Vientiane

Woken by the sound of raised voices rising, drunkenly, from the street below, the clock saying 0230, voices transformed into shouts. A group exiting a late bar, gathered beneath the window, the howl of a motorbike engine revving up; the city soundscape intruding into unquiet dreams. Going into my rucksack I find my mp3 player, choose something more soothing than the street symphony and attempt to reclaim sleep...

Awake early I step out into the unquiet morning, through streets and alleys, long shadows draped across them, an aimless wander and yet looking for something, maybe the residue of that tone which this place sounds within my memories of it. I recall this place as charming, a little run down and ragged, streets offering remnants of colonial architecture, one of the worst rooms which I've ever slept in not being quite dingy enough to darken the memories. As I reacquaint myself I find recognition strained, monuments and river aligned but a new place formed between, a place of anonymity, just another city.

And even here, wandering through alleys I feel displaced. Pausing at a temple an old monk calls me over, prodding at my stomach and laughing. I linger awhile, no rush, neither need nor destination to hurry me along; think about other places which had changed in my absence, villages become cities, quiet replaced by chaos. 

Returning to the streets my eyes are drawn into this new cityscape, aware of the quantity of new buildings risen since I was here, the unfamiliarity increasing. The world changes astound us, leaving only memories of places departed in our absence, images of what was beneath what has become, sliding towards anonymity, the same chains and brands flourishing as elsewhere, the same styles of architecture prevailing. Or maybe it's just me, the reluctant departure from Viengxai, from the hills, into the heated plains; the quiet lost in the familiar sounds of the living city. A feeling of being lost as the vortex of the city spins, too quickly, around me.

Turning a corner I find myself unexpectedly facing the Patuxay monument, recognition, no idea that I was anywhere near it. 

In the afternoon, the worst of the heat passed I put on my sandals once again and head out. This time my surroundings sink in, the old center of the city has become a building site. As l walk concrete skeletons loom above me, fresh built buildings and half finished guesthouses, cafes and restaurants almost empty entangled with decay and wastelands, cranes rising above the rooftops where builders scurry towards the end of the day. And the pace feels different, quicker, a city; but a different one to that which I left.