After several nights in Hanoi, Nicole and I initiate the next phase of our trip. This involves parting ways with our motorcycles before heading into Laos.
Hanoi served as a nice place to recharge our batteries and process the last few weeks of constant movement. I remember my friend Justin pointing out that constant change is an oxymoron, yet somehow it makes perfect sense after living it for a few weeks. At times, life seems to accelerate dramatically. Other times it feels still. It's always fluctuating, this perception of time.
Our time in Hanoi was a nice reminder to take a few breaths before jumping out into the shuffle again. We didn't take much interest in exploring Hanoi itself—perhaps a result of over-saturation. It was a relief to be able to make some new friends in our dorm and also make use of the computers to upload all those countless gigabytes of trip footage. (Admittedly I've hardly touched my GoPro since Vietnam, and at the time of writing this we're already on our way back to Bangkok.)
I was simultaneously exhausted and elated about our journey, but the scales tipped to pure bliss when I met a trio setting off by bike for the reverse route we came in on. They enabled me to geek out considerably, retelling stories and highlights and all that junk. It let me relive some of that initial excitement that was to become reality for a few weeks. It cemented the feeling of accomplishment, and makes any future challenges seem less daunting. Even being frustrated and tired and lost will eventually become fun, perhaps moreso in retrospect. But in knowing that and knowing your own behavior, the gap between retrospection and presence diminishes considerably. Challenge is the salsa to any experience. It just wouldn't be as satisfying without it.
Getting rid of our bikes was a bit of a pain in the ass, however. I was hoping to pass them along to fellow backpackers, but due to lack of interest or just poor timing we were consigned to sell them to a mechanic. They gave us next to nothing for them—but considering we paid approximately next to nothing for two motorbikes in the first place, this wasn't such a sour deal. Also, the day of the trade I could not even get my bike to run after sitting idle for those few days. I spent fifteen minutes turning the motor but even bump starting wouldn't muster more than a fart out of the thing. I did say some passing comment about my bike being due for a breakdown (considering our luck throughout the trip), so we cut our losses and trimmed about 100kg of fat from our payload. Well, more like 100kg of muscle. The bikes did all the work, after all. As much as we grew to depend on them, being unburdened again was a palpable relief.
With our last bit of dong (teehee) we purchased our bus tickets to Luang Prabang, Laos. The estimated travel time of this leg was reportedly anywhere between 24 and 30 hours. It's not exactly fun to imagine being stuck in a reclining position for such a duration, so dosing up on over the counter sleep aids seemed like the next logical thought.
The taxi ride to the bus station itself is pretty cozy. We cram 9 people into a small van (with all of our bags) and make some new friends by force of sheer proximity. As the driver was practically packing us in by slamming the door on one poor girl, we all had no idea how to react except by joking about the absurdity of the arrangement. This is just one of those things that would not fly in America. Personal space? The hell is that?
The last time I was on a sleeping bus I didn't quite fit in the reclining seats, making for a long night. This bus, however, was rather spacious. The six of us (counting our new friends) spread out in the back of the bus, carving out our own little niches for the next day. Nicole builds a blanket fort and we all get cozy, wondering how long our luck will run before the aisles are overflowing with people.
The direct route to Luang Prabang is about 750 kilometers, but this bus is anything but direct. I suppose it might have something to do with the roads, but we head south for several hours before even heading in the general direction of Laos. It doesn't really matter though. The bus stops frequently to pick up more passengers and cargo, but onward we go.
Sleep comes easily, and we spend all day in our little tilted caves. As the bus fills up, Penny invites me to sit next to her and we spend several hours exchanging music recommendations. We trade iPods for a bit before eventually just listening out of one device.
At some point we take afternoon snoozes to the soundtrack of Cloud Atlas. A beautiful score, but funny enough doesn't evoke memories from the film (which I don't remember) or even the novel (which I adore, but remains isolated in my mind from any musical accompaniment). It actually takes me back to a picture-book titled The Arrival by Shaun Tan. This story is a magically surreal take on immigration. It's about people forced to flea their homes due to rising tides of evil. It surely has its parallels to our world history, but without anything explicitly stated it drives home the fact: this is nothing new. Without any words or even violent depictions, the images symbolically capture and convey some rather meaningful hardships. As a reader it even manages to take you there as the subject arrives in a strange new place full of alien customs and language. After months on that transoceanic cargo ship, a pastiche of the days pass by in the form of crepuscular cloudscapes. It's one thing to say that the days passed slowly, but rather poignant to show it in this way. Each little tile is just another day, a drop in the bucket. But in that there is a beautifully expressed apprehension and excitement. Imagining the countless hours of watching the sky, waiting for a destination to appear on the horizon.
Of course we're not in the same dire circumstance, but I indulge in the reverie for a while, staring at the limestone mountains and the shape they take with the skyline. I didn't expect a long bus journey to be so pleasant. I am one lucky human.
Snapping out of that daydream, we arrive in Luang Prabang late at night and find some food before checking into a 3 dollar hostel. You get what you pay for, but all we need is a bed, pillow, and shower.
