Finding The Write Exposure: Planes, Train, and Automobiles: Planes in Laos

“It's not where you go, it's how you get there.” ~ Anonymous

When traveling; whether internationally, domestically, to work, from work, wherever, however-- you have time to contemplate your Point A and your Point B.

But sometimes the beauty of both points is the in between. I sometimes can recall modes of transportation more vividly than the actual places that I visited, and I find that truly fascinating.

It's been more than a year since I've gone on a fairly substantial trip. So to fill my void, I have another travelog broken into three parts.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles:

Today's post: Planes:

Just recently I flew back home to New Hampshire for an extended weekend. I typically enjoy making the 10 hour drive from Baltimore, but decided against it this time with gas prices and the length of time it takes. I arrived at BWI ready to get home and see my family. But then my flight was delayed due to bad weather in New England (although beautiful in Baltimore at the time). So I sat in the terminal and did some photo editing on the free computer tables with A/C plugs by my gate. As I was getting onto my plane, I saw my flight attendants, gave a smile and grabbed my seat. I turned my phone off, grabbed my iPod and listened to some music before taking off. As Baltimore started to fade into flickering lights below me, my headphones melodically played Beach House's “Teen Dream” album and the flight attendants began asking for drink orders and happily handing us peanuts. By then I reflected back on past flights I've taken abroad and one stuck out in my head.

September of 2006, I went on the most life-changing trip (at the time) throughout the heart of the most underrated, unknown, unappreciated, unbelievable country in the world: Laos. Ten days backpacking by myself, meeting the coolest people, eating the most delicious foods and taking some of my best photographs to date. My last day in Luang Prabang, the northern capital of the country, was an emotional roller coaster. I was ecstatic waking up to see the city but knowing by the end of the day, I would be back home in Bangkok with all my friends I missed so much. I then decided to try and save my photographs from my ten days traveling before my cards filled up on my last day. I went to a shop with my new travel-buddy, Anja. She saved her photos on their quite old computer. Then my turn came and went without anything happening but my digital card being unreadable. After a second try, the computer corrupted my entire card, all 1,000+ photos throughout Laos lost. Completely.

I broke down. Was beside myself. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. It sounds crazy but my photos are my life and that trip couldn't have been captured more perfectly than in those images. I sought refuge my just exploring the city with Anja anyway, trying to clear my head. We went to the city's oldest temple, the most sacred, Wat Xieng Thong. I fell in love with the old architecture, the beautiful open feeling of it all and the view along the water. I took a deep breath and let the temple wash over me and I meditated for two hours inside the temple, praying to clear my head of the negative feelings I had about my card being ruined and photos being lost. I left the temple with a more at ease mindset.

Inside the Wat Xieng Khong, my refuge for a few hours.

The amazing architecture of one of the oldest temples in Asia.

Its gold and bronze stands out above the rest of the temples in the city. Its history is so visual.

I arrived at the Luang Prabang Airport ready to go home to my bed. To sleep and forget about my photos and be distracted by my close friends and move on. As I sat in the “waiting room” of the airport the size of the men's t-shirt section of a Wal-Mart, I wanted to call someone; my girlfriend, my mom, my dad, my sister, anyone who could help me talk out the rest of the bad in my head from earlier in the day. But I didn't own a phone and couldn't contact anyone until Bangkok. So I sat and waited on my own.

I walked along the tarmac to board the pond-hopper. I stepped up into the plane, went to my assigned seat and saw there was a large British man sitting in my seat. I asked him if it was his seat, he replied, “Yes it is.”

I then asked him, “Ok, well that seat next to you with your bag on it, is it ok if sit there since this is my row?”

He snapped back, “No.”

By this time the planes doors have closed and the flight attendants were going through the safety instructions in their native tongue. I wasn't sure what to do. My extremely heavy backpack was weighing down on my shoulders and the brim of my forehead was sweating. The plane began to move into position for take off and this man who was sitting beside his luggage on my seat was not allowing me to take my own seat! By the time the flight attendants realized I was not seated, the plane's engines were ready to go. One attendant rushed up the aisle to me, pushed me up to the front of the plane and told me to “stand here” and pointed at the wall facing the first row of seats. In the current state of shock from earlier in the day, having her tell me to stand upright, as we were about to take off, somehow did not surprise me.

The plane picked up speed as the glares from the passengers at the sweaty “farang” man standing in front of the cabin increased. I looked over to the flight attendants sitting in their own seats buckling up for take off as I stood there: all alone, my backpack still on my shoulders, my legs tired, and my mind confused.

I could feel us leave the ground and I did my best to stay balanced. Tje last thing I wanted was to fall onto the first row of passengers who watched me struggle to stay upright. Imagine standing on a full subway train in New York City nowhere near a safety pole to hold onto and bracing for the momentum from the train's G-forces in your entire body. Then multiply that by about five and you'll understand how outrageously awkward yet grueling this task was.

The plane finally reached its planned altitude and leveled out. My legs never felt more relieved. The attendant asked me why I did not sit down in my seat and I explained to her I was trying to but the man I sat by did not allow it. She seemed baffled. And rightfully so. It was a bit odd, but in all my travels, I never assume.
There is always something that isn't as planned but I knew I'd get to Bangkok one way or another, whether its in a seat or hanging by the wing. The attendant escorted me to my seat and told the man to move his luggage for me to sit down. He huffed and snarled at me as if I ratted him out to his mother. The next two hours in the air were silence. The tension radiating off his body because I took his oversize suitcase's seat was raw. He was angry the entire flight. I could have cared less and just wanted to get home. Externally to him, I must have looked as apathetic as possible. But internally there was much more going on. There we sat, looking over the green mountaintops of Laos. One of us irately emotional and the other emotionally irate.