Travel Diaries: Laos pt.2
Everyone had warned us to stay away from street food. They’d warned us about the dirty showers and toilets. Most people had expressed concerns about how we’d deal with the bugs and insects, and some people had even worried about the simplest things; how we’d wash our clothes, get a haircut, do our makeup. No one, however, had warned us about the days when one feels completely lost and lacking purpose. A few people, most notably my mum, had forewarned us about homesickness. I was firmly in the camp that I’d be too busy enjoying myself to even care, but I didn’t consider the fact that being too busy would be so strenuous and exhausting. Nobody likes to be too busy. I love my family and friends, but I wouldn’t say I miss home. I don’t want to be at home, but there’s days when I don’t really want to be in the arse-end of Laos, either. Before taking the plunge, I felt like my whole life had been leading up to this point - like travelling was my destiny, and it’s what I was made to do. So, you can imagine my despair when I started to reconsider what the hell I’m doing here, on the other side of the world. Impeccable timing! Why now do I decide to reevaluate this childhood dream?
The simplistic, minimalist way of life is attractive to many. To live in solitude in a wooden shack on the banks of the Mekong seemed nothing short of ideal to me back in early December, when I was dragging myself to work, counting down the days till our departure. But suddenly, eight weeks later, you’re hanging out of your arse in a remote fishing village, covered in mosquito bites and pidgin English is now your discourse. Constantly on the move, a different bed every night, with no base or headquarters, living out of the same huge backpack. I needed to settle somewhere, just for a couple of days. Somewhere with a telly. I can’t stress enough how luxurious and attractive the thought of laying on the sofa is, with the dog, watching Homes Under the Hammer. I’d even be happy to watch Celebrity Catchphrase at this rate, and that’s saying something, because anyone who knows me knows I despise Stephen Mulhern.
I don’t have any regrets - I’m very grateful and lucky to have this opportunity. But fuck me, I miss telly.
With Bradley Walsh and Ben Shepherd on my mind, we dragged our feet and bags out of Vang Vieng station towards the hoards of tuk-tuks, which was as chaotic as it was concerning. For reasons unknown, we just couldn’t get a lift - every driver was sending us elsewhere. As we neared tipping point after scrambling around unsuccessfully for about fifteen minutes, we found a nice enough driver who was willing to take us. He shoved us in the back with a Chinese family, an American, and a couple of Canadians. He went round the group, pointed at us rhythmically and simply muttered “location? location? location?” and once he had a list of drop off points, we set off through the stunning Vang Vieng valley.
Nestled in the limestone mountains, we neared the noticeably flat town centre, before Eden stunned the rest of the truck into silence with intense screaming. She has a phobia of butterflies, as the other passengers found out, and was none too pleased when one flapped it’s way through the back of the truck towards her. In fairness, it was jet black and massive, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I thought it was a bat at first glance. For an emotional Eden, who felt like she was on I’m A Celeb, a few minutes of crying ensued, which in turn, bizarrely made Mia cry. I sat puzzled, as I’d obviously underestimated at how acute her phobia actually was, but broke the tension by asking the rest of the passengers if they knew of any good butterfly sanctuaries we could visit. It got a couple of laughs and made the remainder of the journey a little bit less awkward.
The driver dropped us at the top the road upon which our hostel, Golden Dragon House, was situated. As we walked towards its doors, Mia arm in arm with the now much calmer Eden, we spotted a pair of glum-looking Australian girls sat outside a cafe. I wouldn’t have written off Davina McCall jumping out of the bushes with a camera crew, ready to film the climax of an episode of Long Lost Family, for these were no two ordinary Aussie girls, it was Helena and Tanya. It was a heartwarming reunion - the girls had postponed their journey northward to Luang Prabang in order to spend a couple of days with us, before we would all rekindle in Hanoi. We grabbed a seat and caught up over some coffee, before they introduced us to Cam, a lad from Hertfordshire, though most recently living in Toronto, who they’d made friends with after sharing a dorm with him. He had a charming explanation as to why he supported Manchester City… in summary, his grandfather had emigrated to Manchester from Ghana in the 1960s, one day attended a Man United game, and experienced extensive racism on the terraces. He decided to give Maine Road a go instead, and his experience watching City couldn’t have been anymore different. From that moment on, he was blue.
After checking in, myself, Mia and Eden got changed and went to meet the Aussie girls on the roof of their hostel for a couple of Beerlaos. We were regrettably joined by Jeffrey, a Dutch bloke who sexualised everything and made some very inappropriate comments. He took a liking to Helena, and wanted to come dine with us, but he was beginning to exasperate me and eventually crossed the line, so we told him where to go. As he left the rooftop with his tail between his legs, the sun began to set, which was the green light for some seven or eight hot air balloons to rise - a daily occurrence in Vang Vieng. It was nothing on Capadoccia, Turkey, but there’s fewer joyous sights than looking up to see hot air balloons dotted about a clear blue sky.
