Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, April 30, 1995 TAG: 9505020082
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV4 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: ANDREW ROSENBERG
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
I thought the subway in New York had taught me a few things about being skin-to-skin with my fellow man. That was before I boarded the "Party Bus" in Laos.
Point A was Luang Prabang, a quaint provincial town in the north. Point B was Vientiane. the capital city. The distance we needed to cover was comparable to that of Roanoke to Richmond. On the smooth roads of Virginia, you're looking at a three-hour drive.
This highway turned out to be a potholed dirt path.
Ah, but we knew about that. We knew it would not be a three-hour tour. We anticipated, and were prepared for, a journey of about 16 hours.
We got 22. Twenty-two hours of, in a word, misery.
At least for me. Trapped in a 6-foot-3-inch frame, I come unequipped for the standards of travel here. Tickets are sold with an accompanying shoehorn. You soon learn what it's for. As soon as you think the bus is full, eight more people, with their rice bags, chickens. tree sloths, and sacks of squirming snakes, file in. Or rather, push, duck, and squeeze in, creating an intimacy one might more likely expect in an R-rated movie.
With my rear perched on a six-inch surface area, a small child leaning against my knees, legs and feet already numb, and a few more passengers jumping on to the outside of the bus, we set off.
I was numb but excited. Apparently, others shared my feeling. Within moments of departure, no less than four travelers, all Laotian, vomited - including the child on my knees. My friend BirdDog's backpack got the worst of it. But seeing only a semi-soft surface, the kid promptly slept in his mess. Had my internal organs not been as contorted as limbs in a Twister game, I would have let out a load groan, or worse.
My friend Jeff made a wager with me, saying he would give me five bucks if I could fall asleep during the ride. I chuckled as he climbed up to the roof - they allow as many passengers as can fit up there - and resigned myself to being buried in a heap of humanity, where sleep seemed impossible. Although that kid in my lap was doing fine.
Twelve hours, and we paused for noodles. The midway point. Supposedly the journey was much easier from there. Paved roads, smooth sailing. But BirdDog had had enough. Citing fever and chills, he begged off for a decent night's sleep. "But BirdDog, the worst is behind us," we said. Wrong again.
You would think 12 hours in one position would secure a seat as your own, but when I tried to reboard, three or four people were occupying my precious six inches. So I joined the partiers on the roof, seeking to learn of the beauty and comfort they had been gloating about at dinner. The beauty and comfort happened to be confined to daytime, however.
Night. We huddled together, cursing each mile of unpaved road we traversed. We dug through the cargo. Extracting a blanket someone had intended for sale in Vientiane, fought over every inch of it. When the outside air was too cold to bear, we moved down inside. At least there some of the wind would be blocked; which brings me to a great invention of our time - windows.
I guess the bus had windows. I mean there were spaces that one might call windows, but they could not be closed. The three of us shivered and swore and took turns wearing our one heavy jacket.
Perhaps I had the worst of it, since I did not get to wear the jacket until sunrise, just one hour before we pulled into Vientiane. But I did collect the five dollars.
Somewhere along that glorious stretch, that spiritual journey of the mind and soul, the numbness penetrated to my brain. Maybe my eyes were paralyzed, but I swear I slept for five minutes .And I swear I will never say travel in America can be tough. Because l have known a hard bus ride. I have worked with a hard bus ride. And Greyhound, you are no hard bus ride.
by CNB