Money Shocks and a Rickety Ride
Trip Start
Jan 09, 2009
1
10
44
Trip End
Feb 23, 2009
Vang Vieng, Lao Peoples Dem Rep
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The mother of the hotel proprietor caught me marching out of the entrance doorway. She knew I was beelining for a bicycle somewhere else in town, so caught me off-guard.
"How much?" I asked nervously.
"Fifteen."
I'd so-far been having a vicariously, happy-go-lucky, experience in Vang Vieng, that I failed to let it sink in that most of the bikes - shopping varieties - are hired for 10,000 Kip. If any reader of these posts takes it into their head to visit this place, then be sure to rent a shopping bicycle for no more
Joahnnes at Cave Entrance
. In fact, you can find the information on Wikitravel. I handed over a twenty thousand bill. She went in to the back and returned with the change.
The mountainous area beyond the Namsong is really stunning: purple-grey limestone cliffs turned into shadows once the sun has dipped behind, not to mention the Namsong having turned liquid golden.
"Bring the bike back. If you lose it or get it stolen, buy a new one."
This warning was humiliating to say the least. There was no goodwill attached; no "have a nice day" thrown in for good measure.
There's nothing wrong with the reasoning behind being responsible for something rented out, except that the mentality, the attitude, was all wrong. Unless Westerners are tolerated in Laos for the sole purpose of money-making, enjoying themselves through it is a by-pass. That jibe could have been handled better.
There are several cozy websites that paint a rosy picture of Laos; the people being warm, bubbly, friendly and all that, but not much about an exploitative mentality. I'm sure the former is true to a certain degree, but foreigners are tolerated here - sometimes grudgingly - to spend money, particularly when the country is a poor neighbor with a relative inflationary currency. Of course, these websites dare not portray the full picture because they don't want to lose their respectable image or the visiting traffic that goes with it. As I'm writing this for free and don't, as yet, have a website, I've nothing to lose, so can readily write what I want to within reason. And to strengthen my argument, worse was just a bike peddle around the corner.
Last evening I found a 'free' map, a limited shoddy drawing of the area, grudgingly given by a store attendant, and which easily had me blundering up to a hut before a bridge, a checkpoint with the sole purpose of charging foreigners to cross it
Sleeping Buddha
. In fact, there isn't a flat fee: 4,000 Kip if you're a two-legged traveler, 6,000 Kip if you have a bike, and 10,000 Kip if you're throttling by motorcycle: "6,000 Kip," a woman outside demanded.
"What!" You're joking! Just to cross a bridge?" I almost choked.
Incredulity evaporated, I coughed up the cash, the smugness of yesterday vanished. She sounded quite arrogant, too, pronouncing all the stresses and syllables.
I rode over, feeling the hard knock. What else could make or spoil my day? How many more money shocks could there be?
I passed a few few ridiculous signs pointing to this beautiful cave, then that. How about going on a cave-hopping caper to waste your money? Not one word was said about the mesmerizing beauty of the surrounds you can view for free. They'll be charging you for that next.
I made my way up a dirt highway towards Poukham Cave and its 'beautiful' lagoon, juddering over stones, through whipped-up dust. 10,000 Kip was reasonable for one cave, but not everyone was interested; more like jumping into the lagoon; a horrible cloudy river pool which wasn't 'blue' at all, so certainly not beautiful. You can also lounge in one of the riverside wooden shelters, read awhile, and listen to the beating vibe of resort-type music
Shadowed
. The cave itself was typically familiar: circular caverns, rock formations, and surprisingly easy to navigate once you get inside so long as you are equipped with a flashlight. According to a respectable, semi-retired couple, who'd just completed a tour, proceeding any further without a guide was an absolute 'no, no':
"It's very big. A long way in. There are many possibilities. You may never find the correct way back out."
I almost scorned this over-complicated cautious advice and found my flashlight sufficient. Apart from defaulting on the way out of a little chamber in which I got a little lost and panicky , a guide certainly wasn't needed.
A guy, bleached-blonde, clad in shorts, vest and flip-flops, looked entirely at home with himself and the ambient surrounds as he sped off in a hired motorcycle. It looked the better answer as the shopping bike gave me a rickety-rattly ride back through hazes of whipped-up dust.
Admiring the mellowed tints from the lingering sun in between shadows on distant cliffs was countered by swelling-up anger as returning by that bridge got nearer. I thought I'd give that woman a piece of my mind, even though anger achieves very little:
"Do you charge Laos people to cross this bridge?"
The same woman looked confused, startled, didn't know how to respond, asked a younger woman for help
Kissing Muses
. "I said, do you charge Laos people to cross this bridge, or just foreigners?"
"Just foreigners," the younger replied.
Thought so.
"And is that because we have money?"
I finished my journey needing no answer, except to let them know that here is human being with thoughts, feelings, allsorts, just like them; not just a money label. One day, it may work wonders. Who knows?
Returned the bike, showered, had a Beerlao, a bite to eat, wandered around town, heard opened-out bar punters watch episodes of 'Friends' echoing into the street; browsed in a bookstore or two; packed up and hit the sack, ready for a bus to the next port of call, Vientiene, tomorrow.
