Our next mystical adventure would take us further south to the shamelessly touristy town of Vang Vieng. Jack had spent some time here last year and was happy to give it a miss this time round, and to be honest I was feeling a little reluctant myself, but it was one of those things I felt I just had to do (whilst hating myself for being such a big sell out).
After our multitude of horrific bus journeys to date, we were feeling delighted at the prospect of the the Phonsavan to Vang Vieng route, which is a mere 6 hours (in a bus with windows). Smugly, we boarded the 7.00 am bus sans snacks, put our feet up and breathed out a big sigh of contentment. Right on cue, a mysterious scraping noise and our bus ground to a halt at the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere. For the next hour, our butts were parked on the bitumen while some interesting bush mechanics took place. Unfazed, we hopped back on...only to stop again within 20 minutes. Our resourceful driver and his compadres managed to get things up and running for a second time, but now it appeared we couldn't get past second gear. Our bus trundled along while the 8.00, 9.00 and 10.00 buses zoomed past us, their passengers grinning smugly at our misfortune out the windows. We finally reached somewhere approaching civilisation, and stopped at a gas station to get to the heart of the problem (this involved wheels coming on and off, batteries going in and out, angle grinding, welding, and lots of sitting around waiting for parts to be delivered - so not sure exactly what the problem/s were, but they were complicated). When we finally reached Vang Vieng it was pitch black and a full 12 HOURS since we had departed Phonsavan. Feeling starving and unimaginative, we sat down to (another) meal of Indian food before going immediately to bed!
Vang Vieng is a small town set against an unbearably beautiful backdrop of rugged limestone cliffs and lush rice paddies, sitting right on the banks of the Nam Song River. The skies were perfect blue and the weather warm enough for swimming but cool enough for sleeping the entire time we were there. The problem is that every other falang in Laos has cottoned on to this apparent perfection, and the town now exists solely to pander to Western ideas of fun: drunken river tubing, 'happy' shakes and 'space' pizzas and lounge bars playing rerun after rerun of Friends and Family Guy. Jack and I managed to stay on the outskirts of this craziness, on the opposite side of the river (accessible by a rickety bamboo bridge) in a cute little thatched-roof bungalow with a stunning mountain backdrop. We were slightly disconcerted at check in, when we noticed that our room came with its very own private rooster, which was penned into our back yard. We were even more scared when we heard his attempt at a crow, which sounded like a dying person wishing us 'happy new year'. To our relief, as night fell he was set free to share the love and new years wishes with all the other patrons as well.
Our first day in Vang Vieng was spent doing what everyone who goes there goes to do: the river tubing. This involves renting a big inner tube and floating down the river, with a few added extras along the way. The first 500 metres of the river is lined with bars, who throw plastic bottles attached to ropes at you (which usually hit you in the head) and reel you in from the river and up onto the deck. Here, you enjoy free shots of rice whiskey and bananas, as well as the bar specialty - kiddies' buckets filled with mixers which are usually about 50% spirits. As you can imagine this activity gets a little messy. It is made even messier with the presence of huge swings and slides at the bars. I don't think there is anything quite like this anywhere else in the world - mainly because I don't think there is a legal system anywhere else in the world that would allow for such insanity. It took me quite a few buckets to watch the swinging without PI claim sums flashing before my eyes. J had conquered all the swings on his last trip (while his over protective girlfriend was blissfully absent) and I am sure those of you who know me well will guess that this kind of activity doesn't rate high on my have-fun-and-stay-alive scale. However after the first few drinks (and it did take a few) I decided I had to prove my worth, both as a cool girlfriend and bona fide Laos traveller. I did so on the flying fox at the Mojito Bar. This was a piece of cake compared to the ones we had done at the gibbons (albeit without any form of safety device), with the small catch that unless you drop off before you reach the end a stopper on the line forces you to let go and do an involuntary backflip on your way into the water. I was fairly sure I was going to chicken out as it happened it was over so quickly that I didn't have time. Don't exactly remember my landing in any detail bhut it must have been fairly graceful as the inside of my left leg is covered in big purple bruises. As mentioned, Jack was an old hand and so had nothing to prove, but kindly swung off the highest swing (about 15 metres) head first for my benefit - luckily it was over before I had fully comprehended his naughty trick. How the tube operators reel in the dollars becomes apparent to everyone at about 5.00, when they're trashed at the last bar and realise they are never going to paddle the 2 km left of the trip and have their tube back by 6.00 (in order to get back their deposit). Most people accept defeat but Jack was aware of this little scam so we left a little early but still had to endure some exhausting drunken paddling to get our kip back. Success! After such a long day (with no lunch), we treated ourselves to the Vang Vieng 'street stall' specialty - a foot long baguette stuffed with fat-drenched crumbed chicken, bacon, lettuce, mayo and cheese - all for about AU$3 and beats Subway any day!
The next morning, we both felt surprisingly chipper but opted for something a little more low key than tubing: a motorbike day trip to the Tham Phu Kham cave and swimming at the nearby Blue Lagoon. This was a stunning drive through lush countryside. Children ran after our bike calling out to us, but rather than the friendly 'sabadees' Jack received this time last year, they were demanding money and pens. A prime example of how rapidly deteriorating tourism can be on the spirit of a place! While not a spelunker by nature, I am not adverse to the odd ramble through large, airy, well lit caves where you can see the exit. This is not the case at Tham Phu Kham, which requires a hot pitch black crawlspace passage to reach the astonishingly large (and also pitch black) cavern deeper inside the mountain. In addition, Jack insisted on exploring several other midget-sized holes with no discernable ending. All this with one flashlight (I lost mine) which was running out of batteries. All in all, I enjoyed the swim at the lagoon afterwards more enjoyable, despite some annoying Australian girls deep in conversation about their breasts and their tans (who received a deserved splashing when Jack jumped out of a tree).
Feeling pleasantly tired, we headed back down the dusty trails toward town, ready for some more Indian for lunch and a relaxing afternoon in the hammock. But alas, it was not to be: a disconcerting pop announced a ridiculously flat tire just a few hundred metres from town (it turned out to be caused by a nail, which strangely appeared to have entered sideways - we decided there was someone from the conveniently close 'motorbike fix' shop in the bushes with a nail gun). This turned out to be an expensive (actually only about $6.00) little detour but we were quickly on our way again and home for more Indian, fatty baguettes and chocolate pancakes: a perfect ending to our stay!
Hope everyone is happy and well and missing us tremendously! Enjoy the photos (with thanks to my little assistant for his tireless uploading!)
T & J xoxox
