The Long Journey West Written and Photographed by Victor Chia
I see places in colors. Depressive and uplifting colors accompany
my experiences and encounters. The colors change, together with
the people whom I have the pleasure or displeasure of meeting.
We left a place of Yellow, with its blazing sun and amazing stretches
of beaches. Armies of touts, endless banter and chatter faded
away like whispers. Vietnam, the Caucasian traveler's bane, was
our last stop before heading straight into Laos.
We hopped on a bus in the city of Vinh on the eastern coast of
Vietnam, unaware that the bus was meant for transporting goods
to trade across the border. We had no Vietnamese Dong left after
paying for our tickets, no money for even a baguette. Hungry and
anxious, we waited for the bus to arrive. When it finally did,
we were packed in like sardines. My legs were pulled up to my
chin, with no space to stretch. All I could see were arms and
legs of faceless passengers. The back of the bus was converted
into a storage compartment, with mats wrapped over the goods for
us to sit on. My back was facing an open window and I was running
the risk of falling out if I fell asleep. I couldn't stretch my
legs without kicking someone else in the face. I distinctly remember
the smell of burnt cigarettes, dirty fingernails, oily hair and
the stench of a perspiration soaked t-shirt.
Despite my discomfort, I had ample time to think and observe
my surroundings. It was authentically an experience, away from
our fellow backpackers, away from the ‘Falangs’ and
the fact that I was cramped up with four dozen strangers in close
quarters. I never felt more alive.
The Yellow slowly
broke away into a lush deep Green. Laos is now in sight.
The dizzying heights of the cliffs and karsts came into
view as we climbed higher and higher up the snaking mountain
roads. The view was truly breathtaking. I was lost in its
greenery and misty mountain tops. I caught glimpses of villages
settled beside rivers as our bus raced through the dusty
road. There were typical Laotian scenes of women washing
their clothes in the river while children bathing and splashing
water at one another. The children were shy, running away
from our bus. It might have been my unshaven face staring
curiously out of the window. We were racing through valleys,
chasing down the infinite stretch of the mountain range.
Rice fields lined the foot of the cliffs and herds of cows
grazed, stopping only to point that dull watchful gaze at
us. All these I watched from my little window.
The cold breeze from that little window, sweet euphoria, made
the pain go away. I wondered if the villagers actually see the
beauty in which they live and breathe. The exuberance of greenery,
which I envy, is long gone from the concrete jungle where I come
from. I hunger for the simplicity of life. There rose an irrepressible
urge to start smiling, which might have seemed strange to my fellow
passengers. I was lost, deep in my thoughts, as I witnessed the
sunset and finally the darkness of the night. The setting of the
sun was simply beyond words. It was brief but anything other would
not have been appropriate. We were finally thrown out of the bus,
miles away from Vientiane. Finding accommodation and transport
was a top priority but that is a story for another day.
Victor Chia
is majoring in Business at Nanyang Technological University
in Singapore. His utmost interest lies in Asian culture and
civilization which he considers the last unexplored frontier
apart from the African continent. Victor is fluent in written
and spoken English and Chinese with basic skills in Bahasa
Melayu. He hopes to save enough money for a big trip through
Nepal and India at the end of the year.
