Spring Break 2011!

It kind of felt like “Spring Break Daytona,” minus the MTV cameras.  Or “senior beach week” at North Myrtle (Cherry Grove baby!).  We were all mildly horrified when the bus pulled into Vang Vieng, an unsightly strip of hotels, restaurants, and video bars strung along the Nam Song river, halfway between Luang Prabang and Vientiane, the capital.  We had been assured that we would feel this way, but also that we had to do it, a sort of rite of passage on the backpacker’s trail through Laos.  Plus, the “tubing” down the river included many bars with manmade, ultra-hazardous ropeswings lashed to tall scaffolding, which had me giddy with excitement.  And we had Dan and Abby with us, to make us look younger.  We also spent the majority of the three days with Cody and Katie, an awesome Canadian couple we had seen off and on since the train up to Chiang Mai.  The six of us went out together in Luang Prabang, and had a great time, and we were happy to have the four of them, quite sure that their presence avoided awkward encounters with other travelers wondering what the old couple was doing out on the river.  I felt the fear of being called out like a red suit-wearing Richard Pryor on his “Sunset Strip” album, lamenting the unhappy marriage between being both self-conscious and successful:

“I’m still waiting for somebody to come up and say, ‘What you doing in that red suit you ugly mother&$^%$.’”

The trip down to Vang Vieng was breathtaking.  I won’t berate you with more harrowing stories of van rides, but let’s just say that, once again, the van was overbooked, and Rebecca was in the middle half-seat between me and the driver.  I guess we were used to it by this point.  The scenery was stunning, though.  We immediately questioned our abbreviated itinerary in Laos, but we were so excited to see the family in Vietnam we spent little time worrying about it.  As soon as we pulled out of Luang Prabang we began ascending up into the mountains, and the majority of the 5 hours or so we spent on the road that day was winding through little mountain villages, over passes, along ridgelines, and across high mountain faces.  The landscape was green and lush, and the villages lively.  Every one we passed through was alive with activity: groups gathering around talking, packs of kids walking or bicycling together, and a great many congregated around the town showers, soaking wet and wrapped in towels.  It was one of the countless times on this trip that we have questioned our sense of community in America (though I do prefer to shower alone).  Everywhere we have been, regardless of the standard of living, we have seen communities that seem more social and more committed to spending time with each other on a daily basis.  People in Southeast Asia, it would seem, spend more time on the street in front of their apartments or homes than they do inside them.  Whether a product of social evolution, or merely a difference in cultures, the contrast to our sometimes insulated lives and homes was stark, and we welcomed the strong sense of community.

Pulling into Vang Vieng was a little scary.  We lumbered down out of the mountains in the big van, and wound along a windy and rocky dirt road with more potholes than flats.  After a half-hour of starting, stopping, and swerving to avoid the potholes, suddenly we were there.  Vang Vieng consists of two main strips: a smaller one that runs along the river and a larger street one block out, running parallel.  We pulled in on the longer street, met with the sight of bars and restaurants stretching down the road as far as we could see.  And nothing but bars and restaurants.  As the van slowed to a stop and we got out, a young white man (Australian?  I’m going with Australian) staggered across the street, sporting only a bathing suit, carrying a bucket that I’m sure was half-full of rum, and wearing such a glazed, expressionless face, he could have been an extra on Walking Dead on Sunday nights. 

“Holy shit,” I said.  “Where are we?”

We stood and watched him shuffle away, amazed he was moving under his own power.  I’m quite sure he had been out tubing all day.  As we had done in Luang Prabang, Dan and I bravely hauled the luggage to a nearby bar (okay, the women took the luggage over there, but we sat with it) and heroically defended it, our narrowed eyes daring anyone to disturb our belongings.  We also figured we deserved a beer for our troubles.  Abby and Rebecca set off to find a place to stay, leaving the hard work to the men, again.  It’s the Southeast Asian way.

We had a quiet first night, and set out the next day to find motorbikes.  It was a comfortable pattern we had slipped into: find a place to stay, find motorbikes, explore the area.  We wanted to see the country before we succumbed to the daily binge that is “Tubing in the Vang Vieng.”  We headed a few kilometers outside town to a swimming hole aptly named the “Blue Lagoon” with a large cave up a steep set of steps on top of a hill overlooking the lagoon.  The road to the lagoon was completely washed out: dirt, mud, and puddles as wide as jacuzzis, and some almost as deep.  You had to stop, survey the road, and decide which course to take, often guessing which puddle was the shallowest and gunning the bike towards it.  We all emerged (except Dan, miraculously) muddied up to our knees, but enjoying the ride.  The “Blue Lagoon” was well worth it, impossibly clear, shimmering blue water, with a large, climbable tree hanging over, providing the perfect launching spot for whatever you felt like throwing down at the time.   

