Getting to Na Hin, Laos
March 21, 2009
Our trusty Lonely Planet guidebook was rather vague about how to get to Konglor Cave in southern Laos. The four of us had gotten as far as Tha Khaek, the nearest large city, where we hoped to get more information. The receptionist at our guest house in Tha Khaek was very helpful: she told us we could hire a minibus to take us to the cave, and bring us back, all in one day, for a mere US$400.
“Just $100 each she beamed. Or only $50 each if there are eight of you.” We looked around, but there were no prospects in sight. And even $50 a piece was too pricey for us, so we demurred, stating that anyway we wanted to spend a few days near the cave. “Oh well, then you can take a bus to Na Hin. Na Hin is just 40 km from the cave. You can hire a sawngthaew from there. The bus to Na Hin leaves from the station down the road – at 7:30 in the morning. You should be there by 7.”
So early the next morning, down the road we went. When we got to the station, it was a sea of sawngthaews (song-taos) – small pick-up trucks with bench seats down the long sides of the box and a canopy over top – the most common 'buses' in Laos. We must have looked like a bunch of deer in the headlights. A waiting baguette-seller asked “Na Hin?” and we all nodded and enthusiastic “yes!”
She lead us to one of the sawngthaews and motioned for us to get in. We asked the driver how much he wanted to take us to Na Hin. “Forty thousand kip (around $8)” he said. “Forty thousand, forty thousand, forty thousand, forty thousand,” he repeated, pointing at each of us in turn.
We reacted with astonishment. 'Forty thousand kip! We can get a bus to Savannakhet for forty thousand!' We made our counter offer: 'Forty thousand for all of us: ten, ten, ten, ten.'
'No no!' he laughed. 'Forty thousand each person. Forty, forty, forty, forty!'
In truth, we weren't sure where exactly we were going, or how far it was. So we pulled out our travellers' bible, the Lonely Planet guidebook for Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, and looked once again at the directions for getting to Na Hin?
And I pulled out my spiral notebook, in which I'd written a few a few notes from other travellers. My husband and I poured over these two references, pointing at specific words and kibitzing with one another. The sawngthaew driver peered over our shoulders the whole time, not able to understand what we were reading or saying, but clearly anxious of the outcome.
I decided to try our best negotiating gambit. I got out a 50,000 kip note and held it out towards him, pointing to Doug, and then myself. “Him and me, two persons,” I added. He took the 50,000, then rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Then he handed me back a 20,000 kip note! He did likewise with the other couple of 'falangs' (foreigners).
So in the end we all paid 15,000 apiece – a long way from 40,000! Presumably the driver thought we'd consulted some sort of 'official reference; and decided he'd better give us the 'right' price – or at least the 'right' price for 'falangs.' We piled into the sawngthaew along with too many Laotians and too much cargo, all squished together. But it was a congenial ride. They were a friendly lot, who enjoyed our photos of the crammed sawngthaew, pointing and laughing when we showed them the photos on the LCD screen, especially the ones that included them.
About half-way through the trip I broke open a bag of watermelon I'd sliced that morning, and passed the wedges round to the group sitting closest to us – an old woman, a handsome man in a jaunty cap, and a couple of children. Eating it was a messy business, but I happened to have several plastic-wrapped and scented wipes in my purse, so I handed them out as well. The old woman was even more enthusiastic about the wipe than the watermelon – she was still clutching it when we got out of the sawngthaew an hour and a half later.
So early the next morning, down the road we went. When we got to the station, it was a sea of sawngthaews (song-taos) – small pick-up trucks with bench seats down the long sides of the box and a canopy over top – the most common 'buses' in Laos. We must have looked like a bunch of deer in the headlights. A waiting baguette-seller asked “Na Hin?” and we all nodded and enthusiastic “yes!”
She lead us to one of the sawngthaews and motioned for us to get in. We asked the driver how much he wanted to take us to Na Hin. “Forty thousand kip (around $8)” he said. “Forty thousand, forty thousand, forty thousand, forty thousand,” he repeated, pointing at each of us in turn.
We reacted with astonishment. 'Forty thousand kip! We can get a bus to Savannakhet for forty thousand!' We made our counter offer: 'Forty thousand for all of us: ten, ten, ten, ten.'
'No no!' he laughed. 'Forty thousand each person. Forty, forty, forty, forty!'
In truth, we weren't sure where exactly we were going, or how far it was. So we pulled out our travellers' bible, the Lonely Planet guidebook for Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, and looked once again at the directions for getting to Na Hin?
And I pulled out my spiral notebook, in which I'd written a few a few notes from other travellers. My husband and I poured over these two references, pointing at specific words and kibitzing with one another. The sawngthaew driver peered over our shoulders the whole time, not able to understand what we were reading or saying, but clearly anxious of the outcome.
I decided to try our best negotiating gambit. I got out a 50,000 kip note and held it out towards him, pointing to Doug, and then myself. “Him and me, two persons,” I added. He took the 50,000, then rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Then he handed me back a 20,000 kip note! He did likewise with the other couple of 'falangs' (foreigners).So in the end we all paid 15,000 apiece – a long way from 40,000! Presumably the driver thought we'd consulted some sort of 'official reference; and decided he'd better give us the 'right' price – or at least the 'right' price for 'falangs.' We piled into the sawngthaew along with too many Laotians and too much cargo, all squished together. But it was a congenial ride. They were a friendly lot, who enjoyed our photos of the crammed sawngthaew, pointing and laughing when we showed them the photos on the LCD screen, especially the ones that included them.
About half-way through the trip I broke open a bag of watermelon I'd sliced that morning, and passed the wedges round to the group sitting closest to us – an old woman, a handsome man in a jaunty cap, and a couple of children. Eating it was a messy business, but I happened to have several plastic-wrapped and scented wipes in my purse, so I handed them out as well. The old woman was even more enthusiastic about the wipe than the watermelon – she was still clutching it when we got out of the sawngthaew an hour and a half later.
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