Dien Bien Phu and into the Wild

Last Friday we made our way to Dien Bien Phu, where most notably the French lost Vietnam before the Americans tried a few decades later with the same results. It's a beautiful little town in the hills and rain forest where we promptly got stuck for a day because of our usual lack of planning. We had intended to take a taxi to the border to Laos and then maybe hitch a ride from there. Thankfully we were not able to negotiate the taxi price down enough for our liking which really was a blessing because it turns out there is nothing near that border and even catching a ride with a moto or a truck would have been an unlikely scenario. Instead we wondered around town in our new colorful plastic bag ponchos (the monsoon has really started now) in search of mosquito spray. I have learned that one can buy anything and everything is SE Asia, but the only items to bring from home are a) malarone b) mosquito spray and c) a device to purify water that does not give you silver cloride poisoning.

In the end we found our mosquito spray and booked ourselves a seat on a mini bus that is really more of a cargo truck that was due to leave at 5:30 am the next morning.

In the pouring rain in pitch black country side darkness we hiked to the bus station to be met by the angriest man in Vietnamese history. He ripped up our ticket, threw them on the counter, yelled and stomped around, finally pretty much dragging me onto the bus my my hair and shoving me onto some rice bags that had been piled near and far onto the seats, the floor, the roof and were hanging out the windows. All of this because we were five minutes late. I have never truly appreciated just how much cargo can fit into a minibus and how into physical abuse rural non-gentlemen can be. We were 25 people or so, perching with our knees slung over our shoulders or by our chins on anything and everything large and poky that one might want to transport. Five minutes into the ride, the angry man stopped the bus and we took a one hour break. This pattern set the tone for the rest of the trip. Extreme excitement, shoving, driving off in a hurry and then stopping, sometimes for hours for no discernable reason.

We found our non beaten trek alright. Against the advice we had received in Hanoi, one can cross the border at Dien Bien Phu without getting a prior Laos visa. In my case getting that visa ahead of time was a bit of a mistake because I got it in my German passport because that is cheaper, however I had traveled on my American passport in Vietnam and the border guards did not look kindly upon that situation and tried to convince me to buy a new visa for 37 USD which is what it costs to get the visa at the border. Thankfully the angry bus driver decided to take what turned into a four hour break for a nap at the border and that was enough time to convince the border guys to let me through.

We had picked up a few other felangs (gringos around here) on the way and now our cargo truck machine turned into a party bus - everyone trying to make the best out of the crammed, delayed affair. In the end it took us 12 hours to move a full 88 km. But what fun we had. The countryside is spectacular and the roads are spectacular rivers. More than once did the bus begin to lean dangerously towards the drop off that separated us from the jungly basin below and as the locals started scurrying off the bus, so did we, watching in awe as our overloaded machine balanced along the abyss. Trucks stuck in the mud had to be pushed and pulled out on numerous occasions to let us pass and by the time we arrived in Muang Kua we had made good friends with the now 8 man strong Spanish, British and American posse. Everyone on this group ironically had tried to get away from the masses only to find each other and accordingly everyone was fun, adventurous and took the debacles in good humor.

The last stop on our way to a cold Beer Laos was a precarious river crossing in motorboat that had to go full power upstream to deliver us to our landing point straight across. A small hike along the muddy river bank and we descended up a bamboo latter and voila, clean little huts and cold drinks abound.

Sometimes the best part of traveling really is the travel. I did't see any reason to stay in Muang Kua for very long, but just getting there got us an amazing view of the northern Laos country side, transport system and people. Also we learned to never ever ever set off without a bag full of goodies because it turns out there is nothing, absolutely nothing in terms of a town or a stand or a hut out there in the boonies. At 9:45 the electricity was cut and after some candle light salsa lessons by the Spanish couple we called it quits, killed a few spiders in our hut and went to bed.

The next morning we failed in our negotiation with a boating man to take us down river to Luang Prabang, so we all piled back in a bus, which to everyone's large surprise sort of kept driving most of the time without any four hours stops and the driver seemed to be in very good humor, blasting some awesome Laos pop on repeat. And here we are: back in the land of chocolate croissants and paved roads.