The road south

Across the water the sound of loudspeakers, an early morning wake up call, a reluctance to accept it, turning over in hope of reclaiming broken sleep, too early and a long day to come. But the hope's a forlorn one, as I lie awake, listening to the indecipherable words float across the brightening day and step out into the cooler air, groggily greeting the morning.

A little later, breathing in the scent of  coffee, sitting watching the reflections upon the still, green, water, the lingering mist upon the higher slopes, greens and brown's strewn across naked grey rockfaces below, falling into smallholdings, wooden huts above still pools flanked and sheltered by banana trees. Thinking about packing, some breakfast and food for the journey stretching out into tomorrow morning, the uncertain jigsaw pieces scattered upon this day.

And then it's time to leave. Clutching ice cream cones we begin to walk beneath the midday sun, 1 km up to the junction where we take shelter in the shadows of an unfinished garage and begin our wait for the bus back down to Sam Neua. It's one of those moments, wondering if our luck might stretch as far as another hitched lift, whether we'll be able to find berths on the sleeper bus, what adventures lie in wait upon this next section of the map.

A family of cats, a pregnant female and cautious male, more than one as a small kitten appears, surveys the area and returns whence it came. The sound of a hammer as a guest house takes form behind the empty forecourt, motorbikes passing, the sky turning grey above small clouds as the heat continues to gather, a slight breeze offering no relief; waiting, waiting.

And the bus arrives, packed, the driver points to the roof, space for one up there, nothing inside and there are two of us. Standing by the side of the road we're told to wait, another undocumented bus at two, only forty five minutes and we've given up on the 3p.m. connection anyway, so we wait, weighing other options, me tempted to stay overnight and jump the 0700 but we'll see what unfolds and then, 15 minutes early a minibus halts across the road. We're squeezed in somehow, rucksacks lashed to the boxes already on the roof, squashed into seats, moving towards Sam Neua.

Arriving a sangschaw to the south station, the bus here but full, another sleeper departing at 1800, tickets bought, three hours to wait, town a steep descent and steeper return, the station a hub of activity, bags and boxes heaped and collated awaiting departures. A small market, a desire for oranges but my insides have already turned to liquid as we waited and, maybe, a 12 hour plus bus journey to come, not the best idea. Instead I look and lust, contemplating a cold coffee, watching as minutes spill around me, as roofracks are lashed beneath canvas covers, the skies threatening rain, watchful eyes waiting to embark.

Into the embrace of twilight, mountains and mist winding their layers, as we move slowly through them. The bus is the sleeper, two people squashed into small single bedspaces, but designed for shorter folk than i, unable to lie flat and sliding upon the surface at each turn, a memory of seasickness as I notice a clunk, bone upon bone, from the shock absorber each time we hit a bump or hole. An hour into the journey we stop, driver and staff gathering tool, getting under the bus and making running repairs. Again I'm aware that there's no turning back, that this time it's a bus, no way to turn on roads barely wide enough for passing. We move again, the clunking continuing, lights below us from villages and vehicles as we carve our way forward through the hidden distances and cold, bright, stars.

Through this night time realm, through unlit villages, women sitting at looms lit by fluorescent tubes, apparitions caught out of time; small gatherings illuminated by the light of the bus. This world which I've never seen by night unfolding along the road, sleepless and intrigued, wishing that there was time to stop, to stay, to visit these enchanted moments balanced upon the edge of progress, fragile before the approaching world as the bus passes, trailing them within its wake, lost once again in the surrounding night.