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Before I start, I forgot one thing in my last post that the writer had mentioned on the phone with my interpreter: She had been in touch with the woman's…uncle? Or some relative. She had shared my story, and somehow inquired about the possibility that we might be looking for his relative. Then relative had then blocked her. In the writer's view, if the woman had nothing to do with me, the relative could have just said 'no', but she took the blocking as an indication that he was hiding something. That's just what she said. I didn't read much into it, and obviously, she was just stating all the small pieces, along with the MAI in capital letters, the miserable life, the monks and temple life, and how they could maybe all fit together.
Anyway, I went downstairs, through the morning restaurant and met with my interpreter at 9 AM. Ahead of us: One hour by scooter. I had asked her whether we should get there by some other means but she had said this would be the most convenient in case we needed to get between places in the countryside as well. Oh and right she was, like always.
We went straight onto the highway where we drove for maybe half an hour. It didn't feel like half an hour though. We talked a bit but mostly I just left her to concentrate on driving, plus the noise doesn't exactly make it easy to talk.
The other half an hour to forty minutes were spent in the countryside. For a long time we drove along a small river. Past lots of duck farms, some shrimp farms and a few water buffalos casually feeding along the road.
'Lucky neither of us are wearing anything red!' my interpreter remarked.
'Oh…are buffalos also provoked by red?' I asked.
'Yes. I had a friend who got attacked by a buffalo just because she happened to be wearing something red.'
She told me she had needed to go to the hospital and it was quite bad.
Later, she asked me if I knew what the sprinkling system was for. We were driving up on a road and below, on both sides, were fields of water (ponds) or rice fields or whatever else they might have between the houses. A few of the ponds had sprinklers in them. I told her I knew what sprinklers were for in the grass but not in water. What does it do pouring more water into the water?
'It's oxygen. For the shrimp,' she explained.
'Oh, so they're farming shrimp?' I asked.
Yes…
The time spent on the countryside road definitely felt longer than on the highway. I had her phone in my hand, guiding her when and where to turn. Interestingly, when we had been in the 'countryside' in Gia Lam, she had told me to be careful with the phone when I had kept hers for navigation purposes; 'they may snatch it out of your hand'.
'Oh…' I kinda kinda thought or figured that was a risk everywhere, but when we got back to Hanoi, she remarked 'now it's OK. Nobody's going to take the phone here.' Wouldn't you have thought it'd be the other way around…?
Not that I've ever felt unsafe for me nor my property anywhere in Vietnam. My Vietnamese friend who lives in France had, admittedly, also told me not to have the phone up unless I was near some building or…whatever she said, but literally everyone has their expensive smart phones up all the time. I'm not just talking the tourists, but the locals. Everywhere. All the time. Their phones are even newer than mine which is getting quite old by now.
Eventually, we went into some little village but it wasn't even the one we were going to. Went through it, out on the other side, to some other one. When we finally got there, we had to ask our way to the temple because according to the map, we had already passed it, but we hadn't seen any. She pointed out that Google Maps probably wasn't as accurate here in the countryside as in the city. The temple may not even be on the map.
We went back and forth like twice before we got to a very small temple.
'This is it?' I asked, looking at the tiny temple. It was so small, it didn't look like it'd have any monks. A tune was playing in the temple's speakers; I recognized it as the melody that had been on repeat for the entire duration of my first massage.
'I know this song…!' I told my interpreter in disbelief.
'Yes, it's famous. Kinda typical for like meditation,' she explained.
Funny enough, despite having heard it for 90 minutes, and recognized it like two weeks later, I still can't sing it.
We only found a woman who was sweeping the floors. My interpreter approached her with care, so as to not ask anything that may make her not want to talk to us. Made up some lie that we were there to learn more about the customs of the culture/religion.
After some time, she said that the woman seemed friendly so we could probably ask her about the woman we were looking for, though it would sound strange. I asked if we couldn't just ask for another temple in the neighbourhood where there would be monks. She told us about another temple close by. I think my interpreter also couldn't really resist, because the temple cleaner was so nice, so she asked if she knew the woman we were looking for. She didn't. So we headed to the next temple.
It was only a 9 minute walk, but again, my interpreter suggested we take the scooter. I guess she must have known the next temple would not be our last stop.
