An empty station, a burning countryside, soot raining from the sky: This is what it's like to ride Laos' gleaming new $6 billion railway in April

The Laos-China Railway is the biggest infrastructure project in the history of Laos. It's a massive 1,000-kilometer, or 621-mile train network that aims to connect Laos with Thailand and Kunming in southern China.

The railway is controversial. It's been criticized for evicting more than 4,400 Laotian families from their homes in the countryside. Despite being one of the poorest countries in Southeast Asia, Laos took on a $1.8 billion loan from China to build the railway. China paid for the remaining $4.2 billion.

I flew to Laos from Singapore in early April to experience first-hand how the historic railway is developing. It was my first time traveling on a cross-country train since my trip from Chiang Mai to Bangkok on a sleeper train in Thailand.

When I visited Laos, the entire line had not yet been completed. It was only the Laotian portion, that runs from the capital city of Vientiane to the border town of Boten, that I was able to experience. The line opened for cross-border service on April 13.

Laos is popular among backpackers for its natural landscape of waterfalls, mountains, and rivers. It's the only landlocked country in Southeast Asia. On TikTok, travelers share clips of its gorgeous scenery of clear skies and thick jungle. But when I first arrived at Wattay International Airport, I noticed that a thick haze was obscuring views of the dirt roads and clusters of homes made with tin roofs.

On that day in Vientiane, the PSI — or Pollutant Standards Index, which indicates air quality — hovered around 230. The National Environment Agency in Singapore categorizes any reading higher than 200 as "very unhealthy." It turned out that I had visited at the wrong time — there were several active fires during the week that I was in Laos. Vientiane is at the border with the northeastern province of Nong Khai in Thailand, right across the Mekong River. But on that day the border town was hidden behind the haze.

The smell of smog was deeply embedded in nearly everything — from the towels and bedsheets in my hotel room to my clothes and hair. There was no way to escape it, but hundreds of locals were out in the open–air markets, most of whom didn't wear masks.

Vang Vieng, around 80 miles north of Vientiane, was set to be my final destination. I was hoping that there, I would find countryside air that might be cleaner than it was in the city.

While a first-class ticket costs just $12, I ended up paying around $7 more as I booked online through 12Go, a Thailand-based travel agency. I overpaid a bit for my convenience, but if you do have time, it's worth heading to the ticket station to buy tickets in person — although it's best if you do it in advance as the seats are often sold out.

Vientiane's railway station looked to be one of the most modern structures in the entire city, which was reminiscent of an airport terminal. The rail line's ownership is split between three Chinese state-owned companies and the Laotian government.

While most of the travelers were locals, the Chinese influence was ubiquitous as the signs around the station were in Chinese and Lao, and announcements were said in both languages. Some announcements were made in English too — but there were times it was broken and mistranslated.

"We love the train line," one local, who only wanted to be known as Sang, told me. "Last time it took six hours before I could go to Luang Prabang, now it's only two," he said, referring to the city north of Vientiane.

The train to Vang Vieng was punctual. Passengers rushed to line up and board, but it was orderly — no one skipped the lines.

There appeared to be very few tourists taking the train that day, save for a handful of backpackers. Most of the passengers were locals traveling between cities — some of them didn't even have much with them, save for a backpack.

The CR200J, which is constructed by state-owned rolling stock manufacturer CCRC, can travel up to 100 miles per hour. It's nicknamed "the Hulk" for its green-colored design, similar to the Marvel superhero.

Inside the cars, dozens of staff greeted passengers, reminiscent of flight attendants on board an aircraft.

In July last year, I rode on one of Thailand's longest train rides. My first-class cabin wasn't particularly comfortable, considering I had to travel for 13 hours. But here in Laos, I was more comfortable than ever, thanks to the roomy plush seats — which made the short-haul trip a breeze.

The seats in first-class were much wider than in second-class. The latter was more private too, as there were limited seats available in the first car. Apart from that, my seat was basic: it could recline, had a footrest, and foldable a tray table for meals — but for the price, I couldn't complain.

