A haphazard chronicle of my inevitable misadventures during a year in Vietnam and points east.

p.s. I'll be pitifully grateful if you send me email during my exile: TravelerKaty@hotmail.com

October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 February 2006 March 2006 May 2006

 
Vang Vieng, Laos

I am sunburned, scraped my legs up on the river bottom, stubbed my toe, have blisters on my hands, may have reinjured my ankle, and it would be a miracle if I escaped hosting some intestinal parasite. In my case, this all translates into a delightful day kayaking down the Nam Song River in Vang Vieng.

Vang Vieng is a weird little town. It's not so much a Lao village as an oasis for dropouts and professional budget travelers, a place where Lao businesspeople serve grubby westerners pizza, fruit shakes and all the pot you can smoke. It's located along a winding tropical river in a lovely mountainous area with lots of outdoorsy activities nearby, and though the setting is Lao, the town is pure backpacker. All cafes (and there are many) serve both western and Asian food, and most show movies (knockoff dvd's) as well. Many cafes and guesthouses organize trekking, kayaking or rock climbing as a sideline, and some will, for a price, upgrade your meal with ingredients such as magic mushrooms or hashish, or will at least clue you in on where you can smoke opium. As I am older and squarer than most backpackers, I stuck with the movies, the kayaking, and the menu's non-happy food options.

I haven't yet mentioned it but this kayaking trip advertised another main feature -- caving. There are loads of caves around Vang Vieng of all shapes and sizes -- a major tourist attraction in the area. You may recall that I hate caves, but since they're such a big deal around here I decided to give it another shot. Perhaps I would learn to love caves as I have learned to love sweetened condensed milk in my coffee.

We took off paddling around 10 a.m. As there were three of us tourists (all women, one English and one Korean) and two guides, two of us were sharing two-man kayaks with a guide, which was actually really fabulous. The river was low and pretty slow, so for the most part it was more like sea kayaking than river kayaking. My experiences with sea kayaking have taught me that it is exhausting work requiring far more arm conditioning than I have had at the peak of my physical fitness level. Of course, my peak lifetime fitness level is only slightly above "three-toed sloth," so don't let me deter anyone from a very lovely and rewarding sport.

In this case, as I was in the front of the boat with the guide in back, I was able to kayak in the very best possible way for a lazy out-of-shape non-athlete. I would paddle for a little while, then sit there with my paddle on my lap communing with nature. Sometimes I would lean all the way back and look at the clouds. Then I would paddle a little more, maybe splash the people in the other boats, and take another break. Not that the guide was knocking himself out while I lounged like Cleopatra -- we were all taking a decidedly leisurely approach to the day, and half the time we were all just letting the river push us along.

So during the morning, the birds were singing, the scenery was incredible, I was relaxed to the point of coma, and all was right with my world. Then we stopped at the first cave.

You might think that after my first experience of hiking in substandard footwear I would have learned my lesson and would be fully prepared for all eventualities. If that is the case, you grossly overestimated my ability to learn from mistakes. Not that I didn't at least make an effort -- when I paid for the trip, I did actually ask the guy at the cafe what sort of shoes I should wear. "Sandals OK," he said. Is there a long walk, I asked. Are my flip-flops ok? "Sure, yeah, OK," he replied, clearly uninterested.

As we got out of the boats at the cave site, the guide, whose English could generously be described as "limited", looked at me, pointed at the mountains, and said "50 meters, you OK?" I looked at him blankly. Of course I could walk 50 meters. What did he take me for? Half hour later we were still hacking through waist-high viney underbrush and had yet to start uphill to the cave entrance. My flip-flops were still working OK. Annoying, but fine really. Even the uphill to the cave wasn't so bad, though it did require a fair amount of concentration to keep from twisting an ankle or sliding off a rock. I was, in fact, feeling quite satisfied with myself. That's when I spotted the cave entrance.

I have always pictured caves as a big half-round hole in a mountain through which you can walk upright until such time as the openings get too small and you (meaning "I") turn back. Like on Gilligan's Island, for example. Intellectually I know that not all caves are like this, but since I avoid them in general, I've never actually entered one that I couldn't just saunter into. In this cave, there was a pile of dangerous rocks being dripped upon by something up above. To enter we were to climb down these rocks with the assistance of aged ladders, sadly missing rungs in strategic places. I took one look and refused to go any farther. While I had survived the hike thus far, the last bit wasn't any fun, and the cave looked grim and dangerous from my point of view.

