Seuss's Dreams

It's rubbish. The last town you hit in Vietnam before the northern-most Laos border is rubbish. The restauranteurs know it. The hoteliers of overpriced soulless squalors know it. And the tour guides know it, which is why the bus out of there leaves at 5am.

The road out is a winding, old, narrow, pot-holy road that is yet to be tar sealed. Our chariot was also old and required semi-regular maintenance every few meters. The drive, oh the drive, was one of the finest. The towering and giant hills we were on, were winding through, were divine. Out of this world. Gnarled trees reached up against the sky. Small plateaus were utilised for rice paddies or humble shacks. Rock faces reached to the sky. Mountain tops came in such steep and sudden sets that a number were breaking, forming perfect statues of waves. While driving along only one thing is clear; Laos was designed by Dr Seuss.