The next temple was slightly bigger. Three men were sitting on a bench outside the temple yard. Inside the yard, some kids were playing badminton. The building itself was still pretty small though. We talked to one of the men. They were all a bit older than middle-aged. He took us around the corner to someone's house, I think to get a key. We waited in front of the small road to the house, while he went along the road until some dog started barking, then talked to someone, came back. We went back to the temple yard, inside the small temple. My interpreter whispered that there was no monk here either but that the man was really friendly, so we could probably ask him about the woman too.
'It's going to be really weird, but I think we should ask,' my interpreter said.
'OK, sure. Weird or not weird, it's not as if we're ever going to meet him again…' I told her.
She asked him if he knew a woman with the name we were looking for. He didn't, but he said there were a lot of people with that last name in the next village.
'He hasn't asked us why we're asking all these weird questions…' she noted to me, adding though 'but I think he may know.'
She explained that in small villages many people were often related, and thus they would carry the same name.
We arrived to the next village, also only a five minute drive if even that. We started asking some people in the village about the woman. They seemed to know her. Seemed not to bother why we were asking. They pointed us down to the right of the 'main street'. However, the houses weren't numbered so we couldn't know which of the buildings down the right street it was. Who did we ask? What did we ask? We could be stumbling upon her relatives, or even herself!
We shut off the engine on the scooter and pondered the situation for a while. Was this the village my biological mother came from? Is this the life I could have lived? I started drafting a message to my contact person at the Swedish authorities; maybe she had some tip as to how on earth you approach the woman who may be your biological mother. My interpreter was faster than me though, she suggested we call the writer. Knowing I wouldn't receive a reply from Sweden anyway, not just because my contact person is probably a busy person, but also because of the time difference, it still being like 4-5 AM back in Europe, I said yes. She had, after all, proven quite helpful so far.
The writer suggested we go to the market and ask about her there. We could ask people for the number of the woman, say that she wasn't at home or that we didn't want to bother her family and would call her instead. Could say that we didn't quite have the time right now to go to her house.
Excellent. So back we went. I think. This is where my memory starts getting a bit blurred. We talked to so many people… I don't remember the order but we got to a main road, outside the village. We saw some people sitting outside their house. What led us to stop and ask them in particular, I don't remember, but we did.
My interpreter didn't want to tell me what they had said until we were back on the road, even though they wouldn't understand a word of what we'd say.
She told me that she had asked if they knew the woman we were looking for. They had said that there were two women with that name but one of them was too old to fit the description. The other one regularly went to the temple. When they had said that, my interpreter had taken her phone out and showed them the picture of the woman, and they had confirmed it was her. They knew her. Told us she lived in the village where we had just been. Told us the name of her husband. My interpreter said that would help us locate her since people often knew families by the husband's name (or both husband and wife).
Somewhere in all of this, we also stumbled upon a big temple, much bigger than the others we had been to, with a pond and really nice yard. We found a monk inside; they probably had even more actually because there were more shoes outside one of the buildings and multiple beds inside. There were photos on the walls of groups of people and I tried to see if the woman we were looking for was on any of them. I'm too facially blind to look for someone in a photo of that many people.
My interpreter talked to the monk for a while but said he wasn't very friendly, so better not ask him about the woman. She also confirmed it wasn't the monk in the photo.
What photo?
She showed me a photo I did not recall having seen while stalking any of the three profiles the woman had on Facebook. On the picture was the woman we were looking for along with 4-5 other people, one of which was a monk, not in those bright orange clothes but in brown clothes. She said that this was the monk the writer had told us to try to locate. Plus the monk we had just talked to had been a man; we were looking for a woman.
'Oh, so a nun…' I remarked. She had had short (or shaved?) hair on the photo and with the brown turban like thing on her head, I hadn't really been able to tell whether it was a monk or a nun.
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Not so much. Instead, she told me (and she had to use a dictionary to find the word) the shopkeepers had said she was a fortune teller and some people sought her services because of that.
'Oh, why is that bad?' I asked. Sure, back in the olden days when people believed in witches and evil, I would maybe be able to picture it or just independent fortune telling but since it was associated, so to speak, with the temple, I didn't understand why they warned us. Hardly the Buddhist monks were going to curse us with fortune telling…
'Because some people believe it too much,' she explained.
'Oh.' Oooh.
OK. That's OK. I'm not scared of that.
