A way to reflect, and No Room at the Inn
Trip Start
Jan 09, 2009
1
11
44
Trip End
Feb 23, 2009
Vientiane, Lao Peoples Dem Rep
Monday, January 19, 2009
As much of this day's trip is about traveling along the Laos 'highway,' a few days ago, I made an interesting discovery about a story that happened on it, just outside Vang Vieng, and just after New Year, 2000. I don't normally give so-called 'travel elites' a plug, but in this case I will, considering the person in question's experience was so remarkable, to say the least.
A successful travel photojournalist by the name of Alison Wright was traveling through Laos on her way to India to do a photo shoot. She was looking forward to entering Vang Vieng, just in time to experience the 'Golden Hour,' probably meaning the sunset. She was sitting next to an open window in a bus, as a truck full of logs was passing it. Unfortunately, logs from the truck fell out hitting the bus as it rounded a corner causing a massive accident. Some of the passengers were killed, and Alison became concertinaed between the window and another seat. Obviously she was badly injured with a broken back and near-severed arm; actually, millimeters - not inches - from death. She made a remarkable recovery and has since climbed Mt Kilimanjaro. She attributes her survival to having learned to breathe as a practicing Buddhist, hence the name of an autobiographical account of this ordeal, 'Learning to Breathe.' If you want to read more about this incident and the ensuing extraordinary recovery, then go to http://outside.away.com/outside/features/200502/alison-wright_1.html A sobering thought; I traveled on that road. It could have happened to any one. Even me.
But no such misfortune today as I waited for the 12 pm slow bus to Vientiane. I talked to two British tourists who seemed quite familiar with the area, and enlightened me about the planked river crossing which I could have taken, which would have avoided that fee-paying bridge. Better luck next time.
I also got talking to a backpacker from Slovenia, mainly about Cambodia and what to expect there. I also got other info the next day from a British guy that turned out to be a load of baloney. The girl was with another Slovenian who apparently had 'loads of time' to travel - bully for him - and, because of my fair whack at talking to her, I felt he thought I was a bit of an intruder, particularly as he didn't speak English. Hers was good.
More Westerners were herded in various convenient modes of travel, while others packed out tuk tuks, speeding up to do the ever-popular tubing. Laos thrives on the herd mentality - good for business, while the rest of the population can lounge, languor and lay back in the heat and wait for the money to come in. I don't mean to be racist, but couldn't help feeling that Laos is a nation of bizarre spongers, as the bus trundled along past roaming cattle, silky muddy pools and waysides strewn with used plastic bags and bottles. I'm sure citizens in other parts of the less developed world have some of this mentality, too, but I speak as I find.
The bus's speed reminds me of the song, 'Tu Vas Me Manquer,' from the album, 'M'Bemba' by Salif Keita, the artist from Mali, as it jugged along in the sunlight, viewing far-off peaks, dropping down onto a plain to the capital, past a glittering temple or two with standing shiny Buddhas. Actually, the landscape got rather flat and boring as Vientiane was hit.
I was unceremoniously dropped off and abandoned on the main road; left to find my own way and my own devices. Most of the inns were fully booked - certainly all the budget ones. You have to get here before 12 pm to get a choice of cheapies.
The area by the Mekong, the classy section, was given up. I strolled towards the big grey arched monument and chatted to a Brit who wanted to see if he could get into Thailand without a visa - actually, it gives Westerners 15 day's grace - at least from some countries. Folks mainly pass through here; use the place to get visas, hence the full accommodation. Let's face it, there's not that much else to see, talk about, or write home about Vientiane.
He and another Brit were right talkers. I saw the latter in a cafe where I ordered a bowl of meat porridge, and guess what? A Beerlao. He gave me some right earful, baloney info, about Cambodia which I will relate ere-long.
I checked into the grossly overpriced Nita Inn; glad for a shower:
"170,000 Kip," the owner authoritatively demanded.
No compromise, no reduction, no bargaining. Not like China.
Of course, the U-bend underneath the bathroom washbasin was broken right off; the hot water electric switch kept on flipping back. But you know, it was a double room, of course, and all because you could watch CNN. Really? Everyone in the world wants to do that, and to tune in to Larry King Live, also.
I'd rather watch Amy Goodman on 'Democracy Now,' thank you, also from America, and also from New York; quality non-controlled journalism; a good show that grapples with no-escape issues confronting today's world.
Having balked at the rip-off, took a stroll to the Pataxay Monument, or whatever it's called, where a sitting-down sort of trans-gendered prostitute (couldn't see properly as it was dark) yelled over:
"Hey you!!"
I sauntered back, passing bland, predictably boring comfortless bank buildings, indicators of today's no-can-do capitalism, and a Korean on a bike I'd recognized from the kayaking in Vang Vieng, pedaled by. I called out. He didn't hear.