After five minutes of discussion, I was reluctantly convinced that: A. the cave was really easy and safe after this first dodgy bit, and B. we didn't have to come back up the same way. Of course, a more forward-thinking person would have asked herself, indeed what is the exit like on the other side, and how will we get back to the boats from there? Evidently I am not a forward-thinking person, as I was just relieved I wouldn't have to do that wet rock thing twice.

So we headed down, and I reached the bottom with much moaning and one near miss, but no serious incident. A few steps later I was reminded that I hate caves. The unfortunate thing about them is that by definition they are very dark. In addition, they are usually cold, wet, have uneven floors with unexpectedly deep puddles, and many have bats. This cave had all the traditional cave features except the bats, and had the added benefit of looming rocks and constant dripping from the ceiling.

Even though the cave floor wasn't terrible treacherous, I discovered, at this point, a very irritating aspect of trekking in flip-flops -- when they get muddy, there is no more traction between foot and shoe. The resultis that your feet are continually sliding slimily to the side whenever the ground isn't perfectly level. And we had one additional challenge. I had foolishly assumed that since this tour included caves, the tour company would provide flashlights of some sort. In actual fact, they provide each of us a little candle. Can I just say that candles are wholly inadequate for lighting a cave? Unless I held the thing at my knees, there was no question of actually illuminating the floor for safer walking. Plus, the Korean woman and I were both seemingly incapable of keeping our candles lit -- her because she was near the front and the wind got it, me on account of all the flailing.

We eventually emerged (after climing up a wet rock/rickety ladder combo virtually identical to the entrance) adn as we walked slowly away the light dawned -- in order to get back to the boats, we were hiking up and over the mountain we had just gone through. And it was muddy. Do you recall my issues with muddy flip-flops? Well, when you're going up or down a mountain, they are much worse. I have developed an even greater respect for all those natives who hike in shower shoes. At last, however, we made it back to the boats, where the tourists went swimming while the guides barbecued lunch. As we sat on the bank eating, we watched a Lao fisherman pull a four foot snake out of the river and smash his head with a rock. Yeek. No more swimming.

To begin the afternoon I managed to flip out of the kayak at the beginning of the only really respectable set of rapids on the entire trip. I would have been fine if the guides hadn't insisted on grabbing me and giving me absolutely unintelligible instructions. They were having a grand time -- I was yelling at them to let go, dammit. Only a few scrapes, though. No harm done. No snakes spotted either.

After that excitement we just had a long leisurely paddle downstream, past signs for caves that we happily did not enter and Beerlao huts set up in the middle of the river to tempt innertubers. Periodically the silence would be punctuated by a rocket. Yes, a rocket -- we were lucky enough to be in town for the annual rocket festival, in which townspeople set off homemade rockets in an effort to encourage the gods to send rain.

The rocket festival is really a huge party, with very weak Buddhist overtones. In the morning we watched families and friends carrying brightly colored and streamered wooden contraptions with big fake rockets attached, all heading to a ceremony at the local temple. At the launch site, on a big sandy spot on the riverside, a few bald, orange-clad monks were in attendance, but it was clear that this was more of a cultural than a religious festival, complete with rides for kids, lots of Beerlao and, inexplicably, men in drag. Hundreds of kids and adults sat wallowing in the river like buffalo, getting a break from the heat while watching each set of rockets installed on the wooden launch pad. A successful launch was met with cheers and mutual congratulations as the rocket's manufacturers swaggered back to the judges table. An unsuccessful launch was met by running, ducknig, submersion, and laughing as the smoke cleared. It would be impossible to stage such an event in North America or Europe -- it really seemed like a miracle that nobody's limbs got blown off as teenagers scrambled up the launch pad to correct problems with burning fuses seconds before firing.

After the rocket festival, we headed to Cave #2, which could not have been a bigger contrast to our first cave. It was enormous (housed hundreds during the war) with electric lights, a paved walkway, and railings, just like Mother Nature intended. It was dry and full of stalactites and stalagmites, and though it was certainly a bit Disneyfied, for a cave-hater it was first-rate. Oh, except I did stub my toe on an unexpected and poorly lit step -- maybe a few more lights would be in order. We wouldn't want the cave to be dark, after all.

Whew, that was the end of my day, and I'm exhausted from writing about it! Next stop: Luang Prabang.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 6:17 AM