I was writing a thriller in northeast Laos about 15 years ago near a town called Phonsavan, researching a mysterious megalithic site known as the Plain of Jars. When my research was done, I realised I had to devise a route home to the quaint Laotian capital of Vientiane.
As I was driving one of only three rentable four-wheel-drives in the country, I decided to make the most of my mobility and take a more exciting route than the singular main road down the middle of the country (whereby I had arrived). I was particularly tantalised by a sentence in the Lonely Planet guide to Laos which claimed ‘there is theoretically an alternative route from Phonsavan back to Vientiane, which is said to be very beautiful, but we haven’t tried it’.
I kept thinking: is the baby dying? Is this too late? Every two kilometres I drank another neck full of whisky
This was enough to rouse my spirit of adventure.
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