Of Winters and Mediocrity

The last thing I wanted to think about was myself.

I hated white noise, the constant drone of which eerily used to scare me. That's why I loved winters - it cloaked all bits of white noise. The stunned silence enhanced the visual imagery created by puffs of mist seen through glass windows made fuzzy with morning dew.

This trip was a sweet revisit to my past. Those irrational paroxysms of energy were back. I would be woken up again in middle of the night by frisson tingling my nerves, and an urge to do something, anything. The biting winter kept that urge in check. Only this time, it came with the realization of my mediocrity.

My not-so-recent history is largely devoid of interactive elements. There lies no mention of social validation, memorable moments, intimate confessions, pep talks or adolescent curiosity. All I remember is the intensity of things. The last thing I wanted to think about was myself. I sought comfort through vicarious means. This was the comfort I felt in the mild susurrus of people's voices.

Like everyone else, I wanted to escape mediocrity. I spent years in high hopes of accomplishing the same. What was it that made masterminds so smart? Maybe they had different neural pathways in their brains. Maybe they had a higher number of active neurons. Maybe they had an extremely efficient feedback learning system that honed their mental acumen every time they evaluated something. The brain, as they say, is plastic. It can be molded. An immediate about-face of perspectives is possible, and a gradual one can be executed successfully.

I grew up to realize I was merely an aberration, that odd glitch in a smooth graph. I wasn't ahead of the curve, but behind it. We lacked the incisive insight of savants, but filled the void with rich experiences and consumption of knowledge. We deluded ourselves with exaggerated positive self-evaluation, and sought validation from our social circle. That's how we dealt with the harsh truth that our lives were engulfed in ineluctable mediocrity.

There was something soothing in the chattering sound of burning wood. The flickering flames of fire were similar to darkness. There was nothing to focus on - everything was amorphous. That's what made it so comforting.

I loved winters for various reasons. My body responded to physical exertions better and faster. I could think clearly. I gained more from my high BMR and suffered less. I had almost forgotten the uncanny feeling of going for a run before sunrise, and watching my shadow quiver in the thick pellets of fog suspended in air whenever a vehicle whizzed past. I loved watching my fingers go numb by gusts of chilly wind. In moments of such extremities, in kicks of dopamine and thrills of adrenaline, maybe I got a taste of how it felt like not being a mediocre. Maybe.

So much for a middling life. 

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Stars, mountains and isolation

I saw the peaks on a clear morning the second day. It took me days before I ventured out for a better view of the Annapurna range. I arrived here with a plan to isolate myself, surround myself in the ether of unfamiliarity and get into a routine. No chitchats, no significant societal interactions and no off-the-cuff decisions. The plan was to create a lifestyle seething with constant consumption and physical exertion. No distractions. The urge to go out and meet people bugged me for the first few days, but it evaporated gradually.

x-x-x

The second time I hiked up Sarangkot, I took a detour to reach the cusp of a neighboring mountain. It offered an expansive view of the Annapurna range. I spent the night on the mountain top. What I saw that night and what I saw the next morning are two most majestic things I have ever seen.

As the place went dead after sunset and the lights went out, the sky opened it's treasure trove of celestial bodies. Standing in pitch darkness, under a sky gloriously spangled, staring into the past, I lost myself. I had transcended beyond my corporeal existence. I was merely a cipher looking at the firmament above. There were no thoughts, no sound and no lights to intervene. Temporal things like making a career or getting fitter seemed like piffling concerns. It was so easy to lose sense of things like time or tactile sensation.

A dog's bark tore through the stillness. I went back into the room.

x-x-x

The process was gradual - first the stalwart peaks began to loom out of darkness. Then the rays of the sun that was yet to rise dispelled all traces of darkness. Then those rays painted the peaks with cerise tinge. Then the sun rose. Heads and cameras turned to the east. The sun turned brighter. The peaks began to gleam.

