Disclaimer
This is our experience as of November 2019. Yours could be worse or it could be better.
CONTENTS
- Stage 1: Purchasing the Tickets.
- Stage 2: Getting to Terminal 2.
- Stage 3: Bully’s Special Prize.
- Stage 4: Welcome to Hell: A Pick Your Own Torture Experience.
- Stage 5: Internal Monologues
- Stage 6: What have we done?
- Stage 7: A Cattle of Nations
- Stage 8: Goodbye Thailand
- Stage 9: Three F*cking Windows – Visa Check
- Stage 10: Are we there yet?
- Stage 11: Night Terrors
- Stage 12: Welcome to the Family
- Stage 13: Nightmare on Sleeper Street
- Stage 14: What now?
- Stage 15: Living in a Ghost Town
- Stage 16: Dawn of the Bed
Stage 1: Purchasing the Tickets
This was obviously the easiest part of the journey. Rachael and I read online that tickets could only be booked via the bus terminal. This was evidently true after conducting our own research and found…nothing.
Due to hiring a scooter, we decided to use this time to head to the bus terminal 2. Alternatively, it is also possible to get to the terminal via public bus for 20 Baht per person, one way.
Arriving at the terminal we ventured in with a positive and excited attitude. Thus the next step was to get the best deal from the many vendors. There was one. Only one.
This was a sign of relief because it meant we did not need to manage a barrage of vendors stating they had the best deal.
The sounds of explosions and gunfire could be heard whilst venturing towards the ticket office window. On the other side was a young gentleman tentively peering and bashing at his mobile phone.
With a gentle hello our conversation began but not once did his hand let go of that damn mobile phone. The short dialogue exchanges that took place resulted in the following information:
- Sunday.
- 12.30pm.
- 2 people.
- 950 Baht each.
- Here 11.00am tomorrow.
- Pay tomorrow.
On a booking form Rachael and I simply wrote out first names under seats C3 and D3. Happy we had been able to organise our lives and travel plans with ease we returned back to our hotel.
Stage 2: Getting to Terminal 2.
Chiang Rai has two terminals. Number one is perfectly positioned in the centre of town. The second just outside the boarder and a little bit of a walk.
Mentioned previously was the public bus, which we took because it was/is the cheapest option (20 Baht each). The bus arrives every 30 minutes after 9.00am. Furthermore, it drops you right in the station.
Rachael and I caught the bus around 10.20am, which got us there mere minutes before 11.00am. Proceeding to the ticket window the procedure took less than 2 minutes. Now 1,900 Baht lighter it dawned on the two of us we still had a 90 minute wait.
Stage 3: Bully’s Special Prize
Our waiting time was used productively because it gave us time to catch up with our writing. Whilst sat at stand 3, a bus arrived with the label Luang Prabang.
Excitedly I stated that it must be the bus we were about to board. Peering at my mobile the time chimed 11.30am. Early too!
10 minutes later Rachael and I watched that magnificent beast exit the terminal.
Fast forward another 20 minutes and there were spluttering sounds of popping exhausts as our bus parked into stand 3. I guess we’ll settle for Bully’s Special Prize.
Stage 4: Welcome to Hell: A Pick your Own Torture Experience.
Our eyes glanced over the bus whilst passing our backpacks to the attendants. Rachael spotted V.I.P with the line, “I don’t think they know what it means.” In a startled manner I replied, “They’re beds Rachael. Beds.”
To our suprise another attendant started handing out plastic bags. Puzzled, we were firmly told to take our shoes off before entering. Rachael exclaimed, “I am not standing out here in my socks.” Then began to fumble around on the bottom step of the bus.
Every dreaded step entering that bus was a realisation that we just paid twenty five sterling pounds for this ‘V.I.P’ bus journey.
Venturing down the main aisle our spirits lifted because the beds were spacious. I had the bunk whilst Rachael took the bottom. However, our spirits were soon crushed further when told, “No. Two to one bed. C3. D3.”
Rachael and I looked despairingly at the seat numbers written in permanent marker above our leathery bed, or should I say coffin. Then I replied, “Move over then.”
