We left Nong Khiew and headed upriver on our privately commissioned boat to Mang Khua, our jumping-off point of the Vietnamese border. We had intended to take the public boat but were initially told it wouldn't run because of the Laos new year, and then later that it may run but only if there were enough people. With the last day on our visa looming we couldn't afford to take the risk, so a private boat it had to be.

The journey was exquisite, through wooded valleys across the mirror-like water we sat back to enjoy the five-hour trip. A couple of times during the journey the driver stopped the engine and we floated silently across the water whilst he tinkered about at the back of the boat. Rather than a reason for panic, the periods of silence gave us chance to listen to the few birds which were living in the nearby trees. We'd already commented on the absence of bird noise and sightings in Laos, unsure whether this was a result of culling for food or captivity, so it was reassuring to hear the melodic chirps. A little later, we spotted a number of beautiful blue kingfishers darting along the side of the river - they were a really bright iridescent blue, and certainly the most colourful birds we'd seen since India.

As the boat arrived in Muang Khua we were greeted by hoards of local children playing alongside the boats in the river. Some of the girls were doing family washing on the pontoon, whilst others joined the boys frolicking in the water. Despite the lack of tourists in this part of Laos, the people made us feel welcome and we soon located somewhere for our overnight stay. We had some concerns about whether we would make it to the end of the road for the 7 am bus next morning, but we needn't have worried. The local cockerels made sure we were sufficiently roused to avoid oversleeping, and then at 6 am the loudspeaker from the local monastery started up, presumably with some form of the sermon for the day. This was followed at 6.15 by a parade of novice monks collecting alms as John and I headed along the same street to the bus stop. In Yangon, we had witnessed the daily collecting of alms in the street outside our hotel. Women from each of the houses would bring out portions of rice and cooked food to donate to the monks. Here for the first time we witnessed smaller groups of women rather than the whole community, who smartly dressed in traditional garments, sang to the monks after donating their food.

We waited opposite the bank for the Vietnam bound bus and were soon met by a couple of German backpackers. Unsure as to the exact location of the pick up I made enquiries at the local fruit stall. Using gesture and the familiar word "border" I managed to ascertain that the small yellow bus across the street was the one we were destined to travel on. The ticket seller arrived on his pink motorbike, sold us all tickets at the rate we were expecting and then disappeared. Eventually with bags loaded the bus pulled away.

After numerous stops to pick up additional passengers and parcels we headed off into the mountains. Many parts of the dusty road are still being renovated so it was a slow journey but had the benefit of magnificent views and scenery. We had to obtain our Vietnamese visa in advance so we weren't expecting too many problems at the border. In the event, it seemed to take longer to get through than the checkpoints where we had to obtain visas as well. Thankfully though it did go without a hitch and we were soon heading off towards more mountain passes.

Our first stop in Vietnam was to be in Dien Bien Phu. We had planned an overnight stop here to recharge our batteries ready for a few days in the Hill station of Sapa. Dien Bien Phu turned out to be a place of historical significance, as the place where France was defeated in the First Indochina War in 1954. Exploring reconstructions of bunkers and trenches would keep us busy for the 24 hours we would be in town.

We had splashed out £11 a night for a night in the very nice Long Giang hotel. It seemed like absolute luxury after our time in Laos and Cambodia. We'd also booked our onward travel at the bus station as soon as we'd arrived., and with the options between another early start or the night bus, we'd decided to opt for the latter. The girl in the booking office spoke no English so through a number of gestures I managed to ascertain I needed two tickets for the 6.30 pm departure the next day. Asking whether the bus had beds or reclining seats proved more difficult, although the gestures suggested I would sleep!

We've travelled on a number of overnight buses and trains during the six months so far, and thought we had experienced all variations - obviously not. As the time of our departure approached we were allowed on the bus. My eyes were going everywhere. Individual reclining leather seats were perched two high in three rows the full length of the bus. Now those of you familiar with the Vietnamese will know the majority are Lilliputian in size - so our first thoughts are " how will we fit in there". Whilst this thought is spinning through my head I become conscious of a loud insistent bellowing in my direction. Apparently, I have deigned to step on the red leather matting in my shoes - unbeknown to me all shoes have to be removed at the top of the stairs- not an easy feat when you're wearing walking boots, and blocking the only entry point.

