The Wheels on the Bus DON'T Go Round and Round

Today, I began the journey to Ban Kong Lor on yet another bus. Before leaving Vientiane, we stopped once for hydrolic fluid, once for gas, and once at a mechanic for something I couldn't get a glimpse of. I should have recognized this omen.

I was relaxing and taking photos out the window of overly packed vehicles and little kids, when suddenly we stopped at the side of the road in a small town. I assumed it was an early lunch stop, but when I hopped off the bus, I was surprised to find we were at a mechanic. It seems we had a flat tire.

Every bus seems to have three bus company personnel: a driver, a ticket taker, and a luggage handler. I never understood why three were needed. I assumed it was some FDR-type work program. But now I understand. You need at least two people to fix a flat tire on a bus.

I know this picture looks morbid, but I assure you this man has not been run over by the bus. He is just trying to get at the tire. I think it may have been an interior tire that blew.

As we waited for the tire (and of course the spare which was also flat) to be repaired, I contemplated my bus. Notice the motorbike on top of the bus. I have no idea how they got it up there or how they intend to get it down. Mind you, these things are all loaded manually.

They repaired the first tube, slipped it into the tire, and a man rolled it away to put it on the bus. Moments later, he returned to report that he heard a leak. The mechanics didn't think to test the tube before shoving it into the tire. They were all standing around waiting for the tube to be repaired again, when the ticket taker made the brilliant suggestion of putting the now-repaired spare tube into a tire and putting that on the bus.

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While we were waiting for all of this to take place, I realized it must be lunchtime, because streams of kids on bikes began pouring down the streets, heading for home.

After an hour and a half, we were finally on the road again.

So, if we were on the road, you might be wondering why there is now another picture of the bus on the side of the road. Well, only a kilometer down the road, we all heard a loud rushing of air. I guess they didn't quite patch the tire well enough. I couldn't stop laughing; it was absolutely hysterical. This time, they put the spare on, which held for the rest of the trip.

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We arrived in Ban Na Hin in the early afternoon and I found a sawngthaew to take me to my guesthouse outside Ban Kong Lor. The trip involved an hour's ride down a dirt road in the open air. My driver had warned me that I would need to walk about 1.5 km to my guesthouse, but I could not have imagined what he really meant.

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As we cruised down the road, I spied a sign for the guesthouse at a dirt road, but he kept driving, eventually stopping on the side of the road by a dry rice patty. He pointed across the field and told me to walk 1.5 km.

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So, 20 kilo pack on my back, I marched across the rice patties, while stepping carefully to avoid the cow patties. Travel like this makes you stronger in more ways than one.

After my walk, I found myself in a village and had to ask for the guesthouse several times, each time being pointed in the general direction, until I found it.

The "guest house" consisted of little huts with a pair of beds and a small central, concrete building containing toilets and showers. I didn't mind, though -- it felt like camping.