The
bus, or a tuk tuk was supposed to pick us up at the GH between 1 and
1.30. At 2 the GH owner came over to us and called up to see what was
going on. Within minutes a tuk tuk arrived and we were taken to the
bus station outside of town. A minibus crammed with way too many
people and way too much luggage was waiting for us. Only 2 seats
remained the back seat over the engine and the jump seat beside the
driver. I took the jump seat and looked at the other double decker
luxurious thing that also said “Vientiane” on the front and
cursed myself for not spending the extra few thousand kip and getting
a better bus.
It
was hard to hang on at points – not having a steering wheel or a
seat in front – but the journey was fine – better not to pay too
much attention to the actual road. Simultaneously overtaking water
buffalo, trucks and weaving mopeds at full speed is a bit of an
adrenaline sport in these parts. Unsurprisingly as we approached
Vientiane there was a crash on the road ahead. A truck had overtaken
but not returned to the right lane in time and it had glanced off a
bus, leaving a 2m long . The very bus I had been wishing we were on.
Everyone was being told to take their bags off the bus and wait for
another. Good job I got the cheapo ticket after all!
On
arrival we made for Syri Guest House near the stadium. It was clean
but a bit tired and had a great veranda. Thankfully
the French left a few decent restaurants before their colony was
snatched back from them in the 1950s. La Terrasse is a good example
and we had a pair of delicious steaks there on our first night. A
large American family took a table beside us. We started chatting –
they were pleasant, soft spoken missionaries who taught the bible,
set up a drug rehabilitation centre and had all of their eight
children in various parts of Laos. Most of the kids wore dayglo Jesus
loves you t-shirts. We chatted to a Dutch guy, Paul, back at the GH.
He was witty and intelligent but spoke regularly of his grandmother.
Too regularly.
The
heat was unbearable the next day, Sunday, so we decided to find a
place with AC and the internet and stay there. The Scandinavian
Bakery ticked all the boxes. Here, in the cool air and amidst the
sunday papers and the coffee we decided to do something we had not
done yet on the trip: go on holidays! When you're travelling it can
become a bit gruelling – an endless slog to tick boxes – boxes
for sights, activities, cities, countries. We needed a break – not
from the places, of course but from the box ticking. We would be on
holidays for the rest of our time in Laos. Our first act was to go
for another steak.
We
rented some bicycles the next day to have a look around Vientiane. In
1969 the US government donated cement to the Laos nation – it was
meant for a new runway for the airport. The government decided that a
Victory Monument would be more appropriate so they built one, in the
style of the Arch de Triomphe, instead of a runway. It's prettier
from far away than the up close concrete monstrosity. Rather than a
well kept museum in the inside there is a market selling buddha
images, t-shirts and fabrics. Seven floors up there are some great
views of the city.
Vientiane's
Lane Xang hotel has a kidney shaped swimming pool which you can laze
around for a minimal sum. After our cycle it was high time for a dip.
Once the sun stated to set we took the bikes back and walked along
the banks of the Mekong once again. Restaurant and bars seem to pop
up out of nowhere, all vying for the sunset seeking tourists
strolling along. We walked up to the ornate, new Mekong River
commission building, right beside a decrepit sixties apartment block
with no windows, but still very much inhabited. It was hard to know
where to choose for dinner but we were delighted with our pick.
Excellent street food with the comfort of a cushion and a great
sunset to boot. We feasted on perch, straight of the Mekong and
played chess and it was good. Claire got me to a stalemate.
The
holiday continued on our final day in Vientiane – we played games,
went to the bakery again, went to a bookshop and bought enormously
overpriced UK magazines to read on our journey – we would get the
“sleeping bus” to Pakse in the evening.
It
was a very strange bus – so strange in fact that it gets an MOT –
36. No seats on the bus just beds. All doubles, one on top of the
another (so it was nice to be acquainted with my bed buddy in advance
– otherwise you could be being spooned by a stranger). The the ones
at the back. These were amazing – 5 little sleeping sections in a
row – top and bottom so if you suffered from claustrophobia you
would be in for a pretty nasty 10 hours.
Some
of the cots were small – about 5 ft long. Others were about 6ft –
presumably for the taller foreigners. A German girl had the same bed
number as I – 29. The conductor seemed to gesture that all three of
us sleep in the same cot but eventually he found her an Asian cot and
we were off. I felt like I was going to roll violently out of the
window and in to oncoming traffic in the night during some of the
turns. Everyone was happy to get off when we arrived in Pakse.
