Two Cows in Saint Tropez*
*and by Saint Tropez I mean the banks of the Mekong River in Northern Laos :)
From the window of the slow boat, it looked as though we were entering Laos through a lesser-known backdoor, filled with wonders that those taking the typical route in would never get to see. A hidden secret passageway made up of miles upon miles of river and shore, upon which cattle grazed freely, rock edges soared proudly from the murky waters, and where people were distinctly lacking. If not for the odd village spotted here and there, from which the children would run down onto the beach and wave as we passed, we were entirely alone. Hills of green welcomed us, peeking up and over the skyline, inching to get a view of the rickety old wooden boat cruising leisurely down the Mekong. Who dares pass today? I thought they must be wondering.
Aboard the boat itself, you can hear every cog in every gear in every engine moving all at once. The vessel, if you can call it that, churned beneath my feet, sending distinguished and repetitive pulses through my skeleton for each of the thirteen hours we spent onboard. There is no ‘personal space’ on the slow boat in Laos. One girl slept seemingly peacefully for six hours one day right at my feet, resting on boxes and backpacks. Travellers piled on top of one another on the bow, sharing stories and cigarettes, and locals climbed through the open sides of the raft mid voyage to get a spot which neither existed nor was worth climbing aboard one vessel from another for.
Wooden panels of varying colours hung together precariously around me. I sensed that if I stood up, jumped too high and then landed on the floor beneath me, I might fall right through to the bowels of this sleepy cruiser, wake it up and send the whole thing into overdrive. On the walls hung towels, hats, shirts, bags - paraphernalia left behind from travellers gone by - and beside them, people sat up on either side of the wooden frames, catching the breeze those of us in the interior were denied.
I remember, we sailed past two cows, basking on the sand banks, somewhere around hour five of day one on this boat. I couldn’t draw my gaze from them; they looked so content. I don’t know if I ever saw a contented cow. It’s an understatement to say they were single-handedly redefining the term ‘free to roam’. I thought they resembled something more like two lovers, basking in the hot midday sun of Saint Tropez than cattle on a river’s edge. They were so elegant, so comfortable. It was their beach, no one else’s. It’s one thing watching a human being embrace small joys like this, but it's another thing to watch a cow do it. Yet here they were, these two cows lingering in two of life’s simplest pleasures: sunshine and good company.
The slow boat in Laos was not comfortable, and yet it was so incredibly cosy. It was not luxurious, and yet it held itself with a unique kind of majesty. People smile on the slow boat. They sleep, read, and listen to music too. Some smoke and some drink. Some chat all the way, and some hold a prolonged silence. But in all of that, there is definitely a good amount of smiling. As such, I would say that the slow boat in Laos is, overall, a rather pleasant place to be.
