Vang Viang, Part Two

I couldn't let my yesterday self get the last word in on Vang Viang. Bob Marley is still wearing out the stereosystems around town, but this morning we woke up to sunshine and fluffy white clouds decorating the karst formations across the river from our bungalow.

Although the surrounding area has scores of caves to be explored and roads to be bicycled, we, quite predictably, have done nothing. After breakfast, the owner, who speaks Lao, French, Thai, English, Russian, Hebrew (from his days as an agriculture student in Israel), and Hungarian (from his further studies in Budapest) serenaded us with Beatles covers on his acoustic guitar; this impromptu concert segued directly into lunch, during which we watched groups of naked little boys splash around the opposite bank.

After lunch we hailed a songthaew headed for the post office so we could mail some fair trade stuffed giraffes to Isaac's new niece and my nephew-to-be. School kids pedaling earnestly home streamed behind our truck, the girls shaded by frilly sun parasols, the boys shouldering floppy satchels, the novice monks in bright orange. As Isaac has been fond of repeating since we arrived in Laos, I love this country.