Day 51 – Luang Phabang

 In almost every city across the face of the earth a pattern presents itself. It doesn’t matter if you’re in the most modern fibre-optic covered metropolis or most god-forsakened shantytown. Those who are favoured by power sit along leafy boulevards in the center of town. On the edges sit those who have been driven out. The unwanted, the spit upon, the forgotten. I came among such a camp by accident. The narrow dragon boat pulled up to the other side of the Mekong to a village on the other side. 

Steps led up some abandoned temples. On the narrow path in the jungle I was seeking an inhabited temple, one with Monks in their orange sarongs hopefully sweeping the path or cutting the grass. Along the river I trod getting deeper and deeper, the route becoming nothing but a horse path. 

A hut and fire materialized against the jungle darkness. A hand was raised and beckoning. I drew closer. Figures were seated around a meager fire. They were passing a small clay bowl filled with the remains of a grey fish mixed with peppers, beside a soup with some herbs close to the fire a young man in nothing but a loincloth warming a bone beside the fire. A glass was held out to me. The clear liquid was fiery and burned all the way down. The figures nodded in approval. They shared cigarettes, I passed around my. Listening to DMX. We smoked asking simple questions, quiet in our sublime environment. I noticed something was off. Two of the guys had on full makeup and their hair stretched back and held by pins and combs. I realized then and their what was up, on our remote bank of the Mekong was a group of guys trying to survive anyway possible. A couple were plying their trade for those without enough money to afford the real thing, while another poled a boat down the river, and a fourth raised some meager crops on the edge of the jungle. We drank Lao lao the clear strong whiskey of region, smoked and shared stories. Nothing strange.