A Rock Star in a Public Bus

To get from Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng, Laos, I took a public bus with a washing machine on top of it. Not a working washing machine -- it was just a passenger, like me, along with about 40 other people, about 30 dozen eggs, and big sacks of sugar and flour which lined the aisle of bus. If the bus broke down, which was a distinct possibility, we would at least have a chance at clean clothes and maybe some engine block pancakes.

But the bus didn't break down... instead, it took us through some of the most amazing scenery i've seen yet -- both natural and human. The villages we went through were very simple -- wood-and-straw huts on stilts, full of hill tribe people going about their days. They were cleaning and cooking and sitting idle in front of their small homes, keeping an eye on the children running in the streets.

And it was the children that got me. They were everywhere, from mothers' arms to the side of the road, splashing each other from a stagnant puddle. They played. Some of the younger ones were running naked along the side of the road. I even saw one girl--in a strange pose I couldn't hope to explain--standing in bathing suit looking down at about 20 dead chickens on the ground while holding an umbrella to shield herself from the sun. I shook my head a little, trying to confirm in my head what I just saw-- a seconds-long tableau of poultry and parasol.

And everywhere I have been in Laos, the children wave and say hello. Everywhere. It's the highlight of their day, it seems, to see a bus or pickup truck full of people passing their village. "Sabaidee!! Sabaidee!!" [hello!] they yell as we drive by, frantically waving at us and smiling from ear to ear.

I feel like a rock star in Laos: A rock star that takes the public bus.

Squishy

If you haven't done it awhile (which I certainly hadn't), I recommend walking barefoot through mud. There's something about feeling mud squish between your toes that makes you laugh a little -- the same way you used to laugh when you had mud squish between your toes.

A beautiful tribute to the number 12

I need a watch. I don't like wearing them, really, but even in Laos they have departure times for buses and boats. They may not keep to them, but it makes sense to be there within a half hour of when it's supposed to leave.

So, I went to find a digital watch (with alarm, for early morning buses) in the local street market. There were not many to choose from, and the ones that were there had been made when I was playing Pac-Man. It was more of a technology museum than a display. Even so, I picked one up that was in a plastic display case. It was so encrusted with dirt that it was hard to see the watch inside.

The man who ran this particular booth in the market came up to me, all teeth and dollar sign eyes. He opened up the display case.

The display said 12. Not :00, just 12. There were places where buttons should be, but there were none there. Basically, this thing was a piece of plastic in tribute to the number 12. Lacking any English, the man's eyes implored me. The unspoken:

"Please, do not let the dust and dirt blind you to superior craftmanship! This piece does not merely keep time, it caresses it, wraps it in the finest silks and rocks it to sleep. Surely you can not walk away from such exqusite functional art. I would ask a mere..... 2 dollars? Yes?? Yes?? You like??"

As much as I respect the number twelve, I decided to keep looking, and keep asking strangers what time it is.

From Jade to the Color of a Childhood Couch

It's almost as if every country I've been to is trying to out-green the one before it -- and Laos is no exception. Floating down the Mekong River for a couple of days, I was stung by greens from all shades on the surrounding mountains -- jade, neon, forest, pea soup and the rich, velvety-dark green I only remember seeing once before -- on a couch we had when I was four years old. Every one of the colors was more pronouced against the Mekong, which looks like milky tea.

Green is my favorite color, so it's a bit like visual Christmas morning.