Luang Prabang I'm filled with whimsy. These dark-wooden structures with prominent porches, expansive courtyards and intricate carving work flash-transports me back to the height of Luang Prabang's colonial prowess. The buildings themselves are gorgeous. And despite the fact that I know we'll be seeing a number of beautiful temples, the old royal palace, an impressive hillside, and a number of other tremendous sights, I can't help but feeling like the very heart and soul of Luang Prabang lies in these old wooden guesthouses.
The days in Luang Prabang wash by quickly. We visit the Royal Temple, Wat Xieng Thong. The main structure is nice but perhaps my favorite part is the building that houses the five dragon headed chariot that carried the ashes of the last King of Laos during his funeral parade.
The city is beautiful but it's unbelievably hot and we're sweating balls. We cross a shaky bamboo bridge spanning the Nam Khan river. Each year after the rainy season the locals in Luang Prabang rebuild this bridge. Then, during the rainy season, the flooding river washes the bridge away. The triumphs and failures of each year expunged by the annual deluge and its impending surge. I wish there was a human equivalent. How wondrous to eviscerate the past and start every year fresh as a newborn.
Back along the main drag we locate the old palace and make our requisite visit. I personally like the temple inside the palace complex better than Wat Xieng Thong.
Next we proceed directly across the street and climb the 500+ stairs to the top of Mt. Phou Si. From here you get a bird's eye view (if, of course, the bird was perched exactly on this hill looking in the same direction as you) of Luang Prabang. Jon takes the opportunity to pose like a conquering hero.
That night we make our way to the most popular backpacker bar Utopia not because we particularly want to drink at this bar but because we are curious to uncover the custom which we heard occurs after the bar itself closes. In Laos, by edict, all bars much shut down at 11pm. Ridicubsurd. But, for some reason, bowling alleys were excluded and can remain open and, most importantly, selling beer until the wee hours of the night.
So as soon as Utopia closes, 50-60 of us pile in tuk-trucks and zip to the Luang Prabang lanes. We meet an interesting couple from the Netherlands with whom we mix it up. This is one of those points in the story where total mayhem takes over. Jon and I are practicing And-One bowling techniques, I'm directing beers out of the bar to various lanes, everyone seems to know my name. It's like Cheers but in a bowling alley with 150 drunk backpackers. At some point I'm outside the lanes where people are trying the tuk truck driver's most widely known fare. It's complete chaos- how did all this happen? And why did I take absolutely zero photos of it?!
The night wears on- I'm in a manic state. I'm in 1,000 places at once. It's like I'm trying to sleep. I dart around; I can't even keep track of myself. Finally the lanes start to close. We bolt for the door and grab whoever is closest to us. Who are the people in this tuk-truck? Who is this girl in my lap? How did all this happen at bowling? You will be asking yourself these questions. Eventually we make it back to the guesthouse and manage to get in without causing too much of a ruckus.
Somehow we are in Luang Prabang for 4 or 5 days. I have no idea where the time goes, but I'm loving the vibe. The streets are always whimsically beautiful and dusted in fading sunlight.
We eventually make it to the acclaimed Kuang Si waterfalls. The main falls themselves are impressive but the more scenic element are the series of smaller cascading falls creating what looks like a gently winding staircase of aquamarine.
Before we blow the joint we get into some of the local fare- obviously Beer Lao- but I'm also referring to the food. The most famous local dish is "laap" or "laak" as we see it sometimes. It's basically a warm to room temperature dish of minced chicken or pork and about 7-8 herbs, spices, and peppers. By itself it's not very hot but we foolishly learn that when you put laap on something served hot (such as a pizza) it amplifies the heat quotient by about twenty-fold. Despite the heat-sweats we gobble down that pizza, cooling our gullets as always with cold Beer Lao.
