Mathew Biadun | Column Writer
Third-class on a train is a bare-bones experience. There were no beds, nor individual seats, but rather benches with hard, thin cushions like that of a school bus. Old fans hung from the ceiling, weakly trying to replace air-conditioning. A cockroach occasionally shuffled by my feet. The journey on this train lasted a grueling twelve hours, after which I finally arrived at the border, where a customs official quietly flipped through my passport and deemed it ‘expired’.
It all sounds like the start of a nightmare, I know. In reality, it was the start of an amazing three-day trip to the secluded nation of Laos.
Laos is a little-known country. Its population is only around twice that of Connecticut. The landlocked, mountainous country can seem isolated in the world, and somewhat behind the times. Most buildings are dusty and look worn, with old temples on every street, and a relictual government of one-party Marxist-Leninism. The destination was chosen on a whim. A friend wanted to go, specifically to the tourist-town of Vang Vieng, and our weekend had been open. We bought tickets, looked up activities, planned and organized a group the night before we left.
As the opening mentioned, the train was simplistic. A plane would’ve been far more comfortable, and faster, with a flight lasting little over an hour. But that would’ve cost $120 for a round-trip ticket. A round-trip train ticket was just twenty dollars. For context, the whole trip ended up costing around $150, meaning I would’ve nearly doubled the cost. The train was worth it. You chat with your friends, listen to music, read, or otherwise occupy yourself as the train chugs along. It was a night train, leaving Thursday night, so most of us just spent the vast portion of the trip sleeping.
When we finally arrived at the border, we eagerly stretched our legs and disembarked the train to head into customs. All of us got a bit separated, with a few people between each of us, and I ended up going last. I handed my passport over to the man, smiled, and waited as he looked it over. Eventually he flipped it back around, pointed at one of the many stamps and simply said, “Denied.”
The worry that spreads like frost in your blood chills you immediately. In your mind, you know that everything is surely fine. But at the moment, all you can think about is if it isn’t, and if this whole train ride was for nothing. Worse off was that the customs agent didn’t speak good English, meaning I had to be bounced around from agent to agent, gradually building up stress until someone could explain it to me. The actual reason behind it all was simple, as I just had to reapply for a single-entry permit, unlike my friends who had multi-entry permits. I had all the paperwork prepared beforehand, but unlike at airports, train stations didn’t have the necessary facilities. One of my friends before (my roommate in fact), had to do the same.
What followed was less-so an exercise of stress than an exercise in annoyance. I took a tuk-tuk to an immigration facility, where I met up with my roommate, made copies of my passport and handed over the necessary paperwork. From there we took a bus from that facility over the border into the Laotian immigration facility, where I filled out more paperwork for a tourist’s visa. Then, I took a taxi to actually get into the center of the capital, Vientiane.
All-in-all, the transportation was the most annoying part. I already had the train into Vientiane booked. Instead, I had to take (and pay) for a tuk-tuk, bus, and taxi. The ultimate cost wasn’t significant (less than ten dollars for it all), but it was more so the annoyance of it all. It also resulted in my and my roommate being separated from the others until we arrived at Vang Vieng.
Vientiane seemed rather quaint for the capital. It has about 840,000 residents, but most buildings seem small. There aren’t skyscrapers or giant shopping malls, at least from what I could see. The buildings had paint chipping and pipes rusting, with a strange ‘dusty’ quality to all the streets. It sits on the bank of the Mekong River, which demarcates most of the Thai-Laotian border. There had just been a flood recently, that left the usual night-markets on the side of the river absolutely flooded with mud. Locals worked hard to sweep it aside with hoses and brooms, but the sheer size and density of it made the task insurmountable. However, the people are no doubt used to flooding and the river’s temperament, and I’m sure that the market was open again in a day-or-two. We ate a lunch there (our first meal of the day), saw a few sights such as the Palais Presidential (which looks like the White House but larger) and the Paxutai (a victory monument to soldiers who fought colonialism), before embarking on a two-and-a-half hour bus ride to Vang Vieng.
Vang Vieng is a quaint city of sixty-thousand. It is nestled along the Nam Song River, and surrounded by tall peaks and mountains called ‘karst’, which are a unique type of geography that forms large caves and spiky mountains. The town relies heavily on the tourist industry. Shops and restaurants will take US dollars or Thai baht, and will give the local ‘kip’ in exchange. One dollar equates to about 23,000 kip. Businesses will usually give you a little less, 20,000, to make a profit off the exchange.
There may be a Communist government in charge, but the Laotian people have a very entrepreneurial, capitalistic spirit. They try hard to sell you their products, especially the tuk-tuk drivers, who will call out every foreigner on the street to sell their rides. Children work in family businesses as cashiers. The people work hard, on their own merit and to their own capability, to make an honest living for themselves, and it's inspiring to see.
