Chasing Amy-Lou

Vang Vieng, Laos:

The rain is relentless. RELENTLESS. When I went to bed last night, in my comfy little bungalow, views of the mountains in the background, my mind peaceful and at ease, the rain was heavy. And it did not stop. Not once. I went to sleep with the sound of pounding rain drops upon my tin roof. And I awoke to the sound of pounding rain drops upon my tin roof. When I looked out the window, the river had risen remarkably and the brown water flowed past my room in a sinister fashion.

The fact it was raining didn’t worry me (much). I hadn’t planned on moving very far that day anyway. Vang Vieng town was not a place I wanted or needed to go to again so I was quite content to mull around the guesthouse grounds for the day, writing in my journal, reading my book, and generally just taking some time to relax. What did worry me though were the state of the roads. I was due to leave for Vientiane tomorrow, in a mini bus, and I was slightly concerned that should the rain continue in its violent fashion then the terrain would be unsuitable to drive on. Driving anywhere in South East Asia is scary at the best of times – the drivers are slightly unhinged, the brakes on all vehicles are disturbingly questionable, the roads can be narrow and uneven, the hills are steep, the drops are sheer, and the twists and turns are part and parcel of any route. And the accidents? Well, the less I heard about those, the better. The drive from Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng had been hairy enough; our driver speeding round bends like Lewis Hamilton on crack. I was not particularly looking forward to my next journey, especially in the rain.

I tried to put my impending doom to the back of my mind. I did not want to taint my Saturday by thinking of all the different ways I could possibly die in a road traffic collision in central Laos; my soaking wet body being left at the bottom of a mountain; my loved ones not finding out about my treacherous demise until the Laotian authorities had concocted a story that wouldn’t vindicate the driver or the state of the roads. I did not want to think about that.

So, with my positive mental attitude praying for the rain to cease I went and had a hearty breakfast and then plonked myself down at a table in the common area where for the next few hours I did nothing but sort through my photographs, write, and tried to figure out how much money I’d have left and how far it would get me.

Because the rain was so persistent and because I had no idea how it was going to be in Cambodia and Myanmar, I began to think that maybe I wouldn’t see prolonged sunshine again in quite a while. And this made me sad. If I’d wanted rain I would’ve taken a flight to Manchester and had a holiday there instead of trekking through South East Asia with nothing but a winter waterproof jacket for protection. I wanted to be back in Australia, and I needed a beach. But Australia was too expensive without having work out there. So I planned an alternate sunshine getaway instead.

If my measly budget would allow (it was still diminishing rapidly and I was beginning to fret a little…just a little), and if I stuck to a basic plan, I figured I should be able to make it through Cambodia and Myanmar without dying of starvation and without resorting to sleeping under a bridge or selling my body for cold hard dollar. If I managed to achieve this great feat I then calculated that I’d have enough money leftover to fly to Bali and spend around two weeks there; two weeks of just lying on a beach doing nothing. It was a tall order, and every penny would have to be accounted for…but I was determined to do it. I could not return to England whiter than when I left. It was not an option.

With my plan of action kind of in place I decided to go celebrate. So I took myself off to Lao Valhalla, the Air BnB Bungalows I hadn’t been able to afford to stay in. I had a cup of peppermint tea and a papaya salad; I chilled on the cushions on the floor and watched as the world and a load of cows went by. I did some FaceTiming and sent some emails. Then I had a beer. Then I thought ‘sod it’, and had another beer. And before I knew it time had run away from me and it was creeping towards 7pm. So I bid my wonderful hosts goodbye and thanked them for their hospitality, telling them that if I ever managed to earn a wage that allowed me to stay in places better than dingy backpackers then I’d definitely be back.

On the return walk to Maylyn I cast my eyes to the sky. The clouds were rolling up ahead, dark and enticing; and in the dim light of dusk the countryside looked remarkably and impressively stunning. Vang Vieng town might not have been what I thought it would be, but my little paradise over the river? Well, it had been everything I needed it to be.