I know you must be wondering what happened in Vientiane? Well, if you didn’t guess it from my last post, I spent my entire time holed up in Funky Monkey Hostel. The hostel for the most part was great. However, it did seem that the “one-off” power outage from the first day seemed to repeat itself multiple times daily.
With my stomach still twisting and turning, I spent my last half hour in Vientiane dashing to the bathroom and praying for a miraculous full recovery. By the time our shuttle to the bus station arrived I was feeling light on my feet. All thanks to my new best friend … Imodium!
I ventured out into the sticky Vientiane climate and crawled into the back of the tuk-tuk. After travelling the past two weeks with the same group of travellers, it was only myself and one another remaining in Laos; the rest skipping the south for Hanoi or Phuket. I, on the other hand, was headed to the Promised Land: 4000 Islands.
The bus darted through traffic. Heading out of the city, through industrial areas and finally to the bus station. We arrived with ample time to spare—or so we thought. Our driver ushered us to the desk to finalise our bookings, pointed us in the direction of the bus and left us. I sat on the pavement. Soon after, my bag was picked up and loaded onto the bus. Next, we were ushered on board – an hour and a half before our scheduled departure. With little strength to resist, I relished the thought of a nice comfy bed and possible air conditioning and obeyed the instructing arm willingly.
Split into two levels—crawl space only—we searched for our bed on the top half. “Bed” was probably too strong of a term; it was more a small comfortable mattress barely wide enough for two. It is moments like these I love being 5’5”. I could just lie straight. Being the smallest, I opted for the window to allow my tall friend aisle room to stretch out.
For those of you travelling alone and are not comfortable spooning with a complete stranger, then sleeper buses are not for you. As a solo traveller myself, I was lucky that I had a friend to make the journey south unlike some others boarding the bus. I could have hugged him for making the journey, but that wasn’t necessary as we were about to spoon all night.
Our neighbours came prepared—they had pizza! After days of nothing but crackers and rice and on an Imodium high, I graciously accepted the delicious morsel presented to me. It was at least 12 hours of travel to Don Det, so I curled up and slept. Then I slept some more, waking knowing we were scheduled to arrive soon in a town called Pakse. The last stop before our final destination.
I crawled over bodies and made my way to the bathroom downstairs. My whole body wrenched as the stench of the bottom floor entered my nostrils. I felt like I was at the close of a music festival and braving the porta-loos. I held my breath and raced back upstairs into the fresh stale air of twenty sleeping travellers, closing the door at the bottom of the stairs behind me. I was now very awake.
I inhaled rapidly, taking in sharp breathss to rid the smell lingering in my nostrils. As I looked out the window, I couldn’t help but think I could run to Pakse faster. I almost seriously considered it too after being holed up in bed for days. Finally, three hours late, we pulled into Pakse. Quickly we collected yet again more tickets and jumped on a second bus for the next leg of the trip to Don Det.
I watched the rural countryside merge into one blurred image, then drifted off. I had happy dreams … I was arriving at Don Det on schedule, soaking in blue sunny days and falling into the rhythm of island life. Suddenly, my dream turned sour. A freezing down pour broke my island bliss and cold water trickled down my spine. I soon realised that it was not a dream: the cold rain was real. But how? I was on a bus?
I opened my eyes and found the air conditioning unit had busted. It leaked profusely from the ceiling forming waterfalls throughout the bus. Few seats were missed as the gushing water attacked before it slowed. Some attempted to plug the drips with curtains, but with no luck. Damp, the bus continued all the way to a small town where our driver jumped out and began to unload our backpacks.
The sky appeared bruised and I looked up just in time to have the first droplets of rain splash on my face. We joined the handful of other travellers who had made the journey and trudged down the main road, hoping to find a ferry to Don Det.
We reached the river’s edge and within seconds were rushed into canoe-styled boats with motor engines. Water swirled around our ankles as our captain silently took us through the maze of fishing nets across the brown watery expanse. The canoe thumped into the sands of Don Det making the water splash up and wet my butt: we made it!
All opinions are subjective to the writers personal travel experience. The writer travelled at her own expense.