Vientiane, Laos - Relaxing on the Mekong

We knew the capital of Laos was going to be a lot quieter than Bangkok, the currency was called the Kip for a start, but the first real indication of how different things were was on approach to Vientiane International. The night landing showed only a smattering of lights. It was as if we were over a village.

The People's Democratic Republic of Laos liked its red tape. The airport was full of it. Line up here for the visa application form, then line up there for visa acceptance (and to pay the fee). Finally join that queue to get the passports stamped. People everywhere were joining queue after queue, wondering if they’d ever be allowed to enter the country. At the front of every line sat a sombre-looking official wearing a green uniform with epaulets full of gold stars, a curt reminder that Laos is one of only five remaining communist nations. And it was exactly the sort of uniform I'd choose for my underlings if I were in charge.

The streets of Vientiane were markedly quiet. Only a handful of vehicles were out and about. A few neon lights suggested that the odd bar might be open, but it was a world away from the sixties when the Americans established Vientiane as an opium den and sex parlour.

The man taking us to our hotel spoke very good English. I told him so. “You very kind!” he beamed. “It very hard for people in Laos to learn English so it is nice when people say I speak good!”

After checking into our hotel, Angela and I decided to go for a little wander about town. It was dark but we didn't care. Along one unlit street we could hear the unmistakable sound of the tropics: frogs and chirping insects. And then another sound broke through. Growling and yelping. Across the road, lit from a nearby bar, two stray dogs were fighting to the death. Two men from the bar stood up to see what was causing the commotion then promptly sat back down. The dogs were really laying into one another, twisting and grunting in their exertions. Then suddenly one broke free, running off into the shadows. The frogs and insects resumed their nighttime soundtrack.

I spied a tiny store selling beer. Entering, we saw four people sitting at a table eating a meal. They looked to be a family. I went to the fridge and removed two bottles of Beer Lao. The most elderly member of the family came over and nodded at my choice.

“How much?” I inquired. The reply I got was in Laotian. I shrugged, looking towards Angela. The man spoke again, this time with added hand gestures. He seemed to be saying that we couldn't take the bottles away.

“Maybe we have to drink them in here?” I said to Angela. The man nodded and babbled away some more. Angela had a quick look around the store and I could tell she didn't want to stay. I couldn’t blame her; it was little more than a shack. I addressed the man speaking as slowly as I could. “Look, we want to take them to our hotel. It's over there. Can we take the bottles away please?” The man swiveled his head to where I was pointing and then seemed really confused. As his family watched with interest, the man spoke again, causing the whole lot of them to burst out laughing. Even Angela joined in. I looked at her in desperation. What the hell is going on? The stalemate was broken with the arrival of a younger man, the son we presumed. After conferring a moment with his father the newcomer addressed us in broken English. “...You bring bottle here...after finish...”

Ah! It made sense now. The old man wanted the empty bottles. I nodded like a prize galoot, which made everyone laugh even harder. We paid for the bottles and headed to our hotel. Our first real interaction with the locals of Vientiane had gone remarkably well.

The next morning was about what we expected: hot and humid. Angela and I crossed a road on our way to see two of the major sights the city had to offer: Patuxai (Victory Monument) and That Luang - a famous Buddhist monument. Both were conveniently located along the same stretch of road.

The streets, although quiet, were not quite as laid back as I'd expected. Sure, this was no metropolis, but there were still plenty of tuk-tuks, motorbikes and cars about. Toyota's seemed the vehicle of choice for the upwardly mobile of Vientiane. Modern 4x4s were quite common and we were not surprised to see a Toyota dealership further long the road. “They should learn how to park them,” I suggested as we wandered around yet another parked Toyota, this one blocking not just the pavement but a section of road. And it wasn't the only one. “In a few years this place will be gridlocked.”

Patuxai was easy to spot, lying at the end of a wide boulevard. Numerous Laotian flags marked the entrance to this edifice. “It's like the Arc De Triomphe,” I said as we neared Vientiane's best known landmark. Built in 1969, it was commissioned as a memorial to those who had died in battles prior to the Communist take over. During its construction the people in charge had soon realized they were running out of concrete. “I know,” said one ingenious man. “Why don't we use the concrete the Americans have just donated? They won't mind?”

“Hang on a minute. Isn't it supposed to be for a new runway? I thought it was part of their aid package to us?”

“Who cares! Let's finish the monument. Besides, we've got enough runways already. You get the mixer, I'll get the wheelbarrow!”