It was also quite an excellent excuse to look for her. If we ran into her husband, or even into her, we could say that we were looking to have our fortunes told. If she was good, maybe she could see why we were here? Or tell us that we would find what we came for. Was she the one we were looking for?
I joked that we could make a Hollywood movie out of this. Finding a fortune teller who would tell my future, just to realize I was her biological daughter. What a film… We both laughed. Went back to the street where everyone had told us she lived. Found the house. The gates were closed but part of the gate was just metal bars that you could see through so we saw a man sit in the yard inside.
'So what do we do now?' my interpreter whispered to me.
'We ask him about his wife, if she's a fortune teller…'
If you're all for cliff hangers, I suggest you continue working, or go to sleep or whatever. Continue reading later. Otherwise, keep going.
My interpreter called the man. He came to the gate, and we inquired about his wife. She was home, and I think before my interpreter could even explain what he had said, she had come to and opened the gate for us.
'Is that her?!' I whispered to her.
'Yes, it's her…!'
My first impression was that she was just like any other Vietnamese person I had seen. Middle aged. She didn't look like me. At least I didn't think so. I recognized her from the photos though, but she was or looked older than the photos. Also, my interpreter noted that the husband was not the man we had seen in her pictures. Granted, those pictures were from 2018, and even back then, she may have used old pictures but even my interpreter admitted she didn't look like me.
We were invited inside the yard, and my interpreter tried to explain that she had just been told that the woman didn't only deal with fortune telling, also…something she didn't know what was called.
'Depregnancy?' she asked.
'What?'
We parked the scooter in their yard. They had a small fountain ish along one of the walls, two sides of the yard were rooms, the corner for scooters. Very basic rooms. I hardly recall seeing much furniture. We took our shoes off and got to sit on the floor in one of the rooms by the corner. She seemed to have a small Buddha/sacred place there. She poured some tea into cups that were so tiny, they looked like the toy China I had when I was two (not exaggerating!).
My interpreter and the woman talked for some time. I sipped on the tea in the meantime. Then after five minutes or so, we got up. The woman seemed to nod in my direction, as if asking about me. My interpreter said something, I can't remember.
My interpreter quickly found the "depregnancy" word she had been looking for before. Abortions.
'Abortions??' I asked, confused. Maybe I should have figured based on "depregnancy" but I didn't understand how this woman could have anything to do with it.
We thanked her and her husband for having invited us in. She took down the number of the woman, and then we made our way back to town.
On the way, my interpreter explained that the woman wasn't just a fortune teller but also that she helped people, talked to people who had just gone through abortions. Thus she had made up a story about her having gone through an abortion and that's what they had talked about. The woman had admitted she wasn't an expert in the area but that she had given us her number so she could connect my interpreter to her "master". I'm not sure if that was the nun in the picture…
I asked if abortions were legal in Vietnam. She said they weren't. But some private clinics or doctors performed them.
She also told me that the woman had said she had two sons, the oldest born in 1992.
'Oh…' I said, realizing she could hardly have had two babies in the same year, unless I happen to be a twin! Feels unlikely.
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She also mentioned that now that we knew the name of her husband, we could try to find him on Facebook to see what his last name is. Last names are passed on from the father, which is why I don't have the same last name as the woman I'm looking for. But the main point of finding the husband on Facebook would be to try and find their sons, the oldest in particular, and see if he has his date of birth public.
I looked up the husband's given name on all three of the Facebook accounts while we were driving back on the country roads. She had one account with many more friends than the other two accounts, just over 500, and on that profile I found someone with the first name as her husband. He didn't have the same name as me…
Fair enough, maybe they weren't together so long ago. But then I realized they had a son who was my age so basically none of it came together.
I told my interpreter that I had found someone with the husband's name but couldn't seem to find their sons. We would take a better look at it together once back in town.
The rest of the way into town was tough, mostly because I struggled to stay awake. You'd think the wind in your hair would keep you wide awake but not quite so. When we got into town again, she said she had also been sleepy on the way.
We found a place to sit down, I'm guessing near some university area because she said it was cheap since many students came there. I don't think either of us had had breakfast, not that I had even thought about food once since that morning, but it was time for some breakfast. Or lunch. It was past 1 PM.
She asked if I had tried sticky rice yet, which I hadn't, at least not on this trip. There was also another place next door that had something else I also hadn't tried but I said I didn't mind so she could decide. So we settled for sticky rice.
