Have I mentioned I hate border crossing days? I do. In fact, I dread them. Without a doubt, something, at least one thing though likely many more, will inevitably go wrong. It makes sense after all—one country has enough problems, but get two involved and you’re in for a real treat, I ended up crossing the border into Vietnam just yesterday, after two changes of plans and an epic four-day journey.
Last Thursday, a new Australian friend, Jade, and I made plans to leave Luang Prabang. She had marooned herself in LP for almost two weeks as well and I think we were both having separation anxiety about leaving our lovely little home as of late. However, we agreed that if we could secure a boat trip up to the small northern town of Nong Khiew (not as easy feat in low season), we would leave that day. And in fact we lucked out. Despite some earlier signs to the contrary, one of the boat drivers was returning home to Nong Khiew that day and would give us a ride for the standard price. It ended up being the nicest boat ride I’ve taken. We were seated in the small, covered wooden boat with padded cushions and only the captain and his young, shy daughter to keep us company. Watching the steep green cliffs change and merge along the great muddy river through passing rainstorms, we congratulated ourselves on our private boat tour. After arriving in Nong Khiew, we secured a bungalow on the riverside and then grabbed some dinner, where we met another Australian mate and solo traveler, Grant, who was quite an adventurous soul making a journey around northern Laos by motorbike and had just driven over 400km that day from Sam Neau. We hit the local “cinema” for a movie as well.
Next morning, Jade and I did a quick trek through the beautiful countryside to (yet another) cave, before catching a one-hour boat up to the remote town of Muang Ngoi which is only accessible by boat—thus no cars, no motorbikes, not nothing really, quite a nice change. We found a great little bungalow complete with a hammock and spent the rainy afternoon lounging, reading, and eating. But the next morning we were up bright and early to going fishing with some local boys—net fishing that is.
Sai and Gai took us out in their very shallow wooden boat and tried to teach us, Jade, Grant, and myself, how to fish. Only problem was, they were not having much luck either catching some big ones. I was about as good at this as I am at bowling, but we all managed to contribute one or two small fish to the pot, or should I say frying pan, in the end. 
They cooked us up an early afternoon lunch and we feasted on fried fish, sticky rice, pumpkin soup, and the infamous lao-lao, homemade rice whiskey (just one sip thank you!). 
Then we went for a short hike to see a couple caves and stunning scenery. The next morning it was time to say goodbye to the peaceful mud main street and head back to Nong Khiew.
I decided to abandon my trip out to Sam Neau and Vieng Xai in light of traveler stories indicating this route was lacking some serious transportation on the Vietnamese side. At this point in my travels, I have lost my child-like energy and can’t really be bothered to take on that adventure sadly. So I decided I would head to the national park and do some trekking in northwestern Luang Nam Tha before taking the northernmost border crossing to Vietnam. After a four hour journey by to go 169km, I changed my mind
again: no more Luang Nam Tha which would take me farther from VT before I would get closer. Instead it was time to say goodbye to Laos. But still not for two more days of arduous bus rides.
And then another sign that it was time to leave Laos perhaps: while waiting for our full minivan to leave Nong Khiew, I got a look at a not so lovely aspect of the culture. As I was sitting chatting with a Scottish girl, Val, sitting next to me in the back row of seats, a man who someone said was the husband boarded the small van and began to violently tug at a young Lao woman sitting on the inner window seat. He has a look of madness across his face and began to violently rub her inner elbow across the seat corner as she protested and tried to free his grasp. Val and I were stunned as everyone else in the van acted like nothing else was going on, but it was quite literally in my face and I couldn’t just sit back and watch (I blame Holton-Arms Prep School for Girls!). Then he went for her throat. I mean, imagine it—several real, long minutes of this young man lurching over us to get to his equally young wife. It was awful. Finally after much protest, he left the van and we were on our way, but certainly not before her arm was rubbed raw and Val and I were traumatized. I must simply say to this, that my travels have certainly proved that most of the world is not kind to woman, and that is often a huge understatement.
By the time the van arrived in Udomxai (always a longer journey than any farang expects!), there were no more buses to Luang Nam Tha. Time for a new change of plans—I was beginning to doubt the ease of this crisscrossing of northern Laos and decided it was best to just head for the border.
Especially in low season, the frequency of buses can be slim to none in remote parts, which is exactly where you don’t really want to get stuck with no phone, no internet, no money exchange or ATMs, and not too much to do. This was probably a good call in the end as it would be three more days of buses to endure. I caught a bus to the small northern town of Muang Khuoa, which the woman at the bus station (who spoke very good English) assured me would be an easy enough three hour journey to the town where I could most likely catch a one hour bus to the Vietnamese border that day. Misinformation or wishful thinking? I have found that knowledge of important bus information only extends about 10km from the source at times. Upon arrival in Muang Khuoa after a five or six hour journey, we found out that in fact there was only a 7am bus to Vietnam and it departed 3-4 times a week, approximately every other day. There was one leaving the next day which was lucky relatively speaking. So I whiled away the rest of the afternoon with a walk or two through “town” and a game of pool on some really old tables with the Israeli and Kiwi girls I had met on my bus. We had a nice enough guesthouse overlooking the Nam Ou, and I had a large group dinner with some other travelers who were heading for my old destination of Luang Nam Tha.