Somehow it's finally time to go. We've elected a night bus for the return to Vientiane. I've had fairly poor luck with night buses in the past so I am leery. "But," we say feigning confidence, "it will be good for the show." The bus pulls up and I'm immediately struck with how odd the configuration is. It's not like regular bus seats, but it's not like beds either. It's three rows of little reclined-seat compartments that I can best describe as fighter-jet cockpits. The seat reclines to about 20 degrees so you can't go fully flat. And the seat is about 2-4 inches less wide than my shoulders. Little head-room. This is going to be interesting.
I cram myself into my upper deck seat. I try as hard as I can but sleep simply won't come. The route is too winding and I'm on the side facing oncoming traffic. Every time I drift off I'm jarred awake by a blaring horn as our bus narrowly misses an oncoming car, or the feeling of slipping inertia as I peer down at cliffs of seemingly endless depth.
We arrive at 5am and have maybe 3 hours of sleep between the two of us. On top of this, the driver of our tuk-truck from the main bus station has no idea where our hotel is and, despite our protestations, lets us out at a spot that turns out to be about three miles from where we need to go. We end up walking the entire distance. As you can imagine, the return to Vientiane goes nearly identical to the initial arrival- find hotel, check into hotel, shower, take nap. The only difference in this case is that we actually have some things we want to see and do this hot hazy day in Vientiane.
So after a brief rest and shower, we're back at it. First stop, the Buddha park we've been hearing so much about. To get to it we have to: (1) get to the bus station; (2) take a bus to the border (???); and (3) find the mini-bus from there to the park. Much to my great surprise we sort through these mild challenges with poise and relative ease. Traversing the multiple forms of transport and the rough roads proves worth it, however, as we are rewarded with one of, if not the, greatest of the sights we witnessed in Laos. Even Flange gets involved.
The most striking element is a large globe-shaped structure with a gaping mouth which beckons us inside. Once in, we discover a maze of rooms stacked on top of each other, hidden within layers of the structure like the layers of an onion. These rooms are populated with dozens of Buddha statues in various forms and levels of completion/decay.
Outside, the park itself is chock-full of sculptures depicting Buddha and various tales from the Buddhist teachings. As we meander the nearly empty park, a man serenades us by fife from in a nearby tree. Yes, a flutist in a tree. We meander, taking time to inspect the many great statues and scenes.
Perhaps the conventional highlight of the park is the giant reclining Buddha. He looks so peaceful and happy, even I can't resist snagging a picture with the man.
The day is waning; dusk is coming. The bus leaves us at the station but we want squeeze in just a bit more walking. I've heard tale of an avenue in Vientiane that's supposed to resemble the Champs d'Elysses complete with an Arch at the far end. We locate the road in question. I can see the attempt but the resemblance is thin at best.
The arch itself looks more like Charminar in Hyderabad than the Arc d'Triomphe in Paris. Like Charminar it has four staircases and is a "must do" for foreigners to scale- especially at the paltry fee they are charging to do so.
We march up the steps. From the top you can see out over all of Vientiane. I think perhaps I will identify something, some grand spectacle, that we missed. Something hidden to the common tourist yet so tremendous as to warrant the amount time we spent in Vientiane. Perhaps just spying it from the Patuaxi Gate would help to compensate for all of the wondrous promise Laos held during those initial planning stages that simply turned to dust. But, alas, there is only this.
We awake early in the morning to make our way to a train for Bangkok the following day. We do so with moderate difficulty. Not difficulty in the transit per-se, but more in the circumstances. Somewhere between our last night in LP and our brief return day in Vientiane, Jon contracts a bout of food poisoning. Ordinarily not a huge deal, however, in this case we are taking a bus to the border rather than the "friendship train." As such, we must walk the mile or so from there to the train station. In the heat, no sleep, and dehydrated, this task gets the better of Jon, as it would any man. I drop him at a restaurant about halfway there where he can get some white rice and rest and I proceed to the train station on foot.
Yep, that's me in the picture. Thank you, I do look hot. The tickets purchased I return to Jon to kill the 2-3 hours until our train departs for Bangkok. Jon sleeps most of this time while I drink Singhas, read, and drift off into whatever nether-region my mind occupies when it stops thinking about the one in which my corporeal body exists.
