Bussing it through Laos
DAY: 33
LOCATION: Luang Prabang to Vientiane
My journey to Vientiane started off bumpy. First, the tuk tuk driver showed up 15 minutes late, which had me checking my phone the whole three miles to the bus depot. Next, he tried to double charge me. Grrr. Finally, the VIP bus I’d bought the ticket for was overbooked, so they refunded me a few bucks and put me on the regular sleeper. Needless to say, I was a grumpy camper.
Thankfully, I managed to get a window seat near the front, which brightened my spirits. One of the main reasons I’d opted for the bus instead of flying was to see the stunning countryside (“do not miss this!!!” –random Yelper). I settled into the sardine-like compartment, playing peak-a-boo with the adorable Laotian baby across from me.
It took 30 minutes to get on the road, but once we did I knew what the Yelper was talking about. The landscape morphed from plush jungle into rugged mountaintops as we ascended the winding road. Just take it all in, stay present and observe, I instructed myself, be like Eckert Tolle and Austin. I was determined to spend the next ten hours in a sort of moving bus meditation. No reading, no writing, no podcasts, just becoming one with the countryside.
The view was otherworldly. I felt like Frodo Baggins, looking out at Middle Earth. The mist creeping through the endless valleys, the dense clouds capping the scraggly mountains giving way to sheer cliffs, the palm fronds and occasional bright green fields. Of course, the truly otherworldly sight was what I was used to – asphalt, skyscrapers, billboards. This was natural, this was earth.
Aside from the epic peaks and valleys, the thing that stuck out to me the most were the small villages peppered along the way. Perhaps village is too strong of a word – sometimes it was just three or four thatched wood homes, or cement and tin. Laundry inevitably hung from a clothesline, a dusty motorbike or two was propped out front, and of course alien-looking TV dishes graced the roofs. And the Media Gods said, “Let there be satellite.”
I watched as barefoot children played with each other, laughing and squealing. The adults looked on, weary and tough-faced. This was not an easy existence, no matter how much fun the kids seemed to be having with the dogs. At one of the villages, we picked up a mother with her four children. Their clothes were in tatters, their hair caked in dirt. “Dickensian,” a Westerner might call it. My heart filled with compassion as they huddled on the bus stairs, unable to afford a seat.
We stopped in Vang Vieng and half the bus disembarked. I’d been told while booking my trip it was a backpacker’s paradise, with cheap hostels, cheap booze, and loads of outdoor activities to do (drunk or sober.) I’d decided to pass on Beerlao innertubing this go round, but maybe some day. The scenery alone was worth it, and I had some hiking envy.
We got back on the road and my stomach started to grumble. We’d been told there would be lunch, but I was beginning to wonder if that’s what the small dish of fried rice left on our seats at 7am was supposed to be. I prayed not – I’d eaten my last energy bar a couple of hours earlier. I broke my no podcast rule to distract my stomach and put on an episode of Rich Roll that James had recommended.
It turned out to be the perfect conversation to listen to. The guest was Guru Singh, and the topic was cultivating awareness. I was particularly fascinated by his transition from the entertainment world as a musician to a spiritual leader. As he discussed an awakening experience he’d had buried underground, deprived of all food and water, certain of his own death, it really put my current low blood sugar situation into perspective. I am not this body, I do not need food, I will be fine.
But it was nearing 3 o’clock and I actually did need food. Fortunately, we pulled over at a village in front of a restaurant. This is it, yey! I bounded off the bus with the other hungry travelers.
I was wrong. It was actually a bathroom break for us foreigners, and a food break for the driver and Laotian passengers. I suppose we could’ve ordered food if we wanted, but it looked like diarrhea waiting to happen, and in no way vegan. I got back on the bus near hypoglycemic tears and ate the cold rice, picking around the egg. How Guru Singh had managed for days in darkness was beyond me, but it had destroyed his ego and introduced him to his Higher Self, so there was that.
We got into the capital as the sun was setting. It looked a lot closer to Ho Chi Minh City then Luang Prabang. As we got off the bus at the station I asked a German couple if they wanted to share a taxi into the center. They said yes, and the guy started haggling with a driver.
“Where are you guys staying?” I asked the woman, as if I had any idea what any of the hotels were or where they were.
“This place,” she showed me her phone. Xaysomboun Boutique Hotel.
“Get out!! That’s where I’m staying!!” I laughed at the synchronicity. “What are the odds?”
Unfortunately, the driver didn’t know where our hotel was and dropped us at the wrong location. We hopped on the wifi of the hotel he’d taken us to, and it showed we were still a kilometer from our destination. A couple of taxi drivers offered to take us in terrible traffic for even more than what we paid for our original ride, but we opted to walk instead. After more than eleven hours seated we needed to move our legs.
I got checked in to my large and clean room, but could hardly appreciate it for want of food. I did a quick Happy Cow search and found a vegan spot a mile away with high ratings.
As I sped walk along rather dark and industrial streets, I wondered how safe Vientiane was. I wondered even more as I turned down an alley to get to Reunion Cafe. But my stomach overrode all other survival instincts.
It was closed. My heart sank. I had flashbacks to Australia, and all of the missed vegan opportunities. A kind woman sweeping the floor informed me they had stopped serving 15 minutes before, but would be open tomorrow. I thanked her and headed down towards the river.
As I perused the menu of a random restaurant, a server asked if she could seat me.
“Can you do this dish vegetarian?” I asked. “And no eggs or dairy?”
She checked with the chef and told me they could. I sat down and ordered it, ready to eat my arm. For $1.50, the noodle dish was pretty damn satisfying. Of course, even cold rice would have hit the spot at that point.
Rejuvenated by the meal, I strolled through the market and along the boardwalk. It was quite lively, with tourists purchasing cheap clothes and souvenirs, and young locals holding hands near the water on a street closed off to vehicles. Fireworks erupted in the distance for the New Year.
As I headed south along the Mekong it got quieter, minus the random French concert in the middle of Chao Anouvong Park. The duo on stage was actually really good, even though the audience consisted of maybe 30 people. I joined the “crowd” as they finished their final song and wished us a good night and prosperous New Year.
The rest of the park was completely empty. Not a single soul at the large Chao Anouvong Statue, or the fountain nearby. Perfect for meditating. Except for the broken benches. I snapped a photo to send to Jordan. More metaphors for society.
On that note, I headed home. Even if I’d spent most of the day laying down in a bus, it had still been exhausting. Turns out cultivating awareness is not as easy as it seems. But we already knew that.
