873km
24 hours
One boat, four songthaews*, one minivan, one train.
*A songthaew is a flatbed truck that has been converted into a bus. Benches and a roof are welded onto the back making it possible to transport 30 people in relative comfort, or 50 people in relative discomfort. Usually songthaews are piled high with people, livestock, sacks of rice, bicycles and anything else they can cram in.
On our last day in Laos we woke at the crack of dawn to get an early start on our long trip to Bangkok. We shimmied down our last muddy bank and boarded our last narrow, long tail boat, saying goodbye to the 4,000 islands. We landed at Nakasang and walked through the town as it was coming to life in the early morning; people buying fresh fish next to the boat dock, vegetables laid out along the road, bicycles and motorbike zipping up and down. At the end of the town we boarded a songthaew and settled in for the three hour drive to Pakse.
As far as songthaews go, this one wasn't nearly as full as it could have been and we sped towards Pakse with the wind in our hair. At my feet was a humongous catfish, its gills still flapping, its mouth making silent O's as it gasped for its last breaths. The fish died long before we arrived in Pakse but its glassy, yellow eye stared at me accusingly the whole way.
Every now and then we'd stop and vendors from roadside street stalls would run down the road and climb into the songthaew; boarding us like pirates. Their wares were barbecued cockroaches skewered onto sticks, tiny roasted sparrows and bags full of chicken feet. Not my idea of road trip snacks.
We changed songthaews 15km outside of Pakse and then again at the morning market in the center of town and made it to the border.
The Vangtao (Laos) - Chong Mek (Thialand) border is a big one. To get to the immigration offices you first have to walk for about a kilometer through a narrow, covered market which serves as the perfect place to spend your left over currency. Duty free whiskey, cigarettes and electrical goods are your last sight of Laos before you reach the grand building that houses the Thai immigration desks.
A storm had been brewing as we prepared to depart from Laos and the sky was a menacing black flickered with the occasional flash of lightening. As we exited the building into Thailand the clouds parted momentarily to reveal a patch of clear blue sky and a dazzling sun, it was a symbolic welcome back to the land of smiles.
Another symbolic icon welcoming us into the country was the green, orange and red glow of the 7 Eleven mini-market.
Now I know that multinationals are the devil, that they are responsible for putting local shops out of business and generally bringing about the apocalypse through globalisation BUT, for me, the 7 Eleven represents a return to order, to civilisation. In Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia there are no brand shops, no mini-markets. You buy your toiletries, snacks and drinking water from markets where the products are arranged haphazardly on a stall and the prices depend on how lucky the vendor is feeling about ripping you off. Haggling is fun, some of the time, but there's nothing like walking into a blindingly bright 7 Eleven, the air-con set to freezing, and seeing everything neatly in its place. Best of all are the small white pieces of paper with black writing displaying the price.
One thing multinational mini-markets are good for is changing large bank notes, so we popped in, did a celebratory lap of the isles and broke a 1,000Baht note with a couple of toasties and a chocolate bar. An unconventional first meal in Thailand.
A long walk down the road later and we boarded a minibus bound for Ubon Ratchathani, the closest city. I was very excited to be back in Thailand and I spent the 90 minute drive soaking up the strange familiar sights from the front seat of the van: tarmacked roads, painted lines to mark the lanes, traffic lights; and we were driving on the left!
Another songthaew took us from Ubon bus station to the train station where we were in for some bad news. The train was almost full and we would have to spend the 12 hour over-night journey in third class, which meant hard upright seats that didn't recline. After a full day travelling we were tired, grumpy and sweaty. Our hair was standing stiffly on end from the dust off the roads and our shoulders ached from carrying our backpacks from bus to bus and through long border crossings. We'd hoped to get a bed on the train, maybe even splash out for a two berth, first class compartment. Instead we'd be sitting straight backed all night long. We were not happy.
As it turns out, the third class trip wasn't that bad after all. As the seats were old and broken and kept falling off the frame I decided to remove mine and built myself a makeshift bed on the floor. Ignoring the cockroaches that crawled around me, I managed to get a half decent nights sleep and awoke to find the train creeping through the suburbs of Bangkok.
It's good to be back.
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| Reading a book about globalisation from my third class bed. The irony is not lost on me. |
