Luang Prabang to Angkor – Day 4: Vang Vieng

Barron and I began our breakfast promptly at seven o’clock, but our efficiency was undermined by Barron’s capacious stomach demanding a serving of noodle soup after finishing a whole buffet plate. We felt regret at leaving our hotel so early, as our fifth-floor room offered us a beautiful view of the mountains across the river. Still, we knew better views awaited us.

Having checked out of our hotel, we walked onto the street with a vague plan of finding either a tuk tuk driver or a motorcycle rental. Neither was very difficult. We soon spotted a tuk tuk driver lying in a hammock which he had stretched out between the front and back of his vehicle. Of course, the tuk tuks in Vang Vieng are very different from the flimsy three-wheelers common in Bangkok: They are proper four-wheel trucks with open sides and an open back, and the metal bars running under the roof from front to back are ideal for holding when the terrain gets bumpy.

We asked the driver how much it would cost to drive from the city to the first trail we wanted to visit, and he offered to take us there and back for 300,000 kips. It then occurred to Barron that it would be better to hire the driver for the day, but explaining this concept proved more difficult than we had imagined. I eventually managed to get the point across by showing the driver a list of places we wanted to go, and we settled on the price of half a million for the day. The agreement came as an enormous relief to me, as I secretly dreaded the idea of riding a motorbike again. When I drive, Barron calls me a grandma for driving slowly and safely, and when Barron drives, I fear for my life. About twenty minutes into his portion of driving yesterday, he confessed that he was not even looking into the rearview mirrors. This is not to mention that sitting behind the driver on a bumpy road is not pleasant for a man’s reproductive organs.

Our first two stops were the trailheads to the most scenic spots near Vang Vieng: Pha Ngern and Nam Xay. While the length of the first trail was 650 metres and the length of the second a mere 350, there were times when I felt I would die because of the inhuman volume of moisture leaving my body. It would be an understatement to say that the trails were steep. I was often clambering up on all fours and grabbing onto rocks and tree branches to pull myself farther along the way. On the way down, I made prodigious use of my backside to soften the impact on my knees. Still, I was fortunate that despite Barron’s second breakfast, we started both hikes relatively early. I was convinced that otherwise, this level of exercise in the afternoon heat would have shrunk my organs to raisins.

The views from Pha Ngern and Nam Xay were nothing short of beautiful: Beneath the richly forested hills lay the country’s light green rice fields, which sometimes gave way to browner patches of other produce and the occasional village, or else were held back by a gently winding road. Pha Ngern was clearly visible from Nam Xay with its grey pinnacles poking above the tree cover towards the clear blue skies; we immediately understood why the peak’s name translates to “Silver Mountain.”

After drinking some rather pricey fruit shakes at the bottom of Nam Xay (Barron had already run out of water), we continued to Blue Lagoon Number One. The ticketed area comprises a lagoon with turquoise waters and big silver fish, as well as a cave that can only be reached after climbing yet another 150 metres. Endearingly undeveloped, the cave has no lights or railings, but it houses a small temple with a reclining Buddha, next to which stands a stalagmite wrapped in a large orange cloth as though it were a stupa.

We decided to climb to the cave first before dipping into the water. Despite my creeping cold, I felt so disgusted with my sweaty clothes – an unwelcome reminder of my own accursed physicality – that I went for a swim in my trousers and shirt. I figured their wetness would cool me down for the rest of the day and I would perhaps be able to wear them one more time. After getting out of the water, we ate lunch: I had a bamboo soup, which is a dish I have been anxious to try ever since my first visit to Laos. I was a little disappointed with its seaweed-like taste, but this did not minimise my generally favourable impression of Lao food. In the past few days, I was happy with my tofu larb, sticky rice, and Luang Prabang salad.

We returned to the city much earlier than I had expected and found ourselves at a loss for things to do. Vang Vieng is not particularly known for its culture: It was first settled in the fourteenth century as a staging post between Luang Prabang and Vientiane, but only saw meaningful expansion during the Vietnam War. This was when the US constructed an air base and runway near the town, creating various jobs for the townsfolk while spreading its fame. In more recent years, Vang Vieng underwent a major tourist boom, though the days of wild drunken partying seem to have ebbed. The town has begun to attract a higher-end clientele, even if one does still see half-naked drunken tourists bullishly crossing the road with no regard for oncoming traffic.

Walking down the road, we happened upon a tourist office selling tickets for hot air balloon rides. They did not have any free spots on their sunset voyage, but we soon found another agency that did. However, after undertaking a trip to the airfield just outside of town and waiting for half an hour, we were told that the wind was too strong that day. The men assembled by the balloon’s basket – which was not yet connected to the balloon itself – would periodically release a helium balloon into the air to gauge the wind’s speed and direction, and it was always quickly swept sideways. Still, the abortive excursion was not a complete waste of time. Since Barron’s card payment had already gone through, the operator had no choice but to give us a refund in dollars. This was a very welcome surprise, as we were running low on currency to exchange, and the bank fee was lower than what we would have paid for withdrawing from an ATM.

Our train from Vang Vieng departed with a slight delay and we arrived in Vientiane shortly after nine o’clock. Barron fell asleep on board, so I finally had some time to catch up on these notes and finally add a few details I had forgotten to mention in my previous entries. The timing could not have been better: as I write these words, the tri-lingual announcements have begun to alert us that our train is approaching the station. One more observation occurs to me though: these Chinese-built railway stations form part of an interesting parallel system overlaid on Laos. Far outside the city centres, they serve huge numbers of Chinese tourists, who are shuttled from thence to major attractions in big white vans. We have not yet determined where all these tourists eat and stay, but it is clearly separate from most other travellers.