Nicole and I wake up early (our new norm since Vietnam) and begin our usual foraging for food, this time in a nenew country. Luang Prabang is, once again, an easy-going little town. Nestled along the Mekong river, its scenic location seems to be a pretty compelling reason to stay a while. We wander around and change some money. We've given up our dong for kip, and I'm happy they don't use coins in this country.
By the time we get back, our other friends have checked out and are ready to move on to a different city. Despite their invitation, that sort of breakneck speed is not ideal for me. I'm definitely not eager to hop on another bus.
Instead, Nicole and I rent a scooter and she drives us out to the Kuang Si waterfalls. A little half day trip sounds like a nice way to get acquainted with LPG, and the roads make for a fun and scenic ride. The waterfalls were quite a spectacular sight. We change into our swimwear and dip into the pools below; tiny fish nibble away at our feet as a slight rain comes down. It's overwhelmingly idyllic, and we explore the area around the falls with ear-to-ear grins, exchanging the frequent "Dude" and half mumbled words that trail off into more beautiful distraction.
This place gets my stamp of approval. Whatever that's worth.
We spend four nights in LPG doing nothing much besides walking around and taking it in. We cross the river to find that the villages are markedly different. Looking back across at the quaint French architecture is a humbling contrast as we walk down muddy streets bustling with waterfowl. Life on this side of the Mekong is much simpler. We wander through the trails looking for a trail to take us up into the mountains but somehow end up back at the beginning. Not quite the hike we expected, but we are always hungry enough to just give up and find some food!
I like this place. Ample fruit smoothies abound, tofu sandwiches, Indian food. The Lao people are chilled out, not paying us much mind or being aggressive. It's all pretty harmonious, even in lieu of the dense flow of tourists. I commit a day to my solo meandering and trade smiles with the locals. A kid riding his bike swings to my side of the street for a high five. Another pair of tourists free a goat which got its antlers stuck in a concrete wall. A woman walks briskly beside me and we keep a fast pace before parting for home. I'm a happy little wanderer. Nothing outstanding needs to happen today; I'm content as it is. See and think. Rinse, repeat.
This is the sort of day-in, day-out that centers me. Much preferred over the nine-to-five sort of grind. Am I ever going to come home?
Up next, we take a bus to yet another riverside town: Vang Vieng.
Hanoi served as a nice place to recharge our batteries and process the last few weeks of constant movement. I remember my friend Justin pointing out that constant change is an oxymoron, yet somehow it makes perfect sense after living it for a few weeks. At times, life seems to accelerate dramatically. Other times it feels still. It's always fluctuating, this perception of time.
Our time in Hanoi was a nice reminder to take a few breaths before jumping out into the shuffle again. We didn't take much interest in exploring Hanoi itself—perhaps a result of over-saturation. It was a relief to be able to make some new friends in our dorm and also make use of the computers to upload all those countless gigabytes of trip footage. (Admittedly I've hardly touched my GoPro since Vietnam, and at the time of writing this we're already on our way back to Bangkok.)
I was simultaneously exhausted and elated about our journey, but the scales tipped to pure bliss when I met a trio setting off by bike for the reverse route we came in on. They enabled me to geek out considerably, retelling stories and highlights and all that junk. It let me relive some of that initial excitement that was to become reality for a few weeks. It cemented the feeling of accomplishment, and makes any future challenges seem less daunting. Even being frustrated and tired and lost will eventually become fun, perhaps moreso in retrospect. But in knowing that and knowing your own behavior, the gap between retrospection and presence diminishes considerably. Challenge is the salsa to any experience. It just wouldn't be as satisfying without it.
Getting rid of our bikes was a bit of a pain in the ass, however. I was hoping to pass them along to fellow backpackers, but due to lack of interest or just poor timing we were consigned to sell them to a mechanic. They gave us next to nothing for them—but considering we paid approximately next to nothing for two motorbikes in the first place, this wasn't such a sour deal. Also, the day of the trade I could not even get my bike to run after sitting idle for those few days. I spent fifteen minutes turning the motor but even bump starting wouldn't muster more than a fart out of the thing. I did say some passing comment about my bike being due for a breakdown (considering our luck throughout the trip), so we cut our losses and trimmed about 100kg of fat from our payload. Well, more like 100kg of muscle. The bikes did all the work, after all. As much as we grew to depend on them, being unburdened again was a palpable relief.
With our last bit of dong (teehee) we purchased our bus tickets to Luang Prabang, Laos. The estimated travel time of this leg was reportedly anywhere between 24 and 30 hours. It's not exactly fun to imagine being stuck in a reclining position for such a duration, so dosing up on over the counter sleep aids seemed like the next logical thought.
The taxi ride to the bus station itself is pretty cozy. We cram 9 people into a small van (with all of our bags) and make some new friends by force of sheer proximity. As the driver was practically packing us in by slamming the door on one poor girl, we all had no idea how to react except by joking about the absurdity of the arrangement. This is just one of those things that would not fly in America. Personal space? The hell is that?