Angela and I were delighted to find we could climb the Patuxai monument for a mere three thousand Kip (15p). The ascent was relatively easy since on each floor markets had been set up selling all sorts of touristy knickknacks. Old banknotes were for sale, as were, flags. Beer Laos T-shirts hung from walls, and boxes with lids carved into the shape of elephants were on offer all over the joint. Angela bought some silk from one peddler. “£1.50 for all this!” she beamed after she'd completed the transaction.

That Luang was a fair walk from Patuxia. The heat was hellish and I was sweating like a sweaty thing. Droplets of salty moisture ran down my forehead into my eyes. The bottle of water we bought was drunk in seconds. The temperatures were relentless.

As we approached the golden spire of the Buddhist monument, something caught Angela's eye. It was beyond a wall to our left. It was some sort of abandoned fairground. Almost covered up by overgrowth stood a rickety old Ferris wheel. Next to it was a large podium with rusted bumper cars littering one edge. Further into creepers stood a skeletal merry-go-round. “This is creepy,” said Angela. “Let's go.”

That Luang looked quite magnificent. The golden Stupa was the holiest of all the Buddhist sites in Laos. Just inside the entrance we were accosted by a woman holding two small wooden cages. Inside each cage was a pair of tiny birds. It was obvious what she wanted: money for allowing us to release them. “This is so cruel,” whispered Angela in my direction. “And I know we shouldn't but I want to let these two go.”

We paid the woman 17,000 Kip (just over a pound) and were handed one cage. Inside, the birds chirped happily to themselves, unaware of what was happening. Angela didn't look remotely happy though. We knew that by giving money to the woman we were perpetuating the cruelty to these small creatures. Angela lifted a small wooden latch and the birds flew away.

We had That Luang to ourselves. The crowds that should have been present at such a major monument were simply not there. For a good while we wandered the temple unhindered by anyone. From a distance it had looked amazing but up close it looked like it needed a lick of golden paint. We walked all four corners of the Stupa before finding ourselves back at the entrance.

A few minutes later the hordes appeared. They had arrived in two huge air-conditioned coaches. A phalanx of tourists marched into the Stupa behind their guide. I turned to Angela. “So that's the sights of Vientiane done then. And it only took us an hour and a half. We might as well to go back to the hotel for a swim. ”

The journey back was undertaken in a tuk-tuk. Bouncing around in the back, we were again reminded about the difference between a Laotian tuk-tuk compared to a Thai or Indian one. “They seem personalized,” I hazarded. “More colours and individuality.”

That afternoon we wandered towards the mighty Mekong. Small bars and local eateries were set up on wooden scaffolds at the edge of the river. We entered one, making a perilous journey across a rickety wooden plank that shook and swung as we gingerly stepped along it.

Enjoying another Beer Lao with a vista spanning the Mekong was a good way to spend a short while. Among some nearby rushes, Angela spotted a small boat. It emerged containing three fishermen. As we watched, they cast their small nets into the murky waters and waited patiently. Apparently the fish were not forthcoming so after only a few minutes the men moved on, passing where we were sat. I nodded knowingly as the canoe-like boat slid past. The man in the back caught this gesture and nodded back solemnly. Fish not biting today the nod said. Silent communication between fishermen always bypasses international language. Except, of course, I'd never caught a fish in my life.

That evening I returned the empty bottles from the store across the road. It was a young girl who accepted them. I didn't recognize her from the previous night, and in turn, she looked a little confused when I handed them over. I put them on a nearby table and left, faintly embarrassed.

For our final day in Laos, we headed to a market full of clothes and, oddly enough, electric guitars. It was packed full of locals snapping up bargains. We wandered up and down its stalls before heading back to the hotel. It was time to catch a ride back to the airport.

“I hope you have enjoyed your stay in my country,” said the jovial man, the same individual who had brought us into the city. We told him we had. Angela then asked him about the abandoned fairground we'd seen the previous day.

“Ah, the fairground! It is owned by the government. It used to be very popular place for people five years ago. But now it no good.” The man looked pensive for a moment and then spoke again. “My government very good at building new projects but not so good at maintenance. People stop going to fairground and it quickly fall apart. The government will get rid of it soon and will use land for something else.”

“Like what?” Angela asked.

The man smiled. “I don't know. The people of Laos never know. We see construction but we do not know what is going to be. The government not tell us. That is the way of communist.” The man paused. “But at least they get some things right. There is no war. I born in 1966 and remember things during war. Not good.”

We reached the airport and said goodbye to the man who had dropped us off. It was time to leave Laos and head on to Vietnam.

Strengths:

-Small compact city

-Quiet and relaxing

-Friendly locals

-Beer Laos!

Weaknesses:

-Not an awful lot to see

-Gaping potholes in many pavements