It was quite a big "restaurant", on the corner. It had the small plastic chairs and tables. It was extremely messy though with wrinkled, presumably used, napkins all over the floor.
There were only chopsticks on our table but my interpreter explained that it wasn't suitable for this food and went looking for spoons on some of the other tables. She was hardly back before the food had arrived: two bowls with very sticky rice, on top some beef and I assume tofu.
There was a sauce on the table that she said I should put on. When I tried it, I realized it was just soy sauce - but soy also makes everything better so I put some more of it. Tasted pretty good but also pretty normal. You didn't have the freshness from any herbs or cilantro. But still good. My interpreter explained that the rice wasn't as sticky as it could or should be though.
After lunch, we found another cafe nearby as the tiny tables was no place to be working on our computers.
I went through the Facebook profiles again; showed her the profile I thought was her husband. Showed his friends with the same last name but that that was kind of a dead end.
She also researched and found information about the universities. There were five in total in Gia Lam and Long Bien, of which four were old enough to be relevant for us. That's like more and older universities than we have at home!
She called them but the first one told us we needed to send a copy of my birth certificate along with a formal request. By mail.
'But so they have the records?' I asked, stunned.
'Yes.'
'From 1992?'
'Yes.'
'Oh wow. Okay great.'
'So I think we should print the request letters and send them along with your birth certificate,' she said.
She googled something on her computer and quickly found some letter that she could download and edit.
While she was at it, it dawned on me that I had left the birth certificates in my bag with my friend the night before. I managed to think 'goddamnit!!' to myself but then also remembered that last time we had gone on the search, my interpreter had advised me that it was enough to bring 2-3 copies. I had brought five and only used one of them. They were in my bag that I currently had with me, not with the rest of the copies. So I took out the folder and was relieved to find that I had exactly four copies with me.
I told my interpreter that I just had to be back at my accommodation at 4 since I was going to the airport, but that I was fine. She seemed to think it was quite limited time and suggested we go print the papers immediately and that she could post the letters for me. So we found a printing place, where I signed the requests. Then we started heading back to my accommodation. I messaged my Airbnbn host who said her brother would come let me in so I could get my bag. I meant to message her before I arrived, and I did, but the café had been so close that it only took us like 5 minutes to get there. So we had to wait there for about 10 minutes before the brother arrived. My interpreter calmed me down though, saying we'd be fine.
On the way though, she asked if I wanted to go to her place, which was on the way to the airport and where I could take the bus. It was much cheaper. Around 35k instead of 200-400k. I wondered whether it wouldn't be faster to take a taxi though. So then she asked if I wanted her to contact her sister; she had contacts or knew some taxi-driver who usually gave her a good discount. I kindly accepted the offer. So she stopped at the side of the road so she could text her sister, who replied immediately.
'This way the driver will be there when we get there,' she explained.
We didn't actually stop at her place. I don't know where we stopped. It was in the parking space of some really tall, fancy building, but on the other side of the road were just small, old houses with street food, small shops and so on. We waited for another 5-10 minutes before the driver came, and then I was off.
I got to the airport just under two hours before departure. Pretty good timing I thought. I should be fine. However, when I got inside, looked at the screen to see which counters to go to for check-in, it said the flight to Luang Prabang was cancelled.
(Cliffhanger two, come back later!)
What?!
I checked my mail. There was nothing about it there.
I went to the information desk, where another Westerner had got to the counter just before me. I heard that he was asking the same thing; 'what do I do? My flight is cancelled.' The woman told him to go to the check-in counter so I followed him there. Told him I was in the same situation. He said his visa was expiring today so he had to go - just like me.
We went to the check-in counters where there seemed to be a fair bit of chaos. There weren't excessively many tourists or people there yet, but enough to see that they weren't lined up in an organized manner. Rather, everyone was huddled in smaller groups, presumably discussing what to do. We ran into two other guys who told us that the screens had said 'on time' outside when they got here by taxi not at all that long ago, but then when they had got inside, the screens had changed it to 'cancelled'. In other words, it had just happened. They had been told it was due to weather.
Whether? No way, I thought. We have bad weather at home. There's no such bad weather here.
We were trying to receive information on what the Airlines would do for us in this situation but the staff seemed just as lost as we were; they were waiting for information from their superiors and told us to wait.
