Pushing Through

Sleeper bus time again. After the panic we had experienced on the motorbikes through the streets of Hanoi, a sleeper bus wasn't looking so bad. It was crammed to the rafters with other tourists looking to make the trip to Laos. Our seats were tucked in the back on the first level, which seemed ideal for nonstop novel reading. This bus journey put all the other rides to shame—a whopping 24 hours on the road. A sedative would have been appreciated, to spend that 24 hours in blissful oblivion, but alas, nothing is ever that easy in travel land, and we just had to endure this journey.

We had to backtrack down the length of Vietnam to Vinh, and then across to the Laos border. As we moved inland, I noticed the bathrooms getting progressively worse (there was no bathroom on our bus, even though it had been promised to us). This may not be a big deal for a guy who can pee in just about any situation, but for me, this was the stuff of nightmares: crouching over a cement hole amidst spider webs while watching for perverts, as there were no doors on the stalls. There was one bathroom we visited in the middle of the night that had no light, so I had to stumble in and estimate the location of the cement hole, hoping I wouldn't fall in.

By this time, I was wearing travel fatigue like an extra rucksack on my back. Since Hue, I had been heavily entertaining the idea of moving to Alaska. Crisp, cold, air, abundant space, and American comforts appealed to me more than anything I was experiencing in Southeast Asia. As far as I was concerned, I was wanted to fast-forward this whole process, closing the loop in Asia, just to make it back to the States so I could pursue this Alaskan dream. For this, I wasn't overly thrilled to be heading to Laos, one of the poorest countries in Asia. It was just something to get through.

Dentistry in the Third World

Vientiane, the capital of Laos, is a nondescript city, if it can even be considered a city. There were no skyscrapers, just a bunch of squat cement buildings. Perhaps there were a few architectural remnants from the country's French colonial past, but there was nothing to whip our cameras out and take pictures of. Despite this, Vientiane has its good points. For one thing, it sits astride the Mekong, so many of the outdoor cafes are on the waterfront. Also, there is a laidback quality to Laos' largest city, in stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of other Southeast Asian cities. Tuk tuks are available, but the drivers are usually asleep or ambivalent about obtaining business. There is no coercion from vendors to buy things. Chris and I couldn't quite determine if it was politeness on their part, or just laziness (the more time we spent in Laos, the more we figured it was laziness).

Sadly, I will only remember Vientiane in connection with my tooth crisis. This tooth had been hurting since Bali. It wasn't a cavity—it was a dead tooth. This tooth had been problematic since the very start, from the time it first poked its pearly white nub through my gum. With strange discoloration and a soft spot, it was destined for a root canal. With a root canal and cap completed, it should have been the end of the story for this molar. So why was it causing this incredible pain? I had visited those fine dentists in Ho Chi Minh City who took X-rays and shot me a thumbs up. What was going on? I could no longer ignore the pain, especially now that an abscess was forming.

Abscesses are no joke. My uncle died from letting a tooth infection go. Not immediately, but the infection spread to his kidneys, which led to dialysis and ultimately, death. So I take tooth problems incredibly seriously. Unfortunately, I was now in Laos, probably the most third world country I’d ever been in.

Chris and I walked along the Mekong, asking for a hospital. It surprised us how little English was spoken by the locals. Of course, we were in their country, and they were speaking their language, but still, it was baffling. You'd think that a word such as "hospital" would be known universally. Not so.

We did end up at the hospital where I went through some strange process, filling in Laotian paperwork. None of the nurses spoke English, and none were friendly. I kept pointing at my tooth, but nothing was getting through. I just wanted to get antibiotics, for God's sake, I wasn't looking to get anything major done. Because of the language barrier, Chris and I gave up and walked back to our guesthouse. On the way back, we came across a dentist's office. How perfect was that?

The dentist's office was a bit disconcerting, as it looked shabby from the outside. We had just come from a sleek, modern hospital, so this drab shack looked backward and archaic. But I was desperate, so I poked my head in. The dentist, a nice older man, spoke English. At this, I was relieved, until he sat me in his chair. The instruments looked like something that you'd see in a Victorian museum of medicine. The chair itself looked like it had been installed in the 70s. I sat there, noticeably nervous, as he popped (what I hoped were) sterilized tools into my mouth. At least this guy understood that it was a dead tooth, so he wasn't looking for a cavity. He tapped on it a bit and looked around the gum. "Cracked root," he told me. This was the most sense I had heard concerning this tooth. This news was somewhat of a relief, but nothing could be done for it. He handed me a few antibiotics and, bless his heart, brought me bottled water to drink. He had been so gentle with me and understanding towards my fears in his office. I think the whole visit, including the supply of antibiotics, cost about $3.00. Thank goodness for this dear man. Now we could continue on with our travels.

Tubular

Along with a handful of other tourists, we traveled by minivan to Vang Vieng. Where Vientiane was sleepy, Vang Vieng was alive with tourism. This place is famous on itineraries for one reason only: tubing. Not just any tubing, but drunk tubing. It is party central for the backpacking crowd.

