Luang Prabang to Bangkok via Vientiane…
The number of times we get seats without a view is beyond reasonable, and so it was with the Chinese Bullet Train, which runs between Boten at the border and Vientiane. But the whole enterprise was very efficient, and we certainly appreciated the short First Class boarding queue — Second Class, really, since Business was better.
Unlike the Thai train to Bangkok, it ran on time and very fast — a consistent 157kph according to the readout at the front of our cabin.
We passed through seemingly dozens of tunnels, little villages flashing past in the valleys between them, before reaching the flatlands approaching the capital — but I had to hold my phone overhead to capture a video for the family, so that’s about as much as I can say.
It was raining by the time we arrived, and only appropriate that second class got to disembark under cover. Then it was through the terminal, and out into the rain again to the taxis.
Nobody has ever heard of the Airbnbs we’ve booked, but the usual miracle occurred. We were quoted a price, boarded a van with a few others and headed off. It was reassuring to see us tracking along the same route as Google Maps but you could see the other passengers thinking, gosh, this looks a bit rumpty, as we drew near.
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At some stage in all our holidays there’s a rush for comfort. There was the Metropole restaurant in Hanoi, where we came in as dusty backpackers, ate our way through much of the menu and departed with the wait staff’s respect. The Taj in Mumbai and Clarks in Agra also come to mind, punctuation points in our usual desire to travel on the cheap, but leave as much of our money as possible with local people, and to experience as much of their lives as we can, and can cope with.
But the Villa Sisavad was a little beyond the coping point.
We’d booked a two night stopover based on its rather reassuring website, but I don’t think the site had been updated since 2013, when they claimed the establishment itself had been refurbished. Even then its claims might have been a bit of a stretch.
Heather said that the only difference between our room and a prison was that the keys were on the inside. It was one of those witticisms that aren’t really funny. Apparently we had a “garden view” but all I noticed were the cracked tiles and the shower over the toilet.
Still, the Sisavad had also claimed that there were lots of local restaurants nearby, so having left the Bullet Train hungry we went looking for food. We walked for quite a distance — or so it felt, although my feet were getting sore in the new shoes I’d bought in Chiang Rai — and the only place we saw, which had been recommended by the desk clerk, seemed to be hosting either a celebration of some sort or a bunch of guys enjoying a few noisy beers.
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We walked on and eventually found a place with creaky old wooden floor boards and several Foodpanda meal deliverers gasbagging and playing pool. The waitress’s little daughter came and watched us and the guys as we ate fried rice and noodles. To be honest I thought it was all quite homely, although the food wasn’t that good. On the other hand we never got sick.
“Let’s move nearer the airport tomorrow,” Heather said halfway through the meal.
“Hmm,” I said noncommittally.
“No!” she said. “Let’s pack up and go now. It’s horrible!”
We managed to confirm a Booking.com reservation right there on my phone, went back to the Sisavad, packed up and moved — not to the Westin but the Eastin. No, I haven’t heard of it either, but we’re certainly in Belt and Road territory here.
The hotel was brand new, half price, and to our jaded eyes fabulous. We unpacked and went down to the Terrace Bar for Camparis and Sodas, strange but nice Spaghetti Arrabiata, and a definitely nice after-dinner whisky and cognac. We slept well.
Next day we did nothing except lounge around and eat breakfast, lunch, and another self indulgent dinner. Apart from that all we can tell you about Vientiane is that there’s a broad flood plain between our hotel and the ever-present Mekong, and it rains.
Next morning we had breakfast before checking out. I saw several men walking around in their hotel flip-flops, which I’d understood was very uncool.
Then I saw a pre-teen girl walking around in a silk onesie. Is she wearing her pyjamas? I wondered.
Heather turned around to check. “Yes,” she said. “The whole family are, but that’s ok, they’re wearing Louis Vuitton.”
“How d’you know?”
“The logos.”
“Fake?”
“No, they’re rich.”
The whole experience (excluding the room, but including the airport limo, a nice Chinese Lexus lookalike) cost us about NZ$180.
The airport was charmless. By the time you get there you’ve already spent your Laotian currency, as you can’t take it out of the country, but the food outlets will only accept Kip. The only outlet on the far side of security, however, will accept anything you’ve got, as long as there’s plenty of it.
To sum up, we had a great time. Next stop Bangkok.