The Other Side Of It

We always try and keep the blog upbeat and positive in keeping with our outlook. But of course although we are very lucky, not everything is perfect. This story is for those like our lovely follower Terrie who always says she wants to see a “dark side” blog post. It’s the story of Day 41; not exactly a disaster but probably not the best day of the trip so far. Written by Phil…

For me the gut rot attack had arrived the previous Tuesday. You know how it is, a slight odd feeling upon first waking quickly becomes extreme gripes and an hour later it’s obvious that breakfast is off the agenda. Now, the way to use Imodium is to not be too hasty: if your body has a gremlin inside then you need to let the body get rid of it. So the next few days were a battle of man against gut, and some of the treks were doubly challenging through firstly feeling off colour and secondly through not having eaten very much. The kayaking nearly finished me off, I haven’t been that shattered in many a year. It was, in truth, gruelling and not one bit enjoyable.

It was clear though by Sunday (Day 40) that I was winning the war, so it was time for Imodium to get me over the finish line. This was the day we tackled Pho Kao, a huge mountain, and an impulsive on the spot decision to climb it, probably taken a bit rashly without giving due respect to the size of the challenge.

By the time we finished, I felt great. Michaela was the opposite, as floored as I was after kayaking and looking very drawn. Diving into the first cafe, we gulped water, fruit smoothies and food by way of revival. I looked at Michaela. She looked worse and we both knew all was not well. It was her turn for gut rot: but unlike mine, Michaela’s was fast and violent and she spent pretty much the whole night being ill. 

By the morning of Day 41 she was weak and still very down. Ahead of us was the 4-hour bus ride back to Luang Prabang. 4 hours. Bus. Bus with no toilet. She braced herself and somehow found the courage to take it on.

Half an hour into the journey we enter a village where a beer lorry is parked delivering to a local store. The driver of a bus coming the other way tries, inexplicably, to fit his bus between our bus and the lorry, through a gap which simply doesn’t exist. So much so that his bus smashes into both our bus AND the parked lorry, metal crunches and glass shatters, his roof rack shears off and flies forwards. Glass and debris everywhere, three vehicles locked together on impact, the main road all but blocked. It’s a mess. Cue the entire village coming to join in the inquest. 

Cue also a 90-minute wait whilst the aftermath is dealt with, interviews and form filling and photographs. And all the while Michaela sits, hiding in the shade, head in hands, wishing she could be anywhere else on Earth right now.

Beginning to end, it becomes a 6 hour journey, and then there’s a jerky tuk tuk ride into town, followed by a backpack laden trudge to our room. Michaela can barely drag herself up the steps, she is feeling 100% wiped out and looking it too. She looks so poorly. I unlock our door, she collapses on to the bed and has a little cry. And then she’s asleep. Her ordeal is over. She’s safe now.

I kiss her on the cheek and there’s barely a reaction, she’s clearly in recovery sleep. I leave her in peace and go and have a couple of beers in town. Not much else I can do now, and there’s no point both of us missing out! Independent travel is fantastic; but it can’t be glamorous all the time.

Footnote. Don’t worry. Day 42 saw Michaela up early, the smile back in place, coffee and bananas for breakfast. These things happen…