April 25th, 2013

I left Phongsali and the north of Laos after only one day. I didn’t feel like leaving the bike behind and going trekking with the Hmong people. The persistent grey overcast made sightseeing and nature watching into acts of futility. Everything seemed too pricey and I was already worried about the mounting cost of the trip.

Months earlier, I had planned on buying a simple 125cc scooter in Malaysia and riding it around SE Asia for as long as I pleased. The scooters could go just about anywhere the big bike could, were easier to handle, cheaper to maintain, and on the whole, they were less to worry about. However, my imagination got the best of me, and I ended up with a big bike and an ambitious plan.

Laos was more expensive that I had remember, and my motorcycle was devouring gas – at least compared to scooter. However, it was infinitely more comfortable, and could chew up anything in its path. I could ride for several hours without feeling too fatigued. It also handled like a dream, and came with large aluminum lock-boxes on the sides. However, motorcycle travel is inherently tiring. Being shaken and blown around all day takes a different sort of energy to combat. My tolerance was low, and I was nodding off into deep sleep every night around 9pm.

I spent a night in Oudom Xai, where I met a few local kids who were practicing their English. Without subtle of any kindly  they took turns asking me similar questions in more or less the same order (i.e. “What is your name?”, “Where are you from?”, “What do you do”, “Do you have any brothers or sisters” etc.). It was obvious that they were students and and been encouraged to talk to tourists; in fact they encouraged each other. I was happy to oblige, and answer them all individually, sounding off like a broken record.

One of the kids, a sixteen year old named Asah, was enthused as he spoke passable English. He asked if I would want to come to his village the following day, which I did. We made arrangements to meet the following day, and he showed up right on time. I rode my bulky bike and followed his scooter. We rode 30km or so before turning of onto dirt track. In 10 minutes we arrived to his village. The village was ethnically Hmong, with a nearby village that was ethnically Khmu. However, they were not traditional in any sense. There were primarily poor farmers, and only practical concerns were attended to.

The village was ramshackle, the people dirty, and the land no doubt hard to work. They smiled at seeing me; I was a bit of a curiosity. Despite comprising most of the country, villages like this one are very hard to tour. They are of utmost interest to me, and many other tourist too, yet they remain hidden.

Asah had asked that I bring a few fish and some rice with me, which he bought for me at the market earlier in the day. Asah contracted his nephews to take us on a hike up the mountains. They giggled at the prospect, but lead the way fearlessly. We had climbed about an hour before my bad knee began acting up. We had another hour to climb, and I didn’t want to push it so we turned back. We found a stream and his nephews tore down and washed off some banana fronds. We made a picnic, and shared the food.

Asah and I talked as much I possible. I knew he wanted to practice his English, and I wanted to know his thoughts on the world. He asked lots of questions about what it is like in my country.

“It’s a cold country?” he asked, as many locals I meet inevitably do.

It’s taken me years to even begin to understand the perspective and psychology of people in the developing countries. Unless they are very well educated, knowledge I take to be common is anything but. Asah had never left Laos. It is possible that he had neither seen pictures of America nor had any real instruction on world geography. Often, I’ve received stares of only vague comprehension when I mention places like South America, India, or Africa to foreign people. “America is in Europe?” I was once asked. Ideas like relative size and population between countries may not be well understood, if at all.  

I make efforts, if people are genuinely curious. I travel with a world map on my computer, and have striking examples of what people and geography look like in different countries. As to whether or not America is a ‘cold country’ I always say that it is very big country – “some places very cold, some places very hot”. I always mention that we have four seasons, and this is far better understood; seasons are relatable.

The photos and the map are generally well liked. Sometimes I run across people with an all too familiar thirst for knowledge. They see what I’m doing and they love it, though they often wear a pained expression which seems to say “I wish I knew this, I wish I knew this”. Most treat my playful picture gazing as what it is, a novelty. Knowledge that doesn’t put food on the table is a mere curiosity for many. At a certain age, and in certain circumstances, this is as it should be.

We walked back to town and he showed me his old elementary school. He had three brothers and one sisters. The all sacrificed what they could to keep Asah in school, mostly to learn English. He said he wanted to be a guide, and I asked him how many other tourist he had brought to his village. He said none; that I was the first. When I asked him why he brought me, he said to practice English, to show me Lao people, to show his family a westerner. It was all very innocent.

At the end of the day I took some photos of his village. I had purchased a Polaroid camera in Bangkok, and had used it all through Myanmar and Laos. It’s impossible to explain to people what I’m doing at first. The film is expensive and limited, so I try to take only good photos. Children are likely to cooperate, but older people will turn and hide at the sight of a camera. I usually take a picture of kids first, which earns adult trust and intrigue. The photo prints out and we all watch it come to life. It was the same on this occasion, in Asah’s village. A few adults obliged to have their photos taken with their kids, and Asah said the photos made them very happy.

I followed Asah back to Oudom Xai. It was near sunset, and he showed me to my guesthouse. I was clear that he was never going to ask for any money, not even a tip, not even dinner. He took me to the village because he wanted to, and that was enough. I insisted on dinner and I wrote a well thought out script for him. I explained that he should practice being a guide; he had been a great guide for me all day, but he should practice it every weekend with a foreigner.

The script was to translate Asah’s wonderful intentions into language which would hold sway over westerners. It cut to the chase and informed people that Asah was an aspiring guide, and wanted to practice his English. It then mentioned that there was no cost, but that food would need to be brought, and there would be a hike. At the end, I added what I wished Asah had said to me. “If you like, at the end of the day you may leave a donation.”

He liked the idea of guiding a westerner every weekend, and seemed to recognize that simply asking would probably work. I paid for dinner, a few dollars for the both of us, about which he made a fuss. I guessed a tip was out of the question, and so I let it be. I still think of him though. In my dreams, he’s doing very well.