I, bolstered by beers, and Jon, bolstered by rice and water, hail a tuk tuk to the station and board, to my unthinkable and unmistakable chagrin, ANOTHER train back to Bangkok. In the Laos interim I've worked out a cheaper solution to the Vietnam visa situation but it requires returning to Bangkok to collect the new visas. Yes, we're headed back to the belly of the beast. Back to Bangkok. Again.
This is getting real old real fast.
"This is going to blow." I say to Jon as we board the first of two overnight trains that will ultimately lead us to the Laos border near the capital of Vientiane. Jon mutters something to the effect that at least the journey will be interesting for the show. But I know he's thinking the same thing I am. Nothing we can do now, tickets were purchased days ago and we're locked in. We find our seats and notice two young women seated across from us. We come to discover they're Swedish and are embarking on a similarly absurd train journey with a connection in Bangkok.
We knock down our pre-train beers and make our way to the bar car hoping for a reenactment of the "Bogie Gourmet." No such luck- this car is more or less a standard food cart. We none-the-less guzzle a few large Singhas and put back a plate of "American Style" fried rice. Our invitation to the Swedes to meet us for drinks goes unanswered. Either they are as broke as they let on or we're not nearly as debonaire as we think. Eventually we retire to our bunks and attempt to call it a night. I toss and turn- it's another long sleepless night.
We arrive in Bangkok in unison with the Sun (or with the Sun in tow). I'm already out of gas and we're a mere 14 hours in. We've got about 10 hours to kill in the Eastern city of sin before our night train to Nong Khai on the Thai border. First order of business- get rid of our huge backpacks. I employ my old stalwart trick of rocking up to a nice hotel (the Westin Sukumvit) and (while claiming to be a platinum member) requesting they store my bags as I'm merely in transit for the day. They gladly do so and we are on our way.
Second order of business- try to sort out the problem with our Vietnam visas. So here's the skinny. When I initially applied the application asked for a date range of approximate entry. The visa was a one month tourist visa so I assumed that we would have 1 month from the date we entered the country within that range. Turns out, our visas are processed for that specific time range. Given the time we expect to spend in Laos and Cambodia there is no way we can be out of Vietnam before they expire.
After much difficulty we locate the Vietnam Embassy where they inform me that normally they could amend our visas but because they were processed through the Embassy in America, there is nothing they can do except issue a new visa for $70+. Frustrated we storm back into the sweltering Bangkok heat. We've only been in the city about 2 hours and I'm already itching to leave. We make the requisite stop at Pepper Lunch and then decide to avoid imminent heat exhaustion by catching a flick. Since he saw it without me prior to leaving for Asia, Jon offers to pay for my ticket to see Django Unchained. This occupies the majority of the afternoon.
After the film we make our way back to the Westin, collect our bags, and head to the train station. We purchase some snacks at the nearby convenient store and, of course, two pre-train beers. It's been almost exactly a week since we made our escape from Bangkok via night train and now we stand in the exact same spot, drinking the exact same beers, and waiting for an overnight train leaving at nearly the exact same time. But the destination, dear reader, it is the destination that is different. Laos lurks like a not-so-shiny pot of gold at the end of this long monochrome rainbow we've been following since Chaing Rai. Jon sips his beer dubiously.
We board the train. It's somehow smaller and more cramped than the others. But the AC is working and the beers are working. Before the train pulls out of the station Jon notices a platform-based vendor hawking cold Singhas for less than we paid at the station store. I spring from the train and hastily procure four more before darting back aboard.
The train lurches forward, already ten to fifteen minutes behind schedule. We meet our bunk-mates, a German named Jasper and a Korean man who we come to call "Korean James Bond." Before we left Chiang Mai Jon and I purchased a small bottle of whiskey just in the event that we got tired of beers and wanted to increase the stakes. Well, folks, stakes is high. Out comes the whiskey. We move to the bar car to try and acquire a few cans of Coke and some glasses with ice but the food-car elitist-cunts simply won't sell them to us. Back in our car we get similar treatment from our local garcon. What gives?
