The powerless are precious. For tthose who do not understand, no proof is possible, for those enlightened souls, no proof is necessary. Thought for the day, think about it!
And so I've returned to the place of my dreams. My favourite place from my first trip overseas. The place I met Tiffany, the American I traveled with for nearly two months. The place I spent the turn of the millenium. The place I unknowingly stayed in a brothel. The place I went up against my claustrophobia by wriggling through cramped caves, and nearly soiled myself in the process. The mighty Vang Vieng. Still so vivid in my memory. A photo of Tiffany in its fields adorned my bedside for a year. The bats, the hot soy milk from the markets, the views, the used condoms at my bedroom door.
In the absence of a loose nut at the wheel of our minivan from Luang Prabang, I used the time to lend my powers of observation to the environment so traveled. The first thing I noted was that it felt like I had been dining on 3 square meals of cement for the last week. Having spoken quite openly and frequently about such matters I directed my attention further afield.
Laos is hilly, no, let's be fair, it's mountainous. In the same way that Antartica is icey, India is populated, Holland is flat and America is corrupt, ie. Approaching critical mass. And therefor, any trip through the countryside is a jaw-dropping and breathtaking extravaganza of panoramic vistas. With 4 flat batteries, my camera had no hope of doing any justice to the view even if I had of been able to run it on methane, a flavoursome joke whose abundance in the van I was partially responsible for.
The people are humble, polite and friendly. I did detect a more sinister note that was wholly absent in the innocence the Lao displayed 7 years ago when tourists were still just a novelty. I am unaware if it is still totally friendly or whether an element of resentment has snuck in at the utter disregard we Westerners have towards our priviledged position. We blow more money in one day than nearly all these people make in a year and we don't buy another pair of pants because the lady won't discount another 50 cents off an already insanely cheap purchase. I refer here to the people that have to deal specifically with tourists. The villagers are a different breed and they all display the curiosity of the isolated, the peacefulness of the content, the resilience of the destitute, and the innocent humour of the weathered and ocassionally exposed boob.
Most living quarters for these hill folk are simple thatched huts that offer as much protection from the chilly mountain air as a fridge does; even one wearing a denim jacket. Living off the land doesn't come anywhere near what I thought it would with its stark, gritty, snotty nosed, unromantisized reality. Could I ever disengage from my secure, sterilized social bubble of life in Australia to live in a more natural manner and not feel deprived or unsatisfied?
Little kids are universal in their fondness for fiddling with their own equipment. Good / bad habits begin early on it would seem, as I adjust and feel good to be male. The tyre comes a close second to ones own equipment in providing a source of entertainment for children. A kid can totally melt your heart with their cuteness, disarming smile and innocent joy at waving 'saibaidee'. And seeing one cheeky kid 'dack' his mate is still extremely funny irrespective of the colour of the bum cheeks thus exposed.
It boggles the mind to think about how much human potential is wasted by the absence of opportunity, and conversely, wasted by too many opportunities. These locals, like us, like all sentient beings, dream of a better and happier existence. Unlike them, we Westerners seem to flounder, overwhelmed by the burden of choice. Whose dream of a better life would be closer to actual human needs and whose would be closer to petty indulgences and iniquity?
The most prominent form of life is a burrowing animal of widely varying sizes. On scale alone, the larger lairs almost rule out the possibility of confirming the character of its inhabitant. I would have guessed a wombat, or oompaloompahs, but I am more than happy to accept classification based upon the silken web at its entrance. That fact betrayed the occupants true nature, and saved me from having to see the arachnid with my own terrified eyes.
Riding along such freakishly high ridges is still a ball shrinking experience even if the driver isn't of the meat cleaver wielding variety. Racing across a burning mountain ridge sounded like a sure fire way to cure my constipation but alas, it joined the list of unique but ultimately unsuccessful pharmaceutical applications of natural phenomena.
Life itself is the most wonderful thing from the wandering dreams of an Asian adventurer to the terrifying possibility that Death is only one misjudged corner or frayed brake cable away. Life is beautiful, GET INVOLVED!
Are you searching for your spot on the map? Depends on what map your looking on...check out topographic maps for a 3D look at the world. If your looking for directions on where your are you must first find out where you are going. Travel the world and discover yourself!
