Happy endings: Day 30 (02/01): Vang Vieng

Day 30 (02/01)

I'm in another minivan this morning, and its a cramped ride up into the mountains to Luang Prabang, but the scenery is stunning. Just when you think the mountains are already spectacular enough, they get bigger.

The bus station in Luang Prabang is a little way out of town, and I get stitched up by a tuk-tuk. Turns out I pay him too much, and he only takes me to see his brother's guest house, and then drives off leaving me a kilometre out of town. The guest house is too expensive, but they're persistent. "What you want to pay sir? What your price?"
"Too low for you my friend."

And in that moment of frustrated defiance, I make friends with a friendly, softly-spoken Québécois lady who was also gypped by the tuk tuk, and we decide to join forces to find an affordable guest house in a nice part of town.

This task, we discover, is not easy. You see, Luang Prabang, because of its charm and beauty and quaintness, and because there is also an airport here, has become quite the high-end destination, and a cheap guest house in a convenient part of town is hard to come across. But one recommendation I pilfered from the net yesterday turns out to be very satisfying. It's a traditional Laotian wood-slat house, in a cute side street in the centre of town, directly opposite a small Buddhist temple, and the price is right. Marie-Josée is on a tighter budget than I am, and even this place doesn't meet her criteria, but it will have to do for the night, she concedes [she never does find a cheaper place]. The house has been partitioned off with bamboo walls (every little noise can be heard through them), the showers are cold, the toilets aren't what you'd call clean, the mattresses are hard, the blankets are too short, but I'm positively chuffed.

We go for a walk in the last hour of sunlight, and discover the charming architecture which features on every street in this narrow peninsula at the confluence of the Nam Khan and Mekong rivers, and as night settles in, the yellow street lights gift the whole town a sweet, comfortable, quaint ambiance.

We cut back across the main street in town and while Marie-Josée takes some money out I get talking to a local guy handing out flyers for a cafe.

"Are you from Luang Prabang my friend?", I ask him as I wait.
"Me. No. I'm from village in mountains. I Hmong", he replies proudly, smiling.

I had read about the Hmong people (pronounced 'Mong' which is always a little uncomfortable for me to say), and that they live in considerable numbers in the North of Laos, but this is the first Hmong I have met. We chat a little more.

The Hmong people were recruited by the CIA to help fight invading military forces during the Secret War, and since then the Laos government has persecuted them and their descendents. Many fled to neighbouring Thailand and even the United States, and there are still reports that some communities in the mountains here in Laos are attacked regularly, and secretly, by Laotian military forces. You can read more about it in the Wikipedia entry.

In our aimless, curious wanderings, we come across an illuminated bamboo bridge across the small Nam Khan river, and find a restaurant to have our dinner. The Luang Prabang region has its own well-known cuisine, and I choose a local style of soup. I've been eating a few noodle soups on my journey, but this one is the best yet. There's a hint of something reminiscent of dill, and there are pork crackling croutons. Yes, pork crackling floating in the flipping soup. I'm in love with this town purely because of this.

While we eat, a boy of about four goes around to each table, stands mute, and gestures at his feet. He's wanting to bring our attention to the fact, which he's obviously proud about, that he has six toes on each foot.

And, what would you know, right out the front of the guest-house when I return, I see Lauren and Chris. This isn't called the backpacker trail for nothing.