Observations from a Laos bus.

On a weaving, winding, whirling bus ride through the Lao countryside, I scribbled brief thoughts down into my journal. Here are my musings; without the scribbling.

[11:08 a.m.]

I am on a local bus from Vangvieng to Luang Prabang and I am the only foreigner. I love it.

[11:16]

Our bus does not slow down for people, it just honks fasters.

[11:20]

The mountains are wearing crowns of silver mist before their subjects of field and fowl on the ground below. I almost expect them to stand up in their lush green robes. Suddenly though, in a jerky movement they appear to be doing just that! Oh wait, thats just our bus hitting a ramp at 70 kph.

[11:30]

I have shared a picture of my family and exchanged the minimal amount of Lao words to carry a conversation, or the maximum that I know, with the man sitting beside me. "Hohk kuhn!" he tells me, (six kids). He passes the photo around to adjacent seats, probably belonging to his family and after returning the picture to me, he offers me half of a small orange. I gladly accept. Together we enjoy the citrus fruit; me throwing seeds out the window and him throwing seeds in the aisle.

[12:15 p.m.]

We are entering another small village, but maintaining speed. Our driver lays on the horn. An oncoming bus blocks the opposite lane and a small bicyclist pedaling a cart along (well, small compared to our polluted, jumping behemoth) is on the right. I notice, we are not slowing down. More honks. Then at the last second our driver sees his opening. He cranks the wheel left in the immediate aftermath of the other bus and then follows this maneuver with a speed racer cut across to the right, dodging the bicycle, its rider, and the cart. Our bus sways left and right like a boat on the water, and I laugh to myself. What else can I do?

[12:39]

At a lunch stop, the same man who shared his orange with me now also shares a midday meal of sticky rice and dried beef, (well... it tasted like beef).

[12:58]

I think that the next bus ride I go on, I will buy oranges; just to share.

[1:07]

I snap some photographs from my window and show them to my new friend who shared his lunch. "Ngarm lai," he says, (very beautiful). I ask if I can take a picture of him, and answering my question, he poses.

*Click*

I show him the picture -- "Ngarm lai," he laughs, joking.

[1:32]

Beautiful velvet-headed children peek out from the shadows of an open window frame, as our bus passes by houses of thatch, wood, and corrugated tin.

[1:35]

These roads wind and curve so much that small plastic bags are being passed around for those who can no longer hold their sticky rice down. Just down the aisle, a girl professionally hurls into one of these bags.

[1:41]

Same girl, more sticky rice; only now its out the window. Our driver continues to smoke a cigarette and nonchalantly navigate, all while Thai and Lao music plays.

[2:04]

A flurry of smells seeps in through the windows. The mountains smell of spice and rain. In moments I am left breathless at the sight of beauty in simplicity of the people who live in the midst of these peaks; these hanging gardens in the sky. Fences constructed from sticks, not of a greater width than my thumb, keep tiny pigs in, while other pens house calves and chickens.

[3:16]

I have met a man named Kham Kheuang; his nickname is "Nick." He works with community development projects in the mountaintop villages. I thought about it for a minute, and then not wanting to miss an opportunity, I asked for future permission to follow him into the villages and see his work. It seems that I have been given a chance. His first instructions, were minimal, but pleasing: get off the bus in Phoukhoun and ask the locals where to find him.

[3:55]

I search the pages of my little-used guidebook and after asking "Nick" to check the town province and name for me again, we see that Phoukhoun is not listed; much to my delight.

[5:14]

After five hours, I am beginning to feel slightly queasy.

[5:35]

I have made it to Luang Prabang, and I did not throw up.