Getting there we head off the main road down a track that runs parallel to the massive river. The rains have been heavy and the mighty estuary, according to locals, is far higher than it should be at this time of the year. The Chinese have damned the river further up and now the Laotian government struggle to stop it bursting its banks.
The red clay potholes in the road are awash with water and we rattle down the street eventually reaching the pink fronted hotel.
It’s been approaching twenty hours since I departed Bangkok and I’m pretty knackered so I’m very happy to reach my room, a large airy space, whose center piece being a salubrious bed. The feel of the space meshes both tradition Laos cultural with an almost Mediterranean feel.
The room should have a view of the magnificent Meakong but unfortunately, and this is about the only criticism I have, it is obscured almost completely by trees that allow only the briefest glances on the stretch of water separating Laos from its Thai neighbours … a real shame.
A winding staircase, with open slats leads up to your room slippery under foot you don’t want to be heading up them if you’ve had a few beers and it’s been raining.
Vientiane has changed a great deal since I first arrived here 11 years ago. There now is the usual mix of new four wheel drives monsters and bikes that now occupy its streets, many of which remain little more than mud tracks.
New concrete malls have replaced many of the old shop houses and food shops. I desperately try to hunt for a place we used to hang out in that sold the best, raw, spring rolls, but it appears to have disappeared into the center of a concrete mall.
I did however manage to find a street stall selling pate and French bread… marvelous pate, course, is served with Coleslaw and some form of ham, all in the one roll.
Laotians are, in general, far more reserved than their Thai and Vietnamese neighbours. It’s really only the Tuk Tuk drivers that seriously tout for business. You walk unmolested past massage parlours, while food and drink stalls will generally only shout out a cheery good day, without ever really trying to get you to taste their wares.
The banks of the Mekong are strewn with bbq food stalls, selling varieties of grilled foods. These wooden structures are usually adorned with plastic roofs and are wrapped in all manner of colorful Laotian advertising... although most of it is for Beet Lao, a great drop!
Sitting at one of these may stalls, having a beer, the staff readily break for lunch. Ignoring me they settle down to a shared plate of fresh looking food. I hear the word for foreigner mentioned a number of times, but have a feeling it is not in relation to me.
We get chatting and one of them asks if I play pool. They are trying to learn and want someone to practice with and I’m more than happy to help out!
Cheers,
Blocka
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