Luang Prabang Archives - Pierre Trowbridge

An LP Afternoon

(Note: LP means Luang Prabang. The biggest and most popular city in northern Laos.)

The air is molten when the sun shines. The breath you take is hot in your throat, and the thought of movement brings sweat to your brow. Clouds are all around, threatening the forever blue of the afternoon paradise sky. There is no wind here. The air is quieter than a held breath.

And a rooster crows.

I got a shave earlier and rode into town on my bike in search of a tire. I bought one straight from the rim of a rental bike. It isn’t perfect but it will do the job. I know I overpaid but the alternatives were to have no tire at all and have to boat and bus it for the last days of my vacation, or use a skinny little racing tire to try and get me back to Chiang Mai and risk being stuck in the middle of nowhere where the only available rubber might be that drained slowly from the body of a tree.

Cicadas in the trees sing their endless song: a melody that provides the backdrop to every “we’re in the jungle,” movie that has ever been shown. This is not a stereotype. This is who they are. They are the omnipresent voice of the jungle. Except under the weight of rain. When the rain falls hard they withdraw waiting into some dry hidden vale. When the showers end they sing, and the brighter the sky the louder they sing until under the blinding heat of inferno they scream to the heavens as if they were the unrepentant whose flesh was being seared from their very bones. The hum drops to a sustainable buzz when the fire relents.

And a rooster crows.

Over here a bird is chirping. Its call is the chirrup of sharply fired missiles. Another responds in the staccato of medium range weaponry: a retort slightly higher in pitch, and lesser in power. The play goes back and forth harmlessly like the bang, bang, bang of children shooting from their pointed fingers. Cops and robbers. The good guys and the bad guys. The light and the dark locked in endless battle for a supremacy that doesn’t exist.

The next sound is a plane flying in out of the southwest, it’s engines a descending scream. You focus on the sound and with no conscious effort your breath has fallen in time with it and you exhale slowly trying to match the remaining volume of your breath to the life remaining in the sound of the airplane. You follow the sound to the northeast as it drops from a high pitch to a rumble. The rumble becomes a low drone and then fades farther and farther away until you are sure it must have disappeared by now but somehow you can still hear it and could go on hearing it forever if only you could let out your breath that long.

And a rooster crows.

Even the deadest air must breathe occasionally to continue its claim to existence. A breeze moves through that disturbs the leaves on the trees and the dry grass upon the walkway, sending them shuffling in a hiss like a thousand straw skirts.

And somewhere in the distance a rooster crows.

I’ve been putting this off. To write this would be to acknowledge that my summer ride is over and I didn’t want to do that. But the reality is what it is. I have been back to work in China for a week and am tepidly sticking my nose back to the grind stone of developing and delivering lesson plans. Gradually easing back into daily routines. Nah. That’s a pile of B.S. I am readjusting to civilian life like a brick adjusts to flight.

Making the Best of It

My trip to Thailand and Laos was not the trip I originally planned or wanted but it really turned into the trip I needed. The restful atmosphere of these beautiful countries was a tonic that I wasn’t aware I needed. As the trip progressed I found myself ever more removed from the hustle and bustle of cities and people hurrying everywhere. It was then that all the tension that had built up in my mind and muscles started to be released. Trains of thought drifted away from the busy life and focused solely on the quiet and solitude of riding. And what a ride it turned out to be.

Thailand

The first ride was into the juggernaut of fiercely steep hills southwest of Chiang Mai in Doi Ithanon National Park and the Thai-Myanmar border region. It was the most physically demanding ride of my life and in the end more than I bargained for or was prepared for. After 5 days of brutal riding I took the first escape that came available and returned to Chiang Mai to reset.

Some may see this as a failure but I don’t see it that way. How can I? After all, I met so many amazing people and made new friends while I was on this route. People like Naa that opened his home to me and shared his food and whiskey, or Li No who gave me a ride in his truck to avoid several kilometers of difficult hills, or the charming young Chinese lady Yuan that I met at my bungalow in Doi Ithanon. And of course, Boat and his father Ban from Bangkok who offered me the ride that got me out the hilly morass in which I had become so hopelessly entangled. If meeting all those great people doesn’t make for a successful journey then I have never taken one.

Rest and Reset

From the reset in Chiang Mai it was a race to the Laos border. I covered the 290 kilometers in 3 days of riding. Along the way there was a multi day stop in Chiang Rai where I spent a day on a great tour during which I saw beautiful temples, unique cultures, and gorgeous scenery and a couple of days where most of my time was spent with a book in hand or the computer keyboard clicking under my fingertips. After a day’s ride from Chiang Rai I reached Laos. This is when the trip became about the ride and the dreaming began in earnest.

Laos

Laos is separated from Thailand by the Mekong River. The river is only about 75 meters from shore to shore where the Friendship Bridge spans it, but when you pass through the Laos border control and enter Huay Xai it feels worlds apart.

Life in Laos is so laid back compared even to still developing Thailand that you may find yourself wondering if time has forgotten about it. This apparent dispensation is reinforced by rudimentary houses with glassless windows and the torrents of joyful squeals and screams of naked brown bummed wildlings splashing in seemingly every irrigation ditch, stream, and clear watered rice paddy in the countryside.

Cycling in this beautiful country is primarily a combination of long climbs and sweeping descents. The scenery is continuously fabulous. At times in lower altitudes you may find the photographer in you a little frustrated as the roadside grasses and trees grow so tall that they obscure much of the scenery. You can see enough to know it’s beautiful but so much of it is blocked by the growth that it isn’t possible to get a decent picture. In one sense, this may be a blessing. If it weren’t for this the photographer may be tempted to stop so often that little or no progress would be made.

Wow Just Doesn’t Cut It

The scenery in Laos is so beautiful that it doesn’t take long to run out of interjections. I quickly got tired of hearing myself repeat words like wow, oh my, really, holy shit. After a while I just began laughing. It was the same kind of laughter that a person has when they don’t know how to respond to a situation. Like when I heard that my grandfather Ryan had died. He was the first person in my life that I was real close to that died, and when I heard the news I laughed. It wasn’t voluntary. I didn’t know how else to take it. I was overwhelmed by the moment. Such was riding in Laos. A series of moments of being overwhelmed. What an incredible experience.

From sitting in a hammock on the back deck of my bamboo hut in Vieng Phou Kha and watching kids float by on inner tubes, to trudging through knee deep mud and wading through thigh deep streams on an almost road while following the Mekong out from Luang Prabang, to the lady who washed my shoes, riding in Laos was fabulous. It was a trip full of smiling faces, generous hands, opium grannies, delicious food, and countless priceless memories.

Thank You and Ride On

Just like last summer when I rode through the desert in northern China it was made that much better because you were there with me. I always feel so blessed to have so many of you take an interest in my travels. It really does make it more special because I know that I get to share these amazing experiences with my family and friends. So, from the bottom of my heart I say thank you to all of you for helping to make my incredible summer vacation even more so.

Until next time.