Apparently if you don't buy food and alcohol from the train crew themselves they get quite testy (in light of the fact that they receive commission on each item sold). What are we to do with a mighty lust for whiskey and no vehicle in which to deliver it? Korean James Bond to the rescue. Using his pocket knife, he fashions some cups for us out of empty plastic bottles and from the depths of his bag he somehow produces a small sack of ice. Jasper is able to track down two cans of Coke and we, good sirs, are as they say in business... in business.
I opt for sans cup- drinking mine straight from the bottle as the gods intended. We kill the whiskey chatting about whatever four strangers discuss on a night train over cheap Thai whiskey and warmish Coke... movies, girls who have broken our hearts... the Matrix. Fine, not the Matrix. Clerks references aside, the discussions go quickly and it turns out KJB is quite the accomplished reader. We exchange info and literary suggestions. I know I'll never contact him or have time to read his suggestions. But I don't delete them. Eventually I retire to my nook and draw my curtain.
Akin to the day before, we hit Nong Khai with the Sun in tow. Getting into Laos itself is kind of a tricky proposition. There are a few options. From the Nong Khai train station you can take a tuk tuk or taxi to the border or, if you come in on certain overnight trains, they run a special train over the "Friendship Bridge" into Laos itself. We are lucky enough to qualify for this second option and in short order we are lumbering across the bridge into Laos. Flange takes the opportunity for a photo.
An interesting aside, because there is so little train traffic across the bridge they built the tracks down the middle of the bridge. Accordingly, when they do run the cross-border-train they must stop all automobile traffic on the bridge until the train is clear. I mutter to Jon that I've never seen anything like it. He ignores me. Just like that we're in Laos. I realize I need water and that I may have overdone it on the whiskey. Curse you KJB!
Once across we stop almost immediately at Thanaleng Station. It is here you can apply for your Laos visitor visa. As is typical in this part of the world, the visa office prefers you to pay in crisp new US dollars. It's actually significantly cheaper to get your visa in US dollars than in Thai Baht. Odd, right? After we get our visas we have no idea where to go next. Our old friend leads us to the parking lot full of vans and tuk-truks. Bless you KJB!
Laos, it seems, is tragically devoid of reasonable hostels. Or at least reasonable hostels that weren't booked up when I got around to planning. So we're holed up in some place called the Family Inn or some similarly innocuously named joint. The hotel looks fine but at this point we've slept maybe 5-6 hours a man in the past 60 something. Our 36 hour train ride complete, we drastically need a nap. The Family Inn had the saving grace to let us check in at this fresh morning hour. We crank up the AC and I drift into a deep day-sleep.
We wake up in time to take a stroll around town and get our bearings. Honestly there's not much to see in Vientiane. A typical street in the main part of town might strike you like this:
We've overslept the closing time of all the temples in the immediate vicinity but from peeks through the iron gates they don't seem overly impressive- especially after perusing the massive temple complexes of Thailand for the past weeks. We abandon this fruitless enterprise and eventually make our way riverside. From here there is a nice park boasting a statue of what I believe is the first non-monarchical ruler of Laos in the modern era. And speaking of the deposed monarchy, we locate the now-abandoned Royal Palace.
The sun begins to retire and we're unimpressed. I can already feel Jon emanating his this-is-a-waste-of-time-angst. Before we follow the golden orb's lead, we stop for dinner in the restaurant below the hotel where I introduce Jon to the first redeeming event of what I'm already beginning to feel will become known as the "Laos debacle." That "event," of course, is Beer Lao. Beer Lao comes in three flavors: light, dark, and gold. Just like Persians.
The light tastes like most Asian lagers, that is to say, not great. The gold is apparently the same as the light but it's filtered one more time so it has slightly less aftertaste. The dark, however, is where Laos strikes gold... errr... not like the gold beer but gold like the element. Meaning it tastes really good. You get it. Anyway, it's our first true SE Asian dark beer and it tastes tremendous. Especially in the wake of a delicious plate of Laos fried rice with fresh red chilies. The dark beer cools my throat as fast as the chilies set it ablaze. I acquire a few more for the room and we call it a night. I'm suddenly feeling moderately optimistic about Laos considering everything that hasn't gone our way.
