Travel Musings

LAOS & BANGKOK 2008: Foreshadowing in Everyday Life

Laos & Bangkok (accidentally) Initial Post 

I tell my mother that I'm nervous about this trip.

She points out that my travel luck to date has been better-than-average. Sooner or later, it's going to run out, she predicts.

I agree: with travel comes risks. But my rational self knows that The Universe is not tracking my Luck-To-Date and determining that I'm well overdue for a mishap or two. If anything, if I were a gambler, I'd regard my history of successful travel as a good predictor of successful future travel.

But who's really rational, when it comes right down to it?

For instance, Oliver recently suffered an eye injury worried that might have required me to cancel my trip (he recovered quickly). On top of that, a few weeks ago civilian protestors closed the Bangkok International Airport (Suvarnabhumi) for a week, leaving hundreds of thousands travelers stranded.

I would have been screwed had I scheduled my trip for slightly earlier than late December. I have six flights booked in and out of Suvarnabhumi: it's my Southeast Asia "base of operations". I fly in to it, depart on to Luang Prabang (Laos), return and continue on to Denpasar/Bali (Indonesia), return once again, and finally fly out of it back to Chicago. 

Between Oliver's health run-in and the airport shutdown, I harbor a superstitious foreboding that my unlucky vacation shoe has yet to drop: everyone knows that bad things come in threes.

Mom and I further discuss the Suvarnabhumi closure.

"There are worse places than Bangkok in which to be stranded," I proclaim.

LAOS: Why Luang Prabang?

I arrive into Bangkok at 12:30, reunite with Bagzillo (my steadfast, tweed traveling companion), and proceed to door 4, where the Novotel Suvarnabhumi shuttle awaits me. Five minutes and we're there.

At $148 a night (booked through Agoda -- the cheapest rate I could find) the Novotel is ridiculously overpriced for Thailand. But at 1:00 in the morning, after having traveled for 26 hours, I'm willing to pay for convenience. This new airport is even further away from downtown Bangkok than the old one and the Novotel is the only respectable digs within 20 miles of it.

Monday morning now. My Lao Airlines flight ($433 with taxes) into Luang Prabang is uneventful. Just the way I like my flights. I'm prepared with $35 and two passport photos and 'Zillo and I are out the door in 20 minutes.

I buy my $6 taxi ride. They take one look at me and beckon a tuk-tuk (as opposed to one of the many cushy, air-conditioned mini-vans a'lying-in-wait). That'll work just fine. The old me would have fought it, but at some point over the years, I finally learned to go with the flow. All part of the fun of travel.

So, the inevitable question: why Luang Prabang? Well, because LP is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, for one. It's difficult to go wrong sticking to that list. In short, LP is just one of those unique, wonderful destinations that the entire world is on the brink of discovering (and ruining): think Venice, Prague, or South Beach in the 80's. Charming, one-of-kind, authentic (the Laotian answer to Hoi An, only more hygienic), and everyone seems to be catching on to the fact. It's now or never.

And how do I know about LP? From articles in Traveler, Travel + Leisure, and The New York Times. 

LUANG PRABANG: ORIENTation

I'm staying at Lotus Villas ($73 a night) because it's the #1 rated hotel in LP on Tripadvisor. The staff at check-in are friendly (but that's the norm in Southeast Asia) and my room is kinda cute (if I squint). I like the wood walls, and I have a balcony view, but it's so-so: I can stare straight through the open window into my *neighbor's hovel and watch their 14-inch tv. I can hear it, too. The bathroom is rough: nothing separates the showerhead from the toilet. And this mattress -- oy vey -- straight out of the Flintstones. This place'll suffice.

I exit Lotus Villas onto Kounxoa Road, not quite sure which way to go. I soon figure out that LP is a phallic-like peninsula formed by the twisting Nam Khan River flowing into the mighty Mekong. The tip faces Northeast, the scrotum spreads out Southwesterly. 

The village is really easy to navigate once I orientate myself: I need only to memorize five streets. Facing the sack of the city, there's Souvanhakhampong Road -- which turns into Ounkham Road at times -- on my right. It hugs up against the Mekong and hosts several restaurant and bars with excellent river views. Moving left is Kuonxoa Road, a residential-type street dotted with guesthouses, a stretch of which becomes the food market. Sisavangvong Road (aka Sakarine Road, aka Chao Fa Ngum Road -- it's best not to pay attention to the road names and to think of them only in terms of their relationship to the Mekong) is the Broadway of LP: plenty of open-aired restaurants and shops. Moving on, there's Kingkitsarath Road bordering the Nam Khan. This thoroughfare, slightly out-of-the-way, hosts the frowned-upon, trendier establishments. Only one main street intersects the others, running parallel to them: Settathirath Road, which extends from the Mekong to the airport and leads to the rest of Laos.

