The wind in my hair, The Beatles playing in my head, and 150 cc of speed vibrating in between my legs. As I hurdled a whopping 80km/hour through the back roads of Asia, I couldn't feel more at peace with my existence while at the same time, in fear for my life. I had embarked on the first of leg of my motorbike trip through Laos, starting my adventure with the lesser-traveled Bolaven Plateau.
I zoomed through the scorching streets of Pakse with two fellow motorbike enthusiasts I had met the night before, making it a mere twenty five kilometers until our first incident; a flat tire. We pushed the bike up the road without inkling if there was a service station anywhere nearby, cursing our bad luck so early on in the trip.
Through our sweaty struggle, a little old man hammer welding a machete outside of a thatch and concrete hut caught my attention as he waved us over to his home just off the road. He inspected the tire, nodded his head, and shuffled over to the neighbor's. We sat there awkwardly, wondering what was to become of our trip as the rain poured down in buckets. Our new friend returned accompanied by another old man carrying tools, a mangy dog, and an ancient looking fellow dressed in tattered army apparel. The man with the tools got right to work on our flat, as we sipped on rice whisky and tried not to make direct eye contact with the military vet who was staring at us ominously. The old man received his 8,000 kip ($1USD) as payment, and we thanked our hosts (and the vet who never batted an eye), hopping back onto our bikes and into the rain.
As I continued to gain elevation, my shorts and t-shirt soon became obsolete against the now freezing and stinging rain that pelted my body. I shivered and squinted through my rain-covered glasses, continuing onward and upward, searching for a place to rest and get warm.
When out of nowhere, I spotted a small restaurant through the fog and hailed for my companions to pull over. I can only imagine how we appeared to the housemother as she sat us down, wrapping each of us in wool blankets and pouring three cups of hot tea. As I gathered my wits, I noticed we shared the room with ten monks, swathed in orange robes. A young monk smiled at me and raised his cup of tea as if to say 'Cheers to the remainder of your journey.' I nodded and we continued towards the evening's destination of Tad Lo with renewed enthusiasm.
Upon reaching the waterfall village, I settled into my riverside bungalow and began to consider the events of my life in Asia. How grateful I was that with every obstacle I faced, I was greeted with an unwarranted kindness and generosity by the people I met along the way. For this reason, and so many more, I travel.