The next day is St. Patrick's day. In Laos. What in the greater Eastern Hemisphere are we going to do in this near-dead city on such a great occasion?! Research is required. Jon locates two options: an Irish pub near the riverside park we visited the day before and a St. Pat's party being hosted by a local Laos pub on the other side of town. Since, coincidentally, the Formula 1 season is kicking off on this exact day, and Jon had never seen a race, AND the race was in Australia and thereby on SE Asia time, we decide to head to an Aussie pub nearby where the Irish pub is supposedly located to take in the race.
Before I continue with what I can recall of that day's events, I should note here that this was the day selected for me to wear the Thai boxing shorts from the bet I lost to Jon way back in Bangkok. In case you're wondering how my sexy pale legs look in Thai boxing shorts... BAM:
Now that I've scarred your retinas for life, let's continue. We arrive at the pub nearly an hour before the Grand Prix is set to start. Apparently even with the iphone world clock I've gotten the times screwed up. We place another series of bets and decide to ease into the day with a nice Magners Irish cider. It tastes odd- turns out it is 6 months expired. The race goes on, I win the bet, and we consume a fistful of beers along the way.
Next up, let's try and locate that pesky Irish pub. We stagger up and down the street in the searing heat. No luck. Finally, we walk into a guesthouse and ask the owner to point out the address. He directs us to a bar, but not the one we anticipated. This one, however, looks new. Too new. As in, brand new club new. We regretfully submit to the hand fate has dealt us- the Irish pub has closed and been replaced with this bar. And the worst part... the bar wasn't even open! A city without an Irish pub on St. Pats!?! What a travesty. A sham. A mockery. A traveshammockery. I'm crushed and expectedly very antsy. My grandfather would be furious with this turn of events.
OK, backup plan. We hire a tuk tuk and speed toward the other side of the city in hopes of locating the St. Pat's party allegedly being hosted in that vicinity. Again, we can't figure out the exact address. We are strolling down the street when I notice some sort of hoopla from a nearby edifice. Hoping it's our St. Pat's party I casually inquire "say, what's going on here fella?" The man at the gate eyes us wearily for a second or two and then replies cheerfully, "birthday party!" and without another word ushers both Jon and I inside the courtyard/garden insisting that we meet "the party."
We're passed around the table, shaking hands with a few folks and mostly just smiling embarrassingly at the rest. We're each handed a large Beer Lao and escorted over to make the acquaintance of the lucky chap turning another year older. We shake hands, say our congratulations, and then, as quickly as we were invited in (and all pleasantries aside), we are cast back onto the street. We stand, holding our free beers, flabbergasted at what has just transpired. Confused but grateful for our beers we amble forth, chopping through the searing heat and attempting to pound our large beers before they go from cold to boiling to gaseous.
Eventually we do locate the St. Pat's party where an Aussie band is playing (or attempting to play) a few Irish classics. We order beers and meet an Aussie, some Americans, and a host of girls of whom I can remember neither the names or nationalities. Darkness begins to settle and inexplicably we are all dancing jigs- or trying at least. A group dance ensues- chaos engulfing us all. After what seems like ages we excuse ourselves and stumble from the proceedings.
As with all heavy drinking green-outfit-based holidays, emotions are running high and Jon and I conjure up a row about some sort of totally inconsequential nonsense. I'm incensed, he's in a typical fury. We part ways. I end up at a filthy riverside bar that seems to attract almost as many vagrants as it does mosquitoes. I pour back a beer and another and another and then start to make my way back to the Aussie bar on the far end of the city. I have a feeling I might run into my co-host there- and I certainly don't want a repeat of Bangkok. By this point the anger is subsided and I'm just feeling tired.
