Tubular Tubing

"Could life get any worse?" I'm asked.

"I would much rather be in a cubical," I respond.

Guffaws followed by a clinking of Beer Lao bottles as we continue to float in tire tubes down a bar-lined tributary of the Mekong

Vang Vieng is described in the Lying Planet (Lonely Planet) as a "traveler's paradise." The place is loaded with white faces and enough booze to last well into the next century. Signs advertising Ecotourism, Elephant Riding and Internet with Skype line the streets. Where there isn't a restaurant serving an unhealthy portion of Friends from blaring TV sets, there are guesthouses in fierce competition for the foreign dollar. This drives the daily price of a room to 30,000 kip or about 3.50 USD.

Our tubing adventure is Vang Vieng's main attraction and has also been described as a a rite of passage for all SE Asia backpackers. The idea is to drink as much as possible without drowning. Fifty meters from the put in point is the first bar. It is the rainy season and the flow of the river is rather fast, so the locals "pole" you into the restaurant with long pieces of bamboo.

After climbing a steep bank via a rustic, if not fear inducing, bamboo ladder you are at the bar with the local purveyor pushing a shot of local whiskey your way. This, you remember, is the first bar and there is still another 2.95km of river to float down. But, the whiskey is a nice start and is a quick builder of confidence for the rope swing.

In order to use the rope swing, one climbs an erratic contraption reminiscent of Swiss Family Robinson. It is high and, try as I might, cannot put high school physics out of my mind, as I know I will be letting go of the swing from this height at the other end. As you swing through the air, you wonder were the apex of the swing will be, because you don't want to be one of the people who hangs on, or worse, let go on the return swing and becoming intimately acquainted with the river bank. The splash is big...and it hurts. I tried a can opener and today the left side of my body is quite sore. Though at the time, you see, it was spectacular and impressive to the floating onlookers that couldn't pull themselves to climb from their tubes.

After a volleyball match with a bunch of drunken Israelis (today is their New Year, I am told) and the onset of dusk, we had to float rather quickly to our take out point. We are, as most people, late for our scheduled return and loose a nice chuck of our deposit. Though it is no matter, tubing was amazing and despite the high number of people "on holiday" (read: Australian and English folk) everyone was civil and we had a spectacular time.

Tomorrow I push on to the Capital, Vientiane and after extending the visa, head south to Si Phan Don to 4,000 islands. Yeah, I know Laos is landlocked. These are river islands!

Japan or China...LAOS!

"Where are you from? Japan or China?" Hank Hill asks his Asian neighbor.

"I am from Laos, a landlocked country in South East Asia!" the neighbor replies.

"Yeah, so are you from Japan or China?" Hank again asks.

King of the Hill's beautiful portrayal of American (specifically Texan) ignorance to Asia is when I first heard Laos mentioned. Laos is a landlocked country in South East Asia. Bordering countries are China to the north, Myanmar and Thailand to the West, Cambodia to the South and Vietnam to the East. On a map Laos looks like a shooting star headed NW towards the Tibetan plateau.

My 20 hour bus ride ended up being 27 hours with a Chinese character to keep me entertained. Mr. Zhang is from Hunan and spoke with a strong southern accent. He cursed just about everything once we crossed the Laos northern boarder. He was a seller in Vientenne. He was bringing down goods such as waterproof disposable cameras, sunglasses, twine and automotive parts. I asked him his markup--about 400%.

My most favorite part of the ride was when the bus driver pulled over three kilometers from my destination. I asked why we were stopped and as he answered, I noticed as sign in Chinese that read China Friend Restaurant. Chi fan le [time to eat]. The Chinese distaste for foreign food never ceases to amaze me.

Luang Prabang is nestled at the confluence of Mekong and Khan rivers. The center of town boasts a stupa crowned hill, Phou Si, and 34 minor temples throughout the city. These temples are how the town is organized. Locals do not refer to their village or house by street name. but rather by its local temple, or Ban.

One of the delicacies of Luang Prabang, that I had the opprotunity to try, is Khai Phaea. This is a dish made from Mekong seaweed (or river moss, I have also seen it translated as) that is pressed with chilies, fried and served like nachos. Amid the square green sheets is a small dish of Jeow Bong, a chili and buffalo meat puree. A bamboo basket of sticky rice turns this snack into a meal. I used my fingers to pluck a chunk of rice, roll it into a ball, then use the Khai Phaea as a wrapping. This I dipped in the sauce and then ate in once bite. Spicy and delicious. The crispy seaweed and sticky rice are a perfect combination. If I were to translate this dish into English, I would dub it Mekong Sushi.

I visited the Royal Palace Museum where the signage has removed the word Royal and now reports it as the Palace Museum (though Royal is still very visible). Inside was everything from Buddhas to Elephant saddle battle thrones. What interested me the most were the gifts given to the king from different countries. Grouped by Capitalist and non-Capitalist countries, China had given gifts of jade and silver tea sets. The Japanese had given various porcelain and Nara's city key. I laughed as I saw Australia had presented a Boomerang from Queensland.

The United States gave a miniature replica (a rather cheap one) of the Apollo 11. Next to it was a 4" x 6" Laos flag and a plaque engraved with:

"This flag of your nation was carried to the Moon and back by Apollo 11, and this fragment of the Moon's surface was brought to Earth by the crew of that first manned lunar landing."

Above, encased in resin, were four pieces of Moon rock, about the size of four baby teeth. Take that Australia!

Train to Kunming

My train ride from Beijing was 38 hours and I enjoyed about 37 hours of it. The hours sound much longer than they actually are. We boarded around 16:00 and I read well until midnight. Lights out are at 10:00 on all Chinese trains, so my headlamp came in handy. I climbed from the top bunk of our triple bunk beds around 11:00 the following morning. All of my bunk mates from the previous night had left the train and a new lot joined for our Kunming bound train.

Foresight prepared me with plenty of instant coffee, salami and baguette to make my way through the day. I finished Bill Bryson's In a Sunburned Country [not sun burnt!] and moved onto Paul Theroux's Riding the Iron Rooster, a book that I am immensely enjoying despite Theroux's occasional denigrating tone.

Also proving extremely useful on a train journey of 38 hours was a bottle of Captain Morgan's spiced rum. Over the evening, I managed to empty half the bottle while reading and scribbling in my journal. When I decided my journal could take no more rambling, I attempted the three bed accent to my bunk. Much to the delight of the police woman in our coach, I smashed my head into the overhead luggage rack while stepping from the floor. She replied with a sympathetic, "Ai yo." I looked at her with a goofy grin only alcohol could produce signaling that I was alright and honestly had really not felt a thing.

Gathering my belongings in the morning I waited for our train to pull into the Kunming rail station. As I waited an older woman obviously from one of China's less developed provinces, tried to start a conversation by asking me what I was doing in Kunming. I responded with the typical response of traveling. She asked me another question and I hadn't a clue as to what she was saying. I replied I didn't understand, and truly wanting to know, asked a nearby Chinese teen to explain what she was saying. Much to the delight of my Chinese speaking ego, he could not understand her.

Kunming is much as I remember and as much as I would like to elaborate, I cannot, as my Internet time, as well as my bed time is quickly approaching. Tomorrow evening, I will be on a bus from Kunming to Northern Laos. Twenty hours...