Chapter 4: Purgatory.

We passed through Vietnamese immigration and found our self walking down a steep road flanked by mountains with a lovely creek at the bottom containing enough river stones to pave the garden footpaths of half a suburb. The Laos border was an easy going affair, we filled out a form, gave them the visa fee plus a $1 corruption fee for the stamp, and a passport photo and were waived on. Somewhere here I lost our two remaining photos and wondered if the next group crossing the border would have someone who looked exactly like us who could make use of them. Who knows, to Asians, us white folk all probably look the same anyway.

The cold morning air was still cold and morning air on the other side of the border and for breakfast at the border we warmed up with some Pho Bo (Beef Noodle Soup) and Deep Fried Banana, washed down with a hot coffee. Then we clambered back over the rice sacks and back packs and settled back into our seats for the second half of our bus ride from hell…

In Laos things started to improve dramatically. Sure we were still treated like second class citizens by the bus people, who yelled abusively at one of the girls from the UK when she asked if the blaring pop music could be turned down. And we were still crammed into the back of the bus as tight as a travel sleeping bag. Outside the bus however, the towns had turned into villages complete with woven roofs and thatched walls held together with bamboo. The roads were still windy, but despite the poverty the road quality had actually improved, a lot. The mountains towered above with massive rock faces that reminded us of the escarpments of Kakadu. But most importantly, as we stopped for a break in a roadside village the kids would wave at us and say “hello”, their parents would smile, and no one, not one person at all approached us trying to sell us something we didn’t want.

We finally arrived in Vientiane, capital of Laos, 22 hours after leaving Hanoi, capital of Vietnam. Tired and hungry we banded together and shared a Jumbo Tuk-Tuk into town from the bus station, which we haggled down to half the local price for all eight of us. The four Pommie girls wanted to go straight through to Vang Vieng and I happened by accident to find a minivan to take them there straight away. So we said goodbye to four of the girls we had shared the past day suffering with, and shortly after that we parted with the two French girls as we each headed to different hotels picked again from the book.

At precisely this moment Vientiane turned upside down on us. Reading the guidebook on the bus we learnt that Vientiane was playing host to the South East Asian Games. What we didn’t know was that it started the next day. For two hours we walked from Hotel to Hostel to Guest House, finding that not only had all of the prices gone through the roof, but everywhere was fully booked. Eventually we were far too tired to keep lugging our backpacks through the streets searching for a nice and cheap place. We paid $25 for a hotel room that wouldn’t have been worth $5 anywhere else in Asia.

To be fair on Vientiane we didn’t really give the place enough time to endear itself to us. Sure the people were lovely, fun loving and friendly, almost polar opposite to the rude and mercenary Vietnamese. That night Laos hosted the first soccer match of the SEA Games, unfortunately it was sold out, but the celebrations after they won carried long into the night. We ate dinner, walked through the markets and watched as Jumbo Tuk-Tuks arrived carrying people who were destined to walk the streets for hours looking for somewhere to sleep. About five hours after we arrived in the town we saw three guys we had spoken to when we first arrived, still searching for a place to stay.

So without allowing Vientiane to open it’s arms up to us, we booked a bus for the next morning to take us to Vang Vieng. We vowed to return to Laos and retired to our overpriced hotel for a reasonably early night. Prue originally planned to head to the Plain of Jars which we would have probably done after a one night stop-over in Vang Vieng. Unfortunately as we were (and still are) running very late from spending too long in Vietnam, Prue conceded that three days there and back wasn’t feasible in our tight schedule. So again we vowed to return to Laos.


We had heard of Vang Vieng being a place full of backpackers getting drunk and swimming on inner tubes. A few people had raved about the place and a few people had told us it wasn’t their scene, as it was between Vietiane and Luang Prabang we decided to break up the long trip with a well needed night out and headed there hesitantly the next morning on the bus. Another bloody bus.

When you book the VIP bus in Laos, we quickly learnt that you don’t necessarily get the VIP bus. We were picked up late and while we waited we chatted to a Russian couple (who were actually Finnish for some reason we called them Russian) that lived in Bangkok and had to holiday every sixty days so they could stay in Bangkok. Eventually we arrived at the bus in the last group, to find that the first people who arrived at the bus first had been waiting on the bus for the past hour. Learning this, we weren’t too upset that we waited an hour on the comfortable couches in front of our hotel.

As usual I waited beside the bus while I made sure our bags got on and I stepped onto the bus to find there were no seats. Prue was in the second row next to an Australian lady who’s husband and daughter sat in the front row. I had no row, nor seat. One of the bus guys pointed to “VIP bus” across the parking lot. A massive modern luxury coach with animated murals covering the sides and told me “one seat”. I pointed to the floor and smiled, not wanting to leave Prue alone on our 1980’s Shit-box bus. Our bus was the same price as the VIP bus we thought we were getting, and so did most of the people on our bus, who all stared longingly at the comfortable coach across the parking lot that had air-con. As our bus rolled out of the lot, I was ushered into the fold down seat next to the driver and was treated to a panoramic view for the next six hours.

Watching the oncoming traffic from the front seat, it was lucky our driver wasn’t Vietnamese, Cambodian or Thai. Laos travels at a much slower pace than the other three neighbours. Sure we spent some time narrowly missing oncoming trucks and buses on the wrong side of the road while winding around mountain passes. But the frequency in which it happened had become almost negligible, well except for the winding mountains which had increased in not only frequency, but also increased in grandness and splendour. Within two days in Laos we had already been treated to some of the most amazing scenery so far in our trip, and I had the best seat in the house.

As we rolled into Vang Vieng, we realised the real reason why people come here, sure the parties are a draw card, but the scenery just got even better. Stepping of the bus, I think I died that day...