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Published: November 26th 2011
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” –
Mark Twain
I like to think of myself now as a relatively experienced traveller. Agreed? Having clocked up the grand total of almost 54 countries in my 23 years of international wanderings so far, starting with a gite in Normandy aged 13 to being on the cusp of Cambodia, age 36, I would like to think that little fazes me when on the road. Getting from A to B can be all manner of things - challenging, boring, exciting, frustrating and also at times delightful. However, without a doubt, my journey out of Vietnam goes to the Number 1 slot of worst journeys ever taken.
If you only like it when I wax lyrical about the fun and joy of travelling, then please feel free to skip the next few paragraphs as I am about to let rip, to share with you the utter hell that was the journey from Hoi An in Vietnam to Pakse in Southern Laos.
Having spent a number of hours searching the net and asking advice on travel forums regarding the best way to get across the most southerly border crossing, we were easily swayed to change plans by the promises of a travel agency in Hoi An. It did seem that the journey we were attempting to take was going to be possibly somewhat challenging using local buses with collection points well off the “falang” trail. With the commitment to meeting my friend Andy in Pakse on 24
th November, we didn’t want to risk getting stranded in the midst of nowhere and leaving him alone. Hence, quite agreeably we opted for the more reliable, albeit more expensive option, of one direct bus that would collect us from our hotel in Hoi An at 8am, take us back up the coast to Hue where we would change buses and continue on to Laos arriving in Pakse at 7pm the same day. Easy. Straightforward and zero hassle, right? Wrong!
The day started ominously when the 8am collection failed to materialise. We wanted to give it the Vietnamese benefit of the doubt so waited for 45 mins or so before we put a call into the agency. Unfortunately, the one English speaking employee wasn’t there so I struggled to ascertain that in fact there was never going to be an 8am bus. The departure was actually at 2pm (they had made a mistake) involving a 3.5hr drive back to Hue where we would be forced to spend the night and make a 7am connection the following morning. This was not the end of the world although we would lose a day in Laos but still arrive before Andy. I got the agency to agree to pay for our enforced accommodation and we agreed to the new itinerary.
Having cycled to the beach and spent the morning fending off wrinkly old women with no teeth selling peanuts (not a good sales pitch: eat my peanuts and lose all your teeth) we returned to Hoi An in time for our revised collection at 2pm. A packed minivan screeched to a halt in the torrential rain outside and being the final collection we squeezed ourselves into the 2 remaining seats that had so little legroom, the back of the seat in front of me left a lasting impression on my knees for hours afterwards. Never mind, I said to myself -it’s a mere hop in the bigger scale of the journey and I am leaving “the safe harbour”.
Arriving in Hue we were taken to a decrepit, dive of a hotel where the owner tried to palm us into a dorm. She knew full well a private room had been booked so we persisted and were made to climb 4 flights of stairs with our rucksacks to a windowless box that smelled of damp socks with a rather large cockroach scuttling into the bathroom as we switched the light on. However, we had a lock on the door (handy for keeping the cockroaches out!) and our own double silk sleep sheets , bought in the clothes mecca of Hoi An. So still, no big deal….flexibility is key here and I’m catching those trade winds. Lets be honest, a sumptuous 5* palace was never going to be our roof for the night….
The following morning we were transferred to Hue bus station and this is where it went rapidly downhill. This was no tourist bus. No air conditioning for the 12 hour journey. No “falang” in sight. This was a local bus for local people! Every seat was taken by raggedy residents, every space under every seat was filled with bags of flour, boxes of marrows and in the case of the seats we were shuffled into (the raggedy resident present was giving the heave ho by the conductor) a potent combination of oily greasy petrol containers adjacent to gas canisters. The gangway was piled high with sacks of dried Chinese mushrooms, the roof piled high with bags, and not an inch of floorspace was visible.
Sandy and I folded ourselves into seats that are designed for Vietnamese who are literally half the size of Westerners. I’d go as far to say that Sandy’s legs alone are as long as the average Vietnamese man. Sandy took the ‘aisle’ seat – allegedly to be able to stretch her magnificent pins out but in fact so many people were crammed in she had no choice but sit in the shape of a Rietveld Zig-Zag chair for the duration. I was wedged next to the window with the filthy curtain hanging down at perfect tickling height and a bar just at shoulder height digging into me lest I twisted my body underneath it
The driver lit up his first cigarette of the journey, beeped the two tone horn at everything and we set off, sweating profusely on top of our plastic seats so a steady trickle of sweat started to drip down my legs before we had even left the city. Mingling with the cigarette smoking passengers, clouds of thick heavy incense which burned on the bus ‘alter’ blew back into our faces. Stacked around the Buddha statue were a pile of votive apples and every time one incense stick burnt itself out, another was lit. At times, I wondered how the driver could actually see through the windscreen in the haze! To add to the olfactory chaos came the heady stench of exhaust whilst the continual upwards vibrations from a less than reliable chassis meant that Sandy and I could do nothing but jam music in our ears, cover our heads with our shawls and pray that the 12 hours would pass in relative speed. No such luck.
