Luang Nam Tha - Muang Khua

It's a bus, Vero, but not as we know it . . .
A day of travel.

By lunchtime, we found ourselves back Udomxai, the nowhere town which functions solely as a place between places. There were no plans to stay here, but we had a couple of hours to kill before our afternoon connection left. I didn't feel like depressing myself by walking around, so we encamped ourselves in one of the restaurants that bordered the dusty bus compound. Perhaps "restaurants" is a little misleading. They were open-fronted shacks on stony ground with a grill at the back. Naturally, Coca-Cola signs adorned the walls.

We'd just finished our plates of limp food, when news came that our bus was leaving. Another triumph for the timetables...

We weren't the only ones who'd heard the news. When we got to the bus -- which, in fact, was a truck with low-ceilings -- everyman and his dog swarmed around it. We shrugged at one another, nodded, and then waded through the crowds, managing to bag the last patches of floorspace at the back of the truck. There were no ticket checks or no seat numbers. I just hoped we were on the right bus.

Two raised wooden planks on either side were the only seats, but even they looked uncomfortable as the truck jerked up and down over the potholed road. Sitting cross-legged on the floor was no fun either. After fifteen minutes I decided to join the two men who stood on the metal step at the back. Constant vibrations through the structure tingled my hands, and every few moments I would become airbourne as the wheels plunged into the road craters. It was like a fairground ride! Low lying branches arched over the road, and sometimes it was necessary to duck while in mid-air too. Even the young kids had seen it all before though, so it was with a sheepish air that I sat down again later.

In Muang Khua we quickly found a reasonable guesthouse with large, airy rooms, and shortly afterwards set out for dinner. A Chinese restaurant with a wide menu was the venue of a great meal, and not even the fluorescent lighting or the lack of other patrons could spoil the mood. I have no recollection of the conversation, but I know by the end were all giggly and well fed. I think the alcohol might've had something to do with it.

Loitering outside the guesthouse, we decided it was too early to retire, so we took the rope bridge over the ravine that splits the town in two. It was a good choice. On the other side, we found a few musicians playing guitar, while drinking shots of Lao Lao. They were more than happy to share, which allowed us plenty of opportunities to practice the only Laos phrase we knew:

Kob Chai Lai Lai!