Paula decided to hunt for the diary. She had had it on Don Det, but hadn't taken it on our motorbike loop, so deduced that she must have left it either in Pakse or at our overnight stop following the infamous thirteen hour bus journey. A small town called Tha Beng, that we'd have to reach again anyway, to then continue north to Vientiane, a further four or five hours by bus.

She managed to phone the guesthouse in Pakse, from the guesthouse in Ban Khoum Khan that had hosted the village party the night before, where the owner spoke English. For a moment they thought they had it, but then "it" turned out to be some sort of directory of London or something.

So we went to Tha Beng, where Paula scoured round and managed to find a girl who spoke English, to accompany her to the roadside guesthouse we'd stayed at there. But it was to no avail. Again, no diary.

Not to be deterred by a miniscule probability of success, having spoken to the only place the diary might be and been told they didn't have it, Paula decided to backtrack to Pakse to have the conversation in person. To retrace the bus journey from hell!Understandably, in hindsight, as what's a couple of days out of a whole year away for peace of mind that she'd done everything she possibly could. Although, to be honest, at the time, I thought it a pointless chase for a lost cause, rationalising that even if they had found it, surely they'd have thrown out a handwritten notebook in a language they could understand little of. But of course I went too. Matt and Sara went on to Vientiane, the plan being we'd catch up with them in a couple of days, before their respective departures.

If I recall, we were lucky. We had a good run, and it was only eleven hours back! But we were left with the back seat again, so the cool breeze on my face was accompanied by a hot sweat down the middle of my back. Not to mention the dozens of mosquitos who'd joined us for the ride. And it was worse for Paula, of course, who, alongside the physical discomfort, was mourning the loss of her diary.

We arrived in Pakse shortly before midnight, found a hotel still open, with one available room remaining, and allowed our heads to hit the pillows immediately. And first thing in the morning, Paula went through the motions of going back to our previous guesthouse, to ensure all boxes had been ticked, and they really didn't have it.

…but they did! Against all odds, and even after initially saying they didn't, both on the phone and then to Paula's face! But emotion swelled, Paula persisted, and despite for some reason previously not having wanted or thought to do so, the young man behind the reception reached down and produced it. And earnt a big hug and kiss from Paula for his efforts. Unbelievable. I stood happily corrected, and Paula was naturally awash with a combination of relief and joy.

So the journey back proved worthwhile, and that night we took the best sleeper bus we've ever been on all the way to Vientiane, in considerably less time than it had taken to previously cover two thirds of the journey. Win some, lose some, I guess.

One final note on Pakse, though. Only in Laos would you have to wake someone up to pay them. Although as it turned out, we couldn't, so we wrote our own receipt and left the money for our lunch under an ashtray, next to the snoring café owner, before going on our way.