Beer and Loathing

We need sometimes to escape into open solitudes, into aimlessness, into the moral holiday of running some pure hazard, in order to sharpen the edge of life, to taste hardship, and to be compelled to work desperately for a moment at no matter what. — George Santayana

It seemed like a good idea at the time: rather than take the overlong coach journey from the capital, Vientiane, right through to Pakse in southern Laos, my wife and I decided to spend the night in a small town along the way.

As it was, the seven-hour trip turned into more like ten, and we rolled into our final bus station just as the sun was plummeting toward the horizon. It was then we realised we were still a long way out of town.

Knowing we’d be disoriented and weary, it was time for the wolves to descend: the tuk-tuk drivers vying to get exorbitant fares from the gullible, or just plain don’t-care-what-I-pay-just-want-to-get-out-of-here-and-into-a-hopefully-soft-bed, traveller.

We’d suffered this ravenous charade everywhere we’d arrived since leaving Chiang Mai a month ago and were in no mood to repeat it — Lia especially. She just stalked off, abandoning me to the pack which, fortunately, diminished in size as the quotes got lower.

By the time the last member of our retinue pleadingly offered a decent price, Lia was barrelling up the road toward the well-lit triple-storey hotel we’d driven past on our way in, and there was no way she was coming back.

True, with its white-columned facade and decorated balconies, Samy’s Guesthouse was probably our best shot. In fact, it looked almost brand new. Lia’s decision was looking like the only sensible one. Better still, we’d already be in the right spot for our early-morning departure.

However, just like we’d fallen into some perverse inverse equation, as we got closer, the hotel’s seeming opulence grew tawdrier and tawdrier. Soon we arrived at an untidy alfresco reception area where we encountered — reclining in a dilapidated hammock in an advanced soporific state — the owner.

Eventually we managed to wake him and got talking — his English wasn’t too bad. It turned out that Samy had been working in restaurants in Sydney for a number of years. Recently he’d come back and decided to build a hotel to cash in on the burgeoning cross-border trade route to Vietnam. So, here it was.

‘Do you have a spare room?’ I asked him. Yes, he did, and it would be ours for only $6 a night.

Lia and I stole a quick glance at each other. Well, what the heck? At that price it might be a bit dodgy but it would only be for one night. ‘Let’s do it,’ I said.

Samy got up and grabbed the banknotes I pulled out. We followed him to his nearby office where he tossed us a key, gave some cursory directions, and pointed us toward an outside staircase.

On our way up we walked past the ground floor lobby which was well designed and had a number of rooms leading off it. Maybe Samy’s wasn’t too bad, after all.

But, our optimism didn’t last. The higher we climbed the more temporary the building felt and, strangely enough, it was completely deserted. Eventually, it was hard to tell whether it was still under construction or in the process of being torn down.

Finding our room wasn’t easy. But, when we did, we weren’t surprised the door wouldn’t open the first time we shoved it. That definitely explained the forced entry signs marking the frame. I guess we were lucky the key had worked without a hitch. However, pretty soon we wished it hadn’t.

I guess for the price we shouldn’t have expected too much luxury. There was a queen-sized bed after all, even though it merely comprised a thin, hard mattress on a concrete base, topped with a too-small sheet and a couple of rancid pillows. There was even a small fan attached to the ceiling. We turned it on and it whirred into noisy life, feebly pulverising the hot air of the dry season.

There was also an ensuite with shower but the water was stone cold and the provision of soap and towels was completely aspirational. The drain pipe from the washbasin was non-existent while the toilet bowl sat on a tiled pedestal designed, no doubt, to protect the sitter from the inevitable flood waters.

A little cane table and a single chair were conveniently jammed between the bed and the window with its full-length plastic curtain. From here one would be able to sit and view the first light of the morning sun as it illuminated the full splendour of the adjacent gas station.

There was nothing we could do. We were far too exhausted to carry on into town to look for somewhere else. We were just going to have to work together and make the most of it. It was going to be a long night so I decided to get a few beers and some snacks to help us unwind and prepare for sleep.

Lia locked the door behind me. On my way down I glanced toward the rear of the property and spotted, for the first time, what would become our obsession for the next twelve hours: the swimming pool.

It was circular but narrow in diameter. However, illuminated in the arc lamps shining across the yard, you could see it was unusually deep. Yet, it was barely filled with water. It was piled around with stray building materials while lengths of wood and other bits and pieces were floating in its shallow depths.

I was struck by a momentary thought: What if we ended up being robbed, murdered, and thrown into it? Who would ever know where we were? We’d be lost and gone — forever.

By the time I got back I’d convinced myself this was more likely to happen than not. I coaxed Lia out to show her the pool.

‘No, I don’t like the look of it, either,’ she agreed. ‘I think we should barricade our door.’

One table, one chair, two backpacks, a couple of shoulder bags. Every movable object. Not much, but stacked every which way, it would just have to do. By then we were both into our second beers and nervously crunching our way through the small packets of peanuts which was all the food I’d managed to find.

We agreed to take turns staying awake. Ultimately, neither of us got any sleep, we’d cranked ourselves up into such a state of fear. Minute after minute, hour after hour went by. We were lost somewhere between tortured reason and sublime madness. There was no wifi, no distractions. Just Lia and I entombed until morning.

Around two o’clock things settled down outside. The noise from the couple of cafes over the road had ceased. It should have been a chance for one of us to get some shut-eye but the silence only made matters worse. Every small sound was amplified.

The beer had run out and so had the peanuts. Only three or so hours to go and we’d be out of there. There was nothing to do but wait.

Surely we were a sad sight, hauling ourselves and our packs down the stairs at the very first hint of dawn. On our way down we glanced in the direction of the swimming pool which, surprisingly, looked a lot less sinister now.

It was then that a door opened in the small brick building behind it and a number of young men appeared, one by one. They spotted us straightaway and stopped to stare at us in a shy, quizzical manner.

It was all so innocent. For a second, we seemed suspended in each other’s stray disbelief and I could do nothing more than give them a restrained wave. I guessed they must have been Samy’s workers getting ready for their day.

Out front, the hotel was completely deserted and there was no one at all in the office. I managed to raise the grille over the counter a little and pushed the key across as far as I could reach.

Bleary-eyed, we started walking toward the bus station, shaking off our fears of the night. The sun was fully up and I felt a spring in my step.

‘What really happened back there?’ I asked Lia, as she strode beside me trying to put as much space between her and Samy’s Guesthouse as she could.

‘Not sure,’ she said. ‘But maybe we should just try and forget it ever did.’