Vang Vieng has many dimensions. Originally fishing and farming village tucked into a bend in the river protected by the high limestone rocks, its claim to fame in recent years has been for tubing/kayaking on the backpacking trail. It is still very small; guest houses snake along the river side and at the intersection of the three streets is ‘hippie’ junction where the above is organised, but so far few bars and few shops.
The locals go about their business in the main completely ignoring the visiting tourists. So from my bamboo balcony I look down into the river and watch them fishing, wading waist high swishing nets and then flicking them inside out, placing any catch carefully in the baskets tied around their waists.
Seaweed is gathered continually and taken ashore to the opposite bank smoke rises from the village houses, cattle and horses roam the towpath, nothing much happens here really! There is a trade building up offering tourist boat rides-this evening one such long tailed canoe went past with two monks in the passenger seats, taking photos and obviously enjoying their trip!
The traumatic white knuckle bus ride and the inadvertent excitement of yesterdays caving escapade, plus hours bumping on gravel/mud tracks on a non-mountain bike, have taken their toll. I am somewhat sore.
So today, Wednesday, after a long leisurely breakfast gazing at the shafts of sunlight crisscrossing the cliff face, I wandered over the bridge to the villages which dot the paddy fields and into the dark forest edges at the bottom of the sheer walls.
The main danger here is from herds of oxen, luckily equipped with bells so I could jump into a dusty ditch in plenty of time! Walking under the shade of high bamboo groves into dense undergrowth lined with flowers, hearing cattle jingling, for a moment I could have been in a Swiss valley!
My little balcony is perfect for sitting and reading. I love the buzz of cities but the beauty of this peaceful valley is an oasis of calm. It is a balm to the soul to just relax. I’m not one for tubing or kayaking-and apparently the river is too low at present anyway so the backpackers are less in evidence than usual-so I have the perfect excuse to do nothing but sit/swim in the little pool/drink ice coffee/enjoy the view.
There is another single woman here ‘of a certain age’, also married with children, so we have become friends. There are less mature travellers here and it’s rare to find a fellow solo traveller like myself, with a family back home, most I meet are on a voyage of self discovery rather than just discovery. We spend hours watching the river life and the changing sunlight/sunsets comparing family tales and discussing our own independent ways.
I am now the proud possessor of very short hair! My crop had sprouted in the heat, if you turned me upside down I would have functioned as a floor mop, so I pottered about this evening peering into doorways until I saw one opening into a local beauty salon, where the young girl motioned me in and welded shaver and scissors to good effect. £3-stunning value!
The locals go about their business in the main completely ignoring the visiting tourists. So from my bamboo balcony I look down into the river and watch them fishing, wading waist high swishing nets and then flicking them inside out, placing any catch carefully in the baskets tied around their waists.
Seaweed is gathered continually and taken ashore to the opposite bank smoke rises from the village houses, cattle and horses roam the towpath, nothing much happens here really! There is a trade building up offering tourist boat rides-this evening one such long tailed canoe went past with two monks in the passenger seats, taking photos and obviously enjoying their trip!
The traumatic white knuckle bus ride and the inadvertent excitement of yesterdays caving escapade, plus hours bumping on gravel/mud tracks on a non-mountain bike, have taken their toll. I am somewhat sore.
So today, Wednesday, after a long leisurely breakfast gazing at the shafts of sunlight crisscrossing the cliff face, I wandered over the bridge to the villages which dot the paddy fields and into the dark forest edges at the bottom of the sheer walls.
The main danger here is from herds of oxen, luckily equipped with bells so I could jump into a dusty ditch in plenty of time! Walking under the shade of high bamboo groves into dense undergrowth lined with flowers, hearing cattle jingling, for a moment I could have been in a Swiss valley!
My little balcony is perfect for sitting and reading. I love the buzz of cities but the beauty of this peaceful valley is an oasis of calm. It is a balm to the soul to just relax. I’m not one for tubing or kayaking-and apparently the river is too low at present anyway so the backpackers are less in evidence than usual-so I have the perfect excuse to do nothing but sit/swim in the little pool/drink ice coffee/enjoy the view.
There is another single woman here ‘of a certain age’, also married with children, so we have become friends. There are less mature travellers here and it’s rare to find a fellow solo traveller like myself, with a family back home, most I meet are on a voyage of self discovery rather than just discovery. We spend hours watching the river life and the changing sunlight/sunsets comparing family tales and discussing our own independent ways.
I am now the proud possessor of very short hair! My crop had sprouted in the heat, if you turned me upside down I would have functioned as a floor mop, so I pottered about this evening peering into doorways until I saw one opening into a local beauty salon, where the young girl motioned me in and welded shaver and scissors to good effect. £3-stunning value!
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