Will Someone Please Think Of The Children.
Oh. My. God.
You hear about hellish bus rides. Stories of overnight tour de hells, that you hope to never experience, but let me inform you all that I have just spent 12 hours in what can only be described as the bumpiest kind of hell.
I heard rumours of the heavenly sleeper bus. Little beds run down either side of the aisle, you simply choose one, curl up, and the next thing you know, you've arrived at your destination, not only refreshed, but a better human being.
I asked three times if I would be travelling twelve hours south on one of these babies. 'Yes' was the response every time. When the bus arrived to pick me up, I realised that I had been taken for a ride (Ha!).
It was the worst road I have ever travelled on. If you tried to fall asleep - and I tried pretty much every possible angle - you were awoken almost instantly when you were suddenly air borne, and grappling for anything that could stop you from hitting your head on the roof.
I cannot describe the torture. I arrived at Nha Trang about six hours ago, and have been sleeping, but my body feels like I just boxed 54 rounds against ... what's his name? ... well, a very good boxer.
Met a couple from Norway who took me to an orphanage. They were staying in Hoi An working at one there for 2 and a half months. I told them I was going to Cambodia, and they very much wanted me to take a package for them to a school in Siem Reap. It was a bunch of posters: ABC's etc. I told them I would. They packed it for me while I watched to make sure there was no heroin hidden inside it etc. When I took it to my room, I opened it, checked the cylinder and the posters for hidden compartments, and found nothing. It was all above board.
That night I barely slept. It was weighing heavily on my mind. Surely the first rule of travelling through South East Asia is to not take other people's parcels across the border. So I left it in my room with a note.
On the Devil's Bus Ride, as we were leaving Hoi An, our spirits were high as we had no idea of the torture that lay before us. The bus stopped and a man got on with the package. It scared the fuck out of me. He pointed at me, and I tried to explain that they were not mine. This took a while as his English was shithouse, but eventually after writing him a note, he understood that the posters belonged to the people in room 404.
I feel 2 ways about this. I know in my heart of heart that it was all above board, and that the kids in Cambodia could use these treasures of teaching. But I was scared.
The kids will have to wait.
You hear about hellish bus rides. Stories of overnight tour de hells, that you hope to never experience, but let me inform you all that I have just spent 12 hours in what can only be described as the bumpiest kind of hell.
I heard rumours of the heavenly sleeper bus. Little beds run down either side of the aisle, you simply choose one, curl up, and the next thing you know, you've arrived at your destination, not only refreshed, but a better human being.
I asked three times if I would be travelling twelve hours south on one of these babies. 'Yes' was the response every time. When the bus arrived to pick me up, I realised that I had been taken for a ride (Ha!).
It was the worst road I have ever travelled on. If you tried to fall asleep - and I tried pretty much every possible angle - you were awoken almost instantly when you were suddenly air borne, and grappling for anything that could stop you from hitting your head on the roof.
I cannot describe the torture. I arrived at Nha Trang about six hours ago, and have been sleeping, but my body feels like I just boxed 54 rounds against ... what's his name? ... well, a very good boxer.
Met a couple from Norway who took me to an orphanage. They were staying in Hoi An working at one there for 2 and a half months. I told them I was going to Cambodia, and they very much wanted me to take a package for them to a school in Siem Reap. It was a bunch of posters: ABC's etc. I told them I would. They packed it for me while I watched to make sure there was no heroin hidden inside it etc. When I took it to my room, I opened it, checked the cylinder and the posters for hidden compartments, and found nothing. It was all above board.
That night I barely slept. It was weighing heavily on my mind. Surely the first rule of travelling through South East Asia is to not take other people's parcels across the border. So I left it in my room with a note.
On the Devil's Bus Ride, as we were leaving Hoi An, our spirits were high as we had no idea of the torture that lay before us. The bus stopped and a man got on with the package. It scared the fuck out of me. He pointed at me, and I tried to explain that they were not mine. This took a while as his English was shithouse, but eventually after writing him a note, he understood that the posters belonged to the people in room 404.
I feel 2 ways about this. I know in my heart of heart that it was all above board, and that the kids in Cambodia could use these treasures of teaching. But I was scared.
The kids will have to wait.
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