A strange day.
It starts with bad omens, thus once again revealing where superstition draws its power from. Somehow I am urged to leave, and indeed, despite an hour before departure, the bus is full to bursting. The young lady in control of the access to the bus can't resist my charm attack and lets me get on, but with the friendly warning that there is definitely no seat left.
And indeed - the bus is packed to the last seat, even the aisle is filled with all kinds of seats, from boxes to shaky camping chairs. The noise level is high, there is a lot of laughter and gossip, a carnival atmosphere.
I like it, even if I spend the next few hours standing upright, my hands clasped around poles and handholds, in the midst of a brightly colored tribe of distinguished older ladies, dressed in traditional costumes, chatting loudly and merrily, exchanging the latest gossip and occasionally with violent laughter attacks.
Lost Luggage
With the exception of my hands and arms, aching from desperately holding, it's actually quite okay. As far as I can see, the journey runs along densely wooded areas, up and down steep hills, with many curves making standing up quite difficult. Then a forced stop: some pieces of luggage have fallen off the roof.
The bus stops abruptly, the boy responsible for the luggage runs out in a bit of a panic, where indeed some bags and parcels are lying. Not exactly a masterpiece when it comes to securing the precious luggage. The ladies are pretty upset and breathe a sigh of relief when the boy gives the all-clear. However, he has to endure some bad stares, something that seems to keep him busy for the rest of the trip.
It's the same with me - the thought of my own backpack lying on the road is not really reassuring. But the trip continues, up and down the hills, and when I think about the planned bike tour, I feel sick.
That would have been a real challenge. Yesterday's supposed bad luck proves once again to be a stroke of luck.
No man's land
Eventually the bus stops. No man's land. A few trees, bushes, dirt roads.
Where is this bloody Muang Khoua? We are reloaded onto a waiting TukTuk; apparently for larger vehicles it is forbidden to enter the village. I join the train of lemmings, cling to the loading area of the TukTuk and wait for the things to come.
But it's great joy: wind in the hair, dust in the nose, we drive fast and noisy and dusty towards the village as a long time ago on Daddy's truck.
Distant memories …
Beyond my modest requirements
Finding a hotel is more difficult than expected. The village is small, both sides of the road are lined with countless stalls and restaurants. The first hotel, recommended in the guidebook, turns out to be bad, even for my rather modest taste. Maybe it's the unfriendly creature in the shape of a young girl who leads me to the room. No! It's one of the worst rooms I have seen so far. Finally I end up in a faceless, ugly building, apparently from the Stalin era, but the room is okay.
The village can be walked through in a few minutes. A narrow road leads down to the Nam Ou, the river that will hopefully take me south tomorrow. The transfer from and to Vietnam is still difficult and must be done by boat. Huge trucks have to be loaded onto comparatively weak boats.
Along the main street a daily fair: stall joins store joins booth joins craft shed. I look for souvenirs, but again in vain. In Laos there's not a lot worth buying. Always the same plastic waste, colored and poisonous and made for eternity.
School Visit
A suspension bridge, shaky and in permanent swing, leads over a dirty brown inflow to the Nam Ou. Some students, all dressed identically in white and black, meet me on the way to a different part of the village. I follow them through a shady grove.
A boy whose name I forget after two seconds addresses me. He wants to show me his school, where the next lesson starts in half an hour. Excitement and many-voiced noise announce the school area. A big orange-brown square in front of a whitewashed building, in between like white restless PacMen, the students.
In no time I am surrounded by girls and boys who all want to apply their sparse English language skills. The teacher is already at the blackboard, apparently giving tutoring lessons before the actual lessons begin. I'm happy for the bell calling for lessons, and I manage to get away from the excited chatter before I have to study algebra.
Not a pleasant village
Otherwise, there is not much to say about the village, a veritable backwater on the butt of the world. The influence of the numerous Chinese, having settled here near the Chinese border, is palpable. The only reasonable restaurants are along the road that leads down to the river, and these too are strangely uncomfortable, which is truly rare in Laos.
And then for the first time - the Nam Ou
I set out to find information about my planned boat trip down the Nam Ou, There is a kind of an open counter but tickets are only issued the next day. After all, I come across two Dutchmen, also on the way South. At least three people then. Let's see if there are more tomorrow, then it should work out.
I follow the river up to a lagoon where water-loving people swim. Loud foreigners whom I hope will travel somewhere else tomorrow, but not in the same direction as I do.
P.S. Matching Song: Eminem - Bus a Rhyme
And here the journey continues ...
