Laos Su Su!

Laung Prabang to Vang Vieng. Two nights in Vang Vieng. Love it or hate it, VV is a place of backpacker lore. At least it always has been for me. VV is a tiny village set along the Nam Song River and hidden in the late day shadows by the impressive nearby mountain range. The dusty streets are lined with backpacker-centric cafes where you can grab anything from green curry to pizza while resting horizontally on a mountain of pillows and digest a seemingly endless loop of….Friends? No joke. I counted at least four cafes where zombie-looking travelers sat stone still listening to Joey banter back and forth with Monica over Chandler’s womanizing. It’s almost impossible to eat at a place where Americana doesn’t dribble out of the TV screen. Thankfully like many things on the road we had a choice, and Meghan’s palate would usually dictate that. The pizza was stellar but the looping Family Guy episodes were welcome and badly needed.

I’d heard stories about Vang Vieng as far back as Gili T. The main draw – tubing down the Nam Song. When the river runs high every wet season, alcohol, drugs, and bad decision making claim numerous broken bones and (sadly) the occasional life. When the river runs low (as it does now), the river couldn’t be more sedate and therapeutic. Well, sections of the river at least…

For 50,000 kip (roughly $7usd) we were given giant inner tubes and a free one-way tuk tuk ride to the put-in spot on the Nam Song. I thought I was mentally prepared for the onslaught of riverside bars I’d heard about but when I got there all prior expectations were thrown out the window.

When we walked to the cold rivers edge, into view came what I’d estimate to be between 300 to 500 bikini and board short-clad early twenty something’s partying on either side of the river as if the MTV Spring Break bus straight from Lake Havasu had just dropped by. Techno and dance music would blast from either side of the narrow river (not more than 50 yards across). Rising from each rickety wooden bar were diving platforms, zip lines, and rope swings that made anything at Beaver Dam look like child’s play. Dodgy looking guide wires and support cables run from bars to trees to other cables and back again. It was as if Homer Simpson constructed the place after a few too many Duffs.

As you float down the river, from each bar flies a buoyant projectile attached to a rope. If you’re in need of a Beer Lao you grab the rope and they pull you in. When you tire of said bar, grab your tube, hit the river, and repeat. We stopped at one relatively quiet place and the drink menu said it all.

You want beer? We got it.

You want liquor? Got you covered.

You want some mushroom tea? Not a problem.

You want actual mushrooms? OK.

You want pot brownies? Just point and ask.

You want an actual bag of grass? We can do that.

You want to try opium? That’s OK by us…DOH!

Mix the above assortment of bad-decision-inducing options together with cold and fast water, rope swings, water slides, a rocky bottom, and the feeling of chemically enhanced youthful invincibility…and it’s no wonder why I’m yet to meet a Vang Vieng tubing vet that doesn’t have at least one scar or crooked finger to show for it.

Meghan likes her tea green. I like my tea with sugar and cream. The party scene on the Nam Song was neither of our cups of tea. When the thumping house beats finally disappeared from ear shot, we enjoyed a lazy two hour float back into town. We picked up two local freeloaders along the way. Bones was skinny and Grill had some really mangled teeth, but they were nice enough for five year olds until they tried to hit us up for “moany moany.” Wait, you two local rug rats just hitched a lift on our inner tubes and you’re asking us for money? And that sums up Vang Vieng right there. White backpackers coming and going every day are nothing more in most locals eyes than “moany moany.” Love it? Hate it? Somewhere in between but closer to the latter.

After two nights in VV we would catch our last bus in Laos to the capital city of Vientiane. The city is charming with more than a hint of Luang Prabang’s French architecture and feel. The cherry on top of Vientiane is the fact it currently plays host city to the Southeast Asian Games. www.laoseagames2009.com

Following several hard earned travel days Meghan and I decided to thai one on after our arrival in Laos’ capital. The night, a great one, would find us in a tiny western style martini bar where we would land two tickets to the bronze medal football match between Laos and Singapore the following day.

The following day…

Standing on the Laos side of the tiny stadium, taking in a full face of badly needed sun, cheering “Laos Su Su” (Go Laos Go), the scene was spectacular. What are the chances? I enjoy reflecting on all the twists and turns and serendipitous little events that had to go just right for us to find ourselves in those stands. Like it was meant to be. Sadly it wasn’t meant to be for the host country as Singapore would put them down in a 3-1 loss.

