Like the locals

                                          Lao Truckers frolicking in the hotspring pool below
                                          my bungalow terrace, middle-of-nowhere Laos......

Sunday I awoke to find my bungalow bathroom door had locked itself. Cool. Explaining this with a few words of Lao was hilarious. Sign language sufficed, the door opened and we all had a good laugh. After a brekkie if sticky rice with coconut milk, pineapple and banana I packed up.
In my best Lao I asked where the bus stop was. Eventually I figured out that anywhere is a bus stop, just wave your arm.

I decided to time the experiment so I lighted a short cigar, noted 8 am on the dial and waited. A mini-van ignored me but before I could finish the crappy little cigar, an Izuzu ute with a Lao family in the back stopped. Sure, sure, Kasi (next big town). In I jump much to the amusement of the inhabitants.

Sitting on bags of this and that, we rolled through the incredible Lao landscape, a rock climbers wet dream.
In Kasi, I gave the driver some Kip for gas (over a $1 per liter here) and went searching for a bus to Vang Vieng, hippy party town. The old Lao man at the cafe spoke French but no English. With Lao I found the bus would leave in 45 minutes so I drank tea and waited. Kasi is a commercial crossroads town, devoid of tourists. I sat and watched the show of daily life.

Not five minutes late, the local showed up and I flagged that puppy down. The always smiling Lao helped me get a seat. My seat mates woke the guy ahead of me so he would raise his seat to allow my long falang legs to fit. And so we bounced along to VV.

I figured I would take a VIP to Vientiane from VV but no. The next bus was a local and the Lao said that was good because it went to downtown Vientiane not the far north station. So I climbed on, the bus mistress stacked my pack on top of the rice sacks in the aisle and off me lumbered.

The bus was almost full when I got on, at least by western standards. How wrong I was. We stopped. We picked up folks. They all had big bags. Not luggage, but huge freaking sacks of produce and rice and who knows. And a chicken. And monks. And more people. Squashed together, sitting tangled in the aisle, leaning on each other, we jostled and bounced down 13, the Lao managed to smile about it all, even through the collective groan that would roll through the bus when we hit a monster bump and everyone left their seats.
Their were moments when I swear that everyone on the bus was weightless and hovering in the air, even the chicken, until we would thump back into our seats, groan, and smile.
I have to say I loved it all. Four hours to vientiane. Five would have been far to much. How these people do this fir 18 hours or more, coming from the north on terrible roads, I do not know.
I popped off the bus in Vientiane, easily found my hotel after a 15 minute walk and so ended this portion of my immersion in Lao local life without benefit of English, guidebook or outside help.
I can't wait to do it again.

Sent from my iPod