Blue in Green

It has been a week. A week since Anne and I took different paths. She stayed in southern Laos; I crossed the border into Cambodia.

A lot has happened since Luang Prabang. We progressively travelled south toward the Laos–Cambodia border, stopping in Vientiane, Thakhek, and Pakse and, with only six days left on our one-month visa, finally reaching the 4000 Islands of Si Phan Don.

In Thakhek, we rented a motorbike and explored the region for four days. We saw breathtaking caves and astonishing landscapes. Over 60% of the roads were in terrible condition, but we managed to survive without injuries.

In Pakse, we spent two nights on the Bolaven Plateau, where plantations of some of Asia’s best coffee stretch across thousands of hectares. Dreamlike waterfalls hide beneath lush green vegetation, and under 30-degree heat there is no better way to cool down than by diving into their crystal-clear waters.

Laos is truly a wonderful country—its people exceptionally kind and warm, its rhythm the most relaxing I’ve experienced in Southeast Asia. A place to revisit.

I stepped onto Cambodian soil on the 29th of December. My first stop was a small town on the east bank of the Mekong River called Kratie. It was mid-afternoon when I got off the bus. I had the worst headache I’d had in ages and was craving solitude. I walked to the central market in search of a place to lay my head. I found a small guesthouse charging $5 a night. I took a room, rested for 30 minutes, then got up, packed a book, cigarettes, and a couple of dollars, and left. I wandered around town and soon reached its outskirts. A dozen barefoot kids were playing football on a landfill. One of them wore a Portuguese national team shirt with Figo written on the back. I approached slowly and waited for their reaction. They all stopped playing and stared at me, motionless. I smiled. They didn’t. Silence.

“Play football?” one of the kids asked. “Yeah, sure.”

I felt twelve again. Two of them—the best players, I assumed—began picking teams. For the first time in my life, I was the first one chosen. I felt great, important, like an international player with years of experience. Flip-flops marked the goals and there were no out-of-bounds. After 30 minutