Plans derailed, schedule shot? Look for an open door and walk right through

It is often said that when one door closes, another opens.

Although the "doors" this popular expression refers to are not the literal kind I found myself standing outside at the Thai embassy in the Lao People's Democratic Republic (informally known as Laos), in the end, I found these words of optimistic wisdom still rang true.

When Amy (the middle-school English teacher at Kainarai) and I arrived at the gate of the Thai embassy in Laos's capital city, Vientianne, we were certain we would simply go in, complete the visa application forms, submit them with our passports and photos, return the next day to collect our passports and head back to Lopburi — the city in Thailand where we lived and taught — with our fresh, updated Thai visas.

After a 12-hour train ride, 10 minutes in a tuk-tuk (a motorized version of a rickshaw — the name comes from the sound the vehicle makes when it is idling), an hour at the Thailand-Laos border and a bumpy bus ride into Vientianne, we were thoroughly drained and in desperate need of food, a hot shower and a good night's sleep.

But our first order of business — the reason for the trip to Laos — was to obtain Thai visas.

Haggard but hopeful, we marched up to the embassy gate, only to find it guarded by men in uniform. "Closed," they said, faces expressionless.

Amy and I looked at our watches and then at each other, bewildered. According to the sign on the gate and the information our school had given us, there were still 30 minutes before the embassy was due to stop accepting applications that day.

"Tomorrow," the guard grunted, promptly dismissing us.

Any other day of the week, "tomorrow" would have been just fine. But this was Thursday and "tomorrow" meant Friday. If we came back tomorrow, we would have to wait until Monday to pick up our passports, catch the overnight train back to Lopburi, arrive on Tuesday and go straight to work on Wednesday after a very long journey and very little rest.

We had packed just overnight bags, exchanged just enough money for the short trip and were required to be back at Kainarai for work on Monday.

We couldn't call our boss, as our Thai phones were useless in Laos. We couldn't get out of the blazing sun and into the embassy, as a big iron gate and armed guards were blocking our path.

We looked around for a friendly face but saw only the con artists who had already tried to scam us out of our passports and money moments before.

The heat combined with our sad state of exhaustion quickly pushed frustration to the point of desperation, and we began to beg: "Please sir, there are only two of us. We must get in today. There are only two of us and it's not yet noon. Please ..."

A young Australian solo traveler overheard our pathetic pleas and tried to reason with the guards on our behalf. His attempts too were met with cold stares. The guards offered not so much as a nod in the way of acknowledgment.

The door was closed. And it wouldn't be opening again until 9 the next morning.

As we walked away feeling defeated, feet dragging, sweat dripping, the Australian traveler, Jesse, offered a new outlook. Maybe the door of the embassy was closed, but surely another "door" was open.

We had just been granted an unexpected extra three days in a gorgeous country famous for tasty French-inspired cuisine, friendly folks and endless outdoor adventures.

We could spend the night in Vientianne, drop our passports and visa applications off at the embassy in the morning, hop a bus to Viang Vien and enjoy an unanticipated minivacation.

We could divide the cost of everything three ways, eat cheap street food, e-mail our boss from an Internet café — and besides, who needs more than an overnight bag for an accidental adventure, anyway?

We headed into the city center and found cheap accommodations with a view of the Mekong River. The sun was beginning to set, so after some much-needed hot showers we decided to venture across the street to the river's edge, where plenty of food stalls and another surprise awaited us.

The mighty Mekong River was dried up! With the exception of a few shallow pools along the edge, the riverbed was exposed and dry.

A group of children slid down the muddy banks, shrieking in delight, splashing into murky pools. Families strolled here and there, eating, chatting, laughing and enjoying the sunset. Others walked out onto the expansive riverbed, met friends in the middle, and chose teams for impromptu soccer matches.

If we wouldn't have the opportunity to sail the Mekong River, we decided that at the very least we should wander about in it!

After wading our way through the muddy pools, we reached the dry sand in the center and a soccer match already in progress.

A couple of the players motioned for us to join in. Though teams and boundaries were unclear, the aim was evident — just have fun. We chased each other in circles and delighted in the simple joy of laughter shared, time lost.

And then suddenly: "GO HOME!" one of the schoolgirls shouted.

Was she yelling at us? Had we angered or offended her somehow? Alarmed, Jesse, Amy and I exchanged puzzled glances.

"GO HOME NOW!" she shouted again, more emphatically than before.

In an instant, she and her schoolmates started running back toward the river bank. I glanced around and noticed that everyone on the riverbed was doing the same.

The girl's intentions became clear. She was not angry at all. She was simply warning us that it was time to go home. The sun was sinking rapidly and the riverbed was nearly engulfed in darkness. Swarms of hungry mosquitoes appeared in the fading light. Indeed, now was a good time to head "home."

We spent the next two days cruising slowly through the breathtaking countryside, lazing in hammocks and floating peacefully down the river (one that was not dried up like the Mekong, of course).

Glaring guards behind us, we met friendly faces and stunning scenery at every turn, enjoyed tasty food at low prices (a fresh, toasted foot-long baguette sandwich could be had for the equivalent of 30 cents) and experienced a small sample of the laid-back Laos lifestyle.

The closed door we left behind at the embassy opened wide the door to a country, culture and weekend adventure that I will not soon forget.

Ashley Fitzgerald taught English in Thailand until December, when she relocated due to political instability there. She is a 2000 graduate of Harrisville Central School and a graduate of Middlebury (Vt.) College. "Grown Local, Gone Global" is published every other Sunday. You may send your questions and comments to her at afitzgerald@wdt.net.

Laos is landlocked by China, Burma, Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand.

Laos gained its independence from France in 1949.

Although the Lao People's Democratic Republic is commonly referred to as "Laos," the "s" need not be pronounced. The name including a final "s" was given to the country by the French. However, the Lao language does not have a final "s" sound and Lao people do not pronounce it.

The violence of the Vietnam War left Laos devastatingly labeled the most heavily bombed country in the world. Even today in some areas of Laos, land mines pose a threat.

The Lao language, like the Thai language, comes from the Tai language family. Although the two languages are not identical, they do share many words, which made traveling in Laos quite interesting and, admittedly, a bit confusing!

For example, in Lao, the way to greet someone is "Sabaii dee." However, in Thai, "Sabaii dee" ("I am fine/good.") is the way you answer when someone asks "How are you?" In Lao, if you want to thank someone, you would say "Khop chai lay lai," while in Thailand you would say, "Khop khun kha/krab."

The New York Times recognized that in spite of Laos's rough history, its rich culture, low cost, natural beauty and friendly people make it more than worthy of a visit. Accordingly, it was named the No. 1 travel destination for 2008.