Crash bus to Vang Vieng and the infamous Tubing on the Nam Song

Emma writes: After the stinky, crammed buses Matt wrote about further north in this land, we decided it might be a better choice taking what's known as a tourist VIP bus on our journey south to Vang Vieng from Luang Prabang. We thought the whole extra pound spent would mean more comfort, a speedier five hour journey and maybe a bit of aircon or at the very least, enough seats to go round. We paid the extra for a pick up from our guesthouse, but seeing as though I couldn't remember the name of it, we had to cart our bags down the road in order for the bus to meet us anyway. Our pick up then consisted of a man in a mini bus hauling our bags on the roof, driving around until the bus was full, pull down seats too, and bags almost falling off the top. Then we drove all the way to the bus station, where it was all unpacked and put back on an identical bus. One hour later we were off on our five hour VIP journey...

We had front seats, next to the world's most miserable driver, especially in contrast to pick up man who laughed constantly, even at a dead dog, legs up in the air. Our new man made us think the front seats and their extra leg room and air weren't so much of a good idea, as 20 minutes in, passing through a small road side village, he squashed a rather fine looking chicken flat, without even bothering a brake pad. It made driving through more villages with their children playing on the roadside a bit uncomfortable, with the whole bus gasping collectively every time we passed so much as a dog.

Laos drivers are terrible on the whole. It must be a faith in the fact that there aren't that many vehicles on the road that leads them to think it's OK to overtake on blind corners and hills, and in fact go anything over 50km an hour on the dirty gravel mountainous roads. But this was proved far wrong, when approaching a road side village where we saw the residents hanging out, watching the remains of a big coach being driven away with its windscreen missing and the drivers side smashed in. Our driver, obviously didn't miss a trick in showing us what a fantastic multitasking driver he was, had his eyes on this sight too, and crashed head on with a mini bus coming the other way, whose driver was clearly doing the same thing.

I read recently that as many drivers in Asia are Buddists, they often believe that any traffic accident is preordained due to bad behaviour in a past life, and not necessarily due to bad driving in the here and now. But you'll be pleased to hear Karma Dave was on our side today and nobody on either bus was hurt, apart from a few fat lips. Almost two hours of arguing and swapping details ensued and the locals looked on in mild bemusement of this second act of vehicular entertainment on their doorsteps that day.

Eventually, it was all aboard the ailing mini bus - minus its steel bull bar; with light fittings dangling around; with a side window being held up by the man in the seat next to it and our driver cautiously set off again at 20km an hour. He was soon back up to rally speed however, when a loud clanking noise from the passenger side woke me up. How I'd managed to sleep I'm not sure, but myself and the driver got out in the pouring rain (I forgot to tell you it was throwing it down too, to add to the drama of his driving), looking for the source of the noise. He to the roof thinking bags were falling off, me to the front... and there was the final bit of light fitting hanging by a thread. A swift yank, into the back of the bus it went and we carried on our way.

Vang Vieng grew ever closer. Misty mountains loomed down over flat valleys of paddy fields below. Home made rockets shot into the sky, leaving wriggling smoke trails fading away. It was dark and we needed food and shelter. It was almost 11 hours since our bags were piled high on the first pick up bus. I'm glad we went for the five hour VIP service.

Vang Vieng exists on the Laos backpacker trail mainly for one thing and it's hardly cultured, but its reputation precedes it everywhere - The infamous tubing on the Nam Song river. We first heard about this in a hostel in Santiago in Chile, when a boy, fresh from the plane from this side of the world, said it was absolutely the best thing he'd done in Asia. He was 19. But still, that's a grand statement...

Despite its setting in some of Laos' most beautiful countryside, the town itself is rather charmless, unless you like sitting in bars on soggy, lumpy cushions, watching repeats of Friends, repeats of Friends, repeats of Friends.

But, we were here for one thing, like most people - to get wet and pissed. Tubing here is basically a pub crawl by river - We hire a giant tractor inner tyre for about two quid, jump in a tuk tuk with about 8 others, tubes wobbling around strapped to the top, and get dumped 10km further up the Nam Song. Then we have to make our own way back the wet way. Jumping backwards into the river, bums sticking through the tyre, we're off paddling and spinning downstream, giggling like teenagers at the stupidity of it all, when 20 metres later, the first bar beckons, quite literally. There's a man with a stick, and he's using it to rather undignifiedly pull you into his bar, with loud tunes pumping out of an impossibly large soundsystem and with people flying overhead on a stupidly high rope swing. Just how much fun can you have messing about on a river?

Next bar, same. Next bar, same. Repeat until funny and get the tubes back by six please.

With not much else to do in town, we went back the next day and did it all again, a bit more raucously. And the next, a bit more sedate I suppose, but only compared to the day before's mud fights and madness.

Still can't agree with the boy in Chile though.

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