In the meantime, we learnt from some older travellers that the air pollution in Luang Prabang was measured at over 20 times that of the recommendations by the WHO.
'So maybe it's a good thing they cancelled...' the woman pointed out.
To make a long story...at least a bit shorter: The Airlines said we had three options:
- Get re-booked on a flight to Vientiane the next day
- Get re-booked on a flight to Luang Prabang in two days
- Get a refund
We later found out that if we went with option 1 or 2, they would also either provide us with transport to, and accommodation in Hanoi for the night, or reimburse us (only 25 USD) to cover the costs of accommodation. There was no such compensation available for option no. 3.
We also went to the Immigration Office at the airport, where the officers took copies of the passports for which the visas were expiring, so they had it on record that the overstay was not intentional on behalf of the traveller. When they took my passport to copy it, they looked at it, then told me they didn't need to copy it: 'your visa doesn't expire until the 9th,' (two days later).
So at least I didn't have to worry about getting stuck on the border or being arrested for overstay...
Some people, like the older couple, and some French people, decided to get a refund; they didn't want to go to Laos anymore. I know some found some cheap tickets to Kuala Lumpur and was going to go there and then maybe onwards to some island from there. The trio of guys I had talked to, from Germany, France and Spain respectively, weren't sure whether to go to Vientiane or Luang Prabang in one or two days.
I was flying home from Vientiane so I didn't want to go there because then I would need to go to Luang Prabang myself and back again (and the Airlines had confirmed they would not pay the transport from Vientiane to Luang Prabang if we took the option to fly to Vientiane). But I also didn't really feel like waiting two days in Vietnam and then I would only have five days in Laos. Everything was so messy!
After an hour or so, while still pondering what to do, or whether to go somewhere else(!), they provided us with official confirmation, in writing, with a stamp, that they had cancelled the flight. In case we needed to show it somewhere, whether for immigration or I guess accommodation.
Two or so hours later, people eventually started leaving. Most people left in a group as they had accepted the Airlines' offer to transfer them back into the city centre to a hotel the Airlines would pay for. I stayed, still feeling utterly lost as to what to do.
Eventually I told the airlines I would reschedule for Vientiane the next day. Then an older woman, the one who seemed to be the boss of the Airlines' ground personnel, said I should call the hotline number the next day that they had stuck to the glass on the counter. That way, I could and should check if it was possible to get on the Vientiane flight.
'Uh OK...' I said. So...even after having made the decision, it wasn't sure I could get to Laos?
I, along with the German I had met in the beginning, and 2-3 others received 25 USD in cash to cover our accommodation and then we went outside. The staff had said we could join the other group that had just left, to go into town. While we had done all this waiting, I had managed to find and book an Airbnb for the night near Westlake, relatively close to the airport. I had told my hosts in Luang Prabang that I wouldn't make it, and wasn't sure I would come tomorrow either. I had also messaged the tour organizer of the day trip I had booked for Saturday in Luang Prabang.
We went outside but didn't understand where to go. The German said he'd go back inside to ask where the group was leaving from, and I told him I would come with him.
Back inside, the staff were closing the counters and about to head home. We asked where the group bus was and how we could go with them, but now they said they had probably already left. We could come with the older woman, the 'boss', in the company car into town though.
We realized it wasn't the nicest thing to do, but the French had not been able to fit into the car anyway, and they had seemed to already be on their way to book a common taxi for them to go to wherever they were staying. So we took her up on her offer and followed her downstairs to the car park.
We loaded the bags into the car and the German offered me to sit in the front. The woman had studied in Germany so they spoke German. I obviously don't speak German but I understood pretty much everything they said, and occasionally, either one of them would say 'can you repeat in English?' or 'I'll need to say this in English...' This was true even for the German, I guess because he figured she wouldn't be able to understand or answer all the questions in German.
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She was heading into the Old Quarter so I asked her to drop me off so I wouldn't have to go as far to my Airbnbn. Then I booked a scooter through Grab that took me the rest of the way, or rather, back part of the way.
I couldn't be bothered to go far for dinner. Asked my host for recommendations and found a place in a 5-10 minute walking radius. They had the fresh summer rolls but I was also curious to try something else so I got some fried noodles with beef. Then I got some sort of, what I assume to be matcha, bun for dessert. It was bright green on the outside, and was just like a very airy, light, super white bun with a bit of a green filling as well.
