Driving to Vang Vieng

''Minibus to Vang Vieng 8:30am. Finally shows at 9am. Swerving up the mountains around Lao countryside. Honking for dogs, chickens, children, villagers. Passing slower minibuses and getting passed. Falling asleep unintentionally as I try to take in the scenery. Waking up as my head hits the window. Huts dot the hillsides. Women shower at roadside spigots. People collect firewood. We pass a truck that has gone front end over the edge. We squeal around every turn. My right side aches. I am thirsty.

Two Lao women on my right. A couple from Denmark in front of me. An assumption based on their whiteness and accents. A Thai Rasta in the passenger seat. The Laos drive on the right. The Thais on the left. I am back home again on the roads anyway.

We pass thru villages of varying sizes. Straw homes mostly. Naked babies. Lots of kids. The occasional tourist stands out. Some women weave straw or what looks like banana leaves. Some tend to drying chili peppers, some tend to rice on mats, some nurse their babies, some shovel. I don't hear any whistling. Some relax in chairs waiting for a buyer, someone who is hungry for Pringles, Oreos or sticky rice or thirsty for water, fake OJ or a Beerlao. These entrepreneurs, these roadside vendors, these homeside vendors appear to be the fortunate ones, the ones living high on the hog. I see satellites near some huts. I just saw pink cherry blossom trees. Strange amongst the lush green landscape, but a pleasant surprise. We pass cattails, those marshy reeds usually seen in swamps or near septic tanks.

We keep climbing. Biking tourists. Big saddle bags. Pot-holed roads. Dramatic views. Guardrails. Laundry drying on guardrails. A kid pretending to shoot us with a stick.

The breeze thru the window feels great. It is hot outside, but not in the van. Pigs. Goats, but not mountain goats. The cutest kids ever. More honking. Hunger pangs. Someone selling pirated cds. The smell of burning. Of exhaust. Many vendors. I want something. Occasional eye contact in the rear view with the girl in front of me. I glance perhaps too frequently only to help pass the time and because the mirror is such a short flicker of the eye away from the front window.

Descending. Bending. The lady to my right stretches. Her elbow into my shoulder. My knees continually into the seatback in front of me. Keeps me in place, from falling over. My back. A cow. A wheelbarrow. My boxers need adjusting. I really want some water. Are we there yet?"

Journal entry 12-27-07