Vientiane, Laos
Vientiane, December 2019
I have been to Vientiane twice before, once in about 1998, and once again when cycling in 2005. I don’t remember much about either trip, apart from thinking that Vientiane was rather flyblown, with dusty, unmetalled roads. I do vaguely recall cycling across the Friendship Bridge to Nong Khai, where the contrast between a Thai provincial town and a nation’s capital city was stark to say the least. Nong Khai had traffic lights because it needed them, petrol stations and Seven-Elevens. Vientiane had just got round to thinking about those sorts of things. Vientiane also, by reputation, seemed to be unloved by those who passed through.
Perhaps one of the reasons that Vientiane didn’t sit so easily with visitors is that it is spread out and hard to navigate on foot. This is in contrast to some other Asian travellers’ destinations which seem to have a focus and a centre. It is remarkably similar to Saigon, not only in this respect but also in the ‘feel’ of the place. There are French colonial buildings; some quite grand and clearly government owned, others with crumbling facades and in need of some investment. Embassies and international banks have the kind of money needed to bring these buildings back to life, so do some top-end restaurants; the rest sit forlornly waiting for a new owner, like sad puppies in a pet-shop window. This haphazard mix of the bright, shiny new, next to broken louvre windows and decrepit stucco, whilst chaotic traffic buzzes by, is definitely the Saigon vibe. If you live locally and have a motorbike or car, I suspect the town is much more user-friendly.
Another similarity to Saigon is the roadside pavements which give ‘higgledy-piggledy’ a bad name. Even when the pavement is nicely tiled, say in front of some posh investment bank’s HQ, there are always the occasional bits where a tile or two are missing. In some ways this is worse than a disorderly retro-1890s sidewalk, in that it lulls you into a false sense of security as you take the evening air. A case in point was as we were returning to the hotel bus pick-up point. In front of us, heading towards us was a European couple with their elderly mother, who was tall, thin and spry. Unwittingly, she managed to put her foot in a hole in an otherwise smoothly finished pavement and fell alarmingly. Because she was chatting away unawares, she capitulated like a felled tree, only faster. So fast and unexpectedly, in fact, that she didn’t have time to put her hands out to break the fall. Imagine a pine tree being felled, x3 fast-forward speed. It was just like that as she hit the ground, leading with her jaw, just ten yards in front of us. Completely poleaxed. It was a disturbing image that was hard to shake for the rest of the evening. I’m sure, at Casualty, they have a section dedicated to pavement falls. Imagine – no redress whatsoever – and probably some wagging finger admonishment along the lines of, ‘You should really look where you’re going…’
I have been to Vientiane twice before, once in about 1998, and once again when cycling in 2005. I don’t remember much about either trip, apart from thinking that Vientiane was rather flyblown, with dusty, unmetalled roads. I do vaguely recall cycling across the Friendship Bridge to Nong Khai, where the contrast between a Thai provincial town and a nation’s capital city was stark to say the least. Nong Khai had traffic lights because it needed them, petrol stations and Seven-Elevens. Vientiane had just got round to thinking about those sorts of things. Vientiane also, by reputation, seemed to be unloved by those who passed through.
Perhaps one of the reasons that Vientiane didn’t sit so easily with visitors is that it is spread out and hard to navigate on foot. This is in contrast to some other Asian travellers’ destinations which seem to have a focus and a centre. It is remarkably similar to Saigon, not only in this respect but also in the ‘feel’ of the place. There are French colonial buildings; some quite grand and clearly government owned, others with crumbling facades and in need of some investment. Embassies and international banks have the kind of money needed to bring these buildings back to life, so do some top-end restaurants; the rest sit forlornly waiting for a new owner, like sad puppies in a pet-shop window. This haphazard mix of the bright, shiny new, next to broken louvre windows and decrepit stucco, whilst chaotic traffic buzzes by, is definitely the Saigon vibe. If you live locally and have a motorbike or car, I suspect the town is much more user-friendly.
