| The Tat Luang - possibly one of the blingest temples in the world Posted Sunday, 21 May 2006 | ||
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| For a capital city Vientiane, well, it's a bit shit. When you've got a population less than Brighton and you've barely ever been independent what you end up with is Vientiane. But it's all the better for that. It has no skyscrapers, barely a traffic light and it's full of people who seem genuinely surprised you bothered to come at all. Once upon a time Laos - the Land of a Million Elephants (or the Land of a Million Irrelevants, as the French nicknamed it) - stretched deep into present-day Thailand, Cambodia and Burma. Vientiane was at the centre of it all. Then it got invaded again and again, so much so that Vientiane is now on the border of Thailand so that when you have your noodle soup you can gaze out over the moonlit Mekong at Thai bars on the other side where people are probably having their noodle soup as well. You can also see all the big towers the Thais no doubt use to listen in on their red-flag waving little neighbour. Like Luang Prabang Vientiane is a bit of a contradiction. It has open sewers and yet fine French restaurants; huge holes in the road but grand French villas. In fact we decided to splurge one night and went to Les Chateuax al les Caves restaurant (or some such name). I had waiter service, white crisp tablecloths, little bread roles, spinach soup, steak with potatoes wrapped in foil, a fruit salad, French wine and coffee. And the whole spangly lot cost just five whole English pounds. I'm loving first world food at third world prices. We had fun at the Laos National Museum. It used to be called the Revolutionary Museum because it's full of stuff about when the Commies took over. But now they've added a big stone urn and a mahogony elephant in the reception area they seem to think it's now properly historical. In reality it is full of photo after photo of the proud and heroic Liberation Army soldiers fighting against the US Imperialists and French Colonialists. No context to the photos, no air con and no mention of any of the many atrocities that accompanied the revolution. The best bit though was the fact that A) They needed to get a curator in or something - a kettle some general once used once is not illuminating of history and 2) It was all falling to bits. Captions were stuck on with Pritt-stick, lights didn't work and scary looking wires dangled from broken machinery. Which all added up to not the best advert for revolutionary Laos. Inevitably, Wendy, Doug and I did some level of drinking. One night we went to the disco at the poshest hotel in Laos - the Novotel - and sat in a sweat box while hundrerds of Lao danced to Madonna, Thai pop and the fucking Black Eyed bloody Peas (how I detest that song after two months of it). No once dances in Thai night clubs. Wendy foolishly tried to but almost knocked over three tables on what she thought was the dancefloor. Infact there may well almost have been blood...on the dancefloor. Boom boom. Another night we went to an equally bad taste music club (me getting old? No way, but where's a bit of U2 when you need it?) Us three and some yank (who we'd met in a temple in a forest while having a three hour sauna and massage session, which was very nice thank you) went to the rather interestingly titled Kok club. I was chatted up by an extremely adrogonous fashion student from Singapore who's gender I only ascertained for sure after he tried to make his way into my toilet cubicle for a bit of action. Needless to say I politely declined his charming invitation especially as several toilet attendants didn't take too kindly to it either. Meanwhile, on the other side of the club a beautiful Lao woman called Kip is chatting up our yank. But being polite Kip invites us all back to hers for more drinks. Off we head in tuk-tuks which, because Kip had haggled them, are vastly different in price to what we paid to get there. We turn up and Kip brings out the beers and we have to drink them the Lao way which involves one glass. Beer is poured in glass and the designated person has to down it in one. Then glass is refilled and moves onto the next person - which of course ensures you get shitted all at the same time. Wendy and I are, of couse, charming polylingual attractive and humorus ambassadors of the UK. Yank, however, falls asleep on sexy Lao girl's lap. Kip loves Wendy's white skin which out here is quite the thing. We wile away the wee hours teaching each other card games and steadily drinking more Beerlao. As dawn approaches the very gracious Kip walks us home and we arrange to meet the next day to go swimming. Yank goes back with Kip and we all muse how he's the one getting laid whilst we did all the leg work. None of us are in any fit state to go swimming. After a few more days of noodle soups, going to parks full of Buddha statues, eating delicious cakes, talking to various smiley locals and going up a replica of the Arc des Triomphe we headed off, with some trepidation as we'd heard it was much more hassly than Laos, to Vietnam. | ||
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