It was not the aesthetic beauty of those peaks that captured my head. It was their sheer grandeur that was so captivating. It was their insulation that was so mystifying. The peaks were barely thirteen kilometers away. And the whole world changed within that distance - the elevation increased by about seven thousand meters, world's deepest gorge passed through, flora and fauna vanished, surroundings turned white and air became thin. The pattern was visible. These mountains exuded an air of unearthly mystique. It was a feeling that could not be explained. It's hidden vales and unseen grottoes triggered wild imagination and awakened an irresistible urge to visit them.

These mountains are still geologically alive. There used to be life here before two lands collided giving birth to the Himalayas. Kali-Gandaki river carries their fossils, mostly ammonites. 

x-x-x

Being outdoors meant taking long walks to new places, running along bumpy pebbled roads, hiking up the peaks around or having quick meals at an eatery. Being indoors meant devouring contents on my laptop, working out or getting some sleep. There was nothing in between. Life seemed to have stuck at a crest of the sinusoidal boots of energy and motivation. The restlessness was back. And back was my former anti-social self. 

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(Mis)adventures of Overnight Layovers in Airports

Hat Yai is a bad-ass city in southern Thailand where insurgence has militated against all the colorful touristy elements typical of Thailand. Even the airport has been bombed once. As soon as I arrived in the city, I made a beeline for the airport even though my flight was the next day. I snuggled in my newly found sweet spot and fell into a lovely sleep. I was woken up by a policeman with intimidating moustache. He couldn't speak English so he elegantly kicked me out of the airport which was empty now. After inquiring a little more affable lady who, fortunately, could also speak English, I came to know the airport had been closed. Like a restaurant. All my pleas to let me stay fell on deaf pointy ears of the inexorable policeman and his malicious aide. I decided to find a place just outside the airport but the pesky man in uniform balked at the idea. He began to call up a hotel to have me picked up. At this point I uttered with little forethought "No money!!". It was apparent that he understood my words. He mumbled something to his aide who then asked me to follow him. The policeman gave me a very warm smile. I was led to a small prayer room, with a stairway in the corner that led to a toilet downstairs. "Very nice place", he said. I thanked him. He locked me inside and said, "I will open it tomorrow morning. It is the rule." I thanked him again. 

Jinmen is a small, pretty much neglected island that belongs to Taiwan and is a thirty minute ferry ride from Xiamen in China. I spent one night here. I was annoyed to learn that even this airport closes at night. Like a restaurant. With unshakable bullheadedness I decided not to spend money on another expensive hotel. There were no cheap hotels around. In the evening I left for a stroll outside. The slowness and antiquity of the town was intoxicating. I came back at night; the airport was empty, and closed. Fortunately the entrance was open. I went to the security and said "我要去太北明天早上。我想在这里睡觉". The man in uniform said,"沒問題 (no problem)". Sweet! It is a lovely and strange feeling sleeping in such a huge enclosed area all alone.

I landed at Guangzhou airport at night, and I had a flight to catch the next morning. It was a biting winter. I was looking for a tea/coffee shop in the sprawling airport. A tiny man in formal black attire approached me and asked me in broken English where I was going. I showed him the ticket of the flight next morning. "You have to go out", he said constantly nudging me towards the exit. 

"Why?"

"Your flight tomorrow morning. Come tomorrow. Airport closed now."

"But there are people still sitting here inside."

"They have flight now."

A small argument ensued. I was outside the building out in the open now, arguing with him, being a little chary talking to someone in command. He called a shabby van and asked me to get in, "This will take you to a hotel. It's very cheap." Nasty bugger, I thought, he is just a broker. 

"I am going back in." I told him angrily. 

"You can't go back now. It's closed. Go to the hotel."

I tried a few doors operated by optical sensors. None of them worked. "Okay. So I will spend the night here in the open. I am NOT going anywhere. No hotel", I said to him dauntingly. He looked at me for a few seconds. Realizing I was having none of him, he said in a tone of dejection,"Ookayy, go to gate number five." I went to gate number five, and it magically opened. Boom!

I have never seen a city in Asia where real estate is as expensive as Hong Kong. That was one time when I bolted to the airport with a single-minded intent of saving money. And I have never seen an airport where so many people come to sleep overnight. The connection is simple. And the airport security doesn't seem to mind so many people dozing there. 

