Bad Karma - Confessions of a Reckless Traveller in South-east Asia by Sheward Tamara

Author:Sheward, Tamara [Sheward, Tamara]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Travel
Publisher: Summersdale
Published: 2007-07-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

[ savannakhet: a byword for hell (part II) ]

*

Veisalgia, the medical word for a hangover, comes from a Norwegian term meaning ‘uneasiness after debauchery’, and while most people don’t usually equate dahl with debauchery, believe me, there is a link. El and I awoke to find our heads throbbing and our bellies exploding. Never mind the horsemeat, the offal, the light and the healthy, it was the Indian food that came back to haunt us with a vengeance.

We could’ve powered a car with all the gas floating around our room, and outmoaned any porno film on the market. Our stomachs were seriously disturbed, and we weren’t afraid to complain about it, through whatever orifice we saw fit. But in between the crudenesses associated with any gastronomic overindulgence, we still managed to retain a sense of excitement. We were going to Vietnam, and looseness of the bowels be damned. It was going to take a lot more than jelly belly to keep us off the bus this time.

Being late wasn’t even an option. We’d passed out early the night before, thanks to the soporific consequences of excess, and after we finished fighting over the toilet, using it then using it again, it was still only 8.30 a.m. Plenty of time before the three o’ clock bus...but not too much before the one that left at ten.

‘Whaddya mean, it goes at ten?’ El yelped. ‘What happened to three?’ We’d been trying to check out before anyone got a good whiff of our unfortunate room, but the desk girl’s shock announcement had us frozen in the lobby.

‘Yes, the bus to Savannakhet leaves today at ten this morning,’ she replied in a ‘well, duh’ tone of voice. We stared back at her blankly as she tried to clear it up, using her particular brand of logic: ‘It’s Wednesday.’ Oh, Wednesday. Of course. In the same way that Thursdays across the Western world are late-night shopping and everyone goes to the movies on ‘tight-arse’ Tuesdays, Wednesday in Southeast Asia is obviously the day set aside for timetable anarchy.

‘Shit!’ El barked, looking at the clock. ‘Quick, we’ve got to bolt, like now!’ She threw the room key on the desk and hustled outside. ‘Move it,’ she called from the pavement.

I nodded at the girl, who was looking at us like we were a rare breed of clowns indeed, and shuffled out calmly. ‘El!’ I grabbed her as she whistled at a fully laden tuk tuk. ‘We’ll make it this time. We’ve got well over an hour.’

She shook me off her arm and waved down a couple of thin boys on dinky mopeds. ‘I’m not willing to risk it,’ she said, jogging over to them. ‘Don’t you think it’s time we blew this popsicle stand?’

It was. Despite all the complaining, I’d developed a certain affinity for Vientiane–any capital city whose streets are paved in mud got a big thumbs up from me, and the locals were beaut–but it was also billed as ‘The Quietest Capital’ in the world, despite its clamorous traffic jams, and it was getting to me.

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