Stage 5: Internal Monologues
Rachael’s Edition
This was not what I had read. We were promised reclining seats, great snacks and a toilet on board. In addition to having my own seat with seatbelt and personal space. At this point I was raging because knowing what I thought I knew, I had prepared myself for the long bumpy journey ahead. And if you know me at all, you know I find long distance, winding travelling a struggle. 🤮
Arran’s Edition
I crouched in our cramped bed space looking at Rachael, who proceed to state, “I am not happy, Arran.” My emotions were numb. Was it a defence mechanism or had I accepted our fate? Honestly, I was not sure but I knew I needed to help Rachael through it. However, the reply went like this, “Well what do you want to do? Do you wanna get off the bus? We still have time. We have four minutes to decide.” In hindsight I am not sure giving the decision to Rachael was the best course of action. In the past lesser decisions, such as what do we have for lunch, have required higher levels of critical thinking and communication between the two of us.
Stage 6: What have we done?
Rachael, with a huff, sharply stated, “I am not wasting twenty five quid.” Then the sudden rumble of the engine sealed our fate.
Chugging along Rachael and I started to survey our surroundings. The decor of the bus was a mash of chrome and brown leather. Furthermore, our position on the lower bunk meant we had a slither of window and day light.
One can only describe the motion of the bus as the following. Imagine a rollercoaster. Strip away the seatbelt and extra padding, whilst adding more sharp turns and belly dipping moments.
For one person the beds would have been sufficient. However, for two it felt like the two of us had been vacuum bagged together. Furthermore, Rachael is five foot and half a inch…
Disclaimer: Rachael states the half inch is important thus it needed to be added.
…Being five foot…and half an inch it was clear that the beds must have been smaller than five foot. This was due to the fact even when laid flat Rachael’s head was bent forward.
On the other hand I had the pleasure of knowing the smell of my own knees. A mixture of sea salt and mountain breeze.
This was the start of our long tiring 16 hour journey.
Stage 7: A Cattle of Nations
It was not all doom and gloom. Obviously we were not alone on this bucket of rust. The other passengers included a German backpacking couple, a solo Amsterdam traveller called Polo, an older USA couple and a young couple from Italy.
The hours ticked on and naturally pockets of social interactions began to bubble. It became clear that our freight emotions and journey apprehension was a community felt endeavour.
Thus our little united nations community began swapping stories of adventure and travel. The laughter lifted the spirit and the exchanging of travel tips diverted our minds. A part of the journey we will never forget.
Stage 8: Goodbye Thailand
The departure out of Thailand was pretty simple. Our little community bundled off the bus and made a queue to the only attendant available.
One by one the stern Thai border official stamped our passports, took our finger prints and captured our picture. The party had officially left Thailand.
Stage 9: Three F*cking Windows – Visa Checks
Let me flashback to our first introduction and boarding of the bus. Through all the emotions two pieces of paper were thrust into our hands. Those piece of paper were our Laos visa applications.
Flashforward two hours and everyone is being told to exit the bus. Leave bags. Quick. Quick.
Prior to reaching the boarder our many united nation discussions revolved around filling out the visa application. What did you put for this? What did you put for that section?
In the end our application was only half complete. There was no forwarding address stated, next destination or contact information. The departure card was also left blank. Let’s just say Rachael and I was a little nervous about being refused entry. How would we get our bags back?
However, like sheep we followed the heard to the border crossing and visa offices. Not sure if we were lucky but it was not busy. Rachael and I speculate it could be due to the fact it was just starting the peak season or that it was a Sunday.
Arriving at the windows there was not a clear process or set of steps laid out. What we did know was the following:
- Visas could be paid in Kip, Baht or American Dollars.
- It was best to pay in dollars because crappy exchange rates were provided for Kip and Baht. In turn costing more.
- There was an ATM at the crossing that dispensed dollars!
- Visas cost 30 dollars each. (£24.00)
- An over time fee of 1 dollar would be added on because it was the weekend. This extra cost also applied if visas were processed after 3pm.
The first thing we did was try to locate the USA Dollar dispensing ATM. In short, it was a lie! There was no such ATM and our hopes were squashed when we asked one of our helpful bus attendants, who simply told us no.
Our strategy needed to change but another bus load of people had just arrived. Feeling the pressure I decided to get in the queue with Rachael behind me. Waiting, we noticed a large sign stating the cost of a visa for the different countries in the world. Curious, the two of us located the United Kingdom and once again our spirits were quashed. Our visas would cost 35 dollars each. No explanation given but I assume they think we’re rich. The other countries of the European Union was still 30 dollars.
I reached the window and the attendant asked for my passport. The communication exchange was classic British in a non English speaking country etiquette. It started with pointing, moved onto one word questions, confusion, one word question said slowly, more pointing and finally hand actions.