*And their view into my bathroom is unobstructed

LUANG PRABANG: Brief Nap

I head towards the center of town and immediately come across Ock Pop Tok, a boutique peddling textiles and weavings created in Laos, which I recognize from internet posters' recommendations. I remove my shoes (with a shudder), as is the custom here, prior to entering the shop. Which squicks me out a little: I refuse to walk barefoot in my OWN house. As my Mom likes to tell me "it's a known fact that living alone makes you weird." Maybe she's right.

The OPT wallhangings and linen appear to be of high quality, but they don't fit in with my minimalistic decor. Cute store, though.

I continue to Broadway (Sisavangvong Road), in the direction of Mount Phousi, which marks the center of town. I love how all the shops and restaurants here open up right onto the street: it's conducive to non-committal browsing of menus and wares. My fellow window-shoppers are a diverse group: Australians, Thai, Japanese, French, Germans, etc., etc. No single nationality of tourists dominates the mix. And we're all super-casual: sans make-up, hair tossed-up randomly, wrinkled skirts and pants. Dressing up in Chicago is fun but on vacation I just want to grunge-out. LP is all about the grunge.

I exchange my dollars for Lao Kip at a rate of $1 = 8,600 LAK. I've read that USDs are perfectly acceptable here, but the prices are better paying in LAK. I forfeit $200 and suddenly I'm a millionaire. Whoo-hoo!

A drowsy millionaire: I've never learned to conquer jetlag. Traveling one tiny zone to the Eastern seaboard taxes me: jaunts to Asia absolutely do me in (especially the return). I reverse my steps, stopping at Khmu Spa (Broadway) for a Khmu massage (given "thumbs up" by internet posters) for $20. It's vigorous, but pleasantly so. The shouts and laughter of the school children playing across the street provide a pleasant backdrop to the rhythmic kneading of my sorry shoulders muscles, which still suffer the effects of cross-Atlantic travel, coach class. 

Treatment over. Extreme drowsiness.

4:00: I wander blindly back to Lotus Villas, stumble up the steps to my "villa", and collapse onto my Stone Age bed. I just need 20 minutes. One short nap and I'll be good to go.

LUANG PRABANG: It's 3:00 a.m. Do You Know Where Your Pringles Are?

Where am I?

Who's making that god-awful noise?

What time is it?

Did I pack my Pringles?

Turns out, I'm still in LP, the pet roosters that live across the street are responsible for the god-awful noise, it's 3:00 a.m., and yes, I remembered my Pringles.

I dig into the familiar red tube. When was the last time I ate a meal? December 20? Three days have passed (give or take a few time zones) since I've consumed an actual meal.

Wide awake, I disentangle my beloved Kindle (wireless reading device) from all the other electronica I've stuffed into my bag. My God, I've become a walking Radio Shack. I've treated myself to one gadget or so per trip and I've clearly crossed some sort of threshold into techno-geekdom. I never used to be this way. I blame the internet: I can sit wrapped-up in a blanket in the comfort of my home, drink a few glasses of wine, and order-away online. The boxes show-up a week or so later, and I feel like someone sent me a present.

New toys that I've purchased specifically for this trip include:

• A pocket flashlight for navigating dark LP streets
• An alarm that I insert into the crack of my door: it emits a piercing noise if the door is opened (my Ubud, Bali accommodations, while appearing to be fabulous, also appear to be pretty remote)
• A dogwhistle. Ubud is notorious for its rogue dogs and aggressive monkeys

Lying prone, canister secure in my measly cleavage, I munch and read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (not the most comforting tale for a woman traveling solo), get up every 15 minutes or so, peer out my window, and attempt to spot some sign of activity in the street below.

6:00. I detect a hint of daylight. I grab my windbreaker (LP is chilly in the morning) and walk the uneven streets (forgot my new pocket flashlight) to Broadway. Claiming a perch on a wall respectfully recessed from the street, near Villa Santi, one of LP's more high-end lodgings, I observe processions of mini-vans dispatching their passengers. This little neighborhood is awakening before me with two types of people: the taciturn, sincere locals who wait on plastic stools along the kerb; and the more animated tourists snapping photos of one-another, trophy-bags of rice held aloft for the camera.

We've gathered to either watch or participate in the alms-giving ceremony that occurs every morning in LP. A long line of monks from the nearby wats (temples) snakes along the streets of the city, the monks extending bowls to the kneeling villagers. The villagers dip into pots of rice they've brought, form balls of rice with their hands (yikes), and place them into the monks' bowls. A few small children run along side the monks extending their own pots, beseeching the monks for some of the rice they have collected.

The LP listing in Wikitravel includes some interesting (depressing) information on the commercialization of this ritual.