February 13, 2010
There’s so much to say about this first half of the trip that I've taken. It’s gone way too quickly, but I can’t imagine going thru the events chronologically right now.
I’m just going to give my impressions of now—what compelled me to bust out my computer at this moment is because I am sitting at one of the many open air restaurants that have proliferated upon the islands of Don Det and Don Khong. According to my new Spaniard friend Miguel, this particular restaurant is one of the most remote and least frequently traveled to on Don Khong.
At this moment, I am feeling indecisive about whether or not I’m going to spend another night on Don Det or if I begin moving again and explore one more Laos city (Champasek). I’ve been feeling like I’ve been on the movemovemovemove—though I’ve had some very relaxing moments.
But this moment, this today, I find myself at this most remote of restaurants on Don Khong. I ended up here because I could have *sworn* that I had left my camera on the red tablecloth just before sunset yesterday. It was getting too dark to bike back, so I had to wait out the night. I felt alarmed about the prospect of losing my camera, but at the same time, I have moved into this lazy pace of the here and now. This present.
This morning, I biked through the unbelievable tropical beauty along the Mekong River. Islands large and tiny were scattered to the end of the horizon. I feel sure that God took them in His hand and gently skipped them across the surface of the river—there they settled and rooted themselves where they landed.
Palms, bamboo sprigs, and florescent flowers overhung the bumpy and dusty road I traveled upon. It had crossed my mind that my camera might be lost somehow, maybe stolen, maybe sunk beneath the surface of the river. I could see it twisted up with the algae and crushing along the river stones.
When I arrived at this restaurant, there was a gaggle of women and girls sitting on the wooden slats of the restaurant floor. The ladies and girls burst into slow movement and Laotian speak when I rode up on my bike.
This place…
Parts of the floor are covered in those waterproof thatched mats that I remember from my childhood. The ladies slowly move about in their brightly colored sarongs and mismatched tees and blouses. Chickens peck at the floor and each other on and around and about. Candies, bags of what looks like oversized Fruit Loops, and sundry items of bamboo hang from nails affixed to a crooked 2 by 4 swinging and crackling in the wind.When I tried to mime to my predicament of lost camera to the women, they looked confusedly at each other and began speaking miles and miles of their beautiful lilting speech. This was all incomprehensible to me, of course. They shook their heads and held up their empty hands. They were sure that I had not left it.
My heart sank, but in a very strange sort of way. I was disappointed and confused that my camera wasn’t there, but I didn’t feel the loss that I normally would have. It was a bizarre, unimportant sense of loss. I should have been somewhat broken-hearted about my mistake, but all I could feel was the heat of the sun on my black hair. I stuck out my lower lip as my thoughts moved torpidly.
What could have happened? Maybe I should review the contents of my backpack a little more closely.
They watched me as I stuck out my lower lip and walked to the basket of my bike. Thinking it a lost cause, I rummaged through my backpack carefully. And then, a shiny glint of silver. My camera sat on the bottom of my bag. It couldn’t be. But, there it was—I had spent a night in slight concern for nothing.
The Hmong ladies watched me carefully and then began laughing as I pulled it out. I exaggeratedly wiped my forehead and then hit it to indicate my chagrin and feeling of stupidity. Their laughter continued.
Well, I felt that maybe I needed to take a break and buy at least one cup of coffee here after my gaffe. I reviewed the menu and noted how overpriced everything was. I pointed to the noodle soup—“nonono”, they murmured. They didn’t have it. I pointed to the salad, “nonono”, they didn’t have that either.
Of the 100 items on the menu they only had ingredients for 5, none of which I could stomach at the first part of the day. So I just sat and asked for a cup of Lao coffee with milk. Maybe I will read a chapter and then move forward to the waterfall market and then hit another restaurant. Then I’ll visit the jungle and then head back to Don Det and then relax there.
But as I opened my book, my mind wasn’t focusing. You’re being too calculated. I could feel the shimmering feverish air from just outside the brushy overhang of the eaves, but the breezes into the restaurant were surprisingly cool.
It has all been slowing. Laos has been slowing me down.
The very pregnant lady was cutting up some oblong green fruit into thin slices. A 3-4 year old girl with a high pony tail picked up another sharp knife and began mimicking her mother’s movements cutting crooked slices onto the mat. After several pieces of fruit had been shaved into slices, the women and the girls all huddled around the plate on the woven mat. They gestured towards me to join them. I sipped on the thick dark coffee and nodded my assent.The green fruit was un-ripened mango served with a spicy garlic and fish and cilantro sauce. They smiled and sang to me in that beautiful language of theirs.
I’m just going to sit here for a while.
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