I did not do any swimming at the blue lagoon. But I did do a lot of sweating. And eating. I found a shady café and scoffed down a baguette that was filled with the spiciest Chinese chow mein I’ve ever had. Tiberius and Caligula were jumping off platforms into the lagoon. I was dying. It must have been some delayed hangover from my drunken spree on the river two days ago. It didn’t help that the road to and from the Lagoon was rough as hell, threatening to shake my brain out of my skull.
The road to Vientiane was thankfully smoother. I drifted in and out of sleep to the sound of the same Bollywood song playing over and over again in my ears. I’d been looking forward to spending much time in Vientiane, but it was talked down to me so often that I was feeling very apathetic at this point. It is however, very nice to be in a built-up area once more, where restaurants and ATMS are aplenty.
We all got ourselves some noodle-broth. Caligula wasn’t happy with his meal at all, but as we supped, numerous foods stalls began to spring up on the street beside us, so that when we left the restaurant, we walked not into an empty road but a packed night market, teeming with people and steaming with food.
We all looked excitedly towards a stall that appeared to be serving Yorkshire puddings. Caligula in particular got very excited, however we soon learned that the Yorkshire puddings were in fact Pig’s intestines. It was a hard pass from me.
I was possessed with a new kind of hunger. Perhaps it’s constant travel that transforms one’s stomach into a mad beast. Nothing could satiate me. I got noodles covered in liver (which I didn’t eat – I couldn’t even tell if the liver was cooked or raw) and humongous spring rolls. I was a slave to the food stalls around me. A slave to the delights of Vientiane.
Tiberius beat me at a game of chess in a place I can only describe as vape kindergarten. The hangout spot of the children of Vientiane. They gathered here in groups, sitting round tables, vaping and – not chatting with each other, but – hunched over in their seats playing portable video games. We felt very out of place.
The “Dreamhome” hostel which we booked into would be more aptly named the “Dreadful home” hostel. Who wants to climb down a flight of stairs when they need the toilet in the middle of the night? The dorm room had bunk-beds piled up against each other without curtains to provide proper privacy. The walkway between the beds was a dumping ground for luggage and it quickly became clogged with numerous people’s shite. The noise and the cheers from the bar downstairs reverberated through the floor like it was paper, and to make things even worse, a number of girls were using the dorm as their dressing room – to be fair I don’t know where else they could have gone – but needless to say, I needed to get the HELL out of the “Dreamhome” Hostel.
With a quick google I booked myself into a hotel far across the city. Then I gathered my bags and set out onto the night-time streets of Vientiane.
The streets of Vientiane at night are warm and smoky. Like the air around a bonfire which is dying down low, it was just warm enough to keep me feeling on top of the world as I walked around in nothing but shorts and a flimsy t-shirt. This was exactly what I needed. Once I got myself clear of the “Dreadful-home” Hostel the roads opened up, becoming wider, less clogged with bikes and beautifully quiet. I passed by the Vietbank, the Chinese embassy and the Presidential Palace. Two stray dogs made love on the side of the road. Then two became three… Always, every time I turned a corner I half expected to see the remains of a fire on the side of the curb, the smell of the air and the beauty that revealed itself in the darkness kept me enthralled. I was once again a slave to Vientiane, walking spellbound through its luminous night-time splendour.
When I finally arrived at the hotel however, I could have dropped dead. There had been a mistake with my booking they told me. They were all full for the night. Before I gave up on life too quickly however, the receptionist motioned for me to wait and went out the door. A few minutes later he returned and motioned for me to follow him outside. Looks like he’s found me a room! I thought hopefully. He had indeed. But not quite in the way that I thought.
As soon as I stepped outside, I froze. The guy was sitting on a motorcycle, the engine all fired up and ready to go. And he was motioning for me to get on the back. I was carrying two heavy rucksacks hanging off each shoulder. How the hell was this going to work?
Very nervously I got on the back of the bike. What choice did I have? I was a slave to circumstance. I had no idea where to put my hands so placed them on the guy’s shoulders. Then the bike took off and I was passing through the smoky streets of Vientiane once more. Just a hell of a lot faster this time. I tried to balance the bags on my back, but I wobbled precariously and so did the bike. We flew through the night and something came crashing out of my bag onto the road. What the hell was it?
My driver was very friendly. He spoke to me as the wind rushed by, asking me questions about where I’m from, how long I’ve been in Laos for, and where I’m going to next. However, answering these simple questions was very difficult when I was concentrating on not falling off and simultaneously wondering what the hell just fell out my bag…
It was a huge relief when the guy pulled in down an alley and swung off. I frantically checked to make sure I had all my valuables. When I was satisfied, I followed him into another hotel – presumably owned by the same company. The guy explained that I could stay here for the night and come back to the first hotel in the morning. Then he left me in the care of a very bubbly receptionist who bounded off to show me my room.
The room was extremely shabby and I was infuriated when I realised there was no wifi. But I had escaped the horrors of the “dreadful” Dreamhome hostel and survived the frightening motorcycle ride. And now, finally, I had a room. A room all to myself. All there was left to do was sleep.
