Day 315 - A glimpse of the glistening underbelly of Vientiane

Sometimes you see a lot more than you expect.

There have been places around the world that have revealed themselves a little more than most. Like an Elizabethan peep show, a city lifts her skirt just an inch or two and you are treated to a glimpse of something private underneath. A world not inhabited by outsiders.

It's happened before. In Mexico City. Guatemala. Paraty. Rio was a bit different. She didn't so much show us her ankles, as transplant them onto us for a night so we could see what it felt like to go dancing with Brazilian feet.


Last night, here in Vientiane, it happened again.

Rachel and I were sat in a bar having a drink. The bar - Jazzy Brick - was an impressively decked-out affair. It wouldn't look of place in the debonair company of the Supper Club in Melbourne. Not surprising. The owner is a Laotian, back from doing time in Australia's other great city.

The night was young. Dusk was falling fast. We first sampled the wine list, then a cheeky Gin Martini. Dirty. It was good. Very good. We chatted away for a bit with, before heading to Leo's Cafe for some proper, home cooked Italian.

On the way out, we noticed three things:
1. The bar had gained a number of well-dressed, middle aged men.
2. They were outnumbered by numerous extremely well-dressed younger Laotian women.
3. Numerous expensive looking cars (Mustangs, Lexus, Hummers etc) had begun to congregate outside.

The meal was good, but the bar situation hung in the mind. We finished up and headed back for another cocktail.

On the way back we became aware that the road, normally so respectable and sedate, was lined with numerous members of the third sex. Swarms - is that the collective term? - of ladyboys. Like we were in Bangkok or something.

Arriving back at the Jazzy Brick, it was now rammed. We walked in and made our way to the top floor, with the intent of sitting out on the balcony. Up the stairs we went.

Ever want to know what it is like to be a movie star walking into a room? Go to the Jazzy Brick at 10pm on a Friday. The room went silent. Eyes swivelled in heads, training in on our every move. What was it about us that looked so out of place? Who were these people?

We took Gin Martinis on the terrace for a bit, watching the world pass by outside. More prestige cars turned up and left. All manner of intriguing and interesting encounters went on around us. People seemed to leave together, breaking off briefly, only to head off in thinly-disguised convoy. More beautiful people arrived to take the place of those who had left.

Once the mozzies began to bite, we made our way downstairs to sit at the bar. The precession continued. Then, in bowled two gents. One was Swiss. The other, well, he was just plain weird.

He had a strange accent - not alone a fair reason to label him with weirdness  - but he refused, in an almost melodramatically enigmatic manner, to be drawn on where he was from.

He was a tall man with a deep voice. North American looking. He dropped into conversations with odd comments. He lived in Thailand. Had crossed the border for some unmentionable reason. He wanted to know if the barman's dodgy acquaintance was here or not. He flashed his cash around like a millionaire one minute, and then demanded a round when we went to leave. He warmly held a conversation one minute, only to suddenly drop out, as if we had never met.

Most people in life you can see good in. In even the most flawed, you will find something to be sympathetic to. This insufferable bore was different. For the first time in my life, I had met someone utterly unlikeable.

We fulfilled our obligations. Drank a few more drinks and made conversation with the charming bar owner. Then we left. Ejected ourselves from the strange bar, with it's mysterious denizens, carrying on their intriguingly mysterious business. We walked home past the prestige cars and the ladyboys, trying to attribute meaning to it all.

We went back next day. Mr Charisma-vacuum was there again, but the other denizens of this world were not. The cars were gone. The middle aged men didn't show. The beautiful people were elsewhere. We drank our drinks, enjoyed the martinis again, then went home.

The skirt was down.

Photos from Vientiane can be seen here