2 April - 4 April 2008
No sex again
After the enlightening experience at the huge carved Buddha statues we peddle through the ever more beautiful getting scenery, from Phon Hong to Vang Vieng. Dry rice paddies make place for hills and finally real mountains. Just like in Thailand and Cambodia the top of every pass is littered witth little ghost houses to pacify the mountain ghosts (phi). Some Lao stop to offer incense and say a prayer, others drive on but honk whilst passing, because one never knows.
Our mood has changed for the better after our first unorthodox depressive week in Laos, but we're still far away from our usual yahoo!-feeling. Perhaps the famous tourist attraction of Vang Vieng is going to bring the final change. Who knows, tonight?
'Sabaidiiiieeee!!!!'
French cyclist Herve announces his arrival when we have a short break halfway a climb. He stops and starts talking. And talking.
Half an hour later he still chats on and on, until we are allowed to answer his question about how long we've been on the road.
'Six years?' he asks, completely astonished.
'Yes, six years.'
For the first time there is a moment of silence. He takes a notebook from his handlebar bag and starts writing. From every cyclist he meets he writes down nationality and duration of their journey; we turn out to be his greatest catch ever and immediately top his list.
In a village we drink our favorite sugar cane juice, this time from a plastic bag with a straw, since glasses are too expensive.
We pass a sign that says "Reforestation", at a place that looks like the old jungle has only recently been cut. At other places are large plantations of pineapple and cassava.
Many slopes next to the road show big holes, dug out for charcoal ovens. Only the poorest people in the world make charcoal or cut stones into smaller pieces for a living.
The huts of the local people are built from woven bamboo and wood, and stand on stilts to protect them against high water and unwanted animals like snakes.
The Lao children are afraid and very enthusiastic at the same time when they spot two blonde cyclists; the most daring await us with their hands raised for a high-five. Every time after the loud clap, Peter yells pretending to be hurt: Aauwwh!, and the whole village cheers in jubilation.
Vang Vieng is actually nothing more than a big village between hamlets. It's famous because of its setting next to the Nam Song river, formidable karst mountains in the close background and many caves nearby.
This is the positive perspective...
The place is teeming with backpackers, mainly young people who don't have a clue where they are, except 'far away from home'.
In the main street European and American travellers aged twenty to thirty are lying on their backs on the soft cushions of the restaurants and bars, watching their all time favourite American soap: 'Friends', exhausted from the three hours busride to here. We think this is crazy, but who are we to judge?
In Vang Vieng the costs of a simple hotel room are double of those anywhere else, the price of juices and food triple. Using the internet, with a connection lame pigeons would laugh at, is three times as expensive as in Vientiane.
We do find a room though, bargain the price down a bit, and go to bed early. After a long day of ascending our bodies only want to rest. With just a goodnight kiss we say farewell to this day.
On our first resting day we don't manage to be busy with anything, and again don't come together like a young and healthy couple like us could. Maybe tomorrow?
April four we take the unloaded bikes for a trip to the caves. We cycle to the terrain of the Vang Vieng Resort to go to the most beautiful one: the Tiger Cave.
'Stop!,' a young man shouts at us at entrance of the resort.
'Pay!'
We have to pay a 2,000 kip admission fee per person to get onto the property of the resort. The guy says we can enter the cave with the same ticket.
Well, alright then.
But, at the entrance of the cave another greedy Lao wants 15,000 kip per person. This is getting weird. What did we pay the first 4,000 for? To cycle two hundred metres on the property of the resort?
We start arguing, after all we're still Dutch after six years away from Holland, but the guy insists. So, the first cave will cost us 34,000 kip right away. We don't feel like it, it's just a simple and small cave and nothing like the caves of Postonja. We cycle back and go to the old steel bridge to visit some other caves. To our astonishment there's a toll gate next to the bridge and a bossy woman tries to snatch 8,000 kip per person from us, for crossing the small river.
In six years of travelling we have never experienced anything like this, the people of this tourist village are out of their minds and completely obsessed by the tourist's wallets.
We take off our sandals and carry the bikes through the kneedeep, free, water of the river and continue our daytrip.
The first group of caves lies a couple of kilometres off the dirtroad. We steer the bicycles over the wobbly dry paddy fields and follow the bamboo poles with plastic bags acting as road markers.
The entrance fee for these caves have doubled since last year: from 5,000 to 10,000 kip. After negotiating with Lao guy number three, who seems to be a bit ashamed of the new price lists in town, we are allowed to enter at half price. That's better.
Struggling through an ear-deafening jungle, dodging huge spiderwebs, sharp rocks and dangerous trunks, we climb from cave to cave. The first is quite nice, with a couple of stalactites and stalagmites; the last cave, which gets narrower and narrower, ends in a big hole filled with crystal clear water.
A couple of kilometres further on the dirt road is a cave with a Buddha statue inside. The entrance fee story repeats itself, and after a short but pleasant business conversation we are allowed to enter for 10,000 kip. Two eager sons of the chief lead the narrow way to the Buddha and then further into the depths of the cave.
The snaking and dark path becomes very narrow, in the end we are lying flat on our stomachs and have to steal and crawl through a hole which poses no problem for the lean boyish bodies, but for us it's a different story. We struggle to get through and fifteen minutes later reappear into the daylight completely dirty and feeling like professional speleologists. Our clothes are ready for a high quality washing machine and the boys deserve a nice tip.
We use the afternoon for THE attraction of Vang Vieng, called tubing: floating down the river for four kilometres on a tractor tube. Between dozens of youngsters, of whom most seem a bit tipsy even before they start, we are lying on a huge tube in the nearly still water, and slowly pass one rickety bamboo bar after the other, four different blasting soundwaves of rock music and a thousand bottles of Beer Lao. Aaahh... that's tubing: floating from bar to bar, disco to disco, and afterwards arrive in the reality of Vang Vieng completely drunk!
Under the influence of nothing whatsoever we slowly drift downstream. Very slowly; this river, where one has to peddle hard to have any pace at all, is actually boring. Maybe we are spoilt by our rafting experience in Uganda?
Fortunately we still have the evening in our romantic room to look forward to. We eat something, have a drink and then retreat into our own cozy cave.
Shutting the door behind us, we for the first time notice the Rules of the Head of the Department of Tourism from Vang Vieng, including official stamps and autographs. Most of the rules are common and acceptable, but some of them are discerning and stir up our feelings. Like rule number three: Everything in this bedroom is broken and damaged by you, and you will have to replace and pay for it.
We take a look around and with a feeling of relief we see that nothing is damaged.
Rule number six is unclear: Some weapons, explosives, illegal materials and pets are very prohibited in the hotel.
We have two small knives and a petrol stove, should we turn them in?
But rule number seven really blows our evening apart: Gambling, smoking, buying and selling opium, political gatherings and having sexual intercourse are strictly prohibited in this hotel.
Fuck, why us?