I took a stroll along the lake in the other direction from the restaurant before returning to my room, and realized I could have had like 10 different BBQs if I had walked that way instead. There were lots of cool cafés as well, one that looked like tree houses, as in the ones you build in trees as a kid, and other cute, cool, weird ones.
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I woke up at a reasonable time so I would have some time to explore this completely different part of town a bit before I needed to head to the airport. However, I was so sleepy that even though I woke up at a good time, I stayed in bed for another hour or so. Check-out was at 12 and I was to call the Airlines or the woman with whom I had got the ride the night before at around 12, to get the newest information on what to do.
I went around the block to try and find some light breakfast/brunch. All the BBQ places I had passed the night before were closed, or about to open, and the street wasn't bustling like it had the evening before. I eventually found an outside restaurant with the tiny chairs in a street that was fairly dark due to it being under some big trees. It was quite a big place but nobody else was there. I ordered one bún cha and sat down at one of the tables, wiped off some chopsticks.
One man sat on a small chair at the grill, barbequing with those metal rackets. A woman sat not too far away, cutting up some fruit with a machete like knife. It wasn't until my food arrived that I realized that maybe she was cutting the papaya or whatever it is again that they put in the food. Except in the soup, it's thin slices, but she was just cutting it into big pieces. Maybe they grated it further inside?
It was, I think at least, a really good bún cha - and it must have been a popular place because when I left, it was almost full. Maybe I was just early. After all, it was around noon when I had finished eating.
I went back to the Airbnb to check out and to make that phone call. I started by messaging the woman who had given me her business card via WhatsApp. Then went downstairs with my luggage. Waited a bit. Eventually called her. She said she was driving and asked if it was OK to call me back in a few minutes. I said it was.
I was just about to message her, thinking she had forgotten about me, when she called back.
She now said I should come to the airport before 3; then they would see if the weather had improved. If so, we could get on a flight to Luang Prabang at 18.40 (the same time as the flight had been scheduled the night before), and if not, we could get on the plane to Vientiane at 16.20.
'Oh OK…so there's a flight to Luang Prabang today?' I asked. That had not been one of the options yesterday.
'Maybe. We will find out at 3. So come to the airport then.'
'OK, thanks a lot. See you then.'
So then I suddenly had some more time on my hands. I left my luggage behind and went out again to continue exploring. I didn't have any plan but then I ran into a bike rental and thought: Yeah, why not? I can get a bit further in the short time I have until I have to be back. And it cost like nothing, was it 50k (2 USD)?
The guy asked which bike I wanted; showed the range he had. There were maybe 7 or so bikes. I didn't have time to think very much about it before he had suggested the bike that was at the far end, probably because it was the one that was easiest to pull out. I just nodded, realizing, as I got on it, that it was a male bike, the ones with a straight bar between the saddle and the front. I bet all of the bikes were male though, so it probably wouldn't have mattered if I had had the time to pick the bike myself. It was also a sporting one, so the handles were low and I had to sit with a bent back to reach down to them. Not the most comfortable bike I've ridden but it worked.
It was a cold day, maybe the coldest so far, and on top of that windy. Maybe it was just windy because I was by the lake, but windy it was. Westlake is the biggest of the lakes in Hanoi and it's freaking huge. I'll admit that I didn't go very fast (because even though it wasn't particularly warm, it's still fairly humid so beware of sweating!), and that I stopped on the way in a shop that sold all kinds of sports, dance and zumba wear, and then walked part (because I wanted to stay on the left side where there was a big tourist attraction, so then I obviously couldn't cycle in the wrong direction), but I didn't even manage to get half way around the lake when I had to turn around. I still had like two hours in total.
I returned the bike and walked the short distance back to get my luggage. I was just about to sit down, thinking it was a few minutes early to book a Grab to the airport when my host walked in. She said she could take me to the bus stop; it was much cheaper. It would maybe take half an hour and they went every 15 minutes or so. I looked at the time and took her up on her offer but said that in that case we had to go now.
She took my small backpack while I carried the big one. The bus stop was just on the other side of the building so we had to walk around the block. She pointed out an orange bus on the other side of the road going in the other direction.
'Like that,' she said. 'Number 90.'
