a blog by Julia Escano
Four AM. The world was sound asleep. It was pitch black beyond the lone bulb on my room’s terrace. I sat beneath the light, my bags packed, waiting for the driver to take me back to the Bali International Airport, about two hours away. The epic journey, Indochina 2014, was about to end.
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There were tiny knots in my stomach as I watched Bali’s landscape morph from the concrete blocks of the urban jungle into green pastures and rice fields of the countryside. With every corner we turned I felt the ropes of comfort thin out and stretch, getting ready to snap at any moment.
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In keeping with our trip’s theme of painful country transfers, our way from Myanmar to Indonesia was a long and dragging affair. It wasn’t without its highlights though. It started with the best bus ride of my life.
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There was something cinematic about the clunking of hooves against pavement as the horse drew our cart across Old Bagan. Dawn was coming, and across the indigo sky the sun slowly stretched its rays in streaks of pink and orange. We were still laughing hysterically at the turn of events right after we got off…
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Fantastical and exotic images filled my mind as our plane descended onto the runway at Yangon International Airport. Myanmar was my most anticipated destination in our trip because it seemed so far removed and untouched. Having just “reopened” to the rest of the world several years back,
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My chest tightened as the bus pulled up into the 4am frenzy of Bangkok’s Southern Terminal. Three quarters of the journey was finally done, but ahead lay the most precarious leg yet.
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My friends Nica, Bernice, and I left Dien Bien Phu in a whirlwind 24 hours after our fateful arrival. We were properly scrubbed, rested, fed, and properly ready to get the hell out of there. We boarded the bus to Luang Prabang, Laos at 7am, and excitedly waited for the next leg of our journey…
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Six o’ clock PM. The fog hung low over the plaza at Sapa’s town center. My friends Nica, Bernice, and I stood across the Holy Rosary Church taking selfies as we waited for our sleeper bus to Dien Bien Phu, where we would cross the border to Laos. Here and there were small groups of…
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I opened my eyes to rolling green rice fields. Our bus wove through the quilted landscape of terraced paddies as the sun’s pale yellow rays lightly kissed the mountain face. Inside the murmur of awakening softly buzzed, but was quickly blanketed by the quiet of the Sapa dawn.
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It was a year in the making. It was the biggest undertaking of our lives thus far. I and two other friends, Nica and Bernice, would put our normal lives on hold for six weeks and travel through Indochina. Our first stop: Hanoi, Vietnam.
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Life as a Tumbleweed 