The next day it was another early walk up call—my third day arising before 7am—to catch a small boat across the river and walk up the steep driveway to board the bus to the border. It took us four or so hours for us to travel the 84km to the border. I was perched on the bags in the back along with three other farang, but to be honest it was quite comfortable as things go, expect when the bullhead in a bag threatened to impale me as we turned a sharp curve. At one point the bus got stuck in the mud, and most of the people had to get out and walk a good kilometer or two—never a dull moment. By the time we reached Dien Bien Phu, the biggest town after the border, once again there were no buses leaving for our final destination, Sapa in the mountains near the China border. We would have to wait until the next morning. We found some rooms at a guesthouse—nice enough with hot water for about $6, yay Vietnam! Then I joined the French couple to check out the Dien Bien Phu war museum, as the town was the place of last resistance during the French-Vietnamese war. It was interesting if filled with its fair share of communist propaganda. The town was pleasant enough and we finished off the evening with a great dinner of venison cooked four ways among a group of eight farang all stuck in town following that gruesome bus ride. We literally walked in, the woman made some twitching finger symbols above her head which we finally understood to mean they only serve deer and sat down to a really unexpectedly delightful dinner.
It turned out to be a very long journey and may locals, especially ethnic women with high black buns wrapped in netting with silver coin decoration, high-necked blouses and long velvet skirts—not what I would call ideal travel outfits. And in fact, they did not travel so well, but the outfits were not the main problem. Apparently motion-sickness is, however. The next supposedly 7 but in reality ten hour journey a half dozen locals proceeded to puke violently (I’m talking some serious gagging, hacking, moaning, etc) until I wasn’t sure how they had anything left. I was particularly lucky to have one woman’s terrifying noises reverberating in my left ear and without me offending you with more detail (although part of me wants to make you all suffer as I did), let’s just say it was a very long journey. But we’re finally here. It’s a very spectacular mountain town with incredible views from our $5 hotel room (yay Vietnam again!). It’s pouring rain today but in all honesty, it’s kind of nice to have a day when you can’t do anything, and most importantly, don’t have to get on a bus! Hopefully the weather will clear, but even if it doesn’t, I think I’ll be attempting a trek to see some of the villages around here before heading for Hanoi. But so far the food, the people, and the scenery have been quite nice--even if the journey was not the most pleasant, this time the destination seems the highlight.
Last Thursday, a new Australian friend, Jade, and I made plans to leave Luang Prabang. She had marooned herself in LP for almost two weeks as well and I think we were both having separation anxiety about leaving our lovely little home as of late. However, we agreed that if we could secure a boat trip up to the small northern town of Nong Khiew (not as easy feat in low season), we would leave that day. And in fact we lucked out. Despite some earlier signs to the contrary, one of the boat drivers was returning home to Nong Khiew that day and would give us a ride for the standard price. It ended up being the nicest boat ride I’ve taken. We were seated in the small, covered wooden boat with padded cushions and only the captain and his young, shy daughter to keep us company. Watching the steep green cliffs change and merge along the great muddy river through passing rainstorms, we congratulated ourselves on our private boat tour. After arriving in Nong Khiew, we secured a bungalow on the riverside and then grabbed some dinner, where we met another Australian mate and solo traveler, Grant, who was quite an adventurous soul making a journey around northern Laos by motorbike and had just driven over 400km that day from Sam Neau. We hit the local “cinema” for a movie as well.
Next morning, Jade and I did a quick trek through the beautiful countryside to (yet another) cave, before catching a one-hour boat up to the remote town of Muang Ngoi which is only accessible by boat—thus no cars, no motorbikes, not nothing really, quite a nice change. We found a great little bungalow complete with a hammock and spent the rainy afternoon lounging, reading, and eating. But the next morning we were up bright and early to going fishing with some local boys—net fishing that is.
Sai and Gai took us out in their very shallow wooden boat and tried to teach us, Jade, Grant, and myself, how to fish. Only problem was, they were not having much luck either catching some big ones. I was about as good at this as I am at bowling, but we all managed to contribute one or two small fish to the pot, or should I say frying pan, in the end. They cooked us up an early afternoon lunch and we feasted on fried fish, sticky rice, pumpkin soup, and the infamous lao-lao, homemade rice whiskey (just one sip thank you!). 
