Border Crossings: China-Vietnam

The difficulty, you see, was the bus. It shouldn't have taken so long to get to the Vietnamese border.

I had taken similar trips over my last few days in southern Yunnan. Local transport had gotten me from Tonghai to Jian Shui in two hours, from Jian Shui to Gejiu in two hours. We zipped along the highways, made good time.

Gejiu is about 150 kilometers from the border station of Hekou and my travel guide indicated that the border would be open until 5pm. Leaving on the local bus at 10:30am, I saw no reason to think I wouldn't make the border by then; there was lots of time.

I sat back and watched the scenery change in front of me. The early morning had damp streets and a low-hung fog nestled in the mountains. As we got farther south, though, the air got thicker and palm trees took over from vegetation that looked vaguely alpine.

Then I looked down and noticed the road, which had become nasty and rough. The driver wound us through large potholes and dirt roads-turned-mudpits from the rain. He avoided livestock and other drivers. He mopped the sweat from his head with a grubby towel.

I began to re-think my travel estimate for Hekou. It was 12:30, two hours into the journey.

We could have gone so much faster, too. About three hours in, a concrete lane appeared above us, which was supported by great stone pillars. The highway!, I thought. Surely we'll get on the highway!

We did anything but get on the highway. We drove next to it. We drove above it. We even passed underneath it - several times. We did not get on the highway!

Instead, the bus continued down muddy dirt roads and the signs that told me the distance to Hekou gave cause for concern. It was 1:30pm and still 80 kilometers to the border.

A half-hour later, the bus stopped in a village to let army officials inspect our identification. "Ca-na-da," said one. "Canada!" She rushed to tell her co-workers so they could see my passport.

I took the opportunity to stretch my legs and caught the driver's eye. "Hekou," I said and tapped my watch.

"Three," he said and pointed. Great: either we get there in an hour or it's going to be a long afternoon.

Even the Chinese passengers seemed concerned about the journey's length. When we started up again, I caught the word Hekou during one sharp exchange in which the driver's assistant held up two fingers, then four. There were yet more numbers to obscure our arrival time.

Eventually, the roads cleared up and became paved, semi-flat. It was 3pm and I thought, if we make good time the border will still be open.

At just after 4pm, the bus rolled into the Hekou bus station - five-and-a-half hours to go 150 kilometers. I found the border and crossed it.