Freedom in between the sights in Laos

 

There is a freedom to the road rushing past the window, a joy in those inbetween places. Ragged towns cling desperately to roads between more lauded cities, throwing out a tendril of stalls to draw decadent travellers in. Hidden valleys sneak behind the other sides of mountains, where the road hurries round to the prettier, buffed up postcard shot. The places you see but will never be, glimpsed out of the corner of your eye but lodging there. A split second of beauty that was placed there just for you. Laos winks at you as you rush past.

That old saying on journeys and destinations, endowing many a fridge door with stuck-on philosophy, is never allowed to apply to sitting staring through glass. This is the so-called wasted time on unloved bus journeys. Especially here on the road to Phonsavan where smiling drivers cram ever more people, then even more cargo onto the tiny seats made for travellers with hardy spirits and tiny limbs. Another box of fish between you? One more bag of rice under your seat? Of course. Asia abhors a vacuum.

Perhaps we have seen too many melancholy characters staring wistfully out of prop windows, tracing rain machine sobs down the glass with knowing hendiadys. Understanding their own trope in straight to DVD movies. We do not believe that there can be joy behind the pane, a pun that luckily does not need to be excused as I sit surrounded by silent Laos travellers, between the crates of supplies for a needy town. I accidentally touch knees with the unknown companion next to me. A smile of understanding with the apology.

For me though this is no glass prison, it is my endless lookout. This is the thrill of snap encounters, the spaces between the lines in the travel guides. Endless momentum, always moving on to the next adventure. Joyous movement, carrying memories in your heart, not wistful but looking onwards. I am not crammed in by the boxes around me, they make a cocoon where I can be wherever I want to be.

Behind the gentle glass I am free to let my mind wander. I let the rolling ranks of hills, the alien trees and inexplicable shapes of rock wash over me, provoking the urge to write. I am inspired by their presence but can never name them. They do not need the tired spiel of a tour guide to justify their existence. By the furthest peaks, I learned the landscape is dug out every few paces with old craters. They shield the Western world from our shame. Laos blighted by the secret war, that ended long ago but still bites at this country’s children with cruel metal jokes left buried in fields. No wonder the landscape is silent, defiant, leaving me to make up my own mind.

There is no greater freedom than time. This is the gift that Laos hands me as I sit with no concern just a reassuring numbness. No meetings to run to, no quicker way to jump to the next stop. Just sit and enjoy the thoughts coming and going wherever they please, with the world flashing by. Words rise up and fly out from me. Not clattering against the glass as wily blackbirds did on Gran’s patio doors, crashing in for a cushy week knowing she couldn’t help but nurse them back to health. Instead, free to roam to the view through the window or the views passed before. My words soar in the knowledge we are on our way somewhere, anywhere, but as the fridge door says, we have already arrived.

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One response to “Freedom in between the sights in Laos

  1. I totally agree! I use the long journeys between destinations as my “contemplation time” where I can think about where I have just been, where I am going or just contemplate the lives of the people and the scenery whizzing by 🙂

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