Places like Vang Vieng are the reason we have decided to boycott Lonely Planet. Which we have since discovered is no mean feat, as all the book shops in Asia seem to sell no travel guides other than second hand or dodgy photocopies of these incessant books. Admittedly, without our China guide we might not have made it out of Hong Kong, however as time has gone on and now we find ourselves on our fifth book, you start to notice patterns of vastly increased prices of the featured accommodation and eateries, and often lack of beds in the aforementioned accommodation due to every South East Asian traveller owning a copy of the same Lonely Planet and therefore arriving, en masse, in hope of a bed.
Vang Vieng is a very unexceptional town that happens to be situated amongst some of the most exceptional scenery we have encountered yet. We have chosen to stay in the accommodations of an organic mulberry farm, which, I admit, were, once again, recommended by the Lonely Planet, however sounded too perfect to pass up. Situated on the banks of the Nam Song River, it is surrounded by towering limestone karsts reminiscent of those in Yangshou, the sweetheart of our Chinese adventure. So breathtakingly picturesque and peacefully silent but for the sounds of birds twittering and wind rustling the fruit trees, it seems almost too good to be true. And unfortunately, on this occasion, it is.
With its exceptional natural beauty, Vang Vieng was never going to avoid the tourist map, and in 1999 was finally “discovered” by one Laos-bound Lonely Planet writer. But sadly, the ever-growing popularity of this place has turned Vang Vieng into the kind of tourist town that people flock to, no longer for her magnificent landscapes, but to party. Riverside bars have appeared in their masses along the banks of the Nam Song and, with them, hoards of young travellers in search of a good time. There is the opportunity for outdoor sports if one so desires, but the preferred “sport” amongst backpackers here is “tubing”; essentially floating down the river in a large rubber ring stopping at as many bars as possible to consume as many cocktail buckets (yes, buckets!) as one can physically manage before, inevitably, vomiting. One particularly tragic sight for us was that of a lone, twenty-something girl, floating down the river, bucket in hand, at 11 o’clock in the morning.
The little devil on my shoulder kindly reminds me that once, not so long ago, I would have loved everything about this river, with its loud music, zip-lines, abundance of cocktails and influx of party-goers. I, in turn, point out to him that the fact that everything in my being loathes this river just goes to show how far life has come from where, and who, I used to be. I give thanks for God for his grace in saving me from myself, for without Him, I ascertain that I would not be at the point in my life that I am, blessed with a beautiful husband with whom to explore this world. The little devil tries to tempt me, but to no avail. Undoubtedly, there are aspects of this hedonistic river that still appeal to my sense of fun, but I imagine that the most one might get out of the experience is bad sunburn, a horrible hangover and maybe an injury of sorts.
From around 10.30am until sunset every day, the peace of this place is polluted by what you might describe as a pop/rave/head-banging/beat-thumping/mess of music. It is, evidently, hard to describe! It is as though someone has obtained every overplayed song from 2010, and is now playing them all very loudly, all at the same time. It is enough to bring on a headache. Though we loved the organic farm and found it a beautiful setting to spend a few days, it has undoubtedly suffered from its situation next to this riotous river, and a few days was all that we, in what may be the start of our old-age, could handle.
Our third and final stop on our whistle-stop tour of Laos was the capital, Vientiane. Laos’ only official city, Vientiane lacks the reputation for beauty held by Luang Prabang, and is certainly not known for its party scene a la Vang Vieng, much to our relief. It has, instead, the quiet hustle and bustle of a relaxed city without the unfortunate tourist surge of our other Lao destinations, and with its balcony-clad cafes, relaxed bars and unmistakably French architecture, we found it to have feeling that was almost Parisian. The streets are lined with fairy light-adorned restaurants selling cheap but tasty fare, and we can’t get enough of them. In fact, we have had to stay an extra day in attempt to do so. If Vientiane is to be famed for anything it should undoubtedly be its weaving which is in wonderful, colourful abundance all over the city. This, of course, delighted me to no end and self-control had to called upon once again.
If we had had the time to do so, I would have liked to have explored more of Laos’ more remote areas, for what we glimpsed of its landscapes were, I imagine, only a taste of its exceptional rumoured beauty. But alas it was, on this occasion, not to be, and suddenly, feeling as if we have barely just arrived, our time in Laos is over and we are on our way back to Thailand.
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