Then we went for a short hike to see a couple caves and stunning scenery. The next morning it was time to say goodbye to the peaceful mud main street and head back to Nong Khiew.I decided to abandon my trip out to Sam Neau and Vieng Xai in light of traveler stories indicating this route was lacking some serious transportation on the Vietnamese side. At this point in my travels, I have lost my child-like energy and can’t really be bothered to take on that adventure sadly. So I decided I would head to the national park and do some trekking in northwestern Luang Nam Tha before taking the northernmost border crossing to Vietnam. After a four hour journey by to go 169km, I changed my mind
again: no more Luang Nam Tha which would take me farther from VT before I would get closer. Instead it was time to say goodbye to Laos. But still not for two more days of arduous bus rides.And then another sign that it was time to leave Laos perhaps: while waiting for our full minivan to leave Nong Khiew, I got a look at a not so lovely aspect of the culture. As I was sitting chatting with a Scottish girl, Val, sitting next to me in the back row of seats, a man who someone said was the husband boarded the small van and began to violently tug at a young Lao woman sitting on the inner window seat. He has a look of madness across his face and began to violently rub her inner elbow across the seat corner as she protested and tried to free his grasp. Val and I were stunned as everyone else in the van acted like nothing else was going on, but it was quite literally in my face and I couldn’t just sit back and watch (I blame Holton-Arms Prep School for Girls!). Then he went for her throat. I mean, imagine it—several real, long minutes of this young man lurching over us to get to his equally young wife. It was awful. Finally after much protest, he left the van and we were on our way, but certainly not before her arm was rubbed raw and Val and I were traumatized. I must simply say to this, that my travels have certainly proved that most of the world is not kind to woman, and that is often a huge understatement.
By the time the van arrived in Udomxai (always a longer journey than any farang expects!), there were no more buses to Luang Nam Tha. Time for a new change of plans—I was beginning to doubt the ease of this crisscrossing of northern Laos and decided it was best to just head for the border.
Especially in low season, the frequency of buses can be slim to none in remote parts, which is exactly where you don’t really want to get stuck with no phone, no internet, no money exchange or ATMs, and not too much to do. This was probably a good call in the end as it would be three more days of buses to endure. I caught a bus to the small northern town of Muang Khuoa, which the woman at the bus station (who spoke very good English) assured me would be an easy enough three hour journey to the town where I could most likely catch a one hour bus to the Vietnamese border that day. Misinformation or wishful thinking? I have found that knowledge of important bus information only extends about 10km from the source at times. Upon arrival in Muang Khuoa after a five or six hour journey, we found out that in fact there was only a 7am bus to Vietnam and it departed 3-4 times a week, approximately every other day. There was one leaving the next day which was lucky relatively speaking. So I whiled away the rest of the afternoon with a walk or two through “town” and a game of pool on some really old tables with the Israeli and Kiwi girls I had met on my bus. We had a nice enough guesthouse overlooking the Nam Ou, and I had a large group dinner with some other travelers who were heading for my old destination of Luang Nam Tha.
The next day it was another early walk up call—my third day arising before 7am—to catch a small boat across the river and walk up the steep driveway to board the bus to the border. It took us four or so hours for us to travel the 84km to the border. I was perched on the bags in the back along with three other farang, but to be honest it was quite comfortable as things go, expect when the bullhead in a bag threatened to impale me as we turned a sharp curve. At one point the bus got stuck in the mud, and most of the people had to get out and walk a good kilometer or two—never a dull moment. By the time we reached Dien Bien Phu, the biggest town after the border, once again there were no buses leaving for our final destination, Sapa in the mountains near the China border. We would have to wait until the next morning. We found some rooms at a guesthouse—nice enough with hot water for about $6, yay Vietnam! Then I joined the French couple to check out the Dien Bien Phu war museum, as the town was the place of last resistance during the French-Vietnamese war. It was interesting if filled with its fair share of communist propaganda. The town was pleasant enough and we finished off the evening with a great dinner of venison cooked four ways among a group of eight farang all stuck in town following that gruesome bus ride. We literally walked in, the woman made some twitching finger symbols above her head which we finally understood to mean they only serve deer and sat down to a really unexpectedly delightful dinner.
It turned out to be a very long journey and may locals, especially ethnic women with high black buns wrapped in netting with silver coin decoration, high-necked blouses and long velvet skirts—not what I would call ideal travel outfits. And in fact, they did not travel so well, but the outfits were not the main problem. Apparently motion-sickness is, however. The next supposedly 7 but in reality ten hour journey a half dozen locals proceeded to puke violently (I’m talking some serious gagging, hacking, moaning, etc) until I wasn’t sure how they had anything left. I was particularly lucky to have one woman’s terrifying noises reverberating in my left ear and without me offending you with more detail (although part of me wants to make you all suffer as I did), let’s just say it was a very long journey. But we’re finally here. It’s a very spectacular mountain town with incredible views from our $5 hotel room (yay Vietnam again!). It’s pouring rain today but in all honesty, it’s kind of nice to have a day when you can’t do anything, and most importantly, don’t have to get on a bus! Hopefully the weather will clear, but even if it doesn’t, I think I’ll be attempting a trek to see some of the villages around here before heading for Hanoi. But so far the food, the people, and the scenery have been quite nice--even if the journey was not the most pleasant, this time the destination seems the highlight.
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