The last time I was on a sleeping bus I didn't quite fit in the reclining seats, making for a long night. This bus, however, was rather spacious. The six of us (counting our new friends) spread out in the back of the bus, carving out our own little niches for the next day. Nicole builds a blanket fort and we all get cozy, wondering how long our luck will run before the aisles are overflowing with people.
The direct route to Luang Prabang is about 750 kilometers, but this bus is anything but direct. I suppose it might have something to do with the roads, but we head south for several hours before even heading in the general direction of Laos. It doesn't really matter though. The bus stops frequently to pick up more passengers and cargo, but onward we go.
Sleep comes easily, and we spend all day in our little tilted caves. As the bus fills up, Penny invites me to sit next to her and we spend several hours exchanging music recommendations. We trade iPods for a bit before eventually just listening out of one device.
At some point we take afternoon snoozes to the soundtrack of Cloud Atlas. A beautiful score, but funny enough doesn't evoke memories from the film (which I don't remember) or even the novel (which I adore, but remains isolated in my mind from any musical accompaniment). It actually takes me back to a picture-book titled The Arrival by Shaun Tan. This story is a magically surreal take on immigration. It's about people forced to flea their homes due to rising tides of evil. It surely has its parallels to our world history, but without anything explicitly stated it drives home the fact: this is nothing new. Without any words or even violent depictions, the images symbolically capture and convey some rather meaningful hardships. As a reader it even manages to take you there as the subject arrives in a strange new place full of alien customs and language. After months on that transoceanic cargo ship, a pastiche of the days pass by in the form of crepuscular cloudscapes. It's one thing to say that the days passed slowly, but rather poignant to show it in this way. Each little tile is just another day, a drop in the bucket. But in that there is a beautifully expressed apprehension and excitement. Imagining the countless hours of watching the sky, waiting for a destination to appear on the horizon.
Of course we're not in the same dire circumstance, but I indulge in the reverie for a while, staring at the limestone mountains and the shape they take with the skyline. I didn't expect a long bus journey to be so pleasant. I am one lucky human.
Snapping out of that daydream, we arrive in Luang Prabang late at night and find some food before checking into a 3 dollar hostel. You get what you pay for, but all we need is a bed, pillow, and shower.
Nicole and I wake up early (our new norm since Vietnam) and begin our usual foraging for food, this time in a nenew country. Luang Prabang is, once again, an easy-going little town. Nestled along the Mekong river, its scenic location seems to be a pretty compelling reason to stay a while. We wander around and change some money. We've given up our dong for kip, and I'm happy they don't use coins in this country.
By the time we get back, our other friends have checked out and are ready to move on to a different city. Despite their invitation, that sort of breakneck speed is not ideal for me. I'm definitely not eager to hop on another bus.
Instead, Nicole and I rent a scooter and she drives us out to the Kuang Si waterfalls. A little half day trip sounds like a nice way to get acquainted with LPG, and the roads make for a fun and scenic ride. The waterfalls were quite a spectacular sight. We change into our swimwear and dip into the pools below; tiny fish nibble away at our feet as a slight rain comes down. It's overwhelmingly idyllic, and we explore the area around the falls with ear-to-ear grins, exchanging the frequent "Dude" and half mumbled words that trail off into more beautiful distraction.
This place gets my stamp of approval. Whatever that's worth.
We spend four nights in LPG doing nothing much besides walking around and taking it in. We cross the river to find that the villages are markedly different. Looking back across at the quaint French architecture is a humbling contrast as we walk down muddy streets bustling with waterfowl. Life on this side of the Mekong is much simpler. We wander through the trails looking for a trail to take us up into the mountains but somehow end up back at the beginning. Not quite the hike we expected, but we are always hungry enough to just give up and find some food!
I like this place. Ample fruit smoothies abound, tofu sandwiches, Indian food. The Lao people are chilled out, not paying us much mind or being aggressive. It's all pretty harmonious, even in lieu of the dense flow of tourists. I commit a day to my solo meandering and trade smiles with the locals. A kid riding his bike swings to my side of the street for a high five. Another pair of tourists free a goat which got its antlers stuck in a concrete wall. A woman walks briskly beside me and we keep a fast pace before parting for home. I'm a happy little wanderer. Nothing outstanding needs to happen today; I'm content as it is. See and think. Rinse, repeat.
This is the sort of day-in, day-out that centers me. Much preferred over the nine-to-five sort of grind. Am I ever going to come home?
Up next, we take a bus to yet another riverside town: Vang Vieng.
 |
| Inside the Pak Ou Caves. |
 |
| Cruising along the Mekong. |
 |
| Fruit shake and baguette extravaganza. |
 |
| The bamboo bridge disassembled for the rainy season. |
 |
| Whatever eats these leaves is quite tidy about it! |
 |
| Standard issue Beerlao. "It's cold enough" is about the nicest thing I can muster. |
No comments:
Post a Comment