Little Spoon and I had flown from Hanoi to the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Luang Prabang in northern Laos for some relaxation from the moped madness of Vietnam's capital.
And it was certainly relaxing. Luang Prabang is beautiful, sedate and so relaxed that everything closes by 11.30pm. For a young go getter like myself this would usually be a major issue but I was happy to wander around looking at monks and drinking fresh fruit juice while Little Spoon took photographs of everything of any interest and everything else too.
We knew our visit was brief and that we would soon be moving on to Vang Vieng but it seemed worth investigating what activities Luang Prabang had to offer. Three things seemed popular and initially all were fairly appealing. First of all visit a waterfall in the jungle and swim around in the pool at the bottom. Granted this might not sound thrilling on the face of it, but everything closes at 11.30pm remember? If Britain was the same perhaps there would be less teenage pregnancy and more day trips to waterfalls.
But the trip looked a bit short, with too much traveling on a bus and not enough time waterfalling.
The second option is where the elephants come in. We had heard all about elephant trekking and although it is clearly a bit of a gimmick it looks interesting enough. Little Spoon collected the most professional looking leaflet with a huge amount of information about what we could expect for our money.
I opened it up wide eyed and expectant. I finished it furious and in the knowledge that I would have to take a firm stance on elephants from this day forwards.
Allow me to summarise the fun and frolics on offer for a fairly expensive package...
"Day 1: Learn how the elephant handlers train the elephants. Practice their techniques, collect the elephants food and feed it. Take the elephants to their enclosure in the jungle. Return to your cabin for the night."
Hmmm...my suspicions were already arising. This day one sounded worryingly similar to a day of work. I came to your jungle to relax and possibly galavant if the terrain permits it; I didn't come to learn techniques let alone practice them. I read on, perhaps day two would involve riding the elephant to a fun fair or watching them dance while enjoying a nice lie down in a hammock.
"Day 2: Rise at 6.00am"
I beg your pardon? I double checked, yes it definitely tells me to rise at 6.00am on my FUCKING HOLIDAY! Now I was angry, there had better be a very good reason for why I was expected to pay money to be woken up at 6am and it had better not involve practicing anything.
"...make your way from your cabin to the elephant enclosure and bring the elephants back to camp, clean them and give them their breakfast."
Right. That does it. Let me get this straight, I have come on holiday to one of the world's most beautiful towns to relax and soak up the tranquil and idyllic surroundings. I am now expected to pay money to train your elephants, feed your elephants and fetch them back and forth from their enclosure? Sure.
While we are it, perhaps I could enroll on a "Hotel Cleaners Camp" where I can pay for the privelage of learning the best techniques for scrubbing shit off a toilet, how to fold towels quickly and then I can get up at the crack of dawn to work for free.
If you elephant trainers didn't want your elephants you shouldn't have bought them from wherever you buy elephants from. You want the elephant to come back from its enclosure? You fetch it. You want it to have its breakfast? You feed it. I was half hoping the elephants might bring me breakfast not vice versa. Am I expected to put them on my back too and carry the lazy, long nosed swines up the mountain?
I hurled the leaflet away and told Little Spoon we were not going to be a part of such a swindle. But I could see she had been dazzled by the pictures of elephants and was still eager to embark on this madness. So I reminded her that it involved getting out of bed at 6am. Little Spoon is someone who finds getting out of bed at 1pm a trifle taxing and would probably be quite happy if she was reincarnated as a cat and could sleep for 18 hours a day.
That sealed it. She was now more opposed to elephant training than I was, and given that I now put elephant training courses on a moral par with racism, homophobia and kicking the elderly it was fair to say she felt strongly on the matter.
That left us with the last option. Massage. Several traditional massage venues were scattered along the picturesque streets and the prices were very reasonable. The only issue was that Little Spoon had become convinced that every massage available in Asia involved a "happy ending" if the client was male.
Little Spoon: "Oh so you think massage is a good idea? Yeah I bet you do."
Me: "Spoon, this is an UNESCO World Heritage Site, not the red light district of Bangkok. If anything we will probably get in there and have to learn how to give a massage, change the towels and sweep up."
Despite her reservations, she had been out of bed for a good three hours and the lure of being able to lie down again was too much for her to resist. We went inside the place that looked the most traditional. Having no idea what a traditional Laotian massage joint looks like, we based this on the amount of wooden carvings and plants they had.
We both chose a one hour massage with oils that was said to "Relax, Rejuvenate and Increase Blood Circulation".
The first 50 minutes were brilliant. It was the first time I had ever had a proper massage and it was indeed relaxing and rejuvenating. However, the final ten minutes were obviously where the tiny masseuse decided to increase my blood circulation. I have always been pro increased blood circulation, but ideally I would like it to circulate inside my body. But her techniques seemed focused on getting it to circulate all over the room and to splatter the white washed walls and fine wooden carvings.
She tried to pull my head off.
It was not a head rub. She took hold of my head and tried to pull it off. Off from my neck. Where my head has always been.
I grimaced and quickly thought through my options. I could punch her. She was very small afterall and I was feeling pretty rejuvenated so I could probably take her. Or I could bank on my neck being stronger than her arms and stick it out so as not to incur any fines for beating up the masseuse.
I chose option two. It was a fairly close call, but my head remained where it belonged and I hastily got dressed and came outside to find Little Spoon eyeing me like a detective might look at his chief murder suspect.
Little Spoon: "So...enjoy that did you?"
Me: "Well yeah, until the last ten minutes, because then she tried to do the old increased blood circulation thing and..."
Little Spoon: "I knew it! You got a happy ending didn't you? Didn't you, you filthy animal?!"
Me: "NO! Don't be stupid, she just tried to remove my head from my body and it hurt. Surely you had the same, didn't she try to decapitate you too?"
Little Spoon: "Erm...maybe, I'm not sure, I fell asleep after about 15 minutes and she woke me up at the end."
Brilliant. So I paid to have a generally enjoyable time that culminated in being assaulted by a tiny Laotian girl and Little Spoon paid to essentially go back to bed but in somebody elses house. Albeit a very traditional house with nice carvings and an outstanding array of plants.
Our time in Luang Prabang was drawing to a close and we booked our bus journey to Vang Vieng; home of the famous tubing, opium smoking hippies and drunken tourists drowning. It sounded great.
Until next time...
No happy ending. That is not a massage. LOL
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