The idea is quite simple: rent a tube at any of the rental shacks in town, take a minivan to a point in the Nam Song River, get in said tube, float several kilometers down the river to town. An easy process. I don't know why I was so nervous about it.

Up until recently, bars abounded alongside the river, offering booze for tubers. A popular activity was to stop at each bar, down a shot, then zipline back into the water. Sounds fun, right? Yeah, and dangerous. Before we arrived in town, we heard about an Australian guy hitting some rocks and dying. Because of this, the bars had closed down. Still, there were plenty of warnings in our guidebook about dangers in the river. This time around, Chris was the one who was more apprehensive. He was considering going kayaking instead. I was the one who pushed the tubing. After all, what was the purpose of coming here if not to tube?

Upon setting up our tubing adventure, we were informed that the river was low. This was good. Less chance for calamity. We boarded a minivan with a group of other tourists, then we were left to do our thing. Nobody would be guiding us, or helping us out; we were on our own. Once we put our tubes in the water, it all made sense. The river was flowing at just the right speed so we got the sense of an adventure, but we never felt we were out of control. No work needed to be done; we just had to sit in our tubes and enjoy the scenery, which was fantastic by the way. The green mountains reminded me something out of Guilin, China: steep-sided and fuzzy. The whole thing was quite enjoyable. There was none of the party scene; we floated past defunct bars, slides, and other backpacker-pleasing contraptions. We didn’t see a drop of booze anywhere, and this suited us just fine. In fact, we floated along with an older German woman and her daughter, and three young Japanese boys. This was far from the frat boy vibe I had feared. We chilled out for about an hour until we came into town. Local children were frolicking naked in the brown churning waters, unconcerned about tourists floating past.

We came to a huge cement slab that we figured was the end of the road. We heaved ourselves and our tubes out of the river and went in search for some refreshment. Along with the Germans, we sat outside at a cafe and watched the river tumbling past. It was a peaceful setting, though I was a little put off by the older German woman changing from her swimsuit to her underwear in front of us at the table.

Besides tubing, there isn't a lot to do in Vang Vieng. There are plenty of bars and restaurants catering to the backpacker crowd. "Friends," the TV show, is ubiquitous in these places. I had read that in our travel guide, and found it to be entirely true. It doesn't matter what time of the day it is, "Friends" is playing across multiple television screens in Vang Vieng. I suppose this adds a laid-back feel, as you can just chill on a cushion and watch whole episodes while downing drinks. But I couldn't spend all my time watching "Friends." I had business to take care of.

It was now getting serious, this setting up life in America. I had been in constant contact with Tamsen, who was persuading me to come to Haines, Alaska. She had informed me that a place called Mountain Market was looking for workers. With my catering background, this sounded ideal. I did what I could at an internet cafe to find out information about this place. They featured homemade, healthy meals and baked goods. Plus, there was a health food store attached, featuring organic produce and products. An organic shop, in the middle of nowhere, Alaska? This was brilliant! The menu for the deli looked good, as did all the photos of smiling faces. And the setting of Haines! Wow, it was all so spectacular. Mountain Market sounded right up my alley, so I filled out an online application. I had the worst time with the Laotian keyboard, but I eventually got my resume submitted as well as a letter to the owners. I pretty much asked them if they were willing to take a chance on me, considering I was still in Asia. Surprisingly, they said yes. They were looking for a deli manager, and I sounded ideal. They would do a phone interview with me as soon as I got back to the States. Alaska wasn't definite at this point, but it was getting closer all the time.

Laidback in Laos

We took a minivan to Luang Prabang, our last stop in Laos. It's to be noted that minibuses are the main method of travel in Laos. I think this has to do with the roads, which aren't exactly in stellar condition. There are no highways connecting these tourist places. Instead, there are dirt or gravel roads winding through mountains. I thought motion sickness would be a certainty, with all the hairpin turns, but I found the journey to be very pleasant, despite the bumps and slow pace. The scenery was lush and gorgeous. Tiny, rustic villages lined the road. Nobody seemed to care that we were passing through. There were no hawkers or children looking for handouts, even though these people looked to be living in poverty.

Luang Prabang is considered to be a cultural hub, on par with Ubud or Hoi An. It was larger than we had expected, and for this, we got lost on our first night. Finding nothing catering to tourists, we ate alongside locals at an eatery. Long tables were lined up where families or workmen ate, slurping noodles and beer.

The next day, we obtained a map and found our way to the cultural center, located on a peninsula between the Nam Khan and Mekong Rivers. Temples like jewels were strung alongside the water. At this point, we were more than templed-out, but Chris had read about one temple that might rouse us from our temple fatigue. Wat Xieng Thong was its name, and it was located up a set of steps on a hill. It didn't overly wow us, with the usual golden Buddha statues and altars, but there a was gong to dong, and a jeweled elephant head, as well as demon heads. There were young monks in the yard, and this was the real highlight of this temple, as Chris got to arm wrestle with them. I couldn't take any photos of this event, but believe me, it did happen.