As luck would have it I do eventually find him and we reconcile the petty difference. It seems in my absence he located a veritable hive of cheap whiskey and is in an even poorer (or greater, depending on your interpretation) state than when I left him. We proceed to the Aussie bar where I meet the Laotian (is that right?) man in charge of approving all government construction projects. He tells me that the Laos government is not happy with the Chinese demands of control on the new railroad they are building linking southern China with Luang Prabang and Vientiane. He tells me that if I can come up with a proposal and financing of $1.4 billion US, he'll award the deal to me and I'll control all of the future rail power in Laos.
The offer is tempting. I think through my connections back in NY, in high finance, in private equity, the few really wealthy chaps I know, and I think... there is no way in hell I can come up with $1.4 billion. But he presses on. He gives me a contact email address and his card. He offers to send me the Chinese propsal with all of the blueprints and supply charts. Normally my B.S. alarm would be going off in full alert but, oddly enough, this guy is legit and this offer is dead serious. Damn I wish I had $1.4 billion. I'd love to be THE railroad baron of Laos. That gig has Mike Steele written all over it. Alas, even a great man and even greater dreamer has to realize when something is beyond his grasp. I'm neither of the former, and this certainly is the latter.
After many many many hours of doing even the most staunch Irish drinker proud we finally call it a night. Here is the only picture I managed to take from that entire day/evening. I believe it is Jon and possibly two of the girls from the earlier shindig.
The next day is lost. We're in hangover recovery mode but, moreover, there's simply nothing to do in Vientiane. The following day we're scheduled on a day bus to Luang Prabang: the last vestiges of my once-so-carefully-thought-out plan. We do muster enough courage to check out a place that had stuck in our collective craw every since noticing it the google map of Vientiane: the Swedish Pizza & Baking House. It is not a misnomer. And despite what I assume will be a complete and utterly ineffective pie at the hands of a Swedish chef (but notably not THE Swedish Chef), the pizzas here are really tasty.
Early morning. The bus we've booked is supposed to include a ride to the station but when we get to the lobby there is no taxi awaiting us. The guys at the front desk have no idea what's going on. We find one eventually but it costs us about $10 to get to the station. Then, at the station, the people at the ticket booth at first refuse to acknowledge our ticket receipt and issue us actual tickets. It's far too early for this type of SE Asian nonsense. I see the red tape and I start to see red. I try one last window on the verge of going into berserk mode and to the luck of the ticket office people, this man decides to take our receipts, make a call, and sort us out. The alternative would have been a loud and likely grotesque scene as I rampaged throughout the station obscenities flying from my mouth- likely directed at the unsuspecting (and largely undeserving) Lao people as a whole.
Soon we've boarded the "King of Bus" and we're on our way. 10 hour daytime bus ride to Luang Prabang. It's a hell of a ride and the latter 2/3 of it is all along windy mountain paths. A woman boards about midway through the ride and for the 2+ hours she is on the bus she is vomiting constantly into the little pink trash bags they issue upon boarding. I hand her mine. We pit stop in a restaurant/hovel that has to have the most disgusting bathroom I've ever seen. I believe the water in this picture is equal parts kitchen runoff and sewage.
We eventually make Luang Prabang just as night falls. In typical SE Asian fashion the bus station is quite a ways outside of the town proper. One might wonder perplexedly why such a situation should exist. Is it just too much traffic to have the station in the middle of town? Is the real estate too valuable? Hardly. The simple reason is that by putting the stations outside the city center, local tuk tuk and taxi drivers can earn extra fares to transport you the short way into the city. In fact, in most SE Asian cities the bus stations were originally located in the center of town and were then moved to the outskirts just to create this additional cash flow. Smart, but a bit annoying. We pile in a group-tuk-truck and within 20 minutes we're at our guesthouse.
Despite the journey to get here, as we walk down the street of traditional guesthouses which form the backbone of accommodation in Luang Prabang I'm filled with whimsy. These dark-wooden structures with prominent porches, expansive courtyards and intricate carving work flash-transports me back to the height of Luang Prabang's colonial prowess. The buildings themselves are gorgeous. And despite the fact that I know we'll be seeing a number of beautiful temples, the old royal palace, an impressive hillside, and a number of other tremendous sights, I can't help but feeling like the very heart and soul of Luang Prabang lies in these old wooden guesthouses.