I think he was aiming for prawns, but I'm still not sure

We all felt like Katie did, at this moment

Give me that!

The cave was fantastic too, as Cody, Katie and I shared one headlamp for a mostly-dark, somewhat dangerous, blaze your own trail and find-your-own-path around the outer ring of the cavern.  All three of us were wearing flip-flops, which made for an interesting time trudging through mud and then over, around, and between large, jagged rocks.  It was quite an experience, made all the better by the refreshing return trip to the lagoon to shake off the mud.  

Katie and me standing, Cody on the rock

The Blue Lagoon

We stopped for a beer on the way back and, as had become our tradition, motored the last half-hour down the muddy road in the dark, which was quite an experience.  All you can do is pray for high road and follow the locals, when you can.

The next day, we went tubing.  We all piled into the back of a pickup truck, roped the tubes to the top, and got hauled up the river and dropped off on the bank.  Any neon shade is the color of choice on the river, and each bar gives you strings, ribbons, or some other souvenir to tie around a body part.  Foolishly, I began to get in the tube to, you know, start tubing, when a man told us no, that’s not how it’s done.  He loaded us into a boat and delivered us directly across the river, to the first bar.  I quickly realized what “tubing in the Vang Vieng,” a slogan we had been seeing on t-shirts throughout the trip, actually meant.  The tube was a mere vehicle to take you from one bar to the next.  Usually, right across the river.  Hang out at a bar for an hour, grab a tube, paddle across to the other side, and the next bar.  We obliged, though I’m pretty sure I raised the average age by a couple of years.   

Don't ask.

 Each bar was stocked with BeerLao and Lao-Lao (rice whiskey), and each seemed slightly more degenerate than the last (in a good way, I think).  Most had a ropeswing, a floating castle, a crawl line, or some other diversion to accompany the drinking.  We even got a large soccer game going on a sandy pitch behind one of the bars.  Have a good time, we had been told over and over, but don’t drink too much, and make absolutely sure to get back before dark, because several people die every year.  The bars populate the first half of the stretch of river leading into Vang Vieng, but the second half is barren of lights, roads, or anything else save the lovely scenery.  Clearly, most of those on the river did not heed the first part of advice, as we watched neon-clad, painted, ribbon covered bodies writhing to the loud, outdated American music at every bar we went to.  It was great fun, though.  We had a wonderful group of people, had a blast with all of them, and the diversions (see: ropeswings) were more than enough to keep me occupied while I stayed as far away from the dance floor as possible.  

When you see the German John Taylor, you have to go talk to him

Cody got us a bucket of rum this way

                                                         

After a wonderful day on the river, we left the last bar about 15 minutes before the sun went down.  Thus, inevitably, the last hour on the river was nearly pitch-black, and we all stuck together, holding onto each other as we floated the homestretch, laughing as we had done exactly what we were told not to.  We all made it home safely.

 

 

Reba was tired after a day on the tube

The next day, we had another sad farewell to our friends in Vang Vieng.  It wasn’t that hard to leave the town itself behind: the neon paint, the drunken revelry, the video bars (you could walk down the street in Vang Vieng for a couple of hundred yards, and every bar you passed would have flatscreens plastering the walls, every single one showing an episode of “Friends” at impossibly high volumes- someone, years ago, must have decided that all one wants after a day on the river is a mat to lie on, a BeerLao to sip on, and the cast of “Friends” to bring a little slice of home.  Every bar played it, it was uncanny.  You felt like you were in an episode after a day and a half, as every few minutes walking down the street, you’d hear the fade-out, “do-do-do, dah-do-do, dah-do-doooooo”).  The scenery was beautiful, but the town itself seemed a little outcropping dropped on the side of the river merely to accommodate the tubing backpackers stopping through on their way down to Cambodia or up to Luang Prabang.  We would miss the hell out of our friends though.  We lingered by our van stop, saying our heartfelt goodbyes to Cody, Katie, Dan and Abby, again hating the inevitable separation traveling brings about.  We hope they all are well, and we miss them.  We also thank them for making our short trip through Laos such a wonderful time, and for dragging the old folks down the river with them.  We had a blast, but Vietnam called.

Dad and Lillie were already there…