Biker chic. Or perhaps not.
Today (September 8th) J and I hired a motorbike for an almost-aimless drive out to some ruins at Muang Khoun, the old capital of Xieng Khonang province, which was flattened by US bombing during the secret war.
The ruins thrilled us little but the drive through the valleys of the Lao countryside was so stunning that it inspired a running away of my descriptive powers that hopefully the reader can forgive.
The fertile beauty of wide open spaces, lush farmland on all sides and the frequent lakes; in the distance the mountains loomed like blue shadows leaning up against the sky.
Sharing the road with us were dozens of school children trotting along in groups of two or three, arm in arm, all Wearing their smart, clean white and navy uniforms, parasols and broad smiles as they waved to the bike and shouted ‘Sabadee’ (Hello!). We zoomed past a man lugging impossibly huge quantities of lumber on a fun-size tractor, more men squat fishing, and naked children swimming in the stream.
Over the sound of the bike’s engine there’s the flutter, peck and patter of fowl waddling or quacking as we pass. We see horses sipping at a lake’s rim or clopping along the verges. More often, oblivious herds of cattle and the odd goat meander into our path causing us a swerve and a giggle.
So captivated by what we’re seeing we don’t want to miss a detail. Buffalo bathing in brown waterholes as if the word wallow was made for them, tops of their bodies like slick black islands in the water. Huge networks of spiderwebs clogging the telegraph lines, their shiny strands catch the light while telltale oblong silluettes mark the resting places of poor dragonflies. The ripples of small brooks sparkle in the sun, puckering where the breeze kisses them.
And surrounding all of this, the overwhelming sight in our senses is the green, green paddy, catching the light of the sun, gleaming almost yellow in places, becoming translucent. It refreshes the eyes as it fills the senses with the knowledge of new life, of renewal and the greenness of fertility, the colour of green diamonds, the sense of youth and life.
And I know as we drive through it that when I remember Laos many years from now I won’t just remember the kindness and generosity of its people, the easy laze of days by rivers and the tranquility of temples, but this ultimate of greens, which will shine on in my memory as part of a Laos rainbow.
Red is the tiny birds’ eye chillis used to flavour the food, or drying in baskets on roofs in the sun. Orange of the monks’ robes as they walk in sedate pairs down the broad streets of Luang Prabang. Yellow labels on a cheerfully shared bottle of Beer Lao, the green of the paddy, the blue of the sky, indigo of the looming mountains and the brown of the Mekong flowing ever downward to the sea.