Somehow in this exchange the attendant had been given our passports. He asked for our visa papers. Rachael and I glanced at each other because they were still blank. Without hesitation the gentleman peered at them, took his stamp, bashed our passports and ushered us to move onto the next window.
Walking away, dread hit me, the attendant still had our passports. Back tracking I flew to the window and with a hand gesture like opening a book I said, “Passport?”.
With a gestural point and a stern reply he told us, “Next window, pay and then get passport.”
The next window was there for us to pay the overtime fee, 10,000 Kip (£1.00) each. The only currency we had was Thai Baht, which the female attendant told us would cost 40 Baht each (£1.20). Reluctantly but no longer needing our Thai currency we handed over 80 Baht. Passports and a new bundle of papers in hand the female attendant informed us to pay for our visa at the next window.
The security check was just a bored looking lady who simply waved us through the bleeping metal detector. Somehow our bags had the easiest process because their check was a gentleman with a torch. There was no get your 100ml liquids out or electronic items. They were simply waiting for us on the other side.
Still not sure how we were going to pay for the visas we approached the third window. Thrusting forward our $35 visa payment slip (a QPR code) I timidly asked, “What would it be in Kip?” The third attendant pulled out his trusty calculator and began tapping in digits. I saw his finger hit the multiply button and my stomach dropped with nerves. This was going to be a large expense. Holding it up to the window the number 310,000 was evident – this was each.
Accepting the cost Rachael and I bashed the digits into our currency convertor. To our surprise £27.50 flashed up and to possibly feed our annoyance further we looked at the conversion in dollars. Phew! £27.50 flashed up – glad we were not paying more by using Kip we headed back to the ATM.
Strolling back through security we approached the closest ATM. I bashed in my pin and pressed enter. The ‘other amount’ option was not available so I proceeded to take out the maximum amount (1,500,000 or £135). The next screen to flash up stated the transaction would cost 20,000 Kip (£2.00). There was only one way forward so I clicked accept.
Back to the window I handed over 700,000 for the both of us. The attendant suddenly gestured one and pointed at a 100,000 note. Tired, fed up and noticing the rest of our bus had passed through I told him to count again. He recounted responding with “700,000”, he laughed, I laughed and before we knew it another piece of paper with another QPR code was thrust into our hands.
Once again through gestures we were told to scan our QPR code onto the waist high digital turnstiles. They beeped and turned green – we did it!
Visa Process Summary
- 1st Window – Handover passport and visa papers.
- 2nd Window – Pay the overtime fee (if required). Get visa QPR slip. Receive passport.
- Security – Saunter through like a badass.
- 3rd Window – Pay for Visa.
- ATM – No dollars. Only Kip. 20,000 Kip charge for withdrawls.
- Dollars, Baht and Kip are accepted forms of payment.
- Dollars provide the best rate and then Kip. Avoid Baht.
Stage 10: Are we there yet?
The stress of getting to and crossing the border was actually the shortest section of our journey.
Back on the bus and everyone peered out the windows as our newly formed community crossed over the friendship bridge. It was official everyone had entered Laos at the same time.
Honestly the next part of the journey was pretty straight forward. The bus route took us up and down valleys with breathtaking views. However, the roads now also became bumpy and winding. Every dip threw you into the air and every bend pushed your face into the chrome or leather.
The night drew ever closer but just before saying goodbye to the sun the bus came to a halt. A toilet stop was called and everyone exhaustingly exited.
Looking around all that could be seen was green. Another passenger timidly asked for the location of the toilet. The reply was a simple point to the bushes.
Rachael was not game and refused to have a pee. Instead she had to witness one of the local women whipping down her knickers and taking a piss without the thought of using a bush for modesty.
With the toilet break finished everyone was back on the bus to continue the journey.
Stage 11: Night Terrors
The veal of darkness had blanketed our sky leaving little to see. Thus, the only option was Netflix, music or reading. Rachael and I opted to settle for a season binge watch.
Then came the vomit. Every bend and dip was met with a bleurg from one of the other passengers. Thankfully the smell did not flood the cabins or our nostrils.
Stage 12: Welcome to the Family.
At around 9pm the bus came to another halting stop. This was the mid-way hot food point. Zombie-esq the whole party grunted and sighed their way off the bus. At home you would expect a motorway services but this was obviously not home.
