Years ago there were news reports of bombing on the Plain of Jars, and I had always been curious about the name. Now, Charles and I were in Vientiane at Hotel Vannasinh and asking the boss how we might get there. “With difficulty” was the gist of the reply, if you don’t want to fly, as the roads are very bad. The obvious route is so bad, that people prefer to go all the way to Luang Phabang as part of a great loop so as to arrive at Phonsavanh from the north rather than attempt the turnoff short of Luang Phabang.
Furthermore, buses to Luang Phabang do not leave from the city bus station, which was why I’d elicited little information when enquiring about such destinations earlier. Ah. And the bus departs at 7:30am, though we should be there rather earlier in order to be sure of a seat, possibly even a good seat.
So a celebratory dinner to fortify us for the possible rigours ahead: away to the Nang Khambang, recommended as having genuine Lao cuisine at Lao prices and where we’d eaten the previous evening. I request Fish Sour Soup (with sticky rice) again, but Charles confuses his order by requesting the second item first and gets nothing as the waiter thought he would be sharing my soup. Nope.
Thursday: Vientiane – Luang Phabang 12 hours for K10,500
An early beginning at 5:30 a.m. or rather four a.m. when Charles decides to rise and pack. I doze, and re-awaken for a calm start to the day. By six it is dawn, the Green Toad packed and ready to be abandoned to the hotel’s storage. Our host sends a fellow to find a tuk-tuk and argues a K1,000 fare for the pair of us, which is just over U$1. Charles is startled as I board without pack, and curses himself for not having thought when he was asked if he wanted to leave anything.
Away we go, to a street somewhere in suburbia that is not a bus terminal at all, merely the location of a desk in a coffeehouse where we pay for our tickets. There is no sign of any bus, but our tuk-tuk driver is directed across the street and on a little where a large truck awaits. Um.
A hatch in the side allows us view of tight-packed bench seats in the front half of the tray; behind is baggage, with more on top of the ‘passenger compartment’. Hummm. We leave handkerchiefs on front row seats in the hope of reserving a position that will get some air (and maybe rain?) then retreat to the coffeehouse to wait, as departure is given as…nine. Mumble. So much for dawn starts.
But then a bus rolls up; it is indeed going to Luang Phabang at 7:30 as had been stated, so a re-selection of seats, and only a short while to wait.
And as the second hand of the clock above the windshield ticks to 7:30, we roll! The bus is only about a third full! And no-one is smoking! Charles and I look at each other in mute bewilderment; this is not the style we have endured for the past months of travel.
Soon, we’re out of the city into flat countryside paved with rice fields. There is little traffic. The road is sealed, but when passing through a village, it is a little worn. At 11:45 we leave Vang Vien, still on flatland but now with mountains on either side, and ahead. We stop for lunch at Kasi, then a taste of normality: before resuming the journey we drive around town, lurching along rough streets, looking for passengers.
Now the climbing starts, up and down but mostly up, to the level of the ridges at about 5,200 feet. There are bad landslips and mudslides where the road has been cut across now treeless slopes. It was a Swedish aid project, completed recently, and already the road is sagging away on the drop side. There are no actual blockages, but neither have the slides been cleared away, as we follow truck tracks through some mounds of remaining muck.
One of the larger ridgetop villages was called Sam Ngaik, and there we dropped off some seemingly child-sized soldiers barely taller than their AK-47s. They had hitched a ride on the roof as we slogged up a slope a few miles back, or were they “protection”? It was very casual if so. As night falls we descend to a village on what is obviously the bank of the Mekong, joined by a tributary nearby somewhat in the configuration of Luang Phabang. But no, we continue into the night.
Smack on 7:30 p.m. we stop somewhere in some town, where remaining passengers alight. This must be the place, but where in it are we? Which way from here to a place to stay? This is where the hotelier network comes into play.
At the Vannasinh we were given a card for the Phounsab guest house, so I show it to our driver, who consults with a hovering tuk-tuk driver: “Yes, yes”, so we get on, along with two other foreigners plus some locals and their sacks of rice, to vanish into the night. They are delivered first and I’m gratified to see that the locals also have arguments over the price of conveyances; soon it will be our turn.
We go back much the way that we came, and arrive somewhere. The other two rush inside, leaving Charles and I to pay the fare; K6,000 he wants! We settle on the only slightly less outrageous K5,000 then go in to see where we have arrived and if any rooms remain.
We’re not at the Phounsab, but it looks reasonable, and it is night-time so the Viradesa must suffice. Just one room remains, and a slight delay as a second bed is arranged: now we seek food. There is still some life in the nearby market area, though many stalls have closed. We end up at a streetside eatery, offering noodle soup, so that’s that. On the way back, I spot the Post Office, so at last we’re located. And the bus had stopped just a little way down the road. We could have walked in five minutes if we’d known. Grr.
Read Part 2