And just like that we’re all caught up to the present – to the here and the now – to Day 99. And that brings us to the future. To the tomorrow. To Day 100. I’m happy to say that Meghan and I already know what we’re doing tomorrow. Tomorrow was determined by the three pillars that guide safe and rewarding travel: flexibility, adaptability, and an open mind.

Our original plan (if there is such a thing on this fluid ride) was to traverse the length of Laos from north to south, cross into Cambodia, make our way to the beaches, then head east into Ho Chi Minh City to rendezvous with friends after the New Year. Well that got thrown out the window. Visas in hand…one-way plane tickets purchased…we leave Laos tomorrow at 1:30pm after only eleven days. Words can’t describe how stoked I am for what comes next…

Next stop – the grand old dame of the Orient.

Next stop – Hanoi.

Next stop – Vietnam.

Luang Prabang

I can’t write about Luang Prabang at length because I could never do it justice. I even decided against filming Luang Prabang because film couldn’t do it justice. So I’ll be brief…

On a tiny elevated peninsula of land surrounded on three sides by arms of the Mekong, sits the Unesco-crowned World Heritage site of Luang Prabang. Combining the cutest architecture from the French Quarter with lantern-lit cobble stone streets, five star dining, tangerine cloaked monks, and an endless sea of historically preserved guest houses dripping in polished teak wood and timeless charm, Luang Prabang is a must see. Set in a river valley surrounded by jaw dropping saw-tooth mountains, the landscape, climate, and pace produce that perma-smile that resides deep inside each of us. And it never leaves your face. It’s a magical, feel-good, environment that’s just so damn unexpected given its location in the heart of the world’s Most Bombed County (a title Laos has the USA to thank for).

Well deserving of the label Linger Inducing, Meghan and I would spend three days and four nights taking in all that LP had to offer on foot, bicycle, and iron horse. Joining forces with three others from our slow boat, we rented motorbikes and explored the nearby waterfalls some 30km to the south. Wind in your hair, the morning’s mist lifting to reveal towering mountains, the arms of a special individual wrapped around you, motorbike hugging the turns of perfect asphalt…life was pretty darn good in Luang Prabang. With a morning waterfall hike, a midday swim, and a late afternoon return to LP under our belt…Meghan and I split from the pack and headed off in search of a quiet road and sunset. As we passed the local air strip I finally caved in to the repeated requests and instructed Meghan on her first motorbike ride. Finding an empty airport strip parking lot I felt like a Dad sitting shotgun as their 16 year old takes the woody wagon out onto York Rd. for the first time. “Lets just keep it in 2^nd gear here…” Cool, calm, and collected – that’s how she drives.

If not for its location in the remote and rugged central mountains of northern Laos, Luang Prabang would be known the world over and likely spoiled. Thank God for the remote and rugged central mountains of northern Laos. No more words on this one. Just a few pictures…

Visit Luang Prabang. Put it on the Bucket List. End of story.

(Night Market)

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&ie=UTF8&split=0&hq=&hnear=Luang+Prabang,+Louangphabang,+Laos&msa=0&ll=19.89498,102.140343&spn=0.004863,0.006899&t=h&z=17&msid=113857108228539669434.00047af9a7883f15fc966

Live From the Mekong

Yah yah yah. Where have I been? Whatever. I’m back now and that’s what counts…

So here we go…

This is most definitely one of those “OK…you’re going to lie on the bed and write for the next hour and summarize the brilliant last eight days before too much more time passes…” entry. And so with that I lie here on the bed in an adorable riverside hotel, the Mekong River not 100 yards to my left, Meghan’s tiny laptop on my chest, wearing a brand new black hoodie sweatshirt blazing with the Laotian flag and the letters LAO P.D.R. (Lao People’s Democratic Republic), and the music from the street floating in through the open shudder windows. This is the most beautiful town I’ve ever seen. This is the Pearl of the Orient. This is Luang Prabang. This is Laos.

But that’s the here and the now. Let’s begin at the there and then…

On Sunday September 6^th Meghan and I said goodbye. At 1:30am on the morning of Saturday December 5^th in the international arrival terminal at Bangkok’s Savarnabhumi International Airport we said hello.