I think we waited for 10 minutes. One or two other, not orange busses came and went, and then I saw the orange one on the other side of the intersection. It cost 35k VND, as opposed to the two hundred something the taxi would have cost. So in the end, I actually think I managed to not exceed the 25 USD I had received in compensation from the airline on transport both ways and on accommodation. I would have needed to spend money on food in Laos too anyway so I don't count that.
I started writing on the bus but got so sleepy, I ended up putting the phone away and resting the rest of the way. We arrived to the airport pretty much exactly at 3 PM and I hurried inside the terminal building to make sure I wasn't missing any deadlines.
I found the woman who had given me the ride back the day before, and she also remembered me. She told me that they were still waiting to hear about the weather conditions in Luang Prabang and would let us know at 4 PM whether they would depart or not. If not, we could take the plane to Vientiane. So she advised me to take a seat while waiting.
I recognized some of the people sitting in the other chairs from the day before. The Spanish guy, some girls I had seen but didn't know where they were from. I re-booked the tour I had meant to go on, but for Sunday this time. Then did some more writing.
![Picture](/uploads/9/1/8/2/9182665/editor/img-9800.jpeg?1681617783)
The flight was smooth; we taxied out on or even a bit ahead of time, and the flight was only one hour and ten minutes. They offered drinks and a small snack; some bread with a rather odd topping that I think was supposed to be ham and…I want to say cheese, but I can vouch that neither tasted like cheese nor ham, and some much tastier crisps. The flight was a very small one, maybe slightly bigger than a fokker, around 20 seat rows and only two seats on each side of the aisle. Another tourist was seated next to me, but when boarding was complete, he moved as the plane was like more than half empty. All tourists, I'm sure, mostly Western but also some Asian.
(This reminds me that I particularly noted, on the flight from Frankfurt to Singapore, that they had skipped row 13. I had heard that some planes don't have row 13, out of superstition that it's an unlucky number, but I've never, as far as I can remember or have noted, remember actually seeing it.)
We arrived to an, indeed, very foggy Luang Prabang. It was dark but you could still see the haze. They said the temperature was 35 degrees. According to the Air Quality Index, the pollution had gone up even more since the day before, but maybe the fog had died down. Maybe the 'weather' conditions that had caused the flight cancellation was really the fog (or the smoke) and not the pollution as such. Someone had said it was because they were burning trees (or something) in Myanmar, and that that was being carried over to Laos. Someone else had said it was worse in the northern regions, hence they had still been flying to Vientiane.
We stepped out of the plane and the heat embraced us. I put a mask on as was advised on all those air quality websites, but I was the only one who did so. We got onto a bus that drove us to the terminal building where we went through border control; there was no other flight arriving so we didn't have to wait in any lines.
I hadn't really planned on it, but the vendors were standing right outside the terminal building advertising SIM cards, and they were so cheap that I thought, just like in Vietnam, that it could be quite useful to have data. So I got the cheapest one which was valid for 3-6 days for 11 GB. It cost 3 USD so I could pay using the dollars I had got from the airlines the night before.
I took out some cash using the ATM and then tried to figure out what the best way was to get into town. The German who had also got a drive from the airlines woman the day before, was also there, along with some other people we recognized. Somehow and eventually, the German and I decided to share a cab. The SIM card vendors said it usually cost around 80k kip to go to the airport per vehicle, so if there were two of us, we could save some money.
We found a spot between our hotels and asked the driver to take us there. We were originally planning on joining with 2-4 others from…Korea I think, but in the end we thought it was a bit too messy finding a place that was close to three different hotels, and 40k kip was definitely quite doable.
In the car, we decided to exchange contact details, just in case. It might get useful…
The driver dropped us at the so called Night Market. Maybe it shouldn't have, but my jaw dropped. I loved this place already:
There was a big area lit with a 'ceiling' of light series, super cozy. When I got out of the car, I saw that the area was crowded of people sitting at tables having dinner. All around the area were food stalls.
I was going to just go straight to the Airbnb with my stuff and call it an early night but I really couldn't resist going through the area despite having one backpack on my back and another on the front.
I had seen on the map in the car that I was heading in the direction of the market anyway. I was going to walk back the way we had come, but of course I'd much rather walk through this!
They really did have all kinds of food at the stalls. The stalls were along one side, food wagons or more like trolleys along the other. They had noodles, noodle soup, spring rolls, sushi, BBQ, beer, shakes, smoothies, ice tea, some Korean stall, Chinese, Thai… It was just amazing to see the range of food.
