On rice bags from Laos to Vietnam

There’s always room for another… a passenger, a chicken, a sack of rice; on the bus

In the morning I bought a ticket in Savannakhet in Laos, for a local bus, crossing the border at Da Nang. By local, I thought it would be similar to Cambodian – a descent bus. When the scrapheap on wheels arrived, however, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a regular swine pit. When I enter my nostrils are greeted with the stench of cabbage, spiced with numerous other foul smelling aromas. The ticket sais seat 3, so somewhere in front, but the driver’s assistant took my backpack, started carrying it to the back of the bus and kept telling me “jou, jou, jou,” to follow him. This unpleasant sound is what they use to talk to foreigners, for they just can’t put a normal “you” together.

The bus only had six rows of seats, the other half was ‘empty’ and foiled up with groceries people brought from their farms, luggage, and all sorts of knickknacks. My backpack ended there and I was placed in the last empty seat of the bus. So, why am I complaining, if I always said I want to get genuine local experience, and not travel tourist class? We stopped to let a few more people on and got really overcrowded. They’re sitting in the passage, on bags and suitcases, and fell asleep by leaning on the person next to them. The guy next to me dozed off with his head constantly aiming for my shoulder. When some more people get on, they take the cargo area and an old geezer mistook my backpack for a sofa. The last guy we stop for took out a large sheet and tied it to the roof of the bus as a makeshift hammock to sleep in above our heads. The bus got chaotic, with people yelling at each other or in their phones. They’re coughing, spitting, burping, sneezing,…

Border crossing

The driving never ends and my legs start hurting like hell. I can neither stretch them, nor really sit down normally. When I fall asleep with exhaustion, I wake up when the engine turns off at 2:45 AM, for we’ve reached the closed border, where we need to wait until 7 in the morning for it to open. Why leave the station at ten in the evening, if you need to wait four more hours at the border? Somehow I manage to position myself for sleep until a familiar yell of “jou” wakes me up. I get out my passport still half asleep. It’s pass six and it’s getting brighter. I see some more parked buses. The guy who woke me wanted 30.000 for a stamping fee (that’s about 4$ bribe)! I’m awake enough for a firm NO and to demand my passport back. Clearly disappointed he returned the passport, without getting a few bucks for his pocket. Outside I meet other passengers, who came from Pakse. They’ve been traveling since seven last night, and arrived only at five. It was the first time I bumped into Henry from London. He came off the bus, angry, because they don’t let the bus through instead of collecting passports. The German couple agrees, not to give documents to anybody. Henry takes their passports and mine in order to get them stamped him. The one who wanted a bribe from me offers him a bike ride, for the border is 2 kilometres away, and keeps on babbling about something, until the Englishman hushes him up – not taking any favours from him. “Now, you I like,” I say, when half an hour later my bus starts moving and he’s not back with my passport! So I decide to find him at the crossing. He’s there, waiting for stamped passports, but it will take 1$ per person, for bribe. The border guards are not returning passports before seven and are instead playing cards! And then the Vietnamese side. Waiting again, due to numerous trivial things. Henry and I are waiting for each other, until formalities were done. Henry writes for magazines, he does it for a living and you can find him everywhere. He’s used to bureaucracy and corruption and kind of knows how to handle it.
The Vietnamese official had a drawer open on the right side and just takes a look at a page of each passport. Locals know, they should leave a banknote there. When money is found, it just slis into that drawer. There wasn’t any in my passport, but he didn’t ask for it.

Good morning Vietnam!

The landscape over the border is fascinating. The hills are covered with jungle, it’s all full of water and endless fields of rice – and then some!

The first coffee in Vietnam is disgusting, even worse than all those Asian brews before. And the first contact with the people is not quite nice either. They’re arrogant and mean, while I’m ordering coffee with warm milk. I get mud water with ice and no milk, not to mention a rude attempt of tricking me with the bill.

Local buses don’t stop on the way, to let people eat or go to toilet. Just an hour before we reached the final stop in Da Nangu, we stop for no reason in a local whole of a restaurant.

Finally Da Nang. The bus for Hoi An is already waiting. We need to negotiate the price of the ticket. They after our cash again. But the one hour adrenalin ride is quite fun! The driver doesn’t know what a break is. From the front and back door two people are hanging, yelling: »Wei wei wei wei..« Just laughing and yelling stupid things. Travel Is becoming fun again, and then a nice reception at the hostel, where I just went to bed, completely tired out, but in the completely new world of magical Hoi An.

And the world shows its better side

I don’t care anymore that I’m just another number in the mass of tourists. I’m not complaining about anything, I got my “lucky tourist smile” back on. I’m walking, wondering and enjoying. Hoi An really does deserve all the masses that go there to admire it. The beautiful old center starts at the river and is under UNESCO protection, but especially at night it is extremely charming in the light of lampions and lanterns. And luckily I’ve arrived in the time of the festival, which is taking place every full moon, where everything is even more colourful and they are sending lanterns down the river. It’s quiet. Like in an old and mystical fairy-tale. Although there are many tourist pressures here, I still feel all the tourism is mixing up with tradition rather nicely. Every building is something special and every step reviles something new to the curious eyes, just soaking in the surroundings.

More and more often I just run through places, for I keep getting the feeling there’s nothing more to see and everything is the same thing all over again. But Hoi An is something special for me. What a welcome to Vietnam! The city is famous for blacksmiths and there really are many. They are making true wonders. Lanterns are floating down the river in all colours and dragons, fish and turtles are rising up from them. Little girls jump around trying to sell a few candles to people. I run into Eamona, an Irishman we continue to travel on together.

Cua Dai

In the surroundings of the city there are many great beaches with white sand and palm trees, which you never grow tired of. So I decided to take a few days off my travel to laze here. At the Cua Dai beach, next day, I start talking to the shopkeeper Lina. I buy some tiger balm and anti-wrinkle cream of her. I’m more curious that hopeful it will work. Japanese girls, as tourists on the beach, are begging me to take my picture – so let them have it ...