City Spotlight: Vientiane, Laos

Ho, ho, howdy faithful readers of Farang Log!  It's been a very long time since I have written anything of importance, much less anything on this blog.  I plan to remedy that with a dated story about my trip to Vientiane, Laos, over Thanksgiving for the purpose of renewing my Thai visa.  Buckle up, because I haven't planned ahead and have no idea where this retelling could go!

Whenever I make a trip of any significant duration (don't ask for a translation of this term -- in my own comprehension I cannot pinpoint what comprises "significant duration"), I write in a small journal that has the ironic word "Success"stamped into the front like a rancher's brand and a blue sticker from Railay on the cover.

For reasons unknown, I can't be bothered to write when I am not on a bus.  I see the time up to and immediately following the actual movement of the bus as being time I could use for something else, though usually I occupy the space with long periods of time looking lost and sweating.  This trip was no different, and this doesn't seem like it would really be a problem, but it is something of an inconvenience here.

Let me describe the VIP buses in Thailand.  (The identification of these buses as "VIP" is important only because I have experienced the other end of the spectrum, and there is nothing VI about those buses.)  The coach is usually nice, and in varying conditions.  This particular bus, from Bangkok to Nongkhai, was fairly new and pretty nice.  It had both a reclining seat and an extending leg rest.  Both of these options are delightful and were enjoyed by everyone on the bus.  Everyone except for me, that is.  It turns out that the ideal height for riding comfortably in this particular bus was about half a leg shorter than God designed me.  Secondly, the manner in which these buses are driven is such that, as a passenger, I routinely felt like looking behind the bus to see if we were being followed by someone who meant us ill.  The bus driver's headstrong and erratic pace combined with the evident lack of maintenance on either the bus's suspension or the freeways (I suspect both) make for a potentially harrowing journey.  Moreso, they make for a difficult time if you attempt to write with a miniature space pen in a miniature, ironically named notebook with no light because, no matter how new the bus, the overhead reading lights do not function; it is as if the tour company removed the lights to lower the overall weight of the bus and increase gas mileage.

With this convoluted scene set, enjoy this peak into my barely legible space pen scribblings:

"November 22, 2011 - 21:15 

The bus, by ChanTour, is now moving.  We were scheduled to leave at nine, but 'Thai time' modestly scooted our departure back a quarter of an hour.

ChanTour - their slogan says, 'The Best Choice of Your Trips' - kind of insulting, really.  It makes it seem like the rest of my trip will be filled with poor choices and poorer results.

I'm leaving Bangkok, and Thailand, to get my visa renewed in Laos.  i waited until nearly the last minute, as my visa expires tomorrow, when I arrive in Nongkhai to cross the border to Laos.

Already I feel like a pro at bus trips - I've taken four already - or I would feel that way if one could be a pro at such a thing which required no skills but perhaps a little optimism.

And optimism do I possess!  You need it, truly.  On the ride to the BTS station, my songthaew nearly killed a motorcyclist and cut off an ambulance in such a way that the driver of the van felt inclined to stop in the street and have a vocabulary broadening but short discussion with our driver.  I chose not to focus on the death sure to befall every passenger in our seatbelt free, bar-clad fuel box o' pollution if it were to be struck by an ambulance, but rather to notice the sublime - an elderly woman beneath an overpass at night hula hooping.  By herself.  What a delight to witness.  Some magical things happen under deserted overpasses in Bangkok.  Some extremely unmagical things also happen.

Now, as our bus clunks along, its suspension evidently sold one piece at a time as payment for whomever installed the over-zealous air conditioning, cooling - nay, freezing - atmosphere in a way that is an affront to both nature and God, I turn my attention to the snack bag given to me by the bus hostess.  Surprise!  A new snack I've not seen yet:  the packaging depicts a girl, clasping in her right and left hands a flummoxed mini cow and a giant jovial ear of corn, respectively.  Further investigation provides an explanation in matter-of-fact English translation:  'Corn snack, milk flavored.'

I write now by the light of my World Missions livestrong band, which glows, and my ever-more-useful-becoming-secondhand iPhone.  The safety lights in the bus have been turned off and, per usual on buses of this nature, the private reading lights don't function, as if an errant father has neglected the electric bill.  And yet the air con rages on."