My overnight stopovers in other airports have been rather uneventful, just the way I wanted them to be. It's interesting how the repetitiveness of even a mundane activity brings forth interesting patterns. And you manage to save a few bucks in the meanwhile!

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Trips that never happened - Sekong in Laos

Aside the regular sightseeing, there were two things I particularly wanted to see in Laos - 

i) the opium fields (that I thought were) flourishing somewhere in hidden vales of northern uplands, and
ii) clearing the land of UXOs.

I didn't read much about Un-Xploded Ordnance (UXO) ridden fields until I reached Pakse. I intended to get some sketchy info on this but soon the topic piqued my interest. I delved deeper and scouring the web became rather discursive as I read about Hmong tribes, coup attempts, Indo-China wars and recent changes in government polities. 

A few decades ago the US rained oodles of different explosives on Laos many of which failed to explode. Some of these UXOs are occasionally discovered by locals who tamper with them recklessly and usually end up grievously injured or dead. The most common of these UXOs is cluster ammunitions or bombies. The touristy areas in Laos have been cleared of UXOs, but the least developed areas of the country still remain blighted with them. 

Sekong is a province in southern Laos - it is one of the most inaccessible areas of Laos, and one of the few areas still infested with UXOs. It hard to dig out much information about the place. Towing the line of generality, a few tourism websites call it utterly beautiful. The area is indeed rugged, rivers and waterfalls sprawl out, and its rustic way of life has hardly been affected by extraneous developments. Most months of the year don't see the road leading to Sekong town, and it becomes a herculean attempt to reach the place in rainy season.

I was in Pakse when I was reading all this. Sekong is a day's bumpy bus ride from Pakse. I was nearing the end of my third week in Laos and I had about a week left before my visa expired. I was weighing my options.

Phoenix Clearance Limited (PCL) is a company from NZ that specializes in clearing unexploded bombs. It has a strong presence in Laos, particularly Sekong. I wanted to see how they cleared the UXOs. Recently Laos government has curtailed the transparency of all UXO related activities. All the volunteering activities to help the victims of UXOs have been terminated. Skimming the web, I came across the account of one brave lady who has been covering the Ho Chi Minh trail and other areas on a frail bike. She writes down her escapades by the name of 'The Itinerant' on Facebook. I don't know how she did it, but I think she volunteered with MAG in UXO clearing in Laos. Other than that, I couldn't find any personal account of someone having been there during my rather perfunctory search.

A little spurred after all this reading, I decided to take a bus to Sekong the next morning. I was sober enough the next morning to think about the practicalities of making such a trip. I talked to a guy while having breakfast. He reaffirmed the route was nefarious in the least. I had to buy inventory to deal with inclement weather and hazardous insects. It was the month of May; it was rainy season at its peak.

I desperately wanted to be there - a world left behind in time, still trying to convalesce from a decades old devastating attack, discreetly cooped in a corner of the country, and forgotten by the world.

Of all the countries that I visited in Asia, Laos haunts me the most. It certainly lacks in creature comforts but its rugged landscape and antediluvian human settlements make up for it. I am not sure if or when I will visit Laos again, but if and when I do, this is one trip I will have to make.

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A night in Hualien

"So your brother worked in India? What does he think of it?" I asked her.

"Umm.. nice, but he told me the people are lazy" said she, "...they would stop working many times."

She was trying to recall a word. I made a guess and showed her the Chinese character for the verb "to go on a strike" on my phone. Her face blossomed into a smile as she said "yes yes .. strike. They would do this many times." I was pleasantly surprised to find someone near fluent in English in the town.

"Well he must have worked in public sector. Most people there are lazy. In private sector, people work very hard", I tried to explain.

She was nearing forty. I asked her why she was still unmarried. She muttered something, but midway her explanation her eyes welled up with tears. I felt bad and stupid. I thought of consoling her but found it much easier to pretend I didn't notice anything. I casually veered the conversation to a lighter topic. I took a few pictures insider her shop and said good bye to her. She didn't seem sad any longer. My heart felt lighter. I left. 

