vang vieng

With much anxiety and confusion I eventually felt confident I was on the right bus. You see, Lao people will always answer a question even if they don't know the answer. It's a kind of politeness although to me as a westerner it's highly frustrating. 'If you don't know then just say so'. Dripping in sweat I took my chances on a series of suspect answers. But that said I hold nothing against the Lao in their way of helping me.

I was told it would be a 4 hour bus trip. It took 7 hours. Crawling along on vicious hairbends where if the driver positioned the bus two metres in the wrong direction then you would be assured of death tumbling down off the mountain side into the abyss. I should have taken a nightbus. In daylight it becomes all to apparent that the margin of error is slim. If it happens, it happens.

It was dark when I arrived in Vang Vieng. Booked myself into a cheap and nasty place. It was ensuite! That's my main requirement; bog and fan. I studiousily avoided the lure of 'happy mushroom pizza' and the 'happy, happy pizza'. Only because I was alone you understand. One must be careful.

The next day I sought out things to do and the idea of tubing very much appealed to me. So I paid up and was taken 13km from the town, given an inflated tube the size of which is used for the inner of a wheel for, say, a tractor. I floated down the river for 90 mins, toying with the gentle current and eventually reaching a bamboo bridge. It was incredibly good. Most go in groups but I was decidely happy to enjoy it all in my own little world. Beautiful things to look at, streaming waters beneath me, nice untaxing tidal challenges and all occuring while being soaked in sun. Just lovely.

Although there was one issue of importance. I felt a little old. All of the foreigners tended to be flip-flop wearing, tye dye tee-shirted youngsters with an all too contrived bohemian attitude. Probably just out of university and franky such people bore me. But Vang Vieng is a touchstone on the backpackers trail so it shouldn't come as a surprise.

For the final day I rented a honda dream. The workhorse of South East Asian youths. I toured around and visited the cave and lagoons. Had a swim in some. Really fantastic. I covered quite a few km but as I was motoring toward the end of the places to see, I noticed the front wheel was somewhat ajar. I travelled on but the front wheel started making strange noises. Then the mudguard started making a noise which was undoubtly down to friction with the front wheel. Then the whole bike wobbled. I abandoned the bike then and walked.

I went back to the people who I had rented the bike from (passport as security, max liability agreement USD1,000) and told them the score. We, me and the boss, took the bike to a mechanic and waited together while a nimble kid did his thing for over an hour. Naturally many conversations took place but not knowing the lingo I wasn't in the know. All I could think was I'm f"cked now as they can charge whatever they like. The bill arrived and I was beside myself protesting that USD200 was just ridculous. I stubbornly held my ground. One shock absorber....USD200! You're having a laugh I said.

It would have been much better if I were calm (don't get me wrong I wasn't aggressive or disrespectful just paranoid that I was in for a big loss) as I would have been better placed to calculate the correct exchange rate between kip and dollars. If I had taken a more pragmatic approach then I would have realised from the start that the bill was just USD20! But to me, it put emphasis on the essentially good natured Lao. Many other nationalities I have encountered would have done me in without hestiation. Afterall I had signed an agreement when renting the bike that I would be responsible for damage up to the value of the bike.

The Lao people play fair.

vietianne

Holy Moly! what a dreadful flight. My transport was a twin propeller airplane with a passenger load of about 50 people. It moved crazily through airpockets causing my ar*e to rise considerably off the seat. I gripped the sidearms vigorously. There was no announcement of turbulence or anything. I was struck how calm everyone was. The plane appeared to have no more stability than a paper plane. I even began to think the engine had cut out. It hadn't of course. We had a stopover at Pakse (Southern Lao) and the pilot casually left the plane while it was being refuelled. I observed him having a smoke not twenty metres from the plane. Jesus Christ! Aviation fuel, naked flame, what was he thinking! The final journey was less jumpy but we flew right into storm and the landing wasn't much different to a rollercoaster. So maybe now I appreciate all the fuss made about Lao Airlines.

The capital of Lao is a run down, neglected place. The drains were built by the French over a hundred years ago and it shows. With minimal street lighting, they are a deathtrap after darf. At least half of the manholes have no lid. The roads are crumbling away. Old colonial buildings are falling apart. This is one of the ten poorest countries in the world after all. Yet there are no shortage of big 4x4's on the streets or expensive homes in the suburbs. Where does the money come from, I wondered? Simple, the UN and NGO aid, as is usually the case, never finds it way to the deserving. The ones milking it are the military types and the communist overlords. It's very blantant.

Nonetheless, the place has its charms. It's probably one of the most chilled out places there is. The Lao people are extremely relaxed people. There is no urgency in them, all is smiles and sincerity. I arrived on a national holiday and there were no locals about, just dreadlocked backpacker types in flip-flops haggling over pennies. That was a disappointment. As was my hotel. Dreadful place. I moved the next day to somewhere more fit for habitation.

A number of storms passed the city while I was there. Given the age of the drains, it couldn't cope with the torrents and the whole place appeared to be flooded. The roads were impassable and the dirt roads were all to willing to swallow a man and his honda dream. Thankfully I had a TV; Thai soap opera is truly gripping!

When the storm abated I met some NGO's workers including a bloke from Wicklow. There seems to be many NGO's here. This was the bar I returned to on a number of occasions. One English bloke carried a little monkey around with him. It was tied to him with a chain. He fed the creature on a diet of burgers and beer. I noticed the poor b*gger eating a pack of cigarettes once. He seemed very bored by it all and would much have prefered to be swinging from trees with his mates.

One of the NGO's guys I met was trying to divorce his Loa wife and had to seek authority from the village chief with all the village present. And him speaking no Lao. I would have liked to see it. He reckoned he'd have to hand over a wedge of dough to secure his freedom. It is actually illegal for a foreigner to have a sexual relationship with a Lao women unless married. Transgressors can be arressed, jailed or deported.

Given the weather situation there wasn't much to do by way of sight seeing but I must admit I have reached full capacity when it comes to looking at temples. I have seem so many in these past few months. All I want now is to see little animals fighting each other in death matches but I wasn't able to find a fight despite my enquiries.