Another similarity to Saigon is the roadside pavements which give ‘higgledy-piggledy’ a bad name. Even when the pavement is nicely tiled, say in front of some posh investment bank’s HQ, there are always the occasional bits where a tile or two are missing. In some ways this is worse than a disorderly retro-1890s sidewalk, in that it lulls you into a false sense of security as you take the evening air. A case in point was as we were returning to the hotel bus pick-up point. In front of us, heading towards us was a European couple with their elderly mother, who was tall, thin and spry. Unwittingly, she managed to put her foot in a hole in an otherwise smoothly finished pavement and fell alarmingly. Because she was chatting away unawares, she capitulated like a felled tree, only faster. So fast and unexpectedly, in fact, that she didn’t have time to put her hands out to break the fall. Imagine a pine tree being felled, x3 fast-forward speed. It was just like that as she hit the ground, leading with her jaw, just ten yards in front of us. Completely poleaxed. It was a disturbing image that was hard to shake for the rest of the evening. I’m sure, at Casualty, they have a section dedicated to pavement falls. Imagine – no redress whatsoever – and probably some wagging finger admonishment along the lines of, ‘You should really look where you’re going…’
The night market here is huge, snaking its way for miles along the banks of the Mekong. It is also spectacularly crap, being great only if you are looking for underpants, bras, kids’ toys or iPhone covers. Given the state of play for night markets in the region, this is inexplicable. I mean, Luang Prabang in the same country has a praiseworthy one, so it’s not a lack of know-how. So, where do you go for the Lao handicrafts and silk, which really are worth seeking out? Oddly enough it is an unprepossessing indoor market in the middle of urban-nowhere. The trouble with handicrafts like this in shops, row upon row, is that their splendour overwhelms to the point where you go cross-eyed and honestly can’t choose any more, so end up buying nothing. That’s me anyway, as I retired to a corner and cup of Lao coffee.
Lao is similar to Thai but not the same, both spoken and script. I can read some signs if they are obvious, even though, of the five letters, three are like Thai but two aren’t – enough to guess. Most people here speak Thai anyway, or at the very least understand enough for a conversation. I can do my, ‘where is/how much is/have you got/lower the price,’ and so on in Thai, whilst my other half is able to speak unhindered to people. Normally in Thailand I pay double entrance fee as a foreigner – for example I paid 400 baht to enter Phu Kradeung National Park, locals paid 100 baht. Farangs whinge endlessly about this, but I don’t mind. If you want parity with a Thai, then try swapping salaries, I always think.
Lao people are fairly laid-back, like Thais. I rather like the French saying used to characterise the locals: ‘The Vietnamese plant the rice, the Cambodians watch it grow and the Laotians listen to it grow.’ The modern-day version has this on the end: ‘…and the Thais sell it.’ The French also called Laos, ‘the land of the lotus eaters’ to describe the carefree lifestyle here (or indolent, as they called it). In fact, the French brought over 100,000 Vietnamese to Laos to join their civil service (ie to administer and get things done), hence the Vietnamese influence. When I cycled here round the Bolaven Plateau years ago, the food and locals’ appearance were distinctly Vietnamese.
Last word goes to entrepreneurship, Lao style - walked past a café called, ‘Starducks’ – go for it!
Lao is similar to Thai but not the same, both spoken and script. I can read some signs if they are obvious, even though, of the five letters, three are like Thai but two aren’t – enough to guess. Most people here speak Thai anyway, or at the very least understand enough for a conversation. I can do my, ‘where is/how much is/have you got/lower the price,’ and so on in Thai, whilst my other half is able to speak unhindered to people. Normally in Thailand I pay double entrance fee as a foreigner – for example I paid 400 baht to enter Phu Kradeung National Park, locals paid 100 baht. Farangs whinge endlessly about this, but I don’t mind. If you want parity with a Thai, then try swapping salaries, I always think.
Lao people are fairly laid-back, like Thais. I rather like the French saying used to characterise the locals: ‘The Vietnamese plant the rice, the Cambodians watch it grow and the Laotians listen to it grow.’ The modern-day version has this on the end: ‘…and the Thais sell it.’ The French also called Laos, ‘the land of the lotus eaters’ to describe the carefree lifestyle here (or indolent, as they called it). In fact, the French brought over 100,000 Vietnamese to Laos to join their civil service (ie to administer and get things done), hence the Vietnamese influence. When I cycled here round the Bolaven Plateau years ago, the food and locals’ appearance were distinctly Vietnamese.
Last word goes to entrepreneurship, Lao style - walked past a café called, ‘Starducks’ – go for it!