It was around half past nine, and I walked through the cross section of the city towards the railway station.

The station opened to a vast open area with a few benches. It was ten in the night. 

"I am in SWAT. It's in police", he said in broken English. He was fit, and displayed impressive agility and skill as he performed tricks on his mini-bike. The conversation soon began to take place in Mandarin. 

"Is it the same as Wei-an?" I asked

"No, Wei-an is high level. It's in Taipei. SWAT is low level."

"Taiwan is very safe. Do you like your job?" I oversimplified my question to fit it in my limited grasp of Mandarin.

"Some people have handguns. We have to stop them", he replied using the same tone of simplicity.

"What do they do with handguns? They don't rob here", I asked, resorting to use of body language for the latter part.

"They smuggle handguns and drugs..they take drugs, handguns for safety... where do you live?"

"I am going to Taipei tomorrow at 6 am. So I will spend the night here at the station."

"Why don't you go to a hotel? Not very expensive."

I said, "I want to see how it's like. And I want to save a little money." I pointed at his mini bike and said, "Can I try?"

As soon as I stood up to get on the bike, everyone around began looking at me. A lazy stray dog who had been lounging around indifferently sprang up with pointed ears to look at the expected antics of a foreigner. It even howled and a couple of its friends came running from across the road wagging their tails to watch what I was up to.
He taught me two simple tricks. I bungled twice. They practiced for a few more minutes and then they left.

It was half past mid-night. I ambled around the station. I walked past the open area into a small park. I looked around. I spotted him again. I walked towards him and said, "Why are you following me? What do you want?"
"I am sorry if I scared you. I want to speak English with a foreigner.", he said in a meek tone.
"Not now. I want to sleep somewhere. And you are scaring me by following me. Go away please." He left.

I was lying on a bench. A group of homeless people had huddled around a bench a few meters away. One of them saw me and, wondering why one of them was left out, walked to me. He was a little startled to discover I was a waiguoren. I told him I needed to take a train early morning. He gave me a thumbs up and left.

I bought a bottle of water and sat on a chair. Eventually I fell asleep for a few hours.

I was woken up by the first rays of the sun. I came out of the station. The mountains behind the station shone in the fresh sunlight. They looked gorgeous. I took a stroll till it was six. At 6:05 I went to a bike rental shop. The guy had been waiting for me.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked.
"I could barely sleep. But it was a little chilly and windy. I love windy nights. So I had fun. These mountains look beautiful"
"Yes, many people come here to travel."
"I would love to live here."
We shared a laugh. He pointed at my backpack "That's your bag."
"Thanks so much. It would have been very difficult to spend the night outdoors with such a heavy bag."
"Bu hui" he said.

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Lost

It was evening getting darker and darker. Summer had ended and autumn had begun.

I was in a train. It had halted at a station with no people. Streetlamps illuminated two empty seats on the vacant platform.

It had been four hours traveling. My sense of time had gone wonky. All past events seemed to have occurred far back in the past. It was telescopic effect in action. 

I knew no one around me. No one around me knew me. Everything was unfamiliar. Two guys behind me were chatting in a language I didn't understand. The old lady sitting beside me was reading a book I couldn't read. The city I was going to was new to me. I had no friends, no acquaintances.

I had come to find comfort in all this unfamiliarity. I had soaked oodles of it in the past few months. It kept me on the edge. It constantly piqued my curiosity. It kept me awake.

The slight rocking of the moving train, the ambiance outside and humming sound of the engine had created a transporting atmosphere. I saw things in a different state of mind. 

I could see myself begin from level zero. I could create relationships and forge a social circle. I could feel the nascent emotions of joy and fear taking shape. I was imaging a life I could live here. I was reminiscing some good times from my past.

The train was still cradling my chair. I fell into a lovely sleep. 

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Exploring the Creative Fraternity in Asian Cities

I have a clear idea of what the things I like doing are. I have a blear picture of what I will be doing sometime in near future. I keep thinking constantly, getting/creating ideas, building up on existing ideas, gleaning information from different sources but mostly internet. I have my own limitations. I want to evade the corporate juggernaut and I don't want to fixate myself in front of a computer for long hours unless I am doing something really captivating. So this is what I do when I am on my own.

I also meet people - this is where one aspect of all my traveling comes into action. It took me a short while to streamline the process of contacting people. I began with attending a networking event in HK. It creeped every inch out of me. It was strongly suggestive of the stifling atmosphere in typical big firms. There were no meaningful conversations. Everyone was selling themselves. Like a commodity. 

What I do now is much better. In every city I visit, I look for stuff that I find interesting. Then I meet people working on that stuff. It works out in many ways. I don't have to posture to impress others and it's easy to convince what I am doing. The conversations are a lot more meaningful, forthright and sometimes deep too. I try to avoid meeting people in groups. It has rarely worked out. A good chunk of people I meet are expats. 

This quest for interesting pieces of work leads to a low-key, mostly independent section of the economical clockwork - start-ups, entrepreneurs, artists, studios, hacker-spaces, co-working areas and freelancers. A common underlying pursuit of most of these entities is that they want to be heard. Their common theme is that they are not run-of-the-mill, they are not stuck in the groove and they lie on the periphery of comfort zone. This is the kind of people I mostly talk to. 

Some people tend to have one-off conversations while keeping genuineness and interest intact. They never reply to my messages afterwards. It upsets me. It makes me think something's wrong with me. Some of the conversations fizzle out gradually and some of them continue. 

Hackerspaces are interesting spots - they are mostly grungy lab-like co-working spaces where most of the activities gravitate towards geekiness. But the isolation of such little pockets of creativity is a little bit scary. Co-working spaces are much better in terms of being comfy. Art related events are another end of the spectrum - they are more visible, and more diverse. Artists seem to be a happier bunch than where I come from. 

This is a part of what I have been doing for the past couple of months in different cities of Asia. 

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A Hiatus from Wayfaring

After more than three months of an itinerant lifestyle, I have finally taken a small break to visit a familiar place. That doesn't mean I have gone back home or settled for something. No, not yet. After a defining phase of three months during which I was on the road covering various places in Asia, I am back in Singapore on one of my conclusive visits here. I realized (yet again) that I didn't and ain't going to miss this place much. It's exceedingly dull. Most of the human effervescence has been lost in the miasma of materialism.

Localities in Asia are amazing - they pack so much energy in a very complicated and unpredictable manner. There's tons of potential and scores of illogical or irrational things happening around (Taiwan and Korea are exceptions to the latter part). For now I have found my sweet spot in Asia - a place which is aesthetically pleasant and serves most of my purposes well. It's Taiwan. I will be spending a good deal of time there - exploring, volunteering, meeting people and improving Mandarin among the many things I will do here.

I am visibly thinner and darker. I am poorer. I am surer of a few things in life. A lot of people have said how skinny I have become. I hate it - I don't think I will ever compromise my health for anything else I like.

I couldn't make breakthroughs in my fitness - before I set out traveling, I thought I would become a faster runner and learn a few more parkour skills. Thanks to a nasty shoulder injury I found it very hard just to maintain my fitness levels. Throughout my trip, fitness-wise I was only running and doing push-ups. Any other workout caused pain in my gammy shoulder. The last three utterly slothful weeks saw me losing most of my muscle weight bringing me to where I am right now. It's very hard to work out when you are staying in a dorm.

I did make a breakthrough in learning Mandarin though. I had no intentions of learning how to read Mandarin characters - their convoluted appearance coupled with a seemingly endless number of characters made it an overwhelming task. But it happened! I began to look at a few characters around me and noticed recurring patterns (simple radicals, I realized). I learnt a few basic characters (~30). It helped me understand a few more characters. Then the learning process began to work like a snowball effect. Currently my snowball of Chinese characters is pretty small - I can recognize around a hundred characters. But with a little more systematic approach and a little effort I can enrich my repertoire of these bad-ass characters. At least I can think of such a possibility now. And my spoken Mandarin is a lot better.

