The King of bus journeys

We conquered our inertia, this time after only 5 days, took a minibus for the 9-hour ride to Phonsavan on the Plain of ancient Jars (which of course only we could not afford to see). Photos from the King of bus journeys


(Above) it looks like a drinks bar, but they only sells petrol.

After a loose night drinking at a travel agent's, offending a rotten Aussie and becoming, without a doubt, the biggest Lost-it a certain bunch of Irish had ever seen, we left for the capital, Vientiane, 11 hours away, on the "King of Bus".

The Irish I speak of would probably include riding the King of Bus among my lost-it characteristics, as they, along with almost all other foreigners in Laos, ride around on soft/gay/airconditioned "VIP" buses.

The driver of the "King of Bus" - the first and still the only obese Lao I've laid eyes on - had no horn at his disposal, but luckily he did have a very loud engine, which he used as a substitute. This was fine in the small villages along the way, where he would stop, and have the King release loud and stately growls.

Lao roads are often dominated by cows, who for some reason have priority over the roads. They like to nap on the bitumen, sometimes whole herds, and no car would risk hitting one - not even the King. The driver of the King thus found himself in the precarious position of having acceleration as the only means of warning the cattle to get out of his path.

Similarly, in the many small places the King was to speed through without stopping, the driver could warn the local dogs, children, motorcyclists etc. of the King's bearing down on them only by accelerating.

The route was often spectacular beyond words.