There is a toilet, but it is locked and chained with a sign that reads, “Not to use this toilet to keep its smelling away during your long trip.”
Luckily, the bus lurches to a stop every three hours of the bumpy journey to allow you to relieve yourself in a hole in the ground in a shed, and perhaps buy some Pho or (what is Southeast Asia’s obsession with these?) some Pringles.
Surprisingly, the twelve hours of the bus ride were lovely and sleep-filled. My friend and I tiptoed illegally into a stretch of five empty bed chairs, and thus had a luxurious expanse to sprawl out on. The four British lasses above us did not have it so lucky as one was running a high fever, and other had Whooping Cough of some variety, and the other two had food poisoning. Such is the traveling life!
At seven am we sloshed into small and lovely Hoi An, and were sold directly for a commission to a perfectly nice hotel for $5 a night. Everyone on the bus staggered up to their new rooms and proceeded to re-sleep until noon, at which point the rain was still pouring down buckets.
“I’ll book the ticket to Hue for tomorrow,” he said.
Looks like my custom-made silk Hoi An dress may never be birthed, but that $20 will be put to hearty other use eating my way through Hue Who needs silk dresses while backpacking, anyway?