Career-wise I am pretty sure what to do. And the best part is all these months of traveling and meeting people across diverse backgrounds and situations have given me a strong confidence. The future looks promising, not scary. I relish the prospects of empowerment and freedom in my uncertainty. The latent fear of failure hardly bothers me. 

I experienced highs and lows while traveling. But the undue stress which was scraping my heart and soul each day of my life is gone. There are seldom bouts of loneliness when I feel extremely down, unwanted or purposeless. There's not much I can do about it. A quick intense workout calms down my senses and works like a temporary reprieve.

I can speak a lot about how much I have learnt and changed during all these months of traveling. I will save most of it for later posts. I will continue traveling, but the next leg of journey will be a lot more about experimentation. When I say experimentation, I mean it in various aspects of life - career, way of living. societal interactions and new ideas. I will write about it if and when I get somewhere interesting.

Right now I am looking forward to my next trip. 

(A little bit of background)

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The Naughty Boys of Chungking

Chungking is a word that sends shivers down the spines of most people in HK. Chungking Mansions is inarguably the most infamous and dingy place in Hong Kong. Almost all the inhabitants of this seedy building are people originally from Indian and African subcontinents. Well, they live like a boss. To hell with embracing the local culture of HK; to hell with the rules; to hell with civic sense; to hell with rationality. Enter the building and you embrace absurdity with open arms.

I was one of the backpackers staying in one of the many guest houses here. People from Indian subcontinent speak Hindi/Punjabi so I could understand every word they said. They are hilarious. Even before you enter the building a couple of them try to sell you stuff you will never buy in life even if you are paid for it. As you enter the building many of them pounce on you with unattractive offers of dingy rooms, calling cards, extensions cables and can openers.

They are annoyingly persistent. Marketing lessons are for social retards. Logic is mere intellectual spool. They believe in policy of brute force. As you fight past them to reach the lift lobby, you bump into a queue of people. The amount of time it takes for the lift to come is long enough to turn them into zombies. As you enter the room you realize it's hardly bigger than the lift you were in a few seconds ago.

Sorry I digressed.

The people: 

The people here are VERY insulated from the rest of HK. They hardly do anything that carries a local influence. I used to go out in a very casual attire. It helped me blend in - they thought I was one of them and didn't hassle me. The downside - I couldn't talk at all to the fellow backpackers. They took me for one of the peddlers.

One day there were two Indian guys in the lift, one of them quite new in the city. He wanted to know where he could find white girls in the city for "boom boom". The other guy claimed innocence when he said, "मैं यह सब नहीं करता (I am not into such stuff)". The newcomer's reply was brilliant - "तुम बहुत सीधे हो, बंगाली हो क्या? (you are very naive. are you from Bengal?)". I brazenly burst out in front of them.

On my last night in Chungking, I wanted to see what goes on after-hours in the area. I dashed out of my tiny room in excitement at one in the morning and went to the ground floor, the hotspot of all naughtiness. A few "import-export" shops were still open along with a few internet kiosks. This was one time when I saw African people outnumber the people of my race. I took a roundabout route to the exit. There was police outside questioning an inhabitant - a pretty common occurrence. As I strode away from the exit, I saw an Indian guy still hassling all the passers-by to buy suits or watches. They'll never give up. I think such a thing has now ingrained in their blood. They never think consciously about what they are doing, what time it is, how can they improve/change things or why they are doing it.

A few steps ahead two guys were gawking at a woman in dodgy costume standing across the road. One of them said to the other, "वो तुझे देख रही है  (She's looking at you)". The face of the other guy lightened up as he fixated his gaze on her. I went ahead across the road where an African lady was squabbling with a convenience store owner loudly. The owner had apparently called the police who was trying to pacify the not-so-happy lady. I watched the scene for a few minutes when I got bored and decided to go back. En-route the main entrance, I saw the guy still standing there enamored by the lady in dodgy costume, still staring at her. 

