Tubular Bells
Trip Start
Nov 12, 2008
1
11
49
Trip End
Apr 30, 2009
Vang Vieng,
Lao Peoples Dem Rep
Friday, December 12, 2008
There didn't seem to be a lot going on in the capital with most of the guesthouses imposing curfews at 12am. We were offered beds in cell like rooms with shared bathrooms at exorbitant prices. Vientien was chock-a-block with tourits. Why? Seems there's very little to do and the city is, to use an old English term, pretty crappy. Caught up on much needed sleep and got the hell out of dodge early the next morning, but not before Raz decided he needed a massage. This one was slightly different, it seems his now infamous Urchin feet sparked Laotian interest. His one masseuse decided those little spikes had to be taken out. She attacked his feet with the tool of her trade...the cocktail stick. Then she called in help. Half an hour later, four little Laotian women were digging at his monkey feet with cocktail sticks performing non-anesthetized surgery. When i saw him, he was hobbling like a drunk war vet on 4th July, and crying.
We got onto a local bus which quickly appeared to be the Cartajena Death Express. We're getting used to these now but this was special. I thought it was unusual that the window had three huge cracks in front of the driver, one at least 6ft tall. Me and Raz sat at the back, i quickly broke the seat and had to move onto his lap. None of the locals would join us at the back, Raz with the impression it was because he looked intimidating. Once again, his keen interpretation was wrong. It would appear I had forgotten the lesson taught by years of hearing Mother in the back seat telling me (and Dad) that you can feel every bump in the back. This it turns out is in fact entirely true. The Laos roads are less roads and more pot holes interspersed with tarmac. An unbelievably bumpy journey, coupled with the now mandatory breakneck speed (the twist on this one being accelration into corners) took us deep into the Laotian hills.
Vang Vieng, what used to be a quiet dustbowl on the way to Luang Prabang. Still a dustbowl, its now the home of tubing. Tubing, to the uninitiated, is the art of securing yourself in an oversized tyre and floating down the river, stopping off at the many riverside bars, and getting absolutely pished. The many bars along the riverside actually throw out ropes, pull you in and ply you with booze, generally Lao Lao whiskey or, for the classier individual, buckets. Buckets are like Hammerite, they do exactly what it says on the tin. Your favourite tipple, five or six straws and one almighty hangover. Aside from being a massive insurance risk (don't think they have insurance out here) its also a tourist rite of passage. Unfortunately, it also means the area is populated with those types England could well do with refusing re-entry to, Blackpool with warm weather springs to mind. Oh well, when in Laos...
Comments
Great Blog!
Sorry if response from the UK is sparse - we are eagerly reading your messages as soon as they arrive. Full of rich boozy news makes a recant of life in freezing, damp and dreary Britain seem somewhat inadequate. Keep writing - I'm basking in reflected heat! gb. yve