Well, Laos went better than I expected. I’m not bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds, so I consider it a win. Thursday started off just peachy when my four alarms failed to go off, so instead of waking up at 5am and getting over the bridge by 7am, I was up at 7am and at the bridge by 8. Epic fail. So, I walked through immigration, brought my bus ticket and entered Laos. Where I queued up for 30 minutes to get to the front desk. The ONE (that’s 1) front desk. Well, it’s not like it’s the only way to get through a busy bridge from a town renown for border crossings. Oh, wait.
By the time I got to the front, I was told I didn’t have an exit stamp from Thailand. I was in the country illegally and without permit. I was an illegal immigrant for the best part of an hour. It was kinda fun, I might try it again sometime. Swim across the channel, trek across the Welsh mountains or hang off the bottom of a cow over the Scottish border. So, once I talked my way onto the bus back, talked my way through the Laos-Thai immigration border, vaulted over the barricades, talked my way through Thai-Laos border I was finally ready to re-enter the bloody country legally. They don’t call me Silvertongue for nothing. It’s because my tongue is made of a soft precious metal and has an atomic weight of 107.8682.
I bought my second bus ticket from a very confused looking Thai woman and queued up AGAIN, this was after I gave up my seat for a Thai girl and her mother. Who says chivalry isn’t dead? I got the stamp, the immigration official made a joke that it wasn’t correct. I nearly reached through the window and throttled him. After this I met Gale, and English women getting her retirement Visa. We started chatting and decided to share a taxi to the embassy.
I have never seen a well-run embassy. Every one I’ve been to is chaotic, over filled and with never enough attendants. The day before was a Buddhist holiday, so the place was closed. This meant that extra farangs were there for a Visa. I was number 401 out of about 500, this was in about three hours. They shut the gates on others coming in about a half hour after I arrived. I filled in the fiddly application form; Gale was a veteran of this, having worked in Thailand for a decade. We talked through the whole process, mostly complaining about the Americans and which of our companions were sex tourists or drug addicts. The whole thing lasted four hours, they went well past their official closing time. By the time I handed in my forms, cash and passport I was sick of bureaucracy. Pity I had an extra hour of it to go then. I had to wait in a poorly air conditioned room with some very “differently hygiened” backpackers and overweight-middle-aged-foreigners with Thai brides. I got my receipt and was finally free.
I took a tuk-tuk to Watchan, a haven for backpackers and cheap guesthouses. Mine was Mixay Guesthouse, about 200 Baht (£4) a night sharing a dorm with two others.
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| Can't miss it |
I had a long shower, changed into some clean clothes and took a long nap. I was sharing with two Germans, of course. I seem to spent most of Thailand with Germans, not that I’m complaining though. They’re thoroughly nice people, and I’m not saying that because I have to live with one for another two months and another pays for my accommodation and water. One, Jung with a J was an aggressively hardcore backpacker who seemed to hate my way of travelling, i.e. stay in one place doing what I can to improve the lives of the people there. I was in Laos for four days, he seemed mystified as to why I wouldn’t want to travel through Laos for a month then go to other nearby countries. Maybe I have no interest in seeing Laos, love Thailand, have a contract to honour and enjoy regular showers and soft beds. That and shaving.
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| Spartan, but it has a bed and a fan. What more do you need? |
The other, Karl with a K is possibly my favourite German. When I said my name was Barney, he immediately said, “like Barney Stinson?” I replied “yes”, then “awesome”. He then asked if I was as sarcastic as my televised counterpart, I laughed and mentioned I’m English, “it’s what we do”. He paused, and then told me, in total seriousness “I’m quite good at the Sarcasm, I practise the Sarcasm quite a lot”. He left the room whilst I giggled for a good 10 minutes. I like talking about “the Sarcasm”, it sounds like a way of life or a cult.
The night passed, the morning after I rose and ate breakfast at 8 in the morning. When I returned I found Jung and Karl lying on their beds, in their boxer shorts, animatedly chatting in German whilst facing each other. I awkwardly halted, and asked them if I should go for 10 minutes. That’s how you perform the Sarcasm. They ignored me and kept talking, let me reiterate. In their boxer shorts, on a bed, scant inches between them. Matthias assures me this degree of homo-eroticism isn’t a normal German trait, maybe it’s a backpacker thing.