The days in Luang Prabang wash by quickly. We visit the Royal Temple, Wat Xieng Thong. The main structure is nice but perhaps my favorite part is the building that houses the five dragon headed chariot that carried the ashes of the last King of Laos during his funeral parade.
The city is beautiful but it's unbelievably hot and we're sweating balls. We cross a shaky bamboo bridge spanning the Nam Khan river. Each year after the rainy season the locals in Luang Prabang rebuild this bridge. Then, during the rainy season, the flooding river washes the bridge away. The triumphs and failures of each year expunged by the annual deluge and its impending surge. I wish there was a human equivalent. How wondrous to eviscerate the past and start every year fresh as a newborn.
Back along the main drag we locate the old palace and make our requisite visit. I personally like the temple inside the palace complex better than Wat Xieng Thong.
Next we proceed directly across the street and climb the 500+ stairs to the top of Mt. Phou Si. From here you get a bird's eye view (if, of course, the bird was perched exactly on this hill looking in the same direction as you) of Luang Prabang. Jon takes the opportunity to pose like a conquering hero.
That night we make our way to the most popular backpacker bar Utopia not because we particularly want to drink at this bar but because we are curious to uncover the custom which we heard occurs after the bar itself closes. In Laos, by edict, all bars much shut down at 11pm. Ridicubsurd. But, for some reason, bowling alleys were excluded and can remain open and, most importantly, selling beer until the wee hours of the night.
So as soon as Utopia closes, 50-60 of us pile in tuk-trucks and zip to the Luang Prabang lanes. We meet an interesting couple from the Netherlands with whom we mix it up. This is one of those points in the story where total mayhem takes over. Jon and I are practicing And-One bowling techniques, I'm directing beers out of the bar to various lanes, everyone seems to know my name. It's like Cheers but in a bowling alley with 150 drunk backpackers. At some point I'm outside the lanes where people are trying the tuk truck driver's most widely known fare. It's complete chaos- how did all this happen? And why did I take absolutely zero photos of it?!
The night wears on- I'm in a manic state. I'm in 1,000 places at once. It's like I'm trying to sleep. I dart around; I can't even keep track of myself. Finally the lanes start to close. We bolt for the door and grab whoever is closest to us. Who are the people in this tuk-truck? Who is this girl in my lap? How did all this happen at bowling? You will be asking yourself these questions. Eventually we make it back to the guesthouse and manage to get in without causing too much of a ruckus.
Somehow we are in Luang Prabang for 4 or 5 days. I have no idea where the time goes, but I'm loving the vibe. The streets are always whimsically beautiful and dusted in fading sunlight.
We eventually make it to the acclaimed Kuang Si waterfalls. The main falls themselves are impressive but the more scenic element are the series of smaller cascading falls creating what looks like a gently winding staircase of aquamarine.
Before we blow the joint we get into some of the local fare- obviously Beer Lao- but I'm also referring to the food. The most famous local dish is "laap" or "laak" as we see it sometimes. It's basically a warm to room temperature dish of minced chicken or pork and about 7-8 herbs, spices, and peppers. By itself it's not very hot but we foolishly learn that when you put laap on something served hot (such as a pizza) it amplifies the heat quotient by about twenty-fold. Despite the heat-sweats we gobble down that pizza, cooling our gullets as always with cold Beer Lao.
Somehow it's finally time to go. We've elected a night bus for the return to Vientiane. I've had fairly poor luck with night buses in the past so I am leery. "But," we say feigning confidence, "it will be good for the show." The bus pulls up and I'm immediately struck with how odd the configuration is. It's not like regular bus seats, but it's not like beds either. It's three rows of little reclined-seat compartments that I can best describe as fighter-jet cockpits. The seat reclines to about 20 degrees so you can't go fully flat. And the seat is about 2-4 inches less wide than my shoulders. Little head-room. This is going to be interesting.