In the lift, an African man was talking to someone recounting the incident of her friend having a brawl with a convenience store owner. I ask him why she was fighting with the guy. He said, "She was fighting with the person." I asked him why. He repeated the same thing. I grew a bit impatient. I raised my tone slightly and asked, "But why?" The guy apparently didn't like the rise in my pitch. He assumed a grave look and said in loud clear words to me, "... because this is Hong Kong, this is not your country." I could sense copious amount of hostility in the air. I said "OK good night" and ran to my room like a hare hopping into her lair. 

The decors:

The extreme inadequacy of elevators forces you to use stairs very often. The stairway is dingy and stinky. The walls are mottled with paan stains and other noisome stuff. There are two narrow alleys flanking the building. They are strong prototypes of a dystopian cityscape. They are choking on trash and the water dripping from above always keeps them wet and smudgy. It's much better inside the building, but the environment looks very sketchy. What's surprising is in spite of a large presence of Africans, there aren't many shops selling their goods whereas you can find every desi stuff from pirated CDs of kitschy Hindi movies to गृहशोभा here.

The positive non-negative side:

Not everything is bad about this place though. The place has got amazing Indian food at a very affordable price. The people at the reception were very hospitable and helpful to me. Not all of them are illegal immigrants. There have been reports of murder and rape in recent past but the place didn't look so unsafe to me. Security has been beefed up. It just has a very strong sketchy character. Certainly a lot of underhand dealings occur on a daily basis but they are not as insolent as some articles claim. I didn't come across anyone who tried to sell me drugs or other dodgy stuff. But would I like to go there again? Probably just for the food. 

[This place has been mentioned in various well known magazines and websites like Time and CNN. It's shady dealings and sketchy character was shown remarkably intact in a very well made movie 'Chungking Express'. Watch the movie if you haven't yet.]

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Northern Laos - Mekong and the mountains

Those rivers were more than just masses of flowing water, and those mountains were more than just inanimate limestone erections.

It was beauty in its most rugged form, untouched by placid strokes of nature and unharmed by human civilization. It didn't have the smoothness of those sloping hills covered with rows of pines. It's creation was planned by disorder and shaped by chaos.

I took a boat ride from Nong Khiaow to Muang Ngoi - both sleepy touristy villages snuggled in lush green foothills of giant mountains. I could only watch in awe the towering mountains as our boat paced irregularly on the choppy waters of Nam Ou. The chugging sound of engine echoed in the mountains that flanked the river.

Sunset as seen from Muang Ngoi

Mountains near Nong Khaiow

The landscape did more than just holding you in awe. It piqued your curiosity and triggered your imagination. The mountains were riddled with caves and covered with forests. It insulated from our mundane existence a hidden world full of deep dark secrets. It was a world where sprites dwelled and dervishes danced, where wisents still grazed and humans still hunted. Whatever there was beneath those trees or inside those caves, it was something that could only be seen in figments of your imagination.

Stalwart peaks inVang Vieng, There are numerous caves and creeks inside.

A brook near one of the caves

I kayaked in Nam Song the shores of which serve the town of Vang Vieng. Mountains here weren't as dense as in the north. Vast plains separated the vertical cliffs but their magnificence didn't diminish against the distance. These mountains were riddled with numerous caves, many of them massive. Most caves had a rivulet in proximity where it was possible to swim. At many points the banks of the Nam Song were several feet higher than the water level which tunneled your vision. It was a cloudy day. All I could see was the weak currents of river and cloud capped cliffs.

View from one of the rooms I stayed in, Vang Vieng

When I was in Luang Prabang, I spent all of the evenings walking/sitting along the banks of Mekong. The river sprawled wide in Luang Prabang. Its immutable flow of water made no sound. A few minutes after sunset darkness gobbled up the whole river. Green mountains turned into dark silhouettes. Faint lights from obscure houses on the mountains shone like sequins on a dark cloth. Mellow buffets of wind caressed the water which made the reflection of those lights quiver on the surface. Time came to a standstill. There was nothing to worry about, no past grudges, no future commitments. 

Things were more than just physical things. I was more than just a human being. Those rivers were more than just rivers. Those mountains were more than just mountains.

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