Kayak, Tube or Jump...then Binge
Trip Start
Jan 09, 2009
1
9
44
Trip End
Feb 23, 2009
Vang Vieng, Lao Peoples Dem Rep
Saturday, January 17, 2009
It was convenient, too, to wait for the tuk tuk to take me to the start of the day's activity events - a visit to the Elephant Cave. The waiting spot was only next door to the hotel.
At 9:40 am a tuk tuk, full of others, stopped on the opposite side of the road and I was gestured to jump in. After it sped off and kept up the speed, one girl felt the rushing breeze too much, so donned a light jacket. The tuk tuk came to a halt near Elephant Cave. One of the kayak guides distributed and demonstrated how to use yellow dry bags to protect our valuables from getting damaged. Not all, though, had opted for kayaking. Some went off trekking. Having already done loads of this, I thought trying my hand at kayaking would be a good initial sample of how to work a canoe-type contraption with a paddle.
The first stop, Elephant Cave, a Buddha altar with a giant elephant's foot print slap bang in the center, didn't amount to much. I much prefer outdoor scenery, so was quite happy gazing at the stunning mountains and limestone surrounds of which I couldn't help but capture several photos.
Waiting for my turn with the rest of the group to 'tour' the nearby Water Cave was a bit tedious as I discreetly changed into a bathing costume and waited on the stony waterside watching a duck having fun vigorously fluttering its wings bathing in a pool in the river's center:
"Is that duck going to be the center of everyone's attention?" one guy asked as I took several pictures of its irate performance.
Entering the Cave involved tubing into a water area in an inflatable rubber ring. The guides, having run out of torches, left me with my dry bag to get scraped and muddy, and I felt like a right wally. Independent travel can have its downside. You have to constantly watch your valuables or keep them with you. No wonder wealth accumulation seldom brings lasting happiness.
Tubing's not really for me. Apart from the lazy convenience of relaxing at ease floating down a river, I couldn't quite understand the big rave for it having taken off here for some mysterious reason. Having been aided and abetted by Laos people, there's not much mystery attached, really, when you think about it. They're just good at goading. Give me something sensible to do and scenery to watch any day.
"Take care of your head!!" One of the guides anxiously warned. Yes, cave ceilings can be a pain to avoid as you have to get down and move along on your honkers to stay clear of a nasty bump. The only other body part to get sore are your muddy knees and a dry bag scraped and dirty. The stopping point was too dark and non-descript; a waste of time.
Ordeal over, I sat outside with relief and got changed. The guides kindly prepared barbecued food with rice, baguettes, and a plentiful supply of bottled water. Plentiful, in fact, as to ply resident dogs with tidbits and ducks with torn-off French bread.
All assembled to take a kayak as the guides dragged them from the top of the vehicles to the water's edge, got us donning life jackets, and politely looked after my small pack containing non-valuable essentials in one of their vans. It was amusing, if not telling, watching a guide stand in the middle of a group of Koreans meticulously and enthusiastically demonstrating how to use the paddle. This made me anxiously ask one of the two kayak guides trendily wearing a red swede trilby-type hat, how to use it carefully and thoroughly. He gave me a hurried, no worry, demo.
It turned out right. There was nothing to it - easy as pie - as I started off, sharing a kayak with an Italian guy once the Korean group had left. The Namsong was pretty benign with a whisper of rapids. It was fun, although a little arm-aching. I thought I'd give the jaunt to Vientiane I contemplated doing on the way out of Vang Vieng, a miss. Once - a novelty experience - was enough for me. It wasn't a question, really, about saving money.
I and the Italian participant got along fine until a rushing bubbly section had the canoe skimming towards the right-hand bank where we lost control. Suddenly, I heard C R A C K!! The Italian had used one end of his paddle to arrest the impact, but unfortunately it snapped. As he was to find out, he should have left well alone, and just get tangled in some twigs. The canoe sorted itself with an easy manipulation of the oar. I anxiously turned around and realized what had happened.
We pulled into a bar area, among a string of numerous wooden ones, to do some jumping, sliding, and glug a Beerlao or two. The place was pulsating with Westerners: binge loving Brits among others. The modern pop music from gigantic speakers was sensationally deafening; the jumping was quite a success, not just for the participants but for the money-wise Laotians, too, who were responsible for it all, whether it's really their cup of tea or not.
I gave the sliding and jumping into the Namsong a miss but went for a Beerlao.
Two or three guys who wanted more binging array (they were Brits - hardly surprising) were disputing with a server about the quantity of stronger stuff vis a vis vodka in one of those small communal plastic buckets you stick straws into and suck up the stuff underneath chunks of ice
"Look, we can get it cheaper elsewhere."
One of them insisted on her putting in more millimeters of the potent spirit, and gestured how much with the tips of his fingers:
'No! No!" She resisted. "You must pay more money."
"Pay up, you pricks," I thought. "It's exactly what she wants you to do. You can't win."
However, for all my smugness, I was caught off guard the following day, as you'll find out.
Regarding the unfortunate Italian who'd just enjoyed himself having a few slides into the river. The kayak guide first said he must pay "2,000," so that he could buy a new paddle.
"Oh, Ok." the Italian responded with relief, thinking he meant 2,000 Kip.
It turned out he wanted 2,000 Thai Baht:
"Two Thousand Laos Kip won't buy anything," he asserted.
"Oh no!... oh fuck!....oh hell!.... That would ruin my budget," the dismayed Italian burbled in dismayed anguish. "I will pay."
"We can only get a replacement in Thailand. If you don't pay the full amount, we'll have to go without a day's pay. Two Thousand Laos Kip won't buy anything."
"Do you have to buy a whole new oar and everything?" I chipped in. Can't you get just the broken side replaced?"
'No, we have to replace it all."
Oh, I see."
Passing more unsuspecting boozers and bingers on the way down to the riverside terminus at Vang Vieng, it was a nice n' easy paddle down river in the warm maturing sun watching more tourists also taking it nice n' easy, being chauffeured in speedboats the opposite way.
The music to the classic hit song, 'Son of a Preacher Man' by Dusty Springfield, came into my head for some silly reason which had me loudly singing the lyrics to attract the non-attentive boozers above the bankside. One, stripped to the waist, turned his head. The Kayak guide didn't look amused.
Pushed into the shore, said my farewells, and watched the unfortunate Italian being driven away to the office to sort out a fee to replace the damaged oar. Feeling slightly smug, I'm glad it wasn't me.
I Sat in a restaurant talking to a Swiss girl about what to do tomorrow. Hire a bicycle, however unsuitable, and go cave exploring, and pay for everything you touch. Sounded a beguiling idea, apart from the paying, of course.
I listened to an American guy relate some of his travels. The upshot was, he got disillusioned with his life and job back home, so decided to pack both in. The sad thing is - or not - he'll have to return to both sooner or later, and what with the economic meltdown, finding another decent job with unemployment creeping up in the U.S. towards eight million, won't be an easy trick.
Being all 'Alone Again, Naturally,' another hit song, and by Gilbert O' Sullivan, I went and hit the sack.