Whipping out our tickets we are keen to find our seats as soon as possible. It turns out that seats 6 & 7 are on the bottom deck on opposite sides of the bus. I quickly crawl through to the other side and then hear John in discussion with the bus guy "you want me to go here?, but this is 6" Eventually it transpires that for some reason best known to the bus guy he wants us on the upper bunks. We both hitched up to our platforms each complete with a plastic bag containing our shoes, and day packs.

There's a small foot area at the end which we both decide will have to house our day packs and shoes. Where we stick our feet will just get worked out later. By this time John's stress level is starting to climb, but he accepts his lot and settles down as best he can with his knees somewhere close to his chest. The bus pulls out on time and we head off into the Vietnamese darkness.

We'd been told the journey would take 10 hours so it seemed a good chance to listen to the soothing music playlist I'd put together on the iPod. I was drifting off when the coach stereo kicked in with a rousing collection of Vietnamese Karaoke tracks, followed by a DVD with some overexcitable main characters. The iPod couldn't compete so I had to resign to trying to block out all external stimulation and zoning out. We'd both just succeeded when an hour into the journey the bus pulled over to the side of the unlit country road and everyone started getting off. It soon became apparent that we were changing buses. We were ushered towards a bus that had parked in front of us. Concerned that we seemed to be leaving our luggage on the other bus I made a number of gestures to indicate I wasn't going anywhere without my large backpack. I hopped off, leaving John on Daybag patrol.

Much to my relief, the original bus had now drawn alongside and parcels and bags were being transferred across. Having checked ours were safely on board we started the search for new seats. Eventually, after much shuffling and reorganisation, we both managed to shut our eyes for a further ten winks before the coach stopped again at 9. This time for food. John and I decided to forego this treat and headed off to find a suitably dark bush for a free toilet stop. Thankfully after we set off again we were only disturbed by mobile phone conversations so with iPod back on I managed to doze off.

Around 3.30 am the coach stopped again, and peeping out into the darkness I realised we were parked in a town. No one else was moving except the bus assistant who was coming along the gangway. "Is this Sapa? " I asked, secretly hoping we were still a couple of hours sleep away. John had heard the word Sapa and started into an upright position, as the assistant confirmed our worst fears. We quickly grabbed our shoes and bags and headed for the front of the bus. Having already banged his head on a section of the roof earlier John managed to do it again on the way off, so I now had a half-asleep John with a possible concussion and no shoes. Not a great combination at 3.30 am.

We were soon surrounded by a group of young local men offering taxis in a scene reminiscent of many we faced in India. In between checking all our bags had made it from the bus we tried to explain we needed to get to Pinocchio's hotel. One of the smiliest people we've met was delighted when we agreed to accept his offer and headed off across the carpark carrying my bag on his shoulders. As we got further away from the bus station all I could hear was John squealing "where's the taxi? ". Eventually, the young guy stopped unlocked a large glass door and showed us inside. It soon became apparent he had shown us to his hotel and not a taxi. Considering the time I was quite happy to consider spending our first night there at the right price, but John just wanted to get to Pinocchio's.

Our abductor seemed genuinely upset to find John wasn't pleased but accepted that we wanted to go to the hotel we'd booked and phoned for a taxi. Within a matter of minutes a sleepy taxi driver turned up, and after a couple of minutes explaining where we wanted to go we pulled up outside Pinocchio's. The place was in darkness, so we settled down outside, whilst deciding what to do next. The streets were dark and deserted except for some neon signs here and there. We had only been outside a few minutes when a Hmong girl (from one of the local hill tribes) came along with a young male. She chatted for a few minutes about taking a trek to her village during our stay and then offered to phone the hotel number for us. Within minutes we were inside, and being shown to our room, and a comfortable bed.