Bus Wars

Back on the bus for another journey - this time to the Plain of Jars, a world heritage site set deep in the mountains and full of large stone jars of unknown origin.Popular opinion says that they were probably funeral urns but no-one knows for sure. The jars are impressive but my attempts to get Brian to climb into one for photographic effect came to nothing, the best I could do was get him to crouch behind one in a silly hat, which he thought was extremely undignified.

The road to the site from Luang Prabang is long and very windy. I prepared by taking travel sickness tablets and was glad I did, Bri didn't and felt a little queasy after 9 hours in the bus. Luckily for us we are in what we quickly dubbed the 'Happy Bus'. At least our fellow bus travellers are relatively sane, humorous and happy to laugh at themselves. We are new to this travelling-with-other-people game, but what has become apparent after only a couple of days is the ferocity with which people will defend their bus seat. Perhaps we shouldn't be too surprised, but it took me two days to realise that everyone was sticking to their seats, not necessarily because it was the best (or we would all have been fighting over the front seat) but because the consequence might be a worse seat or sitting with someone you can't find anything to talk to about.

Whilst our bus only contains one person who claims to always have to sit in the front due to travel sickness, the other bus, known by Happy Bus travellers as the Bus of Misery contains three. Two of these are particularly annoying. An Australian couple, who have just travelled through Vietnam (where Everything was bigger, better, more comfortable, you get the picture), they have appropriated themselves each a double front seat and appear to spend the journey stretched out and moaning whilst the rest of their bus huddle uncomfortably at the back sitting on each others' laps and coughing apologetically into their neighbours' earlobe. At the end of the journey when we all totter out kissing the ground and feeling dizzy, the aussies spring out of their comfy abodes stretching their arms, yawning and wondering where the local bar is. Dark mutterings are heard, but as the majority of us are English, no-one is going to actually risk saying anything.

The area we arrive in is in the centre of what was, in the 1970's, America's 'secret war'. During the Vietnam War supplies between the north and south of Vietnam were transported through Laos. In an effort to disrupt what became known as the Ho Chi Minh trail the U.S. conducted an 8 year bombing that saw more bombs dropped in this far flung, sparsely inhabited area than were used during the entire Second World War. For the entire 8 years a bomb was dropped every 8 minutes and in a country of 3 million people, 1 million lost their lives. Apart from the human suffering caused by such an intense campaign, the countryside, particularly around the Plain of Jars is still riddled with unexploded ordinance, so people continue to lose lives and limbs. It makes further exploration of the historic site painstakingly slow, but has led to an interesting spin-off industry of recycling all the old bombs, grenades, shell casings etc.

We paid a visit to the prosaically named 'Spoon Village' where all this old metal is melted down and poured into wooden moulds to make, yes, you guessed it, spoons. Of course we had to buy one - cheap, light and with an interesting history they made a great souvenir. Imagine my surprise when Brian insisted we buy an entire canteen of 10 spoons. Imagine my greater surprise when I learnt they would be going in my pack. Future dinner party invitees to chez O'Williams can expect a detailed slide show of how they are made to accompany every spoon usage. You have been warned.

Occasionally, when preparing metal to be melted down, the ammunition is found to be live. Whilst lingering around Spoon Village one such casing was found and they offered us the experience of seeing the explosion, which they carried off with all the laughter and insouciance you expect from people who have lived in this area, and with these dangers, all their lives - with scant adherence to Health and Safety Guidelines. As they sauntered around preparing for the big bang, we all cowered behind the Head Man's house, just behind the women, children and chickens. The resulting bang was a little disappointing, akin to a medium sized firework on Bonfire Night. We emerged looking a little shame-faced but secretly relieved to still be in possession of all our limbs and made a hasty retreat.

Time to get back on the bus …..