 I arrived in Nongkhai at about 5:30 the next morning, caught a tuk-tuk to the border and began the crossing into Laos.  Once going through the Thai border, crossing the Mekong River (not at all the impressive or painting-worthy feat as the precedent of Washington crossing the Delaware suggests it could be; I would appreciate you imagining it like that, though) and passing through Laos immigration, I waited for a taxi driver who was supposed to meet me at the border.

He took me to the Thai consulate, where I had to leave my passport (and a pretty significant amount of money), and then he dropped me off at my guesthouse in downtown Vientiane.

Vientiane was a nice change from the hectic life of Bangkok.  People in Vientiane just take things a little slower.  The weather was pleasantly cool, traffic was light and drivers used their horns almost exclusively for warning pedestrians over whom they were about to drive.  In Laos, cars drive on the right side of the road (by "right" I mean both the direction and the proper side; figure it out, UK and Thailand and whatever other backward countries still drive on the left), which was refreshing reminder of home and also a new danger, until you remember to look left as you walk into traffic instead of right.

There are several landmarks worth seeing in Vientiane.  There are temples everywhere, and a great amount of stupas.  I spent Thanksgiving wandering the city and looking at such memorable sights as:

Statue of Chao Anouvong, the last king of the Vientiane monarchy:

Chao Anouvong, waiting for a handshake that will never arrive.

 This giant statue next to the Mekong River has a hand extended towards Thailand, frozen in time waiting for someone to shake his hand.  This statue was created not only to show a willingness for peace and agreement with Lao's neighbors, but also to memorialize the king, who, despite being described as incredibly brave, fought a failed rebellion against, ironically, the Thais (or Siamese, at that time) for two years.

"Any time now, Siam.  Seriously, you guys.  Getting tired here.  (Sigh)  Maybe it's me . . . "

Looking up at this giant statue, you have to feel for the guy.  First off, he's been left hanging an inhuman amount of time.  My arm gets tired only seconds after being put out there for a handshake and being snubbed, and nobody wants to be the guy who's just sitting there waiting for SOMEONE to shake his hand.  Also, the position in which he is holding his hand is just poor form.  His thumb is too close to the rest of his fingers.  If anybody ever wishes to indulge his need for human contact, it will be one of those awkward handshakes where you can't look the other person in the eye because you grabbed either way too much hand or way too little.  Either way, you definitely feel like neither party would suffer from retiring to your separate quarters and washing your hands.


That Dam:

Part of any observer wants to chastise the Laos people for not cleaning their dang monuments.  But on the off chance that a giant seven-headed serpent does sleep within, that suggestion is usually kept under wraps.

 This monument's name literally means "Black Stupa," and so it is.  This ancient landmark is something of an eyesore and still has pockmarks from lazy invaders in the past who disliked it enough to hit it with things but evidently didn't find it important enough to actually destroy.  The American embassy is about a stone's throw away from this monument (and the physical appearance of the monument suggest that it is all too familiar with the idea of a stone's throw).

It's beautiful in its own way.

Legend has it that a giant, seven-headed serpent lives underneath it.  This sounds like nonsense, but could we honestly not have put the American embassy closer to a less-threatening monument?  Seriously, no other landmark in Vientiane carries with it any threat, imagined or otherwise.  For example, how about the . . .

World Peace Gong:

How's that for a gong next to a non-functioning fountain?

Yeah, this is a real gong.  No, you can't ring it.  It has a fountain directly behind it (or in front of it, depending on where you are standing, obviously) which does nothing a normal fountain does, especially projecting water in any way, shape or form.  In that regard, it is more of a pool.  No, you can't swim in it.  A lot of "can'ts" in this paragraph.  This spot is a hangout for tourists and Laos college students.  Two university kids approached me with a young monk to practice their English and left with the idea in mind to do a presentation about me to their class.  I pity the people who had to listen to that presentation.  I only hope it wasn't long.  This particular sight is located right next to . . .

Patuxay:

Patuxay:  proud and confused.

 This out of place Arc de Triomphe replica stands proud and confused in the center of Vientiane, representing things or which most people would have a hard time being proud.

Notoriously French in style and history, this is supposed to be a memorial to the Lao who died in the pre-revolutionary wars.  That may be a bit of a stretch, but you can't miss it on your trip.

For one, it is a reminder of the fact that the French for a portion of history were in control of Laos.  Patuxay's nickname among expats is "The Vertical Runway," so named because it is made of concrete donated by the United States for the building of an airport in Vientiane.  Instead, they built a wrong Parisian landmark.  In the long run, I think we can all agree . . . that was pretty French of them.  Well done.

That Luang:

That Luang and a king.

The most famous monument in Vientiane is beloved by the Laos people and emblazoned on their money.  The translation of the name, the Golden Stupa, is a pretty accurate description of the sight.  Travelers can find a small market selling useless things next to the temple, as well as a statue of a king sitting with a sword across his lap.  Keep your eyes open also for monks walking about.

Aren't you glad I told you to keep your eyes open for monks?  I know I am.

 There you have it:  everything you need to know about Vientiane, summed up in a few meaningless paragraphs and presented in an unhelpful manner.

In truth, Vientiane was a delight.  The food was different than Thai food, and although I found no appropriate substitute for Thanksgiving dinner, I was pleased with the options I had.  Vientiane is a relaxed Lao city, and a great place to chill for a while.  The Lao are extraordinarily friendly and for three days I wasn't (overly) afraid of dying of car exhaust.

Because I started this post with my journaling on my ride to Nongkhai, I thought it fair that I should also include an excerpt from my trip back to Bangkok on Friday, November 25, written as events unfolded.  Enjoy.

"November 25, 2011 - 16:15

I am on a bus, getting ready to go back to Bangkok from Nongkhai, my new visa fresh in my passport and my watch reading about 4:15 pm.  This is a discount bus.  Immediately after paying the reduced fare, I have begun to regret it.  This is a bus that costs 150 baht less than the one on which I came to Nongkhai.  I am surrounded by loud music and Thai teenagers screaming at each other.  Astonishingly, I have more leg room in here than in the VIP bus, but I feel that every aspect of this bus that I have witnessed serves only as a sign that it is an unreasonable expectation that the driver should be sober on this drive.  The teenagers behind me, whose conversations grows ever louder, have already began cracking beers as if they had just won the Stanley Cup.  I wonder when I will arrive in Bangkok.  My last ride left at 9 and delivered me at 5:30.  Using these figures, I presume we shall arrive roughly at 1 am, barring any catastrophic automobile accident, to which these buses (and this one in particular, it seems) are prone.

As of right now, the seat next to me is vacant; it is unlikely to remain so, giving the bus company's penchant for getting a wee 'cattle car-y.'

I just watched a bus employee remove a pair of pliers moonlighting as a door handle from the closest - check that, only - emergency exit on the bus, presumably to fix some minor problem like a fuel leak or a stuck self-destruct button.  This all seems quasi-morbidly funny right now, but will seem much less so should the bus actually take a spill.

We're moving!  Aaaand nobody wanted to sit next to the farang.  Cheaper bus = louder, drunker Thai teens and a much unlikelier chance that I receive a blanket or gift bag of strange food combinations.

Good news!  As we pulled away from the station, a gentleman in a dirty blue shirt carrying a shot of something in a plastic cup jumped on for the ride.  Better news!  He's the copilot! Now we're cooking with gas (hopefully to remain just an expression).  The back of my chair doesn't really lock in the upright positions, so that'll be fun.

Pray for me." 

 Although the bus arrived safely in Bangkok, it took eleven hours and fifteen minutes for it to do so, as a cheaper bus also = a tour in which we stop at every city between the departure point and Bangkok to pick up people and let women come onboard and sell undercooked chickens.  I had a seat to myself for the majority of the trip, barring the portion where there were so many people that stools were being passed out for use in the aisle of the bus; soon they ran out of stools which meant about 12 people had to stand in the center.  It was only for a couple of hours, though.

Strangely enough, the air con worked like a champ.

This is all part of the magic.