Mehron and I are becoming tightfisted cheapskates as our journey progresses and our travel funds deplete. So we opted to take the 16 hour overnight bus from Hoi An to Hanoi instead of the $100 flight.
In retrospect, that might have been the wrong decision.
Meet Stu, our sleeper bus. I consider myself somewhat of a bus connoisseur at this point, having sat on them for well over 200 hours of travel time thus far on the trip. Stu is not the worst bus ride I've been on (Bolivian waterfall bus still ranks top) but he was ten kinds of special.
Turn on your imaginations, kids. You wait on the sidewalk with your luggage and the other forty passengers. The bus pulls up and you watch everyone abandon their bags on the street because naturally there are no assigned seats/beds. This is a form of entertainment for the bus staff who can then enjoy the melee that ensues as people madly scramble for places. Slowing down the process is the mandatory removal and plastic bagging of one's shoes on the staircase boarding the bus. As you struggle to remove your shoes and bag them in one fluid (not so fluid!) motion, you are then confronted by no less than three rows of bunk beds.
Bunk beds made for elves, because even less tall Mehron could not fit inside them comfortably. We especially lucked out since we didn't get in on the mad scramble early enough and were left with a choice of five beds across either on the mountain climbing top level or the claustrophobic lower level. We opted for the top, which would later bite us in the rear, as it's VERY difficult to dismount in a pitch black bus that sways while going over bumps and has no ladders (more on that later) when one wants to use the facilities.
After we had assured our lovely accommodations for the night, we realized that our bags were still sitting forlornly on the sidewalk, screaming 'please steal me, I am not attended'. Mehr's somewhat clumsy yet quick dash off the bus ensured they were loaded, much to the annoyance of the busboy, who only forgave us for making him reopen the hatch when he learned we were Canadian. Gold card, kids, gold card.
We were delighted that the middle bed of the five was empty, separating us from 'ze long-haired Germans' with many smelly sandwiches (seriously, they had an endless supply; I think they ate seven or eight each!). Our hopes were dashed when later some random new passenger who we don't remember getting picked up crawled in next to me, and slept on one of my bags all night, having pushed over the rest of our belongings onto my legs, then onto Mehron's legs, then putting his legs clearly on MY bed, thus pushing ME onto Mehron, and Mehron crammed into the window. That was weird.
At first, we thought the rails between beds were the equivalent of armrest airport benches; designed to make you uncomfortable, unable to sleep and to block spillover into your neighbour's space. As previously mentioned with new guy, this did not succeed in preventing spillover and as the ride progressed we realized they were for safety because every time we hit a bump, we got major air. Kind of like being in kindergarten and scoring the back seat of the bus, but with none of the elated glee. Please note I couldn't even sit up on the bed, as the ceiling was too low and Mehron's was even lower, so we could only roll around on the spot, and even that, not very successfully.
We have two unique perspectives describing how our sleep passed.
Mehron: "It's like being strapped to a stretcher/spinal board on top of a waterbed underneath the Arctic drip in the jetstream with 25 strangers listening to Vietnamese musicals blaring from the world's tiniest television at the front of the bus (the only source of light aside from the sunset for the entire duration of the trip!)."
Holly: "I feel like I slept inside a blender."
Mine is somewhat more concise, but I hurt everywhere from keeping so tense against the flailing of the bus ride that I can't get into much more detail on that point.
Oh, Stu, we'll never forget you.
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