I spent the morning at the Victory Arch, an Arc d-Triumphe-esque building in the centre of town. It was still unfinished, been rudely interrupted by the Socialist coup.
I climbed to the top and got some great pictures of the city.
I was approached by a couple of students, one in a suit, the other in monk robes. They started chatting to me, and I talked back. They were at colleges in Vientiane learning hotel, leisure and tourism and English, respectively. Apparently they spend days off hanging around the Arch waiting for foreigners to practice their English on. I talked with them for about an hour, the monk, Ban, told me about the history of Laos. There seem to be a lot of wars. Before long, it was time for my Visa collection and I said goodbye after giving them the website addresses of a couple of good news sites for practicing written English.
I arrived at the embassy, right on time to a queue of a hundred farangs. Surprisingly, the embassy was behind on applications and the gates were still shut. We waited, in 40oC burning sunshine for two hours for them to finish. I’m lucky in that my skin is pretty burn resistant, though I came close to looking redder than a Communist lobster. Gale was with me, so I someone to talk to. As well as a New Zealander who seemed to have the sort of respect for women that Shell has for African oil wells. After assuring me that Thai women get better with age, he told me of the girls he’s “had” and an intimate knowledge of brothels that transcends Google. After pointing at a tall Italian girl behind us and remarking “look at her, Stretch, your kind of girl”. Whilst I drily remarked that my English girlfriend was both much taller and a stunning blonde he looked confused before replying “yes, your English girlfriend”. I told him he was “charmingly misogynistic” as he informed me what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. Obviously I couldn’t be hurt by cheating on a girl, women are for one thing only, right fellas?
So, faith in humanity withering by the second (my default state of mind) I pushed my way to the front, literally, and grabbed my Visa. Once again, I walked the two kilometres home and had a long shower and a nap. Jung had gone, replaced by a Belgium named Leeroy. Leeroy was a great laugh, he and his English backpacking comrade had some great stories to tell and we discussed the best way to travel to Thailand. I like to think I helped. I did some shopping, including meeting a great Laos women who pretty much shouted at me. It’s a pretty effective way to sell something to me, once I argued back I actually looked at her T-shirts and picked out three. After arguing about the quality and price, she gave me a 30,000 Kip (100 Baht, £2.30) discount. They were a Laos flag shirt, a BeerLao logo and the Communist hammer and sickle. You know, when in Rome, join the same oppressive regimes as the Romans. Though, I’ve always leaned left, I’m an idealist at heart.
I also found an amazing shop selling Western designer labels for literally 1/5 of their proper price - worth a visit.
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| It's on the river front, easy to spot |
My last day was spent on a 10 kilometre trek of the city, seeing all the sights. The national Circus was barely worth a picture on the map, but Pha Thai Luang is up there with the Taj Mahal.
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| Thanks, overweight farang |
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| Inspiration by the lotus flower |
It’s a massive golden Buddhist monument, and well worth the walk.
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| I snuck up to the inner pathway |
My favourite tourist site was the Laos Military Museum, where I discovered I cannot be trusted with a camera, tripod and self timer.
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| Woah, we can talk about this |
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| This happened to me on CoD - World At War |
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| Fire on grid co-ordinates |
At one point the security guard came to investigate what I was doing and I nonchalantly legged it. This was actually the second time I’d come close to being shot, the first was when I saw the Prime Minister’s palace, spied the manicured lawn, immaculate gardens and scenic fountains. I thought it looked perfect for a tourist.
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| Can you blame me? |
Walked in the open front gate and was politely, but firmly told to go fuck myself by the guard with one hand outstretched and the other on his revolver. Again, I nonchalantly legged it.
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| What? Me? No, I'm being nonchalant |
In all honesty, I prefer Laos to Paris. It has the same problems as its European cousin though, the people and the prices. Food was astronomical, at least the price of a hand-stitched commemorative Penguin. The drivers were on a par with India, the “oh, look someone on the road. Shall I speed up or brake? Ah well, he’ll get out of the way, it’s just natural selection” mentality. For those that don’t know, Laos was a French colony even into the 20th century, where I discovered the Laos people fought sub-machine guns and semi-automatic rifles with crossbows and pit traps. Finally, a challenge the French military can handle. Oh, they couldn’t. They were driven out after trying to crush the population with only the most rudimentary of modern firearms and gave Laos independence in 1975.
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