Vang Vieng
January 18 - February 2, 2007
It was time to leave Vientiane and head north. After getting out early enough for an unhurried cup of coffee, we were surprised at our guesthouse owners sudden affability and helpfulness at finding the right bus station to carry us on our merry way to the small tourist town of Vang Vieng. We had heard mixed reviews about this spot but were determined to give it a look.
Vientiane, it turns out, has two bus stations. One for local buses and one for VIP and 1st class air con transport. They are on, she told us in broken English while pointing to the map, opposite sides of the city. The former being on the western side and the VIP on the eastern. She pinpointed the locations on our map. She then began to win us over to the idea of taking the VIP. This took little persuasion as we had been told firsthand accounts of the Laotian intolerance to motion and the subsequent vomiting that frequents the hot and dirty winding rides through the mountains on the local buses.
With a generous window before departure time, we agreed to walk the 25 minutes to the eastern bus station. Hot but at ease we reached the bus station and saw only local buses. We walked up to survey the timetables and were hailed with the frequent 'where you go?' call of a tuk tuk diver. The hack was made obvious. The woman had switched the bus stations to the economic benefit of this all too willing, helpful and informative tuk tuk operator. We were helpless to his ride and agreed to a fair price to the far away bus station on the opposite side of the city. We were whisked away with speed back along the same route we had sweatingly walked minutes ago, but were a bit confused when we stopped at a travel agent exactly behind the guesthouse we had recently left.
'You wait here for bus'
No, we go to the bus station'
'No problem, come inside. You get bus ticket here.'
'We paid you to take us to the bus station.'
'Yes, bus come here. No problem.'
So that is how we had the great fortune of meeting Quin and Rachel. We bought tickets, waited for the bus and in an hour or so, we were told to grab our bags and walk about 5 minutes to find our bus resting lazily in the shade of a large tree. We boarded the bus, ergonomically designed for those travelling without knees, and sweltered in the heat for a bit while we waited for the air con. Across the isle from us sat an extroverted Aussie and his girlfriend. He took immediate interest in our mosquito swatter. He picked it up but before appropriate warning he touched the wire electrodes and let out a loud yelp. Having done that ourselves we knew the painful shock it gives and through that shared pain and subsequent laughter we became fast friends.
With our new friends Quin and Rachel we left the bus and, after flipping a coin, decided to cross the bridge away from the city of Vang Vieng and toward the mountains. We found residence in a guesthouse called Maylyn's with comfortable enough accommodation in a beautifully landscaped yard with a tremendous view of the mountain kirsks that loomed over the river valley. The room was a simple layout of a bed and a fan and metal security barred windows. The walls of woven reed reminded us that the neighbors on either side were not far away at all, as we gigglingly found out the middle of the first night. Bathrooms were off the porch and shared. All this luxury for the price of $4/night. The community area/dining room was nicely set up with two long community tables and a window that looked like it was once used as a bar or reception area.
It was dark by the time we signed in and there was a gruff older looking man at the table eating a famous Thai banana pancake.
'How's the banana pancake here?' I inquired cheerily.
Now, take a second to prime your voice to meet Joe. In the very back of your throat make an 'errrr,' loud with a low rumble, like an engine needing a tune up. Squint one eye like a pirate and talk in a muddled Irish mixed with Australian accent through that 'grrrr' noise. You have just met Joe.
'It's not a banana pancake, It's a pineapple pancake' he scolded.
'Ah. Well, how's the pineapple pancake then?' I was trying to be friendly, but moreso, I was thinking of ordering one and wanted a quality review first.
Joe hovered over his food protectively. 'Well I don't really know how to answer that, as its MY pancake!'
I decided to leave Joe and his pancake alone, but soon found out Joe was the owner of this fine establishment. His favorite expression seemed to be 'oh yeah, right', keeping true to the grumble and accent of course.
In the fifteen days we stayed with Joe, we got to know him quite well. When we met him he had just returned from his first overnight trip up in the mountains. In the six years he had been living there not one other group or person had endeavored or accomplished such a feat without a local guide.