With Meghan’s 12:35am scheduled arrival waiting in the wings I walked out of my hotel room in Bangkok at 10:00pm. With an understanding that many things I’ve grown accustom to (i.e. dirt cheap accommodations, dirt cheap public transportation, dirt cheap street food, dirt cheap…) would inevitably change with Meghan’s arrival, I walked out the door to catch the city subway and bus to the airport. It may take twice as long as a cab and it may be twice as uncomfortable as a cab, but it’s twice as real an experience and 1/100^th of the price. Plus there was absolutely no doubt that I’d be heading back into Bangkok in a taxi.

With an hour to kill at escalator-heavy Savarnabhumi airport I ate some noodles and stood by helplessly as my heart rate climbed as her touchdown neared. On a side note I did make a commitment to myself to fly Turkish Airlines in the near future as any airline that employs Kevin Costner as its pitchman is an airline I’m flying. Having surveyed the arrival terminal in detail I had located the confluence where every green backpacker, every camera-welding Japanese vacationer, every creepy Australian sex tourist would take their first free steps in Asia after clearing customs. So when the On Time remark switched to Landed for United Flight #804 I made my way to the front of the greeting area. A foggy glass partition running about 15 feet in length acted as the final curtain before revealing all arriving passengers. So there I am at 1:20ish, front and center, leaning over a metal railing, heart rate climbing with anticipation. And with that the shadowy silhouettes start to trickle out. And with each tall and slender outline that fills those 15 foggy steps, I get a shot of adrenaline. Is that her? Is this it? False alarm….

False alarm…

False alarm…

1:30ish…

These people all look and dress like Americans. This must be her flight…

False alarm…

Then a familiar stride fills the foggy glass…and there she is. Three months of waiting over in a heartbeat. She quickly spots me and all we can do is smile. Twenty hours in transit and she’s never looked so good. And with that we walked outside into the Asian night and hailed a taxi…

A crystal clear blue sky Saturday, December 5^th would be Day #1 for Meghan Brown in SE Asia. How do you begin to acclimate? We put on our shoes and hit the street in search of a familiar comfort zone…nearby Siam Center mall – the crown jewel of Bangkok’s shopping district. With an emphasis on baby steps, little things like seeing a Prada store, McDonalds, or Starbucks after flying half way around the world go a long way in aiding the decompression process. See, it’s not sooo different over here after all (yeah right). We get lost in the food court and discuss our first major challenge: what can Meghan eat?

The afternoon brought a tuk tuk ride and an introduction to the buying power that comes with being a Caucasian tourist in Asia. The evening saw a celebratory cocktail on the 55^th floor roof top bar Red Sky.

Sunday and Monday would bring more comfort for Meghan in her new surroundings and more culinary dead-ends for Steve to address regarding Meghan’s new surroundings. After three days of urban decompression, we were both more than ready to head north for rural settings and a change of scenery and country.

We booked an overnight train from Bangkok to Chiang Mai for a Monday night 10:00pm departure in what pictures had us believe to be a fairly comfortably sleeper cabin. Following our arrival at Platform 11 and inspection of Car 13 I got my first taste of Meghan’s great willingness to roll with the punches. The cabin we’d been sold was no where in sight. Hell, the train we’d been sold was no where in sight for that matter. With that we both shared a great laugh and climbed up into our individual bunks across the aisle from each other. Talk about a great sport. We rode through the night and arrived into Chiang Mai around 1pm. We caught a tuk tuk to the bus terminal and easily landed seats on the three hour VIP bus to Chiang Rai. Arriving just after dark we crashed hard. Carrying herself like a well traveled vet, Meghan wore a genuine smile all the way from Bangkok to the Golden Triangle.

We had made the decision on Tuesday night to kick Thailand to the curb, bite the bullet, get up early, and catch the 6:30am bus to the sleepy border town of Chiang Khong, situated on the western bank of the legendary Mekong River and one murky waterway away from Laos.

Laos is one of those bring-us-your-baht or bring-us-your-greenback countries that doesn’t make it logistically challenging for someone like me to pay them a visit. Thirty day visas are issued upon arrival at all airports and land borders ensuring a steady flow of backpackers in search of SE Asia’s most relaxing and chilled out country. Laos is so laid back its horizontal. With a population of just over 6 million it’s the least populated country in the region. And it feels that way. But therein lies its charm and appeal.

