Journal:
The first thing that stands out in Luang Prabang, after its epic beauty, is the motorbikes. Seems everyone has one. There is a minimal amount of street signs – I have yet to see one that indicates a road name. The vehicles pass each other and ride close without signaling. There are no cross-walks. I love it because it is so different. I’ve always felt that people back home don’t pay attention anymore because we are so coddled by all the street signs.
The place is dirty – garbage and dirt, construction and general disorder – not at all like home.
The thing I love the most about this city is the people are TOGETHER. They’re out in the street walking, talking, working TOGETHER.
There are no skyscrapers and the gigantic river roars past just off the city center. This feels so much more real than being at home ever has. The only thing that comes close is living at the trailer park when I was young.
This morning I’m awoken by sounds of people showering and venture down to write and have tea. Breakfast is included as well as coffee and tea all day long. I have most certainly thrown caution to the wind and dover right in. Last night I took a shower in what felt like unclean water, ate food from the open market and paid less mind to sanitation. It feels so liberating to be out of the sterile environment in the US. I’m just grateful that my home near Brady Street is basically the American version of this (if you add police and a lot more people).
Roosters are crowing all night.
This place makes me wonder what we gained in civilizing ourselves. I am also very curious about the Vietnam side of the Vietnam war – the people here are so kind and generous.
A dog from the street has come up into our hostel’s outside dining area and begun to quietly beg for food. A very cute dog, if a little banged up.
Luang Prabang smells like a firecracker. A mix of motorbike exhaust, campfire and strange food smells invade the sense.
I had completely forgotten about the biopsy until the shower – it brought a wave of sadness and remembrance of the last day in the States. I feel somber about it – stuck somewhere between a statistic and my own head. (Had a biopsy done the day before leaving and it was a bit rushed but came back benign).
I am in love with this place but, being here and living here would be two very different things. Sitting and enjoying the sun play on my face has me thinking again about the life I really want to live.
In this moment everything seems so perfectly set in place.
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Additional Notes:
There were two journal entries with the same date but a different location-Not sure what happened there but they’re both being posted regardless.
The trailer park where I grew up was in Lake Geneva and it had rolling hills infant of a pine forest and a secret hidden gravel pit complete with old broken tractors. It was what I’d call an Idyllic outdoorsy childhood. All the neighbors knew each other and we would have our own community holiday parties in the summer.
