My time in Cambodia had come to end and it was time to head for Laos. A country I knew little to nothing about. An eight hour bus journey from Siem Reap to Pakse ($22US) lay ahead. Too easy, I’ll be in Laos for tea time… or so I thought.

PICK UP

For those that know me, you’ll know I’m far from a morning person. Early bird or not, having a Cambodian man frantically knock on my door at just gone 7am, was far from ideal. Phil took the blame for this one, he’d got the times mixed up – cheers Phil. Barely dressed, sleep still in my eyes, we’re ushered into a tuk-tuk and taken to our bus stop.

BROKEN BUS

Soon after arriving at the pickup point, we’re told the bus is running an hour late. Surprise, surprise, but I wasn’t complaining. Now I had time for breakfast, a quick catch up with friends and most importantly arm myself with the necessary tools for any bus journey… multiple episodes of Pretty Little Liars.

Four hours later and there’s still no sign of this bus, forget about breakfast, it was nearly time for lunch! Midday arrived and low and behold the bus arrived with it. It looked dilapidated but that seems to be in vogue for buses in Asia. With the border being a 4 hour drive away and immigration closing at 5PM, time was of the essence.

TURN AROUND

It turns out, the bus was broken. I have visions of men frantically trying to repair the wreck of van in the vain hope it’d make it to the border. It was clear something was amiss as the driver was going at a normal speed. Speed limits in Asia seem to be to go as fast as your vehicle will take you. After two hours driving, we turn back towards Siem Reap. Obviously seeing the confused expressions on everyone’s faces, the driver said in broken English “Bus broken, need to change”.

FALSE PROMISES

Out in the sticks, we are told to wait one hour for a new van to come pick us up. One hour could mean absolutely anything, apart from one hour of course. This is when the supposed “boss” of the company rolled up on his bike. We grilled him on how he was going to get us to Laos that same day and he told us that the border would open again at sunrise the next day. SUNRISE.  Crazily, he did not think this would be an issue for us.

He was obviously not used to people questioning the shambles he was operating. People started demanding their money back, in which the boss insisted his “friend” would keep the border open for us until we arrive. It could have been the crappy drains, but something stank.

Before agreeing to get on the new bus we demanded that they pay for our accommodation near the border and arrange a bus to take us in the morning. Miraculously they agreed and, reluctantly, we all got on for the next leg.

A RANDOM GUESTHOUSE

At 9pm we finally arrived in Stung Treng. We were greeted by a small Cambodian lady cautioning us that she only had three rooms (there were eleven of us), and that we needed to work out a bed sharing situation.

Testament to the fact that bad experiences bring people together, after working out who had what bed we crowded around a long table telling travelling stories, eating fried rice, and enjoying some well-deserved beers.

BORDER CROSSING

As expected, the next morning our bus was late. There were four of us left – the rest of the bus had gone on to their respective destinations earlier that morning. Midday came once again, and we were finally back on the road.

At last we were at the border crossing! Ushered into what looked like someone’s front room, there was a man waiting with Laos visa applications and ready to take our passports. When crossing the Laos border we had to pay a stamping fee (basically a bribe to border control) as well as pay for our visa.  I’ve read about people disputing these fees but once this man has your passport, you’re better off just parting ways with your $2/3 just to avoid the hassle and to get your passport back in your hands ASAP (plus they have no obligation to let you through without paying).

Once I had my passport safely tucked away, we were told to walk across the border. You’d be forgiven for thinking the border was shut. There was no one manning the barriers and those who did didn’t bat an eyelid when you walked from Cambodia into Laos. A woman on a scooter showed us to where we should wait for our next bus to take us to our respective destinations in Laos. Ten minutes, she told us.

Yeah right – I thought.

THE LAST LEG

This is the part of the journey which got really frustrating. Whenever we were told to wait for buses, we were always stranded in the middle of nowhere. An hour passed with no sign of any bus, which was becoming standard for this nightmare. No one around the border could speak English well enough to understand our predicament. Unashamedly, this is when the tears started to flow – 30 hours had passed from when we were first picked up from our hostel in Siem Reap and I was wondering if I was ever going to get to Pakse.

Eventually, the man who stamped our passports rolled up on his scooter and said that because our bus that morning was late, the driver in Laos had left thinking we weren’t coming. Typical – I thought.  He assured us he was on his way back and promised we would not be waiting any more than fifteen minutes. However, he did say that this bus would take the others to their destination and we would have to get ANOTHER bus from there to Pakse.

I was angry, tearful, and tired of everyone telling us different things. I just wanted to get there I considered just grabbing my bag and walking down the road with my thumb out – maybe I would get there a little faster.

THE MANGO MAN

Ten minutes later a Laotion man pulled up in a minivan and said “Pakse?”

Hallelujah!

The man who stamped our passports followed shortly saying that he would take Phil and I straight to Pakse. No more changes, no more stops. In two hours we would finally be there. The door of the van opened revealing that it was full to the brim with bags of mangos. This guy had blatantly just crossed the border on his daily mango run – and was now lumped with taking two British backpackers along with him.  Nevertheless, I hopped in. I nestled my big backpack on top of some mangos, and took some fruit for myself. The driver, just as baffled by the situation, jumped in and laughed with us. He couldn’t speak any English but he knew we’d been through a hell of a journey by the looks on our faces. We were just grateful that in two short hours – 26 hours after we had originally meant to arrive – we would finally be in Pakse.

Now, someone get me a beer.

For reference this was with a “bus” company called Bahala Asia – which, after having a quick google, doesn’t exactly have the best reputation. The “manager” we encountered was also aggressive and intimidating toward his customers – even running over Phil’s foot with his scooter. Unfortunately, like a lot of transport companies in Cambodia, once they have your money they don’t care.

 If you need to cross the border between Cambodia and Laos I would recommend shopping around for different companies and researching how reliable they are before booking.