A lesson on the nature of existence

According to the Buddha, suffering is the true nature of all existence. While it is clear I have not lived enough lifetimes to fully understand this wisdom, I did have ample opportunity recently to contemplate the lesson.

After our two sleepless nights in Muang Ngoi (see earlier post), Erin and I decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat back to the relative comfort of Luang Prabang. Hot showers, aircon, perhaps even a mattress. Ah, the luxury.

To get there, however, required a three-hour songthaew ride from Nong Kiew. To those who have not visited SE Asia, the songthaew is a hybrid truck taxi - basically a pickup with seats in the back. In Laos, the songthaew is the bread-and-butter of the taxi circuit, especially on routes frequented by locals (such as Nong Kiew to Luang Prabang).

Aware that our ride had the opportunity to become a bit unpleasant, we steeled ourselves, brought food for the road and purchased some motion sickness pills.

The reality was far more challenging, if comical, than the vision we prepared ourselves for.

First and foremost, the Lao sense of "full" is very different than our western conception. When we think of a full songthaew, we think of every seat being occupied. In Laos, full means no available space on any horizontal surface - floor, roof, laps, you name it.

When we saw the mass of humanity waiting to board the songthaew at the boat landing, we naturally and naively assumed two vehicles would be needed. Foolish assumption. To start, almost 20 people loaded into the vehicle, filling all possible nooks and crannies. And we stopped frequently to pick up more people, until we had 23 at max head count.

Then it was time to load in the agricultural products.

On the roof went the bags of cement - of course - along with a bike, oranges and other unidentifiable product. Inside the cab went a fifty-pound bag of rice (which became a seat, directly in front of me) and a comparable bag of oranges. The owner of the produce guarded her oranges like a mother lion over her cubs. This made sense, since bruised oranges wouldn't sell at the market. Yet with the oranges blocking the entrance to the songthaew and forty feet surrounding the bag, it was very difficult in practice to avoid stepping on the sack.

Ready to go? Not without a dead fish we're not. The final coup de grace, a carp, freshly caught from the Nam Ou I assume, was placed in a thin plastic bag on a sliver of ice, under the seat. The smell of warm carp, mingling with sweaty human and souring oranges was really something to behold. Luckily it's plenty breezy in the back of the songthaew once when it's rolling.

Clearly the shock absorbers of the machine were not built for the tons of human and non-human cargo loaded onboard. As we bounced along up the road, I could see a shade of green wash over several faces (thankfully not mine or Erin's). After an hour or so, I thought one of the local riders was going to exit at high speed, as she lurched half her body out the side of the songthaew as we careened along the windy road. Alas, she was only dropping her breakfast along the roadside, adding another fine scent to the already pungent mix.

During this time, I was literally trying my hardest to be the Buddha. I sat as upright as the bag of rice and low ceiling would allow, assumed a consistent pattern of deep breathing and contemplated the nature of my existence. Even at the darkest moments of the ride, I couldn't help smiling about the lunacy of it all.

Watching the kilometers to Luang Prabang decrease with each sign, I had a couple hours of near meditative state. Om.

With this experience now firmly behind us, Erin and I have added another new mantra to our travel book: Take the air-conditioned minibus whenever possible.