Luang Prabang / Bus Station Closure
to six hours before the house. The bag already on the back, I watch a
when children of the family through the door parted from their room, under the net
peaceful square, lighted by a blue neon forgotten.
At the roadside, j'alpague a couple of young Israelis to share
the race to the bus station. Skin color endive, look sick,
tight against one another, weighed down by bags higher than them, they look like me
prey hunted while I
divide their proposed fees. That turbine in their brains to uncover the scam
necessarily hidden behind the simplicity of my proposal.
At the bus station, the turnkey teaches me to ask me a ticket and advises
shack noodles pending departure. I eat in
with two little men in the forest. They invite me to share their rice
, that they brought to accompany the grilled fish served
here. The offer is sincere, yet they barely have enough for themselves. Send
rare, soft, barely audible as caressing the women heard chirping
in Kep, a dark night. In the ruins of colonial houses
, on the day, the cows were grazing, impacts between
Kalashnikov bullets, pieces of walls torn off by tanks and
frames stolen by the Vietnamese, about thirty women prepared
rice soup. In the darkness, even the lapping of the sea
took precedence over the appearance of their voices. Syllables bouncing
little men here have the same lack of tone.
The soup is delicious. Although
after completion, I'm still here, leave me by Butt
thick fat fish who smoke at the entrance of the shop.
In the song tao
cuffs of an old lady, adorned with sai sin: thirty-two bracelets
of white cotton - six on each arm - one tied to hang up the spirits of the players
person's body, for example, before embarking on a major trip
. What sense does it for this trip? Does it fit
the village after selling something valuable?
killed an animal in the forest, perhaps? Plants? A piece of black cotton woven on
his job? I asked permission to take a photo. A pair of white
arrive, talking very loud and do not see anything around them
. The woman looked at me through his dark glasses:
- Hello.
- Sabai dii, I respond halfheartedly. Their condition
solitary wanderers generally gives travelers a common desire to tinker
relations with each ephemeral
we make a bubble with us and we like them a little rest. But when the
tourism becomes a mass phenomenon, making contact with every stranger systematic
prevents out of this bubble. We travel
behind a screen, cut off from any opportunity to link more tenuous and fragile.
Recreate the comfort of familiar surroundings - that's what this looks
woman engaging conversation.
- You come from where?
- Excuse me, but I am afraid I do not want to talk with you.
His smile is frozen in the American time it equates
what I just said. She repeats:
- You do not want to talk?
As I look at her smiling, she turned to someone else and the
began the same way, with more success.
The old lady takes off his jacket. She is so tiny that I could do
around his waist with my hands. I showed him the picture his wrists
on the screen. She steps back, looks up at my face, interrogative,
almost frightened. I try to smile, but I turn quickly to
she does not see the water that fills my eyes. What took me
to this photo?
En route, we stop frequently to re-inflate the tires or to
embarking passengers. It will benefit everyone to stretch their legs or
piss on the side, the men standing in a thicket, women squatting
the sin passed over the shoulder and tucked under the chin.
the old lady, she will be held in away. Back to the group, it will count and recount
tickets pulled a wad of his shirt.
Evening / Nong Khiaw
At least one hundred white for a village of that size: you can not see that we
, big, loud, flashy. Prices multiplied by three, four, five
, compared to my first trip.
I sleep in a room adjoining that of a couple. Separated by a partition
woven bamboo, or rather close: hidden, they talk very very much
very intimate and very uninteresting. The man speaks
in French with a strong accent - Italian? The woman responds - Hebrew?
As I point my presence, they pretend not to hear. I'll
knocking on their door
- Hi, excuse me, you know that the walls are very thin?
- Here, people live in community. There is no privacy in this country.
We share everything.
Asshole.
- Perhaps it is too early to say that we form a community?
He starts to giggle and sits up to intimidate me. True, it is very
great. I do not say anything, I fixed his eyes thinking of the elusive dream
I had four years to find this little girl here - big -
who taught me to pick algae in the river pan.
the evening on the terrace together, they have a discussion with an English
who lives in Thailand. The Voice of Israel rises gradually
anxiety and guilt as she tries to justify the policy
"interior" of the government of his country.
- ... All Palestinians are potential terrorists, You know, there is no peace
...
I put my earplugs. Where is Laos?
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