I continued to the other end of the food area, where the market area took over; a long road on both sides of which locals had lined up goods for sale on some plasticky material on the ground under tents they had set up. This place just got even cooler, I thought to myself.
There were souvenirs of all kinds, small bags, key rings, clothes, scarves, shoes… I went along the market for a bit, amazed at all the beautiful textiles and craftwork and I guess also just the people. After some time, when I thought it should be time for me to turn, I took out my phone and realized that the road wouldn't turn where I had to turn. I'd either have to continue for a very long way before I would be able to turn, and thus take a long detour…or go back the way I came, like I had originally planned.
So I went back. Couldn't resist grabbing a few skewers to go on the way back since the bread/pizza thing on the flight had been so lousy.
The city was wholly different from Vietnam, or at least Hanoi. Outside the night market, the streets were almost completely empty. Very little traffic, very few people (and I pretty much hadn't seen anyone else wearing a mask, which is very common in Vietnam, especially people on scooters, exactly because of the pollution), and everything was closed, even though it was only around 9. In Vietnam, most shops and restaurants (except breakfast places) are open until 10 PM. There was an occasional bar on the way though where people were sitting. There had been very few scooters on the way from the airport. Everything was so…quiet. Not bustling with life and people like at this time of night in Vietnam.
I got to my Airbnb, a hotel. I could see that I was supposed to take my shoes off outside, which I did; put my shoes on a shelf next to the entrance door. There was nobody there. I walked around the lobby so see if anyone was there, but it was empty. I messaged my host on Airbnb.
Three, fairly tall, somewhat older than me, Asians came in. They didn't seem to speak a single word of English. Not a single. They seemed very upbeat and tried to talk to me or ask me something but it was completely incomprehensible. The only thing I figured was that they were asking something about the key.
Not having heard from my host, I tried adding him to my contacts to see if he had WhatsApp. He did. So I called, and he apologized, saying his staff had just gone out to buy some fruit, they'd probably be back in just a few minutes. He asked me to please wait.
The Asians continued trying to communicate, asked me if I wanted water. They told me I could sit down to eat my skewers. I sat down in a single chair but one of the guys moved and insisted I take his seat by the table. Asked again if I wanted water so this time I just nodded. The gave me a cup of what seemed like warm water from the water dispenser. They talked between themselves, quite loudly, giggled. At one point, one of the guys showed me his phone. I don't quite know whether the point was to ask me what language I spoke or whether and what social media I had but he showed me WeChat and I recognized the characters, so I figured they were Chinese, despite, strangely, not really having recognized the spoken language as such. Maybe it'd just been too long since I heard Chinese.
Eventually a young boy arrived on a scooter. As far as I could see, he didn't have any fruit but maybe he had left it outside. The Asians tried to communicate with him too, and the boy asked something in English, but again, they didn't understand each other. Basically, it seemed they had left their key in the reception and now weren't able to get into their rooms because the guy hadn't been there to give them their keys. So they got their keys, and I got mine, and he showed me into my room.
It was on the ground floor, at the end of the small hallway by the lobby. It was quite a spacious room but there were a lot of mosquitos. I quickly got my mosquito repellent out and started spraying myself all over. I got one mosquito that got stuck and smeared onto the wall, but it was not the only dead mosquito on the wall. The light was annoyingly white, and unlike everyVietnamese place I had stayed, there were no slippers to borrow. So I took out my flip flops, I think the first time I made use of them on the trip, except maybe on Freedom Island. It was dark but I could see that I had a small patio area outside my door.
I drank my water, then went back outside, where I now realized there were even more mosquitos than I had had in my room; it was as if they flocked to the type of light they had in the ceiling… Now that I was taking water myself, I realized you could choose either hot or cold water. So I took a tea bag and poured hot water in my cup. It was smoking hot, so I figure the Asian before must have mixed the hot and cold water, not knowing what I wanted.
The shower only allowed me to set the power of the water, not the heat (or so I thought). The water seemed to come from, or be connected, to a small box with a small dial on it, that was attached to the wall. It was set to two, and I thought it had to do with…I don't know what I thought, but I didn't dare move it, and the shower was pretty damn cold. So I just took a quick shower, then got into bed, ready to wake up early for the day trip the next day.
Next up: Easter at Kuang Si falls, cruise on Mekong, the bears and the elephants...