August 1, 2016

I’m sitting in the back of an unmarked taxi at 3:30am in Vientiane, Laos, as my driver is pulled over by the police, waiting to see what will happen next.

I was shaking in my sandals in the darkness. I sat perfectly still, silent other than a single word spoken with a questioning tonal inflection to my driver – “Passport?”. I was already mentally berating myself for not checking the bus arrival time – 8 hours through the mountains after a 5pm departure, landing me in the middle of a foreign, minimally-English speaking city in the middle of the night with no idea how I was going to get to my hotel.

I was exhausted after a two-day slow boat through the beautiful Laos jungle from Chiang Kong, Thailand to Luah Prabang, Laos. I had arrived at the city, trekked up the steep riverside, and immediately taken a tuk tuk to the bus station, hoping I could get to Vientiane that same day. Luah Prabang looked beautiful, but felt terrifying to me – there were no English subtitles, few English-speaking people around other than the cliquey, surprisingly and uncharacteristically unfriendly group of backpackers from the boat, and I had misread my ticket so had booked to stay in Vientiane by mistake. Now I found myself in territory I was unprepared for, and I was panicking.

I had struggled to figure out my stop on the bus, much less our arrival time. I had hoped first that we would arrive, and then, as it got later, that we would keep driving. Surely I wouldn’t have been so careless as to land myself in a dark and sleeping city in the middle of the night? I was relieved to find one of the tuk tuk drivers giving directions to my taxi driver about how to get to my hotel. I had taken a picture on my phone of the hotel’s name and address, but hadn’t thought about a map or language translation, since Thailand had been so easy to traverse. The advice I’d been given by a guy I’d met while crossing the border reverberated through my mind: “Laos is not Thailand.” I didn’t understand his 7 months into South Asia backpacking advice then, but I was definitely picking up his meaning now.

I sat as still as possible as the police took my driver’s documents, and walked away again. I was grateful for the tinted windows and darkness, as I imagined all kinds of terrifying possibilities an ignorant blonde Canadian woman traveling by herself could encounter at this time of night. I had no idea if I would be of interest to the police, if I would possibly need to offer up the US cash I’d brought. I was down to my last 100 000 kip, and had promised the driver that much for the ride. My heart had been in my throat for the duration of our drive already – what was to stop someone from just taking me or leaving me anywhere? I hadn’t had my internal alarm go off in earnest, but I knew this was not generally wise. Would it have been safer to wait at the empty outdoor station until daybreak?

Finally, the policeman returned, handed over the driver’s papers, and we continued in our way. I let out the breath I’d been holding, and looked out the window at the dark storefronts and streets as we drove. Finally I spotted a Best Western sign, and asked the driver to stop. They were fully booked, but luckily the hotel I had booked was only a half block away, and the doors were open. It was 4am when I woke the clerk, who was sleeping on a cot in front of the desk, and he showed me to my room. I’ve never been so relieved to have a lock and chain to bolt between me and the world for the night.

How powerful fear is. I woke up this morning with its tendrils still ensnaring my mind, the residue of the night before still unshaken. I was questioning the rest of my trip immediately – how foolish I must be to think of continuing on, what if Vietnam and Cambodia were more dangerous? If I made worse mistakes? It wasn’t until I opened the curtains in my room and saw the beautiful, clean, and well-populated with travellers street in front of my hotel that I decided I would not give up or give in to being afraid. I’m sure this won’t be the only morning I feel like scrapping the whole thing, changing my ticket or my plans, or just hiding out, but I think the worst is over. Fear will be my constant companion on this trip – it’s part of the adventure formula I think. We will be old friends by the end I’m sure, and I hope I will get to know it well enough to choose to visit again in new ways and other places. I don’t know if anything else teaches one as much about oneself, one’s inner cracks and corners and alleyways, the way travel does. I feel sure that the warnings of this experience will stay with me, but so will the mountain mist rolling down into the jungle at sunset, the unfamiliar stars coming into view, the fresh green scent of pomelo bought by strangers seated next to me at road side stands. So will my power to feel my fear and continue on into the adventure anyway.