There was a real chilled-out vibe to Luong Prabang. You could sit all day one of the rivers lining the river. And seriously, sometimes it took all day, as service was incredibly slow. It's hard to complain though when the food is decent and the setting is nice, with fairy lights and fountains. But, just to stress the level of laidbackness here (translated as lazy in many cases) the waiter at one of the establishments actually had to use a calculator to determine our change. Our meal had come to Kp17,000; we handed him Kp20,000. Chris and I couldn't help but exchange confounded looks as the waiter scrutinized both the bill and the calculator. Perhaps the laidbackness extends to mental lethargy in some cases.

We found an absolutely lovely Western-style bookstore just down from our guesthouse (with real books, not bootleg copies!) This was needed, as I was on my second book of the 50 Shades series, and I was getting really angry. I had read the first book out of curiosity. And yes, it passed the time on long journeys. But this second book really had me upset. Why was I reading this crap? The sex scenes were laughable and boring at the same time, and the dialogue tags were atrocious (Christian was either murmuring or mumbling) and Anastasia's goddess was always making unwelcome appearances. Plus, the writing was just… bad. "Why do you hate the English so much?" was a question asked to E. L. James on a Twitter interview. Why indeed? I’d had enough. I left the book in our guesthouse for another traveler, or even the maid, to pick up. Meanwhile, I was moving on to more fulfilling literature: Tess of the d'Ubervilles. Christian Grey has nothing on the lascivious Alec d'Uberville.

The Bus Ride from Hell

We purchased tickets on a VIP bus to Thailand. Though our expectations weren't high, VIP still gave us a bit of hope. It was another long journey, and we wanted it to be as comfortable as possible. We were told that the VIP bus was broken. Of course it was. We were ensured that the replacement bus was VIP as well. Well, if that was true, I wonder what a regular bus looked like. Probably something with chickens and goats and strapped-on luggage.

Besides one other tourist, we were the only foreigners on our bus. I took the aisle seat, which was quite unusual, as Chris usually let me have the honor of sitting by the window. The seats were padded and comfortable. We were also offered a blanket. So, perhaps this was VIP? It was hard to believe that all these locals had coughed up money for VIP. A bit suspicious, but there was nothing we could do about it as we headed off into the night.

I was almost ecstatic to be seated upright. I was done with sleeper buses. Give me the hum and vibration of the road and a headrest to brace my neck against, and I'm good to go. I was somewhat aware of the driver playing his music loudly and a woman up front clearing her sinuses, but I thought I would be in dreamland before I knew.

I became aware of someone puking in the aisle across from me. Not once or twice, but repeatedly. The first few bags got tossed out the window, and the third was tied to his chair, swinging with the rhythm of the bus. The sight of milky puke in the clear bag, moving back and forth, was almost enough to induce my own vomit. The smell, the sight, the sound… I closed my eyes and desperately tried to make it dreamland.

As the night wore on, the driver turner turned up his music. Perhaps it was to keep him awake, or to drown out the woman clearing her sinuses. I honestly couldn't fathom why this woman had chosen these surroundings to work phlegm out of her sinus passages. The song "The wheels on the bus go round and round" would be replaying through the night in my head, and the ride became more and more surreal.

We made several stops. The first happened earlier in the night. As all the seats were filled, I felt relief that it would be easy cruising for the remainder of the night. So, needless to say, I was confused when the bus stopped and a huge crowd of people boarded. Stools were procured and soon these people were sitting in the aisle. A lady with a baby took a seat between me and the puker. Did the baby cry? Of course it did! Though the lady did her best to keep it quiet. I felt sorry for her. I felt as if someone should offer her a proper seat, but nobody did (including me). All the while, the lady up front continued to clear her sinuses with pig-like grunts, and the driver felt it was party-time, driving the volume of his music to eleven.

The time was 1:30 in the morning. I was far from sleep and had had enough. There was nothing I could do about the people in the aisle, but I had reached a tipping point with the music. I got out of my seat and (I don't ever, ever do this) approached the driver and asked him to turn the music down. And thankfully, he did, though I had to wind my way around all the people in the aisle. This was beyond ridiculous.

Did I mention the state of the bathrooms on our bathroom breaks? Perhaps the less I say about that the better. Every time we did stop, though, there was a mad dash for the front exit. You would think that there would be some orderly process involved, seen as how there were people in the aisle. But no, people in proper seats tried to squeeze past those sitting in the aisle. This created a jam of bodies so that almost nobody could get out. I would have considered it amusing if I hadn't been so cranky. I couldn't help thinking that with brain power like that, it's no wonder that Laos still has third-world status.

Dreamland was elusive that night. It was with a great deal of relief that the sun rose and we came to Huay Xia, the border town on the Mekong. As we had several hours before having to catch a bus on the other side, Chris and I climbed a hill to visit a temple, stretching our stiff legs. We watched the monks performing their duties, but more importantly, we had a good view of the land across the Mekong. Thailand. I couldn't wait to be there and done with this whole thing.