Drama number one occurred some 5 hours down the line at the Laos/ Vietnam border of Lao Bao where all passengers disembarked with the speed of greyhounds chasing the hare – it was as though someone had shouted “free food” such was the scramble to get off. Sandy and I waited politely and patiently although logically, if we had been allowed to get off first it would have made it easier for everyone else and no clambering over us necessary…. Go figure!
Not unsurprisingly the border guard tried to overcharge us for the Laotian visa and due to the time taken refusing to let him con us (as we knew exactly how much it needed to be), we somehow managed to lose all of our fellow passengers. Foolish. The mistake of a travelling rookie. Always, keep an eye on someone else on the bus so you know where to go especially when no one speaks English ! Next thing was the sound of the bus engine starting and it literally just drove off leaving us, mouths agape – with our visas but little else. Suddenly we realised the calamity we were in: stranded at the border with all our valuables on our person but our rucksacks on the bus. A cloud of exhaust followed it for the first 100 metres and then it disappeared over the crest of the hill. Suddenly we were inundated with moto-taxi drivers shouting for $$$ to take us to where the bus had disappeared to….some 2 kms down the road. Clambering on the back, we had little choice but to place our trust in them and sure enough, there at the side of the road stood our vibrating bus. The driver proceeded to laugh when we expressed our annoyance but we were reunited with our bags and were officially back in Laos. Hurrah!
Onwards we rattled for a further couple of hours, now joined by yet more passengers who proceeded to use our legs as supports to sleep on. The collective vomiting started about 1 hour in when the road went through a particularly rough patch. In front of us, through the clouds of incense you could see weary Laotians heaving into plastic bags and then throwing them out the windows. Then there was an almighty bang, followed by a continual grating until the driver ground to a halt in the middle of freakin’ nowhere. Again, the passengers leapt off the bus using us as leverage, disappearing into the bushes for a pee and the squatting at the side of the road whilst the conductor crawled underneath the vehicle. By this point, we were reaching the end of our tether….. arriving in Pakse that night was looking more and more unlikely so we took it upon ourselves to flag down another coach bound for the South. Bribing the driver to let us on we were faced with a ‘sleepy’ bus packed to the rafters with passengers. 3 sets of bunkbeds occupied the width of the bus – each bed containing a spread eagled Laotian. In the two aisles, further passengers lay head to toe on top of bags of limes and oranges. Instructed to find a gap, I gingerly stepped over the slumbering bodies and wiggled my way into a spot on the floor where I found myself with 3 different sets of feet in very close proximity to my face. And thus did I stay for the following 7 hours until we eventually got into Pakse. Collecting my rucksack from the darkened womb of the bus, I hoisted it onto my back to discover it was not only dripping wet but smelt of dirty old fish. It had been taking a bath in something putrid for the past 7 hours.
The drama of the day didn’t end quite there. Oh no. Having exchanged numerous emails with the eponymous Mr Vong of the Saibaidy 2 Guesthouse we had reserved a room for the night. Normally, we don’t bother reserving in advance but I had wanted to ensure Andy had a base to arrive at the following day. We arrived in the dark to discover that Mr Vong had decided to rent the room to an already resident group. I nearly cried. I mean, really cried. This was not fun. Not fun at all. A moment of self pity and then the realisation that we had actually made it to Pakse…with our bags (albeit putrified) and there were other guesthouses to bed down for the night in. We finished the challenging and frustrating day drinking BeerLao and eating dried instant noodles as every restaurant in town had closed for the night.
Ok, pathetic bus journey story is over now…. You can breathe a sigh of relief as can Andy who also made it to Pakse the following day – not quite as he had booked - as the flight from Bangkok was cancelled and so he came via an alternative plane/bus combo but did indeed saunter into the guesthouse the following evening.
So two have become three…. It may take some adjustment. Watch this space. Travelling can make or break friendships and I have experienced both!
The past 48 hours have seen us do a circuit of the Bolaven Plateau with its waterfalls, coffee and tea plantations, and rustic Laven villages. Today we visited the Laotian equivalent of Angkor Wat. The rather splendid Wat Phu near Champasak.
It is unfeasibly humid tonight and even after 3 showers today we are sweating like a group of nuns in a field of cucumbers.
Tomorrow we head down to the southern extremities of Laos, a tiny island called Don Khon for a few days of hammock time and then three will become two again (boo hooo) as I will be parting company with the best travel buddy ever. Sandy – Ich Iiebe dich!!
Cambodia is next…….for hopefully some exploring, dreaming and discovering……
Han xx
ps. I did write a letter of complaint to the travel agency and they were mortified. They had been misled by the contracted company and have stopped working with them. Using our photos from the trip they are looking to be refunded the booking and will pass this onto us. Result.
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Samuel
non-member comment
Hellish trip question
Stumbled upon this as I am googling a similar journey.... which company did you use so i know which to avoid :D