Friday, April 17, 2009
The words get tangled up in lines 
Pages and pages of words, in your handwriting and mine.
I always wrote like I would in a diary.
I always wrote like I would in a diary.
In a short span of 3 days, we visited temples, talked to monks and locals, took a cooking course, went on a full-day trek though the mountains and valleys, made new friends with other travellers, watched the sunset. It's hard not to fall in love with the city, and we toyed with the idea of coming back for a longer period of time.You preferred to write in point forms and brackets.
- breakfast by riverside- woke up early + left for Vientiane by bus (10.5 hours)- checked into Saysouly Guesthouse- dinner at Addy restaurant
You forgot to mention that the bus must have been moving at about 20 km/hour along the windiest roads, and that we paid for an air-conditioned bus but the windows were open and it was hot as hell and we were perspiring so much that the back of our thighs stuck to the plasticky seats. That the locals behind us were just as unaccustomed to the mountaineous terrain and puked into the plastic bags the conductors gave out, or that the bus made "toilet stops" in the middle of nowhere and the Laotians would alight the bus, unwrap their skirts and squat down to do their business in full view of everyone else.
You also forgot to mention that we got on a shared tuk-tuk from the bus station but he dropped us off on the main street along with the rest of the backpackers and we wandered around trying to find our guesthouse, starving and exhausted. That eventually I lost my appetite because I was feeling so poorly from the bus journey, and that I had to go back and lie down in our room straight after dinner while you went in search for an internet cafe to back-up the photos we had taken on our DSLRs.
And that you said you would be back in 20 minutes, but instead you took over an hour because the computers were slow and I couldn't sleep because I grew frantic with worry and ended up sitting at the porch waiting for you to return, and when you finally did I burst into tears because I was convinced that something terrible had happened to you. And that you held me while I cried and told me I was being silly, but I was convinced I saw tears in your eyes too. It must have been a combination of the malaria pills, the fatigue, the alien surroundings and the thought of losing you.
Three travel journals, all half-filled and I am always thinking of the places we've yet to see. China, the rest of India, the rest of Australia, Europe.
What you and I spoke of, others just read of...
Labels: love, memories, photo, travel
Link to this entry | 0 commented.
