Midway between Vientiane and Luang Prabang on the Nam Song River, Vang Vieng is situated amidst gorgeous karst scenery. Although for some fifteen years or so at the turn of the millennium the limestone hills, their isolated monoliths and associated caves, the patchwork of rice fields and profusion of meandering streams, were not its primary attraction. That lure was the abundance of drugs, happy menus, buckets of liquor and the opportunity to prematurely end your stint on this mortal coil.
The must do activity during this period was to hire an inflated tractor and be whisked several kilometers from whence you could float back towards town. This genteel sounding practice was spiced by the river banks being lined with bars who would throw you a line and haul you into their establishments. Here, spurred on by employed western provocateurs and thumping sound systems, you could consume outrageous volumes of alcohol at negligible prices before being encouraged to leap back into the water from poorly contrived and dubiously constructed towering erections. In the dry season individuals broke everything from ankles to necks, whilst in the wet season – with the deceptively strong current - they drowned.
We were here back in that day and the number of hobbling, bandaged and maimed casualties about town was astounding. Indeed during our brief stay in 2011 there was a fatality. They were only notably among those renowned sensibles: the Brits and Aussies. In 2012 the Australian government had had enough and pressure was exerted to persuade the Lao authorities to clamp down. Almost overnight the riverside bars and their platforms of death were closed. Suddenly there was a superfluous glut of backpacker Vang Vieng was no longer on the young hedonists short circuit. The new clientele, whilst still hardly aged, would be hiking, biking or kayaking before embarking on their happy meals. There was a growth in more exclusive boutique hostels but many simple establishments were forced to close.
And then you turn up in October 2020, eight months into the Covid pandemic. It was, and is, shocking. The streets are largely deserted, certainly of western visitors. All tour operations, most bars and hotels/hostels/guesthouses and many restaurants are temporarily or permanently closed. Everywhere there are signs advertising land, premises and businesses for sale. Far
more than our adopted rural home of Tad Lo with its low grade tourism, Vang Vieng is suffering greatly.
We checked out our old riverside guesthouse (still open) although, equally, it was still run by the same ancient Norwegian lush (yes, I know thats from me) whos lack of privacy boundaries made it a pain to endure even when he was the cheapest option in town. He no longer is, but does remain as one of only three expat hostel owners who have survived various foreigner over the years (they all have Lao wives).
Without realistic stands Magic Monkey whose name spanks of those bad old days and yet it boasts an idyllic bucolic location with private garden bungalows surrounding a decent sized pool (Ali regularly clocked 100 laps/day) and excellent seating looking out over rice fields to the not so distant karsts for $92/month. That includes drinking water, toilet paper, soap, towels, coffee/tea, free bikes, and a with fridge/freezer. During they actually let people stay for free in the dorm. Even in early October the place was
packed, with some two dozen staying. I suspect that half of all the backpackers in town were in residence, as were we and four Tad Lo chums who were poised awaiting their repatriation flights back to Europe. Their profit margins must be negligible, but many small profits
Anyway, we cant let the month of October pass without a wee regarding the Yes, beautifully karmic, following a series of potential events the came down with the virus.