Instead the band of travellers were treated to a farm like collection of shacks. Our driver pointed to the family run “restaurant” in the centre and gave us thirty minutes. Luckily for us it also happened to be the most run down.
When you’re hungry all food tastes glorious but our Chicken Fried Rice was honestly really good. At 20,000 Kip or 80 Baht a standard dish could be ordered.
It was clearly a family run event as you saw sisters, mothers, fathers and brothers all working together. At one point Rachael and I spent time interacting with a young baby who simply stared back at these odd looking strangers. The family laughed, played and swapped jokes in their own language.
Earlier I mentioned payments could be made in Kip or Baht. The currency could also transverse between the two. Paying with left over Baht I was provided change in Kip. Then I bought a drink in Kip but re-payed in Baht.
Tip: Know your currency exchanges between Kip and Baht. Get a currency convertor app.
This tip is to ensure you check your change as we found the transaction confusing at times. We never had a problem, as we received the correct change, however it’s better to be safe than sorry.
Stage 13: Nightmare on Sleeper Street
It was evident that a couple of our community had left without us realising. No numbers or contacts were swapped but travelling is like that. You have fleeting relationships.
Why the damn buses are called Sleepers is baffling to me. There was not one minute of sleep to be had due to the roads. The bends ensured your cheeks felt the full friction of leather as you rolled and peeled with the motion of the bus. Whilst the hills bounced you between the head and foot boards similar to Newton’s Cradle.
Furthermore the chorus of snores and engine revs kept the hearing senses in tip top shape. Another six and a half hours the rest of us would be free.
Stage 14: What now?
Around two in the morning the bus came to a stop again. Expecting another toilet break I ventured to the front. What I found was our three different drivers outside pointing and trying to hurry along the lorry that blocked the road.
Unsure what made me look up but the night sky was littered with stars. There were billions and more than I had ever seen. Roughly, twenty minutes later and the bus was heading down a weaving valley road. There were lorries on the other side mere inches away.
Stage 15: Living in a Ghost Town
Once again we had previously read our arrival time would be seven in the morning. Rachael and I thought this would be the best because it gave us the rest of the day. We could grab breakfast, check in and then explore.
At 4am we were awoken to find we had arrived in Luang Prabang. We were simply dumbed at a local bus station and before we knew it the bus had gone. However, our adventure was far from over.
Stage 16: Dawn of the Bed
Due to us thinking our arrival time was going to be 7am Rachael and I did not book accommodation. This was a problem because it was majorly unlikely that places would be open.
Polo, another traveller, had found a 24 hour hostel so we decided to take his lead. The only way into town from the bus terminal at this time was tuk tuk. Through some level of confusion our team was split between 2 tuk tuks. At 20,000 Kip each it was not too expensive but Polo only had 17,000 so I gave him the extra 3,000.
The tuk tuks shot off and we had not even given directions to our accomodation. The driver must have also been having problems with the vehicle due to a rough and spluttering start of the engine and multiple roadside stops. The unsettling sound coming from the engine clearly indicated it had not been serviced in years.
15 minutes later and the rust bucket came to a screeching stop. The driver began asking us for our accomodation and once again communication issues arose. Trying to explain we had nowhere to stay Rachael and I looked at each other. Across from us were two locals simply watching and clearly wanting us to get of the damn tuk tuk.
Luckily for us further up the street we saw Polo jump out of his tuk tuk. Reunited, Polo explained that he found this hostel and wanted to check it out. So we followed and obviously no one was up.
The next half hour found all three of us walking around a deserted town looking for the mysterious golden 24 hour hostel. There was never going to be a damn 24 hour hostel – everywhere was dead.
Instead we stumbled upon a place at 5am. The gate was shut with a chain and lock but there was just enough of a gap for us to squeeze through. Mobile torches in hand Polo and I surveyed the area to find a wooden porch littered with beer cans, bottles of coke and vodka. In all honesty I am not sure what made me do it but I quietly said, “Hello”.
Suddenly from darkness we heard zombie like groans. The darkness moved into the shape of a classic bed sheet ghost. Then the zipper noise revealed a groggy looking local exiting a mosquito tent.
His breath stunk of alcohol but informed us we could crash on the decking until 7am. At this point in the journey we were happy to have somewhere safe to take a seat and most importantly WiFi.
Exhausted, the three of us welcomed the new day as the sun rose at 5am.
Travel to the Point 