Laos: Vang Vieng (September 2014)

Ah, Vang Vieng (VV). The number one reason I came to Laos in the first place. Also arguably the most bacchanalian spot on anyone’s SE Asian adventure. It being SE Asia and all, that certainly is saying a lot. One has to consider Bangkok, Ko Phi Phi, and Ko Pha Ngan in Thailand, Boracay in Philippines, and Seminyak, Bali in Indonesia, amongst others. So basically, you know there are some serious contenders for that title.

I only wish I had gone to Vang Vieng five to seven years ago. I would have been more apt to party harder, and therefore, to take more of an advantage of what VV has to offer, in my early to mid twenties. There also would have been more bars along the river for tubing (they were, ahem, “federally downsized” a couple years ago…basically, as a result of some accidental deaths, the government came in and shuttered quite a few of the bars along the river).  Despite these impossible-to-rectify complaints, Vang Vieng is now undoubtedly one of my favorite places that I’ve visited.  Better late than never, right?

Mary and I had somewhat of a bizarre start commencement to our bus trip from Vientiane to Vang Vieng. The bus left about an hour later than it was supposed to (which, to be honest, isn’t all that bizarre in SE Asia), but once we got going, we stopped just outside of town on the side of a road. Having received no explanation for this, I assumed the worst (I’m great at that) and thought something was wrong with our bus. Unfortunately, my spidey sense was correct. Our driver then made a call, and it wasn’t 20 minutes later that another bus came and picked us up. This bus had come long distance from Thailand and was also transporting like-minded backpackers to this hedonistic capital. We hopped on and met two British girls that were traveling together, Bex and Michelle. I’ll mention it here, but strangely, although not too surprisingly, I would randomly run into Michelle and her boyfriend in Thailand on the Koh Tao Pub Crawl.

Mary and I were lucky enough not to have booked accommodation ahead of time (maybe there was some reason we didn’t, I don’t know), yet to have been able to book a private twin bed as soon as we arrived at a hostel that was recommend to us.

Mary, being the more extraverted one between us, quickly befriended some British backpackers. The group included Bex and Michelle from our bus ride. I can’t for the life of me remember the others’ names. I know this sounds haughty of me, but I found that that group got on my nerves quite quickly. I’m not sure if this is because my introverted patience and energy for other people was being tried, or if it was something to do specifically with their personalities, but I suspect the former. But, as you will see, there were a couple episodes that might give more credence to the latter.

On the first day we wanted to go tubing, it was canceled because the previous day had been full of rain. So, since there was more rain, the water level of the river had subsequently risen and its current had become fiercer.

Having had our plans put on hold, we decided to just hang out until night befell us. After some drinks at the hostel, we made our way to one of the local watering holes. As soon as we arrived, we noticed one guy from the group I mentioned earlier absolutely off of his rocker on a chair just outside of the bar. He was drooling was practically incoherent. We asked if he was OK, and tried to help him up in order to bring him back to the hostel. Instead, he suddenly went “berserker” and started destroying public property around us. One of the other guys in our group thankfully got him under control and led him back to the hostel before some locals that were watching called the cops.

“This is why people hate backpackers,” I thought. We have the privilege of coming to a developing country, feeling like we’re entitled to five-star service, all the while getting completely fucked up, creating problems, and usually not facing any dire consequences. This is something I’ll write about in a later entry, because I often had conflicting experiences regarding this while I was traveling SE Asia.

So, the next day we tried again. We were hanging out in the hostel waiting for the Brits to get organized, and I communicated to Mary how badly I wanted to leave and get the show on the road (I mean, c’mon, I had been waiting 5 years for this). After some haranguing, she finally acquiesced.

We arrived at the first bar, and a skinny British guy with shaggy black hair, and silver glitter surrounding his eyes greeted us with shots and wristbands.

There weren’t too many people there when we showed up. There were some people (EVEN OTHER AMERICANS!!!) playing beer pong, but Mary and I befriended a couple that was off to the side, Roma and Aiyana. Roma was a Russian guy who was backpacking and Aiyana was a German girl who was backpacking. We talked to them and drank with them for a while. Finally, we wanted to get a flippy cup game together, so we recruited three nice, but hilariously awkward, Thai guys. One of them could speak English really well, and I guess had lived and worked in the US for a while.

We stayed at the first bar for probably two hours, and just as we were about to leave, guess who shows up? The Brits we had left at the hostel. I’m so glad we didn’t wait for them!

From the first bar we start the actual tubing journey. We obviously had to take some roadies with us, but then we were down one hand when it came time to paddle ourselves over to one side of the river. The men manning the “dock” threw us the ropes and we grabbed on. I forgot who it was, probably Aiyana, but she ended up missing the rope, or not being to hold on to it, so I think one of the men swam after her and brought her over.

At the next bar there was a free shot AND a free wristband with every drink ordered. One of the bartenders was a very tiny Laotian girl with a constant smile on her face. After she served us drinks, she eventually moved to the top of a picnic table where she showed off her absolutely amazing hoola-hoop skills. I think I had a little crush on her…but it could have also been the alcohol talking.

At the third bar I took out my cigarettes from my “dry” bag, and they were soaked, as was my cash. Luckily, the bartenders accepted the soggy bills (I’m sure they were used to it by now). I’m still very glad to this day that I decided NOT to bring my phone to take pictures.

The third bar had mud volleyball. As I am always reluctant to get involved with games before observing, I had a beer or two before being harassed to join. All of us were slipping and sliding in the mud and quickly becoming the fabled “mud people”.

When we finally got to the last bar, and by this point, we were all feeling just a little drunk. Just a teeny weency bit.

The final bar had a basketball court that featured various waterspouts spraying down on the players below. It started to rain again, and everyone was wet anyway from tubing, so it didn’t really matter. I talked to that shaggy-haired British guy about Metal for a while since he was wearing a Dying Fetus shirt. I can’t for the life of me remember any part of that conversation except that someone had given him the shirt as a joke gift.

As it was getting close to sunset, we decided we better leave ASAP. We made it back just before the sun descended completely. I had to Aiyana’s hand to help guide her and her tube back to shore, as she was quite drunk and was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to guide herself. Mary ended up going out to the bars with Roma and Aiyana, but I took the responsible path and stayed in. I could tell Mary wasn’t happy with my decision, but I knew it was for the best if I stayed in after that day!

On our final full day in VV, we went kayaking. We started several miles down river from VV at a small village. While we were getting ready, a cow had wandered into what looked to be a Buddhist monastery and/or shrine to eat some grass. This was apparently very bad, because the presumed owner of the cow started yelling and hitting it with a rather large stick as the cow ran out of the shrine and far down the dirt road. While this was happening, Bex started running after the man while screaming, “HEY! HEY! Don’t do that!!!” I don’t think that the man, nor the local onlookers, knew exactly what to think. I just put my head in my hands, embarrassed. Embarrassed for Bex, embarrassed for us.

I’m not a vegan or vegetarian, but I’m against the inhumane treatment of animals (OK, a bit contradictory, I know). However, I feel as though it is presumptuous to react the way that Bex did. What right did she have to react that way to a poor Laotian farmer’s behavior? This man, who most likely doesn’t have much to begin with, much less a steady income, is being told how to treat his cow by a privileged foreigner who is only visiting. A relatively affluent young person was telling this man, who probably depends on that cow for a number of reasons, how to treat his “property”.

This was another time in which I felt a surge of conflicting thoughts and emotions, which I will more than likely dedicate an entire post to in the future.

Besides that little episode, kayaking was really nice and relaxing (except for when we hit the rapids!). Unlike the others, Mary and I never got flipped over ONCE in our kayaks.