We didn’t do much that first night besides eat. Laotian (a term I use specifically, as ‘lao’ refers to a language and ethnic group, one that not all citizens of Laos use or belong to) cuisine, from my experience, seems very similar to Thai food. It has less spices, but otherwise has a similar look and taste. There is some lingering influence from their French colonizers; for example, meals are commonly accompanied with baguettes, although the quality of the bread is certainly not up to French standards.
Tired from all the travel, the first day wasn’t too crazy. The real fun came with the second day, where we all booked a day trip, which at thirty dollars was my biggest expense apart from the Cambodian visa itself ($40). But it was definitely worth it. We were picked up in a Tuk-Tuk, with perhaps some fifteen others apart from ourselves. Rides like these, where you’re sitting thigh-to-thigh next to strangers, are a great chance to meet new people. We talked and met with people from Switzerland, Quebec, France, Nepal, Spain, and many others. Most are backpackers and tourists, and it’s always interesting to hear travel recommendations from them, or to just share your thoughts about this new land you’re visiting.
The day trip started off by kayaking down the Nam Song, which was a very fun experience. Sometimes you race your friends or splash them with your paddle. At some points you don’t paddle at all, content to let the current carry you as you enjoy the scenery. We parked our kayaks right on the beach and proceeded to walk through two cave systems, home to large stalagmites that dangled over us like roots. In the third and last cave, a river ran through it, and we all got on inflatable tubes. A rope had been tied along the walls, and we kept our hands on it and shimmied along as we made our way through. Our cave lamps shined at the walls, made perfectly smooth by liquid erosion, and at bats that flew overhead. We kayaked one more time to get lunch (where there were also two adorable puppies we got to hold and pet), before moving on.
Our next destination was the most exciting. We first began by putting on a bunch of ropes and hooks on our bodies, before hiking on a path for some twenty minutes. It took us higher and higher and higher until we reached a viewpoint, and after a short walk further, reached the ziplines. They were strong metal ropes stretching far from tree to tree. The lines took you over entire valleys and forest-expanses, several hundreds of meters long. The air whisked by as you watched with exhilaration, gazing around the landscape from an actual birds-eye view. There were some four or five of these lines included, which took you right back to the starting point.
The last part of the trip was a small lagoon in the jungle, appropriately named Blue Lagoon, perhaps the most popular tourist trip of all. There were platforms to jump from and swings, fire pits to cook food on and plenty of food to buy. A small current ran through the river, fairly weak and surpassable for us. Halfway through however, a number of Korean women, somewhere in their forties or fifties, tried to swim down, only to be unable to swim back up! The current pulled at them, and quickly drew everyone’s attention with worried looks, flailing arms and panicked shrieks.
“The ajumma!” My friend had yelled, meaning an ‘auntie’. A rescue expedition of sorts occurred, swimming out to rescue the poor ladies from the current. We pulled them back to safety, for which they appeared most thankful. When we left, however, we saw them going down the current again, this time with their arms all linked together. If someone had to save them again, we do not know.
The day trip had been an excellent time. The rest of the day was spent in our accommodations, a hostel called the Vang Vieng Chill House. Hostels are excellent for tourists. It was just three dollars a night, giving you a bed for the night, a pool, a restaurant and a bar that even gave away free drinks at certain hours. The night was spent playing pool and chatting, and it was a great way to kick back and relax after the busy day.
Sunday morning we went on our last activity, a hike up the Nam Xay viewpoint, perhaps the most famous attraction of Vang Vieng. It involves a thirty minute hike up a steep mountain, with the ground consisting of wet clay that constantly makes you worry about slipping off. There was almost no friction, with handrails of bamboo and rope to grab being your only salvation. The hike leaves you covered in sweat from head to toe. Mud is caked into every part of your shoe. But it also provides access to a stellar viewpoint at the top, with motorcycles dug into rocks to take pictures off, as the photo for this article demonstrates.
The rest of the trip after that was speedy. We had to leave to catch a bus back to Vientiane, not even being able to shower or change. We ate dinner, walked around the city for a bit, and then took a Tuk-Tuk back to the train station. There we passed through customs. I went through with no problem, merely showing my passport and being passed through. Afterwards, however, I was astonished to learn that three of my friends had been told to pay twenty baht, and had to fork it over. It should’ve been free! The corrupted officials had charged an extra fee to pocket themselves, with my friends being the newest victims. Besides that act of corruption, however, it was one more twelve-hour ride, and then I was back at my dorm.
The weekend had had its share of misadventures, particularly at the start. But they were just that; mis-adventures. Moments in a trip that are a little rocky or uncomfortable don’t ruin the trip. They make it real, and turn it from a fictional travel blog into a real experience. The misadventures join all the other experiences as fond memories to look back on later. That’s what made the trip to Laos so unforgettable. It’s not about the bumps on the road; it’s about laughing at them with your friends and watching the exciting land around you! That’s what makes such a trip so fun in the end, and made my weekend in Laos unforgettable.
‘A Warrior Abroad’ will publish new stories every week this semester. To read past articles, search ‘A Warrior Abroad’ on the Campus Lantern website.
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