Full Moon Bar was the next stop after waiting what seemed like forever for our pathetic burgers at one of the local restaurants - I can’t even be bothered slagging it off, it was just shit. The bar was quite cool though, and we got sat down at a table where I could see one half of the TV screen which was showing Forest v Brighton. Ideal, as Villa were kicking off five hours later away at Wolves.
Thankfully, I missed the game, as we left before kick off and ended up in Viva Nightclub, along with half the population of Tel Aviv. Genuinely, there are so many Israelis in this part of the world. The beauty of this being my diary means I can say whatever I want, no one’s going to censor it or edit it out, but I’m reluctant to start a monologue on Israel and Palestine. It’s a complex issue, even for the likes of Judge Rinder or Jeremy Kyle, and there’s much cleverer people than me who have written extensively on it. That being said, whatever your view on genocide, it’s clear that it’s displacing people - although I struggled to find as many Palestinians carelessly dancing and partying.
The next day I woke up with the sorest head I’d had so far on the trip, but I fought through it, and followed the girls down to the Nam Song river. Half on the rocky banks and half in the water, stood numerous gazebos with plastic chairs, for people to sit on and paddle their feet. Mia, Tanya and I found solace in the shade, whilst Eden and Helena found a place in the sun. Me and Mia didn’t last too long - as God knows what kept landing on our backs, legs, and touching our feet in the water. We couldn’t deal with it, so got up and left, asking Helena and Tanya to look after Eden whilst we were gone.
On the walk back to the cafes and restaurants, ever so slightly bored, I had the bright idea for us to rent bicycles for the day and explore Vang Vieng more expansively. Given that the town is so flat, renting bicycles is common, and we concluded that it’s much safer than riding around on a moped.
Bad idea. Very bad idea. I hadn’t ridden a bike in about twelve years, Mia something similar, and by God, it showed. Shaking like a shitting dog, I weaved in and out of incoming mopeds and tuk-tuks, finding myself on the wrong side of the road more often than not, with Mia screaming at me from behind. We were only on them for ten minutes before hers “broke” (it definitely didn’t, she just made the executive decision to sack it off) and we decided to chain them up outside the hostel, too embarrassed to return them after such a short period of time. We got ourselves into bed for a nap, where I slept soundly and dreamed that I’d gone tipsy tubing with Jeremy Corbyn. Mia, on the other hand, has had a hard time sleeping in hostels - she tossed and turned as I tubed with the former Labour Party leader, and when I woke up, she informed me that I owed her £3.50 for my share of the private room in a different hotel she’d just booked for that night.
The girls returned from the river and we spent the afternoon in the hostel pool, watching the balloons float by. Eden, Helena and Tanya were all eager to go out that evening, back to Viva Nightclub, but me and Mia weren’t as inclined. Instead of following them to the sunset bar, Mia and I nipped out to a restaurant, and found ourselves on an episode of Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares, as we had to stomach even more terrible food at another absolute shithole. We bumped into Jade and Niall, who told us about all the activities they’d done whilst in Vang Vieng, and also of Jade’s traumatic experience with dogs behaving (very) badly, as she was bitten by a golden poodle puppy.
I’m running out of ways to describe my hatred of roosters, as yet another one kept me up for the majority of the night. My brain half awake, I imagined I was on Channel 4’s Four In A Bed, completing the survey at the end of the standard episode.
How were your HOSTS at VV Villa Vang Vieng?
Hmm, 7. She was nice.
How CLEAN was VV Villa Vang Vieng?
Not the best, not the worst. 5.
How did you SLEEP at VV Villa Vang Vieng?
0 - would score lower if I could.
Would you stay here again?
For £7 a night, I probably would.
Cut to the part where they read all the snotty feedback and get arsey with each other… God, I miss telly.
The following day we reconvened with a hungover Eden who had been out with Helena and Tanya the night before, who were then travelling north to Luang Prabang by bus. Eden had ruined her bag, partially broken her phone and had her sunglasses stolen by Theo, the Frenchman we met back in Pakbeng. She stomached an omelette, and led the way to meet the Emmerdale extras, Eva and Ella, as we had agreed to go to the lagoons that morning. We prearranged a price with a tuk-tuk driver to take us to the lagoons, wait for us until we were done, and then bring us back. A chap kindly did so after we’d spent the day, much to my enjoyment, talking about girly-girly-girl things. I’ll be the first to admit I’m well in touch with my feminine side, but there’s only so much involvement I can have in a conversation about tampons and hair washing routines. In a not too dissimilar way to Eden, I needed some male attention, and tried conversing with the tuk-tuk driver. I asked him if he’d ever watched Pointless or James Martin’s Saturday Morning, but he just smiled and said “Vang Vieng! Ok!”
Me, Mia and Eden were all feeling a bit down, and needed to try and snap out of it. We needed an activity, something wholesome that didn’t involve boozing. The Nam Xay viewpoint was arguably the most iconic thing to do in Vang Vieng, beziehungsweise, Laos in general. It’s a treacherous 400m climb to a fixed motorbike at the top of the hill, where people sit and pose for photographs with the Lao flag. We dragged ourselves out of our depressive states and up the mountain, stopping regularly to wipe sweat from dripping into our eyes and thwarting our vision. It was a harsh climb, and the most intense exercise any of us had done for months, but we felt a great sense of accomplishment getting to the top, and the view was worth the pain twice over. On our way down, we bumped into Theo who was on his way up, sporting a very familiar pair of sunglasses. Once we’d reached the bottom after navigating the descent, which was just as demanding, we found our tuk-tuk driver to be four cans deep, drinking with all his pals. We didn’t mind and got into the back of his truck, feeling a strong sense of invincibility after our hike, ready to apply for SAS: Who Dares Wins. We watched the sky turn pink as we made our way back to the hostel, and I reflected on how much I enjoyed the hike, and thought about how mountaineering could be a new hobby, or even career. I thought I’d found my purpose, but as I was trying to remember whether or not it was an Olympic sport, I was brought right back down to earth by Mia announcing “fuck me, I’m gonna piss myself.”
I felt like I’d burnt 5,000 calories and lost a few stone, and turned to a French restaurant for sustenance. The place was run by a miserable, confrontational Frenchman named Jean, who blew us all away with what he served us. Disappointing meals were a regularity by this point, but Jean somehow rustled up the worst three pasta dishes ever made. Eden ordered the fresh seafood pasta, which contained prawns still in their shells with their shit pipes intact. Mia and I went for the creamy mushroom pasta, which tasted like a dreary, flavourless, oily, cold pot noodle. It was only after leaving we decided to read the reviews of La Cigale, the majority of which describe Jean to be cantankerous, and the food to be futile. The most interesting review was from a lady who detailed the fresh seafood pasta giving her food poisoning shortly after her visit. Great.
We rose early the next day for our train to Vientiane, where we would spend one night and then fly to North Vietnam. The train journey was pleasant - our tickets were upgraded to first class for no particular reason and no extra cost. Just over an hour after departing Vang Vieng, we found ourselves in the capital, back on the road in a taxi, en route to the Barn 1920s Hostel. It was like walking into an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, with the lobby doubling up as a French cafe plucked straight out of the Roaring Twenties. It was a delightful little place, the kind of which I imagine the Bright Young Things would have socialised in.
After dropping our bags, we went out into the city, which felt more Paris-y than Paris - beautiful French inspired cafes and bistros, serving fresh pastries, good coffee, and to our delight - great food. We had been chasing a decent meal for over a week, and for us, the chase was over. I devoured a pastrami baguette with genuinely decent French fries for lunch, and a chicken tikka wrap at an Indian restaurant for tea.
We were up from around eight o’clock the next morning, and had about nine hours to kill until our transport took us to the airport for our 19.45 flight to Hanoi. Full from breakfast and in need of a physical activity, Eden and I rented a tennis court for an hour, with rackets and balls included. I love tennis - not just the game itself, but the synonymous aesthetic. The clothes, the venues, the personalities of the top athletes - if I was going to be a famous and successful sportsperson, tennis would definitely be my game. I decided that’s what I’m going to do when we finally settle somewhere… join the local tennis club. After all, maybe it’s not too late to get in shape and get my ATP ranking.
After twenty minutes of pathetic, child-like rallies I was blowing out of my arse and almost collapsed. I had a serious case of Dave Ja Vu from nearly dying at the top of the Nam Xay viewpoint, but needed to save some face after just announcing to the girls that I’m going to become a professional tennis player, so pushed my way through the remaining forty minutes, making Eden look like Serena Williams. Mia exclaimed “if you’re gonna start playing tennis, you’re gonna have to stop smoking.” I proudly shouted back, in between heavy breaths, “Shut up, Judy Murray”, a hilarious, acerbic reference which went straight over her head. I thought to myself, “I’d be great on BBC One’s A Question of Sport or Would I Lie To You?” Yes. That’s what I’ll do… Win Wimbledon a couple of times, cement myself as tennis’ working class hero, and then use my satirical wit to be a regular on panel shows. Never mind mountaineering - I’ve definitely found my purpose now.