So at about 9am Meghan and I stood on the Thai bank getting our first glimpse of our home for the next two days: the muddy and lazy Mekong River. We (happily) stamped out of Thailand, boarded a tiny long boat for the two minute shuttle across the Mekong, disembarked, walked three dozen steps, and began filling out visa paper work. Thirty minutes and thirty dollars later we were sign, sealed, and delivered. New country! New language! New currency! New customs! Laos baby Laos!

(Thailand from Laos)

Loaded with freshly converted kip, we hopped a tuk tuk for the dock…the slow boat dock. At high noon we, along with some 100 other backpackers, took our wooden seats on the slow boat. The slow boat is not dyslexic or something, it’s just…slow. An increasingly popular way for travelers to get from the border to Luang Prabang, in the interior heart of northern Laos, is by boat cruising with the Mekong River. We departed at noon and arrived just after dusk that first night in the tiny river hamlet of Pak Beng. The second day we would push off at 9am with an arrival into Luang Prabang at dusk. That’s slow.

There is both nothing and everything to do on the slow boat. There is a Laotian woman selling overpriced (and deservingly famous) Lao beer, cup o’ noodle soup, and baguettes. Baguettes? The hangover from the French occupation during the late 1800s and first half of the 20^th century is pleasantly evident in the cuisine and architecture. Not a huge fan of just about all things French, I must say it is refreshing being able to buy warm French bread, baguettes, and pastries on the street with the same ease as locating pad thai on foot in Bangkok. There is a toilet. There are wooden benches. And there are travelers. The scene was brilliant but the scene was clichéd. A mish mash of twenty something backpackers lacking any real originality. Unique individuals? Yes. But collectively we didn’t bring anything new to the table. Same clothes. Same high tech gizmos to accompany our yoga pants and hemp wristbands. Same travel stories – “I went from A to B to C to D and back to A”….”Wow! Me too!” It is at moments like this when I long for the frontier. Lets face it people…SE Asia has been done. Central Asia anyone? Despite this the cast of characters were rich and made for an excellent crew to hang with in Luang Prabang.

As late arrivals and thus without seats for two days our small crew came to own the wooden floor deck directly behind the wheel. And we would come to love it. Card games, drinking games, magic tricks, road stories, love stories, Full Moon Rave horror stories…we would share them all over Lao beer. There was twenty-four year old Mike from England who according to Meghan (and to which I won’t entirely disagree) developed a heavy man crush on yours truly during our voyage. Having just finished reading The Damage Done and currently blowing through Neil Strauss’s The Game…I immediately liked the kid. He’d been on the road for a year. There was Martin who was also twenty-four and also from England. A likeable fellow, a strong gust of wind might have knocked him over board. He played an extra at Hogwarts in the first three films, so he had that going for him. Martin would eventually hook up with the wannabe It Girl, a tall waify looking young Brit who just missed the mark on everything. There was Elisha, the twenty-one year old Australian with a heart of gold. And so on and so forth… And so it was with this cast and many hours/beers to kill that Meghan would get her first real taste of those that wander the road less traveled. And as we all know…not all those that wander are lost.

In such company I found it easy to lose sight of my surroundings, so on more than a few occasions I would escape the crowd and (with the captain’s permission) shimmy myself out onto the front of the boat, legs dangling over the bow of the boat. Nothing in front of you. No steel, no wood, no Israeli backpacker who likes his own voice too much. Nothing but an endless feed of dense jungle and Mekong. Not a road in sight. Hell, there are no roads where we were. Just pure jungle. So when you pass a man standing on the bank you know he’s living without electricity and doesn’t know of Tiger Woods. You’re that far off the grid. It’s wild.

And so there you sit floating down the Mekong on a lazy Wednesday. And just when your surroundings get to seem normal you snap yourself out of it by saying out loud….you are floating down the Mekong. And sometimes the powerful realization of your momentary place in the world hits you and floors you. Those are great moments. Moments in which you completely drink in the moment, the surroundings, and appreciate the whole shebang. Other times it doesn’t register and you take for granted without appreciation just how great you have it. In any case try not to pass through this world without dangling your feet over the Mekong River and savoring the moment.

If someday you actually taste the slow boat for two days, the desert at the end of the meal is well worth any hardship endured along the way. Just when you’ve had your fill of life on the Mekong, the setting sun and river’s bend reveal one of the world’s great secrets. Ladies and gentlemen…Luang Prabang.