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Published: August 7th 2007
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jenny in the mekong
sunset, beerlao and a thunderstorm. enough to make you igore the chinese turds floating downstream Now, where were we? Aaah yes, we were about to head south.
Our arses have taken a pounding in the last couple of weeks, but not in a gay way. Getting around Laos can be done in one of two ways; boats with seats made from solid pygmy church pews, or buses on the kinds of roads that wriggle and squirm like a Tory MP.
Bus trips go something like this.
1. Turn up 2 hours before departure to baggsy your seat before someone’s pigs or chickens get it.
2. Wilt in the heat.
3. Bus starts and leaves dead on time.
4. Bus pulls up 5 metres outside the bus station to pick up 130 more passengers/livestock.
5. 10 minutes later, bus pulls over to fill up with fuel.
6. Half an hour later, journey proper begins at a pace of 20km/h.
7. In spite of extremely winding roads, driver succeeds in pounding the brakes and accelerator, often both at the same time.
8. Passengers throw up and plastic bags for vomit disposal are distributed. Sick bags run out, so windows, clothes and palms of hands take over for remainder of journey.
9. Bus arrives at destination 8-10
our nong khiaw view
stunning scenery, but that's about it. hours later.
In the space of one week, we had four journeys like this. Our plan to do a loop round northern Loas came to a halt at Nong Khiaw when we found out that the route we planned to take to Phonsavan (Plain of Jars) was only possible in the dry season and although we’d seen very little rain, the beginning of June more or less marks the beginning of the wet season. We’d been keen to hang out in Nong Khiaw, where the scenery is as beautiful as anywhere in Laos. Unfortunately, the karaoke speakers are as loud as anywhere in Laos, from 5am onwards, and there’s bugger all to do there apart from enjoy the ‘peace and quiet’, so our plans to chill soon turned into plans to leave. We had to go back over old ground to get to the Plain of Jars - somewhere Ant had insisted we visited - then found it to be more Plain than jars. Anyone that’s spent a whole day at Hadrian’s Wall will know the feeling. Our day was made somewhat more interesting by visiting a Laolao (Laos rice wine) factory, which consisted of an ancient, shitfaced lady,
plain jars
fascinating, baffling, dull. who looked 160 but was probably 22, shuffling round bubbling up gallons of this potent moonshine and by the looks of things, ‘testing’ most of it. Still, drinking strong booze seemed an apt way of making the jars more interesting. The agenda got even more packed as I found himself occupied trying not to make a mess of my shorts as a bout of sickness kicked in. Jenny, sympathetic as ever assured me that whatever happened, we were getting the 7am bus out of Phonsavan the next morning. A combination of sheer willpower and rehydration powder saw to it that we escaped the charms of Phonsavan, a one horse town where even the one horse is bound to make a bid for freedom. Buttocks clenched, we gleefully made the 10 hour bus journey back to the capital, then hopped straight onto another bus - which broke down - to the very groovy town of Savannakhet, arriving at 5am. A total of 22 hours on buses. With the shits. Travelling as it ought to be!
Savannakhet was lovely. It’s a place where everyone was totally horizontal, where drinking Beerlao with the locals down by the river and getting massages were
giant slug
this is all i saw of jenny for 3 days about the only things to do. But we had to move on. We whistled through the south until we reached the utterly amazing and beautiful area called Four Thousand Islands. This is a part of the Mekong where the river widens to 14km, leaving exactly 4,000 islands sitting in the river. I know, I counted them. We stayed on Don Det, the backpacker hub where we got a lovely little bungalow whose knobbly legs just about propped us above the streams of the Mekong. We had 2 hammocks, a stunning location and it cost a dollar and a half a night. 75p. 37.5p each.
At last, after a week spent almost entirely on buses, we’d reached somewhere where we could chill for a few days. Ant got down to writing his book in earnest, and Jenny got down to some serious lounging around. We did rouse ourselves for a boat trip to a rarely visited waterfall, where our host cooked up a lunch with almost as much skill and vigour as that with which he consumed his home brewed Laolao. Words became slurs and slurs became mumbles, and when he was thoroughly arseholed, his son steered us back up
our skipper
he wasn't steering, just leaning on the steering column river (via our island where we picked up fresh supplies of Laolao), to a spot where we could watch the sunset whilst sitting in the river and watch our beer bottles float towards us with the current. There’s nothing quite like sitting in a fast flowing but shallow river, slightly tipsy and watching the sun go down as a thunder storm rolls towards you. We returned to idle ways for the remainder of our 5 day stay, apart from a sojourn to the main waterfall attraction on the islands; a rip-roaring cascade of thunderous brown water which blasts through a granite canyon with a deadly force which leaves you standing, well back, agog with jaw dropping wonder and fear.
Our batteries were recharged and our bruised bottoms were on the mend. We knew a rest had been in order, as much in preparation for our next leg as for recuperation from the previous. The infamous border crossings into Cambodia are known for their pant and patience testing, and the only way to prepare is to restore your strength and settle in for a long ride. At least that’s our excuse.
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Bus trip tip!!
#1: before dozing off try and remember to lift your feet off the floor and rest your knees on the back of the seat infront - there's nothing worse than the ebbb and flow of spew between your toes from the guys upfront.