I cram myself into my upper deck seat. I try as hard as I can but sleep simply won't come. The route is too winding and I'm on the side facing oncoming traffic. Every time I drift off I'm jarred awake by a blaring horn as our bus narrowly misses an oncoming car, or the feeling of slipping inertia as I peer down at cliffs of seemingly endless depth.
We arrive at 5am and have maybe 3 hours of sleep between the two of us. On top of this, the driver of our tuk-truck from the main bus station has no idea where our hotel is and, despite our protestations, lets us out at a spot that turns out to be about three miles from where we need to go. We end up walking the entire distance. As you can imagine, the return to Vientiane goes nearly identical to the initial arrival- find hotel, check into hotel, shower, take nap. The only difference in this case is that we actually have some things we want to see and do this hot hazy day in Vientiane.
So after a brief rest and shower, we're back at it. First stop, the Buddha park we've been hearing so much about. To get to it we have to: (1) get to the bus station; (2) take a bus to the border (???); and (3) find the mini-bus from there to the park. Much to my great surprise we sort through these mild challenges with poise and relative ease. Traversing the multiple forms of transport and the rough roads proves worth it, however, as we are rewarded with one of, if not the, greatest of the sights we witnessed in Laos. Even Flange gets involved.
The most striking element is a large globe-shaped structure with a gaping mouth which beckons us inside. Once in, we discover a maze of rooms stacked on top of each other, hidden within layers of the structure like the layers of an onion. These rooms are populated with dozens of Buddha statues in various forms and levels of completion/decay.
Outside, the park itself is chock-full of sculptures depicting Buddha and various tales from the Buddhist teachings. As we meander the nearly empty park, a man serenades us by fife from in a nearby tree. Yes, a flutist in a tree. We meander, taking time to inspect the many great statues and scenes.
Perhaps the conventional highlight of the park is the giant reclining Buddha. He looks so peaceful and happy, even I can't resist snagging a picture with the man.
The day is waning; dusk is coming. The bus leaves us at the station but we want squeeze in just a bit more walking. I've heard tale of an avenue in Vientiane that's supposed to resemble the Champs d'Elysses complete with an Arch at the far end. We locate the road in question. I can see the attempt but the resemblance is thin at best.
The arch itself looks more like Charminar in Hyderabad than the Arc d'Triomphe in Paris. Like Charminar it has four staircases and is a "must do" for foreigners to scale- especially at the paltry fee they are charging to do so.
We march up the steps. From the top you can see out over all of Vientiane. I think perhaps I will identify something, some grand spectacle, that we missed. Something hidden to the common tourist yet so tremendous as to warrant the amount time we spent in Vientiane. Perhaps just spying it from the Patuaxi Gate would help to compensate for all of the wondrous promise Laos held during those initial planning stages that simply turned to dust. But, alas, there is only this.
We awake early in the morning to make our way to a train for Bangkok the following day. We do so with moderate difficulty. Not difficulty in the transit per-se, but more in the circumstances. Somewhere between our last night in LP and our brief return day in Vientiane, Jon contracts a bout of food poisoning. Ordinarily not a huge deal, however, in this case we are taking a bus to the border rather than the "friendship train." As such, we must walk the mile or so from there to the train station. In the heat, no sleep, and dehydrated, this task gets the better of Jon, as it would any man. I drop him at a restaurant about halfway there where he can get some white rice and rest and I proceed to the train station on foot.
Yep, that's me in the picture. Thank you, I do look hot. The tickets purchased I return to Jon to kill the 2-3 hours until our train departs for Bangkok. Jon sleeps most of this time while I drink Singhas, read, and drift off into whatever nether-region my mind occupies when it stops thinking about the one in which my corporeal body exists.
I, bolstered by beers, and Jon, bolstered by rice and water, hail a tuk tuk to the station and board, to my unthinkable and unmistakable chagrin, ANOTHER train back to Bangkok. In the Laos interim I've worked out a cheaper solution to the Vietnam visa situation but it requires returning to Bangkok to collect the new visas. Yes, we're headed back to the belly of the beast. Back to Bangkok. Again.
This is getting real old real fast.
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