"Of course, you need a visa! You need a visa to enter every country!"
"Actually, you don't. Some countries don't require a visa."
"They all require a visa!" He smirked.
"Brother, I've been to about thirty countries, and many of them didn't require a visa. I know."
"I don't care if you've been to a hundred! They all require a visa!"
Shaking my head, I had walked out, yet here I was, being driven by the same combative man. I was at his mercy. How does a guy like that stay in business? Who can live with him?
In silence, we rolled up Highway One, on a stretch that had been littered with the mangled dead, screaming wounded and busted vehicles in March of 1975. Finally, the bus station came into view in gorgeous sunshine. I got on my coach.
The twelve-hour ride was uneventful. There were three rows of two-tiered sleeping berths, with each made for a stunted, bunched up munchkin. The two aisles were also packed, with one man forced to sit nearly the entire time. This scrawny and frowning dude could have gained a bit more space just by piping up a bit, for the woman right in front of him had too much room. A Gimpel the Fool type, though, he kept his peace.
We passed through Quang Tri, then Khe Sanh. All along the way, there were many cemeteries embellishing the landscape, for most of them were quite gorgeous, with their graves inspiringly ornate, each a miniature Oriental temple. These cities of the dead looked better than the living ones, nearby. There were also many military cemeteries, where the unidentifiable also rested. We're just pondering hash.
Cramped, I didn't rest much, but damn it, I was entering Laos, if they would let me in! The border paperwork went smoothly. Crossing into Poland from Ukraine three years ago, our bus was detained for nearly five hours. With their ultra cool yet swaggering passports, Americans may not appreciate how serious, and often even deadly, are borders.
The bus was jammed with Laos and Thais. There were just a handful of Vietnamese, and only one white, a Swiss queer traveling with his Thai boy toy. At the last Vietnamese settlement, a handful of Bru beggars waited outside the roadside restaurant where we ate. The old women looked like driftwood in conical hats, windbreakers and sarongs, and the two boys, stunted and not too bright. It's hard to think if your stomach is always resentful.
Though the GDP per capita of Vietnam and Laos are roughly the same, the Land of a Million Elephants does look poorer. There are far fewer stores lining roads, and rural houses are mostly made of unpainted wood. Homes of two or more stories are seldom seen. Most strikingly, many fields are left fallow. The demographic pressure to cultivate each inch of land is just not as intense, as in Vietnam.
Even in Vientiane, there are unpaved roads, with one stretch right by the Mekong, on a prime piece of real estate just 1.4 mile from the Presidential Palace. The country's tallest building has but 14 stories. Not that I think Asia's skyscraping contest is so wonderful. Six of the seven tallest on earth are in Asia.
In Savannakhet, I was supposed to switch buses to go to Vientiane immediately, but rolling in, what I saw from the bus windows jazzed my interest, so I just had to get off for this one-night stand. Even with no hotel reservation, Lao money or working phone, I had to inspect more closely Savannakhet's mysterious concrete dinosaurs at a roundabout, the Nuan Money Restaurent Guesthouse (with its two red lanterns dangling over a cheerless entrance) and the Macchiato de Coffee, with its trilingual confusion, London Tube sign and a red British phone booth, sans phone, fronting it.
The bus station was a large pavilion, with benches mostly filled with rural folks, with some women in the traditional tube dress, the "sinh." More were decked out in jeans, T-shirts, track pants or pantsuits, the last undoubtedly in honor of Hillary Clinton, even if they had never heard of the eternally cackling candidate. Run, witch, run!
One side was a darkened row of sad looking doors, which I correctly identified as the station's resthouse. That should be cheap, I reassured myself, so I'll stay there, if I can't find anything reasonable.
"Actually, you don't. Some countries don't require a visa."
"They all require a visa!" He smirked.
"Brother, I've been to about thirty countries, and many of them didn't require a visa. I know."
Shaking my head, I had walked out, yet here I was, being driven by the same combative man. I was at his mercy. How does a guy like that stay in business? Who can live with him?
In silence, we rolled up Highway One, on a stretch that had been littered with the mangled dead, screaming wounded and busted vehicles in March of 1975. Finally, the bus station came into view in gorgeous sunshine. I got on my coach.
The twelve-hour ride was uneventful. There were three rows of two-tiered sleeping berths, with each made for a stunted, bunched up munchkin. The two aisles were also packed, with one man forced to sit nearly the entire time. This scrawny and frowning dude could have gained a bit more space just by piping up a bit, for the woman right in front of him had too much room. A Gimpel the Fool type, though, he kept his peace.
We passed through Quang Tri, then Khe Sanh. All along the way, there were many cemeteries embellishing the landscape, for most of them were quite gorgeous, with their graves inspiringly ornate, each a miniature Oriental temple. These cities of the dead looked better than the living ones, nearby. There were also many military cemeteries, where the unidentifiable also rested. We're just pondering hash.
Cramped, I didn't rest much, but damn it, I was entering Laos, if they would let me in! The border paperwork went smoothly. Crossing into Poland from Ukraine three years ago, our bus was detained for nearly five hours. With their ultra cool yet swaggering passports, Americans may not appreciate how serious, and often even deadly, are borders.
The bus was jammed with Laos and Thais. There were just a handful of Vietnamese, and only one white, a Swiss queer traveling with his Thai boy toy. At the last Vietnamese settlement, a handful of Bru beggars waited outside the roadside restaurant where we ate. The old women looked like driftwood in conical hats, windbreakers and sarongs, and the two boys, stunted and not too bright. It's hard to think if your stomach is always resentful.
Though the GDP per capita of Vietnam and Laos are roughly the same, the Land of a Million Elephants does look poorer. There are far fewer stores lining roads, and rural houses are mostly made of unpainted wood. Homes of two or more stories are seldom seen. Most strikingly, many fields are left fallow. The demographic pressure to cultivate each inch of land is just not as intense, as in Vietnam.
Even in Vientiane, there are unpaved roads, with one stretch right by the Mekong, on a prime piece of real estate just 1.4 mile from the Presidential Palace. The country's tallest building has but 14 stories. Not that I think Asia's skyscraping contest is so wonderful. Six of the seven tallest on earth are in Asia.
In Savannakhet, I was supposed to switch buses to go to Vientiane immediately, but rolling in, what I saw from the bus windows jazzed my interest, so I just had to get off for this one-night stand. Even with no hotel reservation, Lao money or working phone, I had to inspect more closely Savannakhet's mysterious concrete dinosaurs at a roundabout, the Nuan Money Restaurent Guesthouse (with its two red lanterns dangling over a cheerless entrance) and the Macchiato de Coffee, with its trilingual confusion, London Tube sign and a red British phone booth, sans phone, fronting it.
The bus station was a large pavilion, with benches mostly filled with rural folks, with some women in the traditional tube dress, the "sinh." More were decked out in jeans, T-shirts, track pants or pantsuits, the last undoubtedly in honor of Hillary Clinton, even if they had never heard of the eternally cackling candidate. Run, witch, run!
One side was a darkened row of sad looking doors, which I correctly identified as the station's resthouse. That should be cheap, I reassured myself, so I'll stay there, if I can't find anything reasonable.
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