El otro dia, escalaba una montana, un rio abajo dividiendo dos paredes de arboles. Me sente para ver la naturaleza y me enamore de la cantidad y variedad de arboles en el otro lado del cañon. Habia tantos arboles y me dieron unas ganas muy fuertes de estar ahi, un puntito de piel en una tela verde.
Despues de unos minutos, me di cuenta de que el lado del cañon donde me sentia era igual que el otro lado. Estaba donde queria estar. Solo tuve que mirar a mi alredador.
Waking up in Vang Vieng is like finding yourself in a clown costume in the middle of a chicken farm. It doesn’t make any sense. Yet its intriguing. And you would want to inquire about it. And you might actually like it.
Vang Vieng is a strange town. It is nestled between limestone cliffs, and it is arguably one of the most beautiful areas in all of Laos. It is home to great rock climbing, a clear meandering river, indigo blue lagoons, and a myriad of mysterious caves. It sounds like a vacation paradise for avid adventurers. Sounds like that.
I guess some time ago, renting an inner tube became a good way for tourists to see the beauty of the town. Then, the locals saw the stream of tourists and starting building bars along the route. Now, tourists can stop for a drink in the middle of their tubing experience. However, more and more bars began popping up, so competition became fierce. The proprietors began building big trapeze swings so that tourists could do daredevil tricks into the river from the bar, or in most cases, from a long ladder above the bar. Of course, they all had to out-do each other and the swings became taller and taller. One bar even built a humongous slide out of kitchen tiles that shoots the slider high into the air before forcing her to land on her back in the river. Hard. The thing is, the river isn’t that deep. And the people aren’t that sober. So, the amount of tourists on crutches or stitches is almost equal to the number of unharmed tourists.
Unfortunately, the people of Vang Vieng must have thought it would be fun to get the bastards even more fucked up before they took to the tubes. Drugs are more readily available in Vang Vieng than in all of Colombia. I can order a yard of mushroom shake for $12. Or maybe I prefer my mushrooms on a pizza. Or perhaps I want a joint instead. Or maybe I want a joint with opium and tobacco after a marijuana shake served in a bucket. It’s all possible. And all ready to be served before or after jumping off a swing 10 meters above a shallow river.
If I hadn’t done spring break some 10 years ago, I might have taken flight after a few puffs of some opium. But I was more inclined to tell the drunkards to be careful. I even told a few that they might poke their eyes out! Unfortunately, I didn’t have to say anything to let my age show. At night, I found myself at a dance party where three different people asked me quizzically how old I was. Jerks.
Thankfully, I met some other geezers on a kayaking tour, and we had a great time. We decided to seek out the few restaurants with tables and chairs, the kind that you sit on and around at dinner to form conversations. Most of the restaurants in town had lounge chairs that faced a large TV and played ‘Friends’ on a loop. This is not a lie. I hate Jennifer Anniston’s voice, yet it followed me around the entire town. Some guys boasted about staying in town so long that they caught up on three different seasons of the sitcom. Barf. I watched one episode to see if maybe there was some magic in the act of lounging at a restaurant with 20 other people. But I didn’t feel it.
Instead I kayaked, climbed rocks, and mountain biked to faraway caves. And I met people. Lots of them. The strangeness of the town bonds tourists. Nothing like bonding while watching an overweight Irish girl twirl a fire baton next to her pet monkey. Or cringing as a dread-locked Australian with a NO FEAR chest tattoo gets wheeled off to the hospital for stitches.
It’s the kind of place that is so strange it makes you want to stay and watch. I heard the ‘Friends’ theme song in my sleep and watched as heavily made-up drunk floozies flirted with men and marijuana. Yet I loved it. I stayed 4 nights. And then I came back a few weeks later. You never know what you will like until you try it, I guess. Maybe I will check out that chicken farm tomorrow in my new clown suit.
New friends, Ian and Sandy.
New friend, an albino cow.
New friends, lots of ’em!
New friend, Mr D.
The view from my balcony (in a room for $10/night).
I like Cambodia. I can be easily lulled to sleep by the gentleness in any Cambodian’s eyes. The culture is pure tradition, something an American will never fully understand. And the genuine curiosity for the human race is quite welcoming. I like it. But I love Laos.
I instantly fell for Laos. It’s the demeanor that makes most people hand over their heart so easily to the country. Some Laoations might be as poor as Cambodians and make the average national income of $1000/year, but their attitudes about it differ completely. They are comfortable. And happy. And proud. And their opinion of foreigners puts us all on equal ground. The air of desperation I felt in Cambodia and Vietnam was detained at the Laos border. I was no longer a walking ATM in Laos, which was freeing. And comfortable. And made me unafraid to approach people. For this reason alone, I am head over heels.
Luang Prabang helped seal the deal even further. Its buildings and skinny streets bare evidence of its old status as a French capital. But the people are still best. At the frequent markets that illuminate the streets with Christmas lights and lanterns in the night and spices and fruits in the day, they smile with pride at the passing tourists or monks. I think they have the right idea; it is impossible to bargain with a radiant smile.
I was lucky to arrive in Luang Prabang for the Laos New Year, or Pii Mai, in April, with 9 of my closest friends. It was strange. I started alone, met a girl from St Louis in a tuk-tuk, picked up a British couple and a chick from New Mexico on a trek, and then met a South African teacher, a French guy, and two blondes, one from Sweden and the other from Australia. Then, out of nowhere, appeared Jersey Kim from Vietnam. We were an army of fun people, and it felt great to be part of a group of friends again. We met for dinner every night and had deeper conversations than the old “where are you from” routine. Plus, there’s nothing like celebrating a holiday with your friends. Especially the sort of holiday that involves warfare. You need everyone on your side.
Basically, the Laos, Thai, and Cambodian New Year is all about water. For weeks beforehand, all three countries prepare for the world’s largest water war, gathering weaponry and making the necessary preparations. Because from the 14th – 16th of April, it’s on.
The celebration is centered around an ancient legend and is more or less about keeping a God’s head wet. Sounds weird, but it’s not like Jesus’s resurrection or that whole heaven of 40 virgins idea makes me think any one religion is rational.
A very long time ago, a man and wife were struggling to have a baby, so they begged the Hindu god Indra for help. She put them on fertility drugs and gave them a weekly lesson in the proper conceiving positions. Just kidding. She sent an angel to be born. This angel was extremely intelligent and blessed with the ability to communicate with animals.
The Hindu god Kabillaprom wanted to test this angel so he gave him some trivia questions and a week to find the answers. If the angel answered incorrectly, his head would be cut off. If he didn’t, the all-powerful Kabillaprom would cut off his own head. The angel under question spent six days racking his brain. Right when he gave up, he heard some birds talking about the answers.
The next day, he gave those answers to the god, and the god in turn cut off his own head. However, his power was so great that he couldn’t place his head in the sky or it would flood the world. He couldn’t place it in the water or it would dry up. He couldn’t put it on land or it would burn everything. So, he placed it in the possession of his daughters, the most beautiful women on Earth. They had the task of wetting the head every year to keep any catastrophes at bay.
So, every year in mid-april, many Laoations head to Luang Prabang for a 3-day festival. The first part involves a beauty pageant, in which Miss Luang Prabang is chosen from hundreds of girls. It’s really a big deal because the winner gets to carry the god’s head in the parade the following day. Thankfully, they are not ashamed to make it a shallow beauty contest with no questions on foreign affairs, avoiding the chance for something like this to happen:
The next few days of Pii Mai entail a washing of the many Buddha images all around town (and there are a lot!). They also build sand stupas, around which they pray and have mud fights. The Laoations are experts at combining tradition with the debauchery. I’ve never had so much fun praying before, throwing in a dance move afterwards, drinking beer with ice, and annihilating one another with buckets of water. Lots of water. Seas of water.
Grannies reloaded their water AKA 47s and snuck stealthily behind big tourists. Giggling teenagers piled into the back of pick-ups and circled around the town for hours, hurling water on anyone they saw. Transvestites straddled motorbikes and just laughed when a tourist shot them in the eye, washing off mascara. The Laoations had no problem including us in everything. A rickety old man poured scotch down my throat, a pair of large women grinded their hips into mine, matching the beat of some Laoation rap song, all the while screaming ‘Sabaidee Pii Mai!’ Happy New Year! It was a big party. Everywhere you went, it was a big party. The most inclusive, raucous, daytime party. The kind of party that squirts you in the face and reminds you that you’re alive. And, thanks to tradition, that squirt lasts for three days.
NOTE: Thanks to the owner of the Spicy Laos Guesthouse, we got to understand the true meaning of Pii Mai. He explained to us the legend, fed us traditional food, included us in the various ceremonies, and even procured a spot for us in the special parade. Best place to stay in Luang Prabang.
Competitors in the Miss Luang Prabang competition. To me, they all look alike. Not because they’re Asian. Because they’re all wearing the same thing.
Part of the tradition of Pii Mai.
Buddhists place money and food in monks’ bowls. I hated myself for thinking it looked a bit like trick-or-treating.
My face after day 1 of mud and water fights. Oh, and flour fights.
A drunk local at an impromptu dance party in the street. Note the tallest Lao man in existence nearby.
Since the Khmer Rouge set off to destroy religious relics, human life, and governmental infrastructure, it is no surprise they also ruined the country’s railroad system. But some tracks remain, and if you ask around, you can find the men of the bamboo railroad. Bamboo is kind of like ants. I imagine it can hold 100 times its weight. The bamboo men weave it into a square platform, pop it on top of a motor, and for a couple bucks, whisk you through the Cambodian countryside. No seatbelts. All windowseats. Yahoooo!
