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I had heard all kinds of stories about travelling in Laos, but now I have lived them. I did manage to get on the night bus to Sam Neua out of Nong Khiaw, but only after it was delayed because passengers stopped to eat, the new bus driver drove straight pass the station and I chased after it running with my two bags through the unlit streets then jumped on the back of a motorbike. After that, a long noisy rickety journey through the night, a tuk-tuk ride to the other bus station in town and a wait for a minivan that will only leave for my destination, Vieng Xai, if there are enough passengers. I didn't realise yet that getting back out of Vieng Xai wouldn't equally tricky - getting there at 7.30 to be told the only bus had left at 7, then there might be one at 10, at 11 being told no after all, but I might want to walk to the main road and flag down the bus from Vietnam due at 12 then wait for it until it turns up at 1. Still, 30km in one day is a good distance (by foot) and I could catch my bus to Phonsavan only a day late, where I witnessed, at least half the passengers vomitting out the window or in plastic bags. Even locals can't take it!
Between these two eventful trips, mind, I had one of the best days of my trip so far. The bible describes Vieng Xai as unbearably pretty, and with the gorgeous landscape, tourists still oddities, restaurants that seem surprised you want to eat and a rich traumatic history, it's a pretty special place. The area is where the Pathet Lao hid in caves for nine years of American carpet bombing and the guided audio tour (a guide takes you round but an audio set tells you about it) was moving and fascinating in equal measures. Before that I'd spent the morning cycling around what was clearly a walking track (the steps gave it away), then getting beaten up and used as a jungle gym by young boys (initially camera shy then limelight-hogs) whilst a Canadian girl got flowers put in her hair by other, calmer kids. Fun times!
In Phonsavan, I learnt more about the continued impact of UXOs, and walked around the mysterious Plain of Jars. Then to infamous Vang Vieng, which it turns out is not overly dissimilar from a night out in Newcastle if it was surrounded by beautiful mountain and the climate allowed you to swim in the Tyne. I spent a night in the capital Vientiene, but bad weather, an injured knee and a desire to do nothing but read conspired against me seeing anything there.
I took an overnight bus to Pakse, which should have had no other hiccups but a broken down bus and having to jump on and cram ourselves in another one. However, in the dazed transfer I mangaged to leave my wallet on the original bus. After explaining, with great difficulty, the situation to the bus station staff, I am eventually told to come back at four. This puts a slight dent in my plans to leave immediately, but my enforced sedentry does prompt me to get my now heavily infected knee to a hospital, so all the better. After receiving care and antibiotics for a grand total of £3, I do little but wait in the hope that my wallet might return. Amazingly, it does eventually arrive about seven o clock, in the pocket of a man on a motorbike, who spots me for the silly falang that I am and hands it to me, all contents present.
The next day I met up with two French guys from earlier in the trip and we decided to rent some motorbikes to visit Wat Phu Champasak and explore the Bolaven Plateau. Lots of lush vegetations, fields, waterfalls, villages, and a few muddy roads that challenged my non-existent motorbike skills. In Tat Lo, we stayed with the diminutive yet larger-than-life Mama Pap (big food for small kips) and had dinner with a nearby Lao/Spanish family, where conversation was carried out and translated across four different languages, and where we took any excuse for raising our glasses and saying cheers in all appropriate languages (that it had been too long since the last time we'd done so was reason enough).
Now I am on the incredibly relaxed Don Det in Si Phan Don (a.k.a. Four Thousand Islands, because that's literally what it means), where I am finishing writing this sitting in a hammoc by the Mekong with only the sound of the river meandering pass interceded by the odd animal, child or boat. Sadly, I can't stay long enough due to an expiring visa. Still, Cambodia awaits.
- comments
Mark I don't want to cause no fuss (Too much, the Magic Bus) But can I buy your Magic Bus? (Too much, the Magic Bus) Nooooooooo!