This is part two of the series. If you haven’t read the beginning of the story you can check it out here: Part 1
Needing to knock off the general malaise that tends to surround travelers who spend a few too many days in the Laotian capital I rose quickly as the first hint of morning light peeked over the Thai horizon on the opposite side of the Mekong River. The task for the day was simple enough: get to Thakhek, the small coastal town that would be our jumping off point for our journey into the abyss.

As I shook Bea awake we quickly went back over the logistics of the day. Being the stubborn penny pinchers that the backpacking lifestyle molds you into we had decided to forgo the eight-dollar taxi ride to Vientiane’s Southern Bus station where our 8:30 am chariot awaited. Instead late the night before we made a Beerlao muddled decision to forgo the extra few hours of sleep and take a nice, relaxing morning stroll to the closer station for a transfer. It’s funny how a bit of hops and barley can make walking a mile and a half with a forty pound bag strapped to your back, under the “why in Buddha’s name is it so hot at this hour?” sun seem like a good idea. Right or wrong decisions were made and we were both ready to get the hell out of dodge so we strapped on the bags and headed to the transfer station.

Arriving at the transfer station drenched in a healthy early morning sweat and having exhausted our four letter vocabularies we breezed past the slew of taxi drivers generously offering to take us to the other bus station for fifteen dollars (what a GREAT deal). Instead we hopped in what would be the first bus of the journey, paid the hefty twenty-five cent fare, and headed off to the Southern station.

A thankfully uneventful trip across town followed and as we arrived at the station the twinkle returned to our eyes and our conversation shifted back to the adventures to come.

Despite the fact that the bus headed for Thakhek looked like the lovechild of a Walt Disney World people mover and a Tuesday night game of “Cosmic Bowling” it seemed nice enough from the outside. As we boarded though we came to the immediate realization that not only was the bus past its prime, but we were late to this party. To our dismay the thing was chocked full of locals grinning from ear to ear, chomping away on their chili-dusted green mango spears. I shot Bea a shrug and blank stare hoping that she had a solution. She did unfortunately.

Peering back over my shoulder where her outstretched finger was pointed I spotted the two empty seats in the last row of the bus. “Ugh!” I blurted out in disgust. This wasn’t the start I was hoping for on what was to be a seven-hour journey. Immediately defeated and wishing I could somehow channel my inner Rosa Parks I shuffled my way to the non-reclining hot box that is the back row of a Southeast Asian bus.

“Well, this should be fun.” I said to Bea resigning that fate did not appear to be with us on this day.

“Can’t wait!” She said with and eye roll that I loosely translated to “just go ahead and shoot me.”

Not having the proper tools to appease her request I had to decline and before I could spell pessimism we were headed out of Vientiane into the Laotian countryside.

I don’t know if it was the magic of rural Southeast Asia zipping by or the surprisingly soothing vibrations of a diesel engine ten years past it’s prime but about twenty minutes into the journey both Bea and I were out cold; somehow lulled to sleep by the most unlikely of situations.

As mid-morning turned to late morning were both startled awake at the exact same moment. Bleary-eyed and not yet quite sure where we were, we assessed the situation around us. Bea gave me a quick head-to-toe once over. Here eyes widened.

“Did you piss yourself? You are drenched.” I looked down.

“Holy shit I am!” I said in disbelief looking over at Bea. “You are too!”

In her shock she hadn’t noticed that she was also completely drenched.

“Oh my god, why is it so hot?” Bea asked as we both realized we were marinating in puddles of our own sweat. “And why does it smell like puke?”

The state of confusion we were in turned into a quick burst of panic. I flicked my eyes wildly around searching for an answer. As I did my gaze stopped on a Laotian woman in the row in front of us. In one unnatural movement she lurched forward in her seat, flexed her abs, strained her throat and painted the back of her green mango bag with noodle soup laced battery acid.

I turned back to Bea, averting my eyes from the scene of pure carnage in front of me. Her face had lost all color. She had seen it too. She needed a green mango bag.

Before I could think to help her my seat unexpectedly erupted with a flash of heat followed by and immediate plume of smoke. Like Gene Simmons at a KISS show, the thick blue smoke quickly encompassed me, leaving me struggling for a breath. A local man quickly grabbed me by the arm and flung my seat forward exposing the gargantuan fuse box that my seat had been concealing. In one swift motion this once napping local cleared Bea and I from the back row and screamed forty rows up to the driver.

My Laotian was a bit rusty at that point but I think he yelled something like “Stop the fucking bus, this thing is on fire!”

As if this were a normal occurrence the driver swung the bus onto the shoulder without hesitation. The doors, already open as they served as our air conditioner, became everyone’s waypoint as we all sprinted off of the bus. I stumbled off still dizzy from the smoke and drenched in sweat. I kept walking up the road for about fifty yards before I could even think about looking back. My only goal was to get as far away as possible. When I finally turned around I saw that Bea was thinking the exact same thing and was right on my hip. We both spun to face the chaos.

In utter disbelief and only a few seconds after a complete evacuation, Bea and I turned and looked at each other. Every single person on the bus was already seated comfortably in the shade on the side of the road, grinning ear to ear, chomping away on chili-dusted green mango spears.

“This is going to be a long day.” Bea muttered.

“You think?”

This is part of a “Snik’s Series” so check back in for the next installment soon!

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