Border Crossing

After a week in Northern Vietnam I was ready to be on my way to Laos, a land mythically beautiful and less touristy. Unfortunately, given my current financial situation, my expedition was defined by my budget. This is sometimes a good thing, and sometimes a bad thing. In the case of reaching my destination, Vang Vieng, Laos, from Hanoi, it was… painful. “A 27 hour bus ride from hell”, a fellow passenger later described it.

 I met people in Hanoi who had made the trek in reverse, “DON’T DO IT MATE!” an Aussie begged me with a crazed look in his eye that told me some parts of that bus ride would be with him for the rest of his life. I didn’t really have a choice, given it would swing an extra $180 dollars to fly. I’m young, if it can be done, I will do it.  I strapped in at 5pm on a Sunday in late January. I had some vodka to help ease my sleep, but upon noticing that there wasn’t a bathroom on the bus, I knew that it was useless. I have the bladder the size of a 3^rd grade school girl. Drinking vodka in this setting could only come back to haunt me, possibly for hours on end. Who knows how often they stop? After I finally nodded  off, the bus stopped at 7 am. “Passport.” The Vietnamese driver stated. The entire bus passed forward our passports in confusion. The driver could not speak English. We all decided to use this opportunity to go to the bathroom. Who knows when we will stop again? This was truly a bus wreathed in mystery by the language barrier. I was the last to get out because I was in the back, but the cognitive wheels of the group had already started to turn. There, in maximum distance of visibility, 10 feet because of the misting rain and fog, was an official looking Vietnamese building. There’s something to this we all decided. We got our passports back, went inside and paid our exit tax for Vietnam. When we came out on the other side of the building we looked all around for our bus, but we could not find it. It wasn’t where we left it and it wasn’t on the other side. We all were wandering around this building in the frigid cold, on top of a mountain, I might add at 7:15am.

Eventually, we started asking the Vietnamese soldiers what was going on. They too, had limited English, but they had clearly learned one phrase in tandem with a gesture. “Walk to Laos”, one man said as he pointed vaguely into the mist. “Excuse me sir, I didn’t know that I should have gotten my compass, local map, and thermal goggles out of my bag before I got out of the bus. I figured I would just get them out on this side of the building and then run into the mist looking for ‘Laos.’” No luck. “Walk to Laos.” He repeats again and again while pointing. Our group was all thinking the same thing, “This guy can’t be serious.” Girls were in sandals, guys were in tank tops shivering, it had to be around 32 degrees, and nobody knew to prepare for this when getting off the bus for a pee break. We began our long blind walk into the mist searching for Laos as if it were a single treasure jest. I almost expected to hear somebody to my left or right, “hey guys, I found it. Yeah, it was right over here under this rock the whole time. We are so silly.” But, no. We were looking for a country. After wandering around for about an hour which included a trip back to the man/robot who sent us on this treasure hunt, we found the Laos border. We all bought our visas and found our bus on the other side. I have never been so happy to get back on a bus-- knowing that I have almost 12 more hours to go.