The Banana Daiquiri Express: By Bus from Tadlo to Savannakhet, Laos

March 21, 2009

We were waiting there at the bus stop, looking up the road and hoping we'd see not a small overcrowded and uncomfortable local bus but a larger relatively more luxurious long-distance one – one with guaranteed seats and air-conditioning that worked... . We were going from the little town of Tadlo in southern Laos right through Pakse, just a couple of hours away, and on up to Savannakhet – about a third of the way to Vientiane, and an additional two or three hours from Pakse.

So when the big bus rolled around the corner, we were chuffed. We had a good chance of getting to Savannakhet – today. As it came closer we could see that the roof of the bus was already fairly heavily loaded. There was a motorcycle, standing upright, up front, and a big blue tarp covering a mini-mountain of goods right behind it. All that was pretty commonplace.

The odd thing was at the back: two goats, also standing upright, with nothing more than ropes around their necks. Other large animals we've seen on bus-tops have been hog-tied and strapped securely on the roof. These goats were bracing their legs, trying to keep their balance as the bus swayed, stopped and started. Lucky for them their balance is so good. If they lost it, and toppled over the edge, it would be sudden death by hanging.

Six 'falangs' (foreigners) got on the bus. Two couples from Canada and one from Sweden. Four of us were headed for Savannakhet; two for Pakse. Just before we got to Pakse we stopped to let the goats off: They were lowered by their hind legs, and appeared none the worse for wear when they got down. Just headed for the nearest patch of grass and started eating.

By the time we got to Pakse we'd convinced the other Canadian couple to carry on with us to Savannakhet. We were all on our way to see a famous landmark in southern Laos – the Thom Konglor cave – a seven kilometer cave with a river running throughout its length, and reputedly beautiful limestone formations. It was billed as a 'must see,' and we were in the vicinity.

After an hour's wait in Pakse all six of us boarded a new bus. It was much like the first one, but had windows that opened, which was great as the air-con, as usual, wasn't working. I noted that the motorcycle had been transferred onto the roof at the front of this bus. There was the ubiquitous blue tarp covering another small mountain of goods behind it – possibly the same goods that were on the first bus, possibly some that had been picked up, along with lots of new passengers, in Pakse.

No sooner had we taken our seats than we heard a rooster crowing – right behind us. We turned to look: there was a handsome rooster and a couple of hens standing loose on the floor. Their owner smiled up at us as he gave the rooster a reassuring pat on the head. The rooster crowed and the hens clucked at intervals throughout the journey, likely making wisecracks about the ride.

We left the bus station on time, but as usual stopped almost immediately, just outside the gates to the bus terminal, to pick up more passengers – and their bags, boxes and baskets full of goods. Then we made the obligatory stop for diesel fuel. After that, we hoped we'd be on our way. But a few minutes later, just on the outskirts of town we stopped at another bus terminal where we sat for well over half an hour waiting for who knows what.

A few more people boarded. Vendor ladies with flattened grilled chickens, pop, gum and sticky rice in bamboo tubes surrounded the bus, persistently waving their offerings under our noses, trying to tempt us, or just wear us down, into buying. Finally we rolled out of the terminal. It was by this time a full hour since we'd left the first bus terminal.

We hadn't gone more than 100 feet along the road when a tuk-tuk loaded with people and cargo pulled up alongside the bus, its driver honking and gesticulating for us to stop. It seemed that the folks inside hadn't managed to get to the bus terminal in time... . So again we sat while a woman and her bags of rice and produce, and a few boxes with contents unknown, were loaded onto the bus.

Then we were on our way, albeit slowly, with the driver honking at every intersection, looking for more potential passengers. We stopped a few more times to let more aboard. By now the ticket-taker had started putting plastic stools in the aisle for people to sit on. On Lao buses, there's always room for one – or a dozen – more.

Once we were well on our way the ticket-taker came around to check everyone's ticket. We and the Swedes had bought through tickets to Savannakhet on the first bus. The destination and the price – 60,000 kip – were clearly written on the tickets. The other Canadians, Terry and Nancy, had bought tickets just to Pakse, for 25,000 kip.

The first ticket taker, a woman who checked our tickets shortly after we boarded the new bus in Pakse, hadn't noticed. But this guy appeared to be studying them more closely. Either he couldn't read (many Laos can't), or he figured these foreigners had paid the Lao price, rather than the tourist price, which is always significantly higher, or he didn't care. Whatever the reason, he just gave them back their tickets and carried on down the line. We all laughed – drinks would be on them tonight!

We travelled through mostly farming country, lots of rice paddies and a few villages, for about an hour when we made our next stop. This was at a town where they make the famous 'Lao Lao' – a potent whisky made from rice. There were around 25-30 seven-gallon plastic containers of Lao Lao by the side of the road.

The swampers (every bus has a couple) pulled back the tarp on the top of the bus to reveal several big bunches of bananas. They tossed them back towards the middle of the bus to clear a space for the Lao Lao. As we watched them lifting the containers of Lao Lao up the ladder onto the roof of the bus Terry waxed rhapsodic: 'Lao Lao and bananas – this could be the Banana Daiquiri Express!'

There was too much Lao Lao to get it all on the roof of the bus, so they started filling up the aisles and the back of the bus. There was Lao Lao everywhere. Despite the heat, the swampers worked quickly; their shirts were soaked with sweat by the time they were finished. Once we took off, they sat on the big jugs of Lao Lao with their shirts up, cooling their chests.

We managed to travel for a little over an hour, and well beyond the time when we ought to have reached our destination, when we made our next stop. This time it was to pick up 40-50 piglets. The piglets were stuffed into four loosely woven baskets – two smallish ones, around two and a half feet in diameter, and two larger ones, around four feet in diameter.

The pig loading process was managed like a bucket brigade. Two guys stood at the ready on the roof of the bus, one guy positioned himself on the bus' ladder. Several young boys on the ground grabbed the little piggies out of the baskets by one hind leg and passed them to a guy at the foot of the ladder. From there they went hand to hand up onto the roof, where they were tossed, rather unceremoniously, into a nylon mesh bag.

Once one of the baskets was empty, it was lifted onto the roof, and the piggies in the bag were thrown – literally – into the basket. This process was repeated until all of the baskets, and all of the pigs, were on the roof of the bus. The men worked quickly and quietly; the pigs squealed bloody murder as they were hoisted up by their legs, but settled down once they were back in their baskets.

Now we had the makings of a great party on the roof of the bus: barbecued pork and banana daiquiris, with perhaps a couple of roasted chickens and maybe a coq-au-vin to boot.

Somewhere in the middle of the journey yet another ticket-taker appeared on the bus. This one was the most impressive of the lot – a clean white shirt and pressed pants. And he seemed the most efficient, taking tickets from all of the passengers and studying them carefully before giving them back.

But when he came to the 'other Canadians' with their 25,000 riel tickets he made no comment at all, just handed them back their tickets and carried on down the line. Sometimes the low literacy rate in Laos works to the advantage of the 'falangs.' Not only did they get a cheap ride, but they, and we, also got a good deal on free entertainment. This ranks as one of our 'best bus rides' yet in Southeast Asia. Truly a trip to remember.