I met Jane at the airport in Vientane, having survived my second Laos Airlines flight. It should be noted that flight departure/arrival boards here are printed pieces of paper, taped to a wall like a display in a third grade classroom.
Jane is a Canadian who talks faster than a six year old on cocaine. She is the character who enters each scene talking, machine-gunning syllables. The best way to adjust is to turn on the Janefilter, listening to only the important bits ("hey, are we lost?") and tuning out most of the rest ("this one time I was at a shop opening and Chevy Chase was there and I had a margherita that was so good but anyway back to Chevy Chase who does not look good by the way but wow, was that a margherita").
I have such a filter.
Vientiane is a sleepy riverfront capital. Our two days here cruised by, with eating taking center stage. I finally got my pasta fix at a great place called Sticky Fingers. We splurged for two nights at Lani Guest House and had huge rooms in a colonial-vibed French house. It was a dream to stay somewhere opulent, especially at the price of $30 a night (I had been averaging $3-5 per night for the past week). The sights here are fairly limited but it is an excellent place to kick back.
We pushed north with a 5 hour bus ride to Vang Vieng, which has a decidedly Spring Break vibe despite being in an incredibly beautiful location. The locals have their hands dirty with backpacker money. Even the most scenic riverside bars blare rudimentary techno and serve "happy shakes".
My guest room had a series of warnings posted, including this one: "Do not bring both men and women which is not your own husband or wife into room for making love." Also: "Do not allow tourist bring prostitute and others into your accomodation to make sex movies in your room. It is restriction". Other than the signs, Le Jardin Organique Guesthouse is wonderful and a highly recommended find.
We spent a full day here tubing down the river, which was great fun. We took a tuk-tuk to the drop point for the river, although it took a while because the vehicle kept dying (we pushed). We grabbed mulberry mojito's from a stand and jumped in the river. There were about a dozen kids swimming along with us, all asking us for money for "helping" us into the water. One kid swam up with my sunglasses, which he had deftly swiped, extorting a buck from me for their safe return. I admired his ingenuity so much that I had to smile. Little fucker.
Tubing in Vang Vieng is the kind of thing that has never been replicated elsewhere; a true original experience. Granted, the river is full of drunk idiots but if you let go, you can become a drunk idiot too. The drill is simple. Get in tube. Stop at makeshift river bar. Climb up an aparatus and jump from a rope swing. Get back in tube. Repeat. The actual float time for tubing is 2 hours; the rest is stopping for a refill and socializing.
Some people love VV dearly but a few days was enough for me. The parties might have been exciting for someone from Maine but they failed to impress this New York City Boy. A neon sign, a couple of hammocks and a bonfire hardly rivals a NYC night out. With a Douchebag Factor of 93, I was ready to head to Luang Prabang after three nights.
Jane and I took the infamous bus ride north, a 7 hour affair involving massive inclines and declines so sinister that would even make Rambo whimper. A thunderstorm hit on the way, which only slowed our driver after he skidded us into the other lane, barely recovering the wheel as even his hands flew in the air.
Luang Prabang is sensational and was easily my favorite place on the trip. The town is parked perfectly on the Mekon, its charm obvious in every street and alley. It has a movie-set quality at night, with twinkling overhead lights and endless craft stalls. Monks nearly outnumber tourists. You cannot walk down a road without seeing one in his bitchin' little orange robe, often carrying a matching umbrella to block the hot sun. Jane became a monk-magnet, talking to them endlessly. I am a little monk-shy, fearful that I will make an unprovoked dick joke in their presence.
We took a trip up to the big waterfall, hiring a tuk-tuk with a Canadian couple we had met down in Vang Vieng. It was a hot and humid day, so the icy little pools below the falls were The Best Treat Ever. We settled on a serene spot away from the tourists, which was also being enjoyed by a couple of young monks. We jumped into the cool water and joined them, all taking turns jumping from two massive trees that had fallen in the pool. The monks swam in their orange robes, looking like some kind of blooming flowerpeople as they treaded water. You really can't have a stressful day when you're hanging with monks at a waterfall.
That night we ate at Lao Lao Garden, a great spot built into the mountain. We cooked food on our own mini hibachis and drank too much Beer Lao. The staff here was as gay as it gets, flitting from table to table in order to show the white folks how to properly cook their food. The owner was dating an Australian guy, who hung with us and gave us all of the town gossip. Asking him how he ended up here, he replied "I am a motherfucking rice queen, why else do you think?".
Jane left for Singapore the next day and I decided to spend my last Laos week at a guest house across town. Luang Prabang was so relaxing that I just couldn't pack up my bags and trudge to another place - I was spent. I explored the Wats and took a full-day cooking class, boozing afterwards with a woman in her forties who had traded her Australian banking job for a teaching job in China. I wandered every corner of Luang Prabang, from the river restaurants to the endless night markets.
It was finally time to enter my trip's endgame, headed towards Bangkok for five last nights. I woke at dawn to catch my flight and met my yawning tuk-tuk driver. We drove through the misty streets and both chuckled when we encountered a procession of at least a hundred monks. We had hit the only rush hour this town has - each morning the monks walk from one side of town to the other, collecting gifts of sticky rice from people along the way (this is mostly what they eat all day). It was a very different kind of traffic jam. The oranged robes parted a hole for us to pass through and smiled, knowing that I had a flight to catch. I can't think of a better last memory of this wonderful place.
