See, as I may have mentioned before, I was flying on Lao Airlines, and that simple fact should give anyone a reason to pause and take a quick inventory of their life’s achievements…and maybe call all of their loved ones before boarding the plane. Why? Well, if you are the sort of traveler who is interested in safety records, good luck finding one. This particular airline doesn’t bother to publish them, so no one really knows the statistics. In fact, all anyone knows is that the majority of their fleet are old Chinese planes that have a tendency to not stay in the air…and most foreign government agencies opt for other transportation options. But I don’t work for the UN, so I’m in a totally different league here (and Lao Airlines was my only flight choice from Siem Reap to Vientiane). Besides that, I like to believe that I’m invincible and my number is nowhere near the top of the pile…and I REALLY didn’t want to take my other option which involved a nine hour bus-ride to Bangkok, followed by an overnight train to Chiang Mai, followed by another four hour bus ride and a five hour boat ride. While this option would have cost me a third of what I paid to fly, I felt that the emotional toll of 27 hours of traveling was far worse than a quick ride on a rickety old plane. So it was with great trepidation that I boarded the plane, but I knew I had to take this flight if for no other reason than to be in Laos…so I could turn around and jump on another Lao Airlines flight a few days later. I know, I’m a big fat ball of bravery. There’s no shame in being impressed by my sheer disdain for self-preservation in the name of convenience.
As we boarded the 70-seater propeller plane, I did what I could to set my mind at ease. After all, I’d been on much smaller planes than this particular one (and how was I to know that just six months later, I’d be on a plane that was literally falling apart in the air as my guests and I flew over the Yukon Territory into Dawson City where the plane was then grounded for a week because of mechanical failure—not to mention a failure of the ceiling panels to stay on the ceiling). Upon entering the cabin, my eyes darted around, taking in everything. Colorful seats? Nice touch. Wall-sized photographs of the sights of Laos on the front wall? Well done. Safety speech? Check. Pleasant flight crew? Bingo. Suspicion that this just might be one of the older Chinese planes with the lackluster safety record? You betcha.
There were only about twelve passengers, but that didn’t stop the airline from squeezing us all together in the middle of the plane. I was seated next to a chatty Filipino guy who was really nice (and also feared for his life). Normally, when I’m faced with a situation where I’m nervous, having a friendly person to whom I can talk non-stop is a good thing, but on this day when I had a nasty hangover while flying on a small plane…all I wanted to do was to breathe in blue and breathe out pink while gripping the armrests. Such activities were not in the cards for me, so I talked to my seatmate (while occasionally glancing back at my Australian friends who snickered at my unfortunate luck).
As the plane took off from the runway, my new friend and I silently gripped our armrests (and he offered to hold my hand should I get nervous). To say the take-off was rough doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’m just glad I was wearing a seatbelt; otherwise, I would have been in a different row. Once we reached cruising altitude, I felt a wave of relief (despite the fact that the turbulence never let up—which was, in no way, the fault of the plane or the crew).
The flight attendants eagerly distributed food and drinks to all the nervous flyers. As I watched them, I wondered how they must feel about working on these planes every day. Are they aware of the reported risks? And is there a chance that the risks aren’t as great as we had all been led to believe?
After an hour in the air, we made a very bumpy, roller-coaster style landing into a town in Southern Laos called Savannakhet. Unbeknownst to me and almost everyone else, this was not a direct flight to Vientiane. We all had to exit the plane, where we were corralled into a tiny two-room airport and sent through passport control. None of us had visas, so we had to purchase them one at a time from the officers at passport control. For whatever reason (though I suspect the reason was corruption), the price of the visa was different for every passenger. Canadians were charged $42, while US citizens skated by with $36. The EU (with the exception of the UK who were charged $38) managed an easy $31 for their visas. We all found it rather suspicious (the Canadian in particular who wondered out loud if they assumed Canadians were too nice to complain and were thus charged more than Americans), especially when my Australian friends managed to barter down the cost of their visas from $35 to $31. It also didn’t help our suspicions as we witnessed the immigration officers laugh as we all questioned the sliding scale price.
