The Pete Doherty Tour II (from Laos to London)
I spent three relaxing, glorious days in Luang Prabang. A pretty andrelaxed World Heritage listed city. I accidentally got out too much money (there was only one cashier who did visa withdrawals (I didn’t have traveler’s cheques or anything) so ate at fantastic restaurants and had a ball. I decided to head to the capital for the weekend and organized to meet up with friends' of a friend there. But I needed to catch a night bus.
The good bus (with food and drink and leg room and no windows) would leave at 8pm, but arrive at 3am. The dodgy local bus would leave a bit earlier, but arrive at 5.30am. So I caught that. Knowing I would regret it (but I didn’t realize how much).
Third worst bus I have ever caught. The worst was a night bus in Peru that climbed from sea level to about 2km up on rock roads and made me sick for a week (pre Machu Picchu) – I can still remember the feeling of the freezing cold dirt in the air going down my throat at 2am. The second worst was during the day, climbing up “the world’s most dangerous road” in Bolivia. I can still remember the panic as, when the bus overheated, the driver almost ran off the bus without putting the hand brake on (we were half way up the windy cliff face that we had just ridden mountain bikes down). Rounding out the top three was this trip.
My curiosity was piqued when the driver handed out plastic bags (and the lady in front of me got one). I got a bit nervous an hour or so in when she opened the window to let some fresh (freezing) air in. For the next 8hours she coughed up phlegm from the depths of her ankles and spat it out the window (impossible for 100% of that to go out the window and not land on the guy behind her, right?). But it really troughed when I realized why people had accepted the plastic bags.
Appears it is pretty common for locals to get motion sickness.
Obviously this wouldn’t deter you from catching a bus at night …. Nooo
It would just mean you would accept you were going to vomit, at leastonce, so you’d bring your own bag, or vomit in a bus-supplied plastic bag. And then hold on to it, you know, for the rest of the trip, just in case. Oh it was a pleasure.
It is always nice to identify a low point of one’s trip. Mine was at 2.30am. the window in front of me had been open for four, chilling, hours. The wind was slicing through my wool jumper and I had been having a silent war with the old lady in front of me for two hours. The game involved me deftly shutting the window for literally minutes of warmth. She would then reach back, open it up and prove her need for it by hocking a mouthful of phlegm out the partially open window. I had four sheets of A4 paper in my pocket (a Demos piece on aspiration) and used it to fashioned a shield between the window and the seat. As I started to fall asleep (basking a the warm feeling that was a heady combination of no cold air and the glow of the ingenious use of Demos research) my low-point arrived as she threw my shield out the window and spat out something the size of Saturn (unfortunately the gravitational pull was insufficient to create an orbit for some of its 'moons', who crashed into the constellation of my face.
What goes down, must come up, and the rest of the weekend was absolutely fantastic. Taken under the wing of two expats I was shown the delights of Laos. This included a walking tour to Laos’ leárc de triumph (aka the vertical runway as it was made from concrete the Americans donated for a runway), a laos massage, an expat party and a Laos wedding – and that was just on Saturday. Sunday was whittled away at old temples, lovely coffee, beers at sunset by the mighty meekong (that is less mighty in January, and a bit more meek than kong) and a dinner of dumplings in a kooky restaurant with squawking birds. ThanksClare and Cait.
My final morning in Laos was spent having a glorious coffee and croissant for breakfast, before jumping on a bus for Thailand. When I got to Bangkok I had my final meal (a lovely hot Tom Yum soup) grabbed my bags (which hadn't been stolen) and high tailed it to the airport for a flight to my new home with the lovely .... London
The good bus (with food and drink and leg room and no windows) would leave at 8pm, but arrive at 3am. The dodgy local bus would leave a bit earlier, but arrive at 5.30am. So I caught that. Knowing I would regret it (but I didn’t realize how much).
Third worst bus I have ever caught. The worst was a night bus in Peru that climbed from sea level to about 2km up on rock roads and made me sick for a week (pre Machu Picchu) – I can still remember the feeling of the freezing cold dirt in the air going down my throat at 2am. The second worst was during the day, climbing up “the world’s most dangerous road” in Bolivia. I can still remember the panic as, when the bus overheated, the driver almost ran off the bus without putting the hand brake on (we were half way up the windy cliff face that we had just ridden mountain bikes down). Rounding out the top three was this trip.
My curiosity was piqued when the driver handed out plastic bags (and the lady in front of me got one). I got a bit nervous an hour or so in when she opened the window to let some fresh (freezing) air in. For the next 8hours she coughed up phlegm from the depths of her ankles and spat it out the window (impossible for 100% of that to go out the window and not land on the guy behind her, right?). But it really troughed when I realized why people had accepted the plastic bags.
Appears it is pretty common for locals to get motion sickness.
Obviously this wouldn’t deter you from catching a bus at night …. Nooo
It would just mean you would accept you were going to vomit, at leastonce, so you’d bring your own bag, or vomit in a bus-supplied plastic bag. And then hold on to it, you know, for the rest of the trip, just in case. Oh it was a pleasure.
It is always nice to identify a low point of one’s trip. Mine was at 2.30am. the window in front of me had been open for four, chilling, hours. The wind was slicing through my wool jumper and I had been having a silent war with the old lady in front of me for two hours. The game involved me deftly shutting the window for literally minutes of warmth. She would then reach back, open it up and prove her need for it by hocking a mouthful of phlegm out the partially open window. I had four sheets of A4 paper in my pocket (a Demos piece on aspiration) and used it to fashioned a shield between the window and the seat. As I started to fall asleep (basking a the warm feeling that was a heady combination of no cold air and the glow of the ingenious use of Demos research) my low-point arrived as she threw my shield out the window and spat out something the size of Saturn (unfortunately the gravitational pull was insufficient to create an orbit for some of its 'moons', who crashed into the constellation of my face.
What goes down, must come up, and the rest of the weekend was absolutely fantastic. Taken under the wing of two expats I was shown the delights of Laos. This included a walking tour to Laos’ leárc de triumph (aka the vertical runway as it was made from concrete the Americans donated for a runway), a laos massage, an expat party and a Laos wedding – and that was just on Saturday. Sunday was whittled away at old temples, lovely coffee, beers at sunset by the mighty meekong (that is less mighty in January, and a bit more meek than kong) and a dinner of dumplings in a kooky restaurant with squawking birds. ThanksClare and Cait.
My final morning in Laos was spent having a glorious coffee and croissant for breakfast, before jumping on a bus for Thailand. When I got to Bangkok I had my final meal (a lovely hot Tom Yum soup) grabbed my bags (which hadn't been stolen) and high tailed it to the airport for a flight to my new home with the lovely .... London
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