Journey to Vang Vieng

Our guesthouse offers private minibus transport to Vang Vieng for 120,000 kip. This is marginally cheaper than the public coach, or VIP bus, from the coach station across town and leaves at a more sociable hour in the morning. We've found that tourist minibuses in SE Asia tend to be a bit more cramped than the coaches but where you can find them at a good price, compensate for the lack of space by picking you up and having fewer stops en route.

As we clamber into our transport at just after nine in the morning, we see a smattering of other backpacker types already seated. There are three Dutch girls, one English and two Aussies blokes, with a Japanese couple in the back. I'm pretty sure I'm the oldest in the vehicle by at least five years.

Our driver slides the side door shut, swings into the front seat. He wears enormous sunglasses, a CK tshirt and has his hair slicked back. We start our journey to Vang Viene. I'm pretty comfy. Alice and I are kitted out with cake purchased from the Luang Prabang night market the previous evening, egg and bacon sarnies from our guest house, and bottles of water. I settle into the seat and begin to read as we leave the town behind us.



Before long, the minivan starts to rock and shake. I look up from my book, expecting to see the usual heavily pitted tarmac road ahead and greenery to each side. Instead, everything is the brown of freshly moved earth. On one side is a muddy bank rising up, and ahead is a rutted muddy track. The driver turns and happily informs us that this is a new road, apparently still in the process of being constructed. By now we're used to this sort of thing and I feel unconcerned as we continue to bump along.

A minute or so later, the minivan stops. Recent heavy rain has turned the road ahead to slurry - muddy ridges rise from elongated, soupy brown puddles made by large-tyred construction vehicles. Our driver considers the scene from behind the wheel and then gets out for a better look. He chats with another guy sitting perched on a moped at the side of the road. He returns, swings himself into his seat, shuts the door and starts the engine. With an air of quiet determination, he sets the van into a high gear and closes the distance to the murky lake in front.

We, the passengers, hold our collective breath as we bump and splash ever so slowly towards solid ground. Mercifully there is no sliding or wheelspin and, after what seems like an eternity, we all exhale.

A couple of bends in the road later, the driver stops short as lumps of loose earth roll down the bank to our right and into the road in front of us. Looking through the windows and up the incline, I can just make out the yellow mechanical arm of a JCB dropping out of view. The driver gives a few blasts on the horn. Oblivious, the JCB slings another bucket of mud and rocks into the road. Our driver gets out, once again, and kicks a few of the larger clumps out of the way. He'll be there all day. Back in the van, he beeps again to no avail. He starts the engine and drives on. A final load comes tumbling down towards our van and then we're through.

We're at the end of the "road" now approaching a t-junction, mercifully tarmacked. There are a few men dressed in brown uniforms sitting on chairs in the shade. They look like policemen. One of them gets up and motions to the driver as we approach. We slow as we meet the main road and the uniformed man walks up to the vehicle. And then we're pulling away, turning left, accelerating.

We stop about five minutes later for fuel. The Japanese girl in the back wants to get out to go to the loo. I could do with a pit stop myself. The driver has other plans and looks anxious to get away. He asks for the attendant to fill the van and pays without leaving his seat.

When we do stop, after thirty minutes of driving at high speed, we find ourselves at a roadside shop, overlooking a huge valley. There's a gorgeous view, a toilet, and a monkey.

These platforms hung over the cliff edge

Spot the monkey

A couple of our passengers ask the driver about speeding away from the police and he explains that he could have been fined for taking the unfinished road but wanted to pay at a station in the city instead of to the local police.

We're back in the van and speeding along the mountain roads. Every once in a while we'll pass village that looks to be no more than a handful of buildings on the side of the main road. Sometimes we'll overtake a single vehicle in front, usually a moped or a large truck. The scenery is beautiful. Laos seems more green, lush and rural than Thailand.

After an hour or so, we approach what looks to be a small village and contruction site in one. The traffic in front has slowed. In fact, this is the first time I've seen several vehicles queued in front of us. Police have created a road block ahead by throwing a short tree trunk across the road, cutting it down to half width. Vehicles are slowing as they pull round it. As we approach, several policemen run out and signal for us to stop behind the barrier. The road block is for us.

It's hard to discern what happens next. Our driver gets out and talks to a couple of the policemen. He gets a digital camera from the glove box, takes a photo of the front of the van and then walks to the other side of the road to wait in the shade. Other policemen mill about. A guy in a white shirt appears with another camera and also takes a picture. Nobody seems to be making eye contact or talking to each other. Several mobile phone converstations happen.

It is hot in the minivan. There's a Japanese guy in the back who wants to get out. He's grey, dripping and shaking, but we can't get the door open - there's some kind of child lock on. I try to read our driver's expression, to gauge the severity of what's happening, but he's impassive below the enormous sunglasses.

After half an our or so our driver gets back in the van. Two policemen bundle onto the front seat alongside him. We are told that we have to drive back to a police station. Nobody's really sure what's going on.
Half an hour in the wrong direction, a short wait and a change of minivans later, we're back on our way with our new driver. I still have no idea what happened, whether it was a simple case of a fine for using the unfinished road or something else. What I do know is nobody locked me up or tried to extort me, which I consider to be a bonus.

The journey took about ten hours in the end. Happy to have made it to Vang Vieng in one piece, we check into our guest house and I drink a large, cold Nam Khong beer. All better.