Once our visas were in hand, we were all shuffled into the other room of the airport where we waited for a half an hour before we were allowed back on the plane to continue our journey to Vientiane. While in the waiting area, I befriended a nice, young Scottish kid who was traveling solo for five months. He was in search of a travel buddy for his week in Laos, and while I was dead-set on my solo voyage, I did like the idea of a little company. So I took the second plane ride to mull over the possibility while chatting with the chattiest man alive, gripping my seat, and trying not to vomit as the plane bounced and skidded down the runway in Laos’ capitol city.
As I waited for my bag, the Scot asked if I wanted to share a tuk-tuk with him into town. I decided to go for it, so once we had our things, we headed out into the world, searching for a cheap ride. The Scot was a much harder bargainer than I. Following his lead, we utilized the “walk away” strategy in getting the price we wanted. It took time and tenacity, but was effective in the end.
The taxi driver that accepted our low bid drove us to the guesthouse we requested. As we drove he inquired about our budget for the hotel. When we arrived, he motioned to the girl at the desk, and I realized then that he was expecting a kickback from the guesthouse for delivering customers. Unfortunately for us (and the driver) the guesthouse only had one room, and that one room had a double bed…and it cost three times the price quoted in Lonely Planet. Being adamant about not sharing a bed (and preferring separate rooms), we left. The taxi driver drove off in a huff, and we had to start the process all over with a tuk-tuk driver who was demanding a ridiculous fare to drive a half mile down the road. Unwilling to back down, we strapped our backpacks on and started to walk when he suddenly decided to accept our original offer.
We got to the second guesthouse, and I sent the Scot in to check it out. He walked out in a few minutes to tell me that their prices had climbed and the only had two rooms left: one with a fan and one with an air conditioner (which was considerably more money). They showed us the fan room, and much to our disappointment, it only had one double bed. At that point, I was willing to pay more for the air conditioned room and let the Scot pay half the price for the fan room, but in the spirit of information-gathering, I opted to go on a quick search for the guesthouse I originally planned to use. Too bad for me, I got totally lost and walked down the wrong street (which, I’d like to add, is very uncommon…I have anything, it’s an excellent sense of direction).
I returned after twenty minutes to the chimes of lies from the tuk-tuk driver who was sitting outside the guesthouse. “You were gone twenty minutes, and after you left, two people came in and took the last rooms. It’s full. I’ll drive you somewhere else, and you’ll have to pay me.” I just glared at him, knowing that he was lying. “Don’t bother going in there. Your friend left. He went somewhere else.”
“Really? He left? Did he take my bag with him too? You’re lying.”
I walked in, and much to my non-surprise, the Scot was standing by the desk. “ Did anyone come in here and take the rooms?”
“No. No one has been here.”
“That liar!”
I regaled him with the tale of my fruitless search and offered to take the more expensive room, since it was getting late in the afternoon. As we worked out the payment with the owner, he decided to take that opportunity to mention that the air-conditioned room had two twin beds.
The Scot looked at me. “Hey, I know we just met, but…”
Without hesitating, I said, “Yes. Let’s share it.”
And the deal was done. And I had a roommate—a very young, polite, and respectful one at that who reminded me of my brother and treated me like I was his sister (so it worked out pretty well).
After we settled into our room, we found another tuk-tuk driver to take us to a couple of the main sights in the capitol city before they closed. We paid far too much for the ride then wandered along the waterfront until we found a steal of a deal on dinner.
Vientiane was okay. I didn’t find myself overly impressed, and I hoped that the rest of Laos would be better, since my first few hours centered around arguing with lazy, yet opportunistic scam artists. (And I have my own opinion as to why this is the case, but I'll keep my trap shut.)
We bid the day adieu and waited to see what morning would bring.
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