According to online photos of the CR200J cabins in China, some configurations also have sleeper cars, with private cabins and beds.

While the toilet was cleaner than the one in Thailand, it still had an unpleasant stench. The bathroom isn't designed with a shower, but for short-haul trips, it worked fine.

The view was a stark contrast to the glitzy train station, including dark-colored water in the canals and half-dead foliage.

The construction of the railway has led to the pollution of local waterways, making it difficult for residents to fish and bathe in the water, according to a 2020 report by Radio Free Asia.

There wasn't anyone — or anything — out in the field of burned crops, save for a lorry driving through.

Some 63% of Laos' population of 7.5 million people live in rural areas, many of whom work in agriculture. The industry made up around 17.2% of the country's gross domestic product last year, per the Vientiane Times.

Some of the things cultivated in Laos include rice, coffee, and, at one point in time, opium — which was only outlawed in 2006.

Laos is far from densely populated, so many people live in remote villages, which comprise dozens of families who are often from the same ethnic group. In Vientiane, however, many locals live in apartments, like in other capital cities in the region.

"In the countryside, a very limited number of locals speak English, but they will always make efforts to share something with you: food, beverage, smiles or just time," Mathieu Thaeron, a Frenchman who has lived in Vang Vieng since 2012, told me.

According to a 2015 report by Laotian architect Xayaphone Vongvilay, houses in Laos are influenced by French colonial architecture. A typical home is often made up of a multi-purpose area on the lower level, and a veranda and bedrooms on the upper floor. These homes are often elevated from the ground, although there are exceptions, like the one photographed above.

Like its railway, many of Laos' highways are constructed and funded mostly by China. These highways plan to stretch from Vientiane to Boten — which mirrors the train route — and are expected to cost $7.1 billion.

The Vientiane-Vang Vieng Expressway (pictured above) is owned by state-owned Yunnan Construction Engineering Group, save for a 5% stake by the Laos government.

While thousands of cars are expected to use the massive expressway in the future, I only saw a single car on the road that day.

As the train began to approach Vang Vieng, the PSI was over 320, with active fires just 5 miles away, the reading on the Swiss tech company IQAir's app showed.

Many farmers in Southeast Asia resort to slash-and-burn farming to cultivate their crops — and Laos is no exception. Amidst acres of thick jungle were mounds of burnt ground (pictured above), remnants of forest fires that have been suffocating residents for years.

In late March alone, some 9,600 hotspots, which indicated forest fires, were recorded in Laos, according to Nikkei Asia, citing Thailand's Geo-Informatics and Space Technology Development Agency.

"It's been smoggy because the farmers are burning their fields and rice paddies. When they burn the fields, the fire spreads to other places," an official of the Natural Resources and Environment Ministry told Radio Free Asia.

After being burned and cultivated, the land can no longer be used for crops.

The Laos government hasn't released official numbers on how many people have been affected by the smog. But in neighboring Thailand, where slash-and-burn is also commonplace, over 1.7 million people said they experienced issues like respiratory problems and burning eyes, per Nikkei Asia's report.

The town's gorgeous cliffs were also obscured by the dense smog. It was 104 Fahrenheit, which made the thick haze even more suffocating. The heat was immense, unbearable even, and visibility was extremely low. Black soot fell from the sky.

I had left Vientiane to escape the smog, but instead had just gotten closer to it — the tracker on IQAir's app showed there was an active fire just 3.7 miles away.

"What happened this year was truly exceptional; I've never experienced such bad conditions," Thaeron said.

Having grown up in Singapore, I've had to live with varying degrees of haze almost every year. But this was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Many residents I saw seemed unfazed though, several of whom were still outdoors, without masks or protection from the smog.

Despite the dire weather conditions, many Laotians stayed resilient, still peddling their tuk-tuks, working out in the sun, and serving guests at the hotels. The smog has become so much a part of their lives that they appear to carry on with their daily life unfazed.

But as the region continues to swelter in record-breaking heat waves, I wondered if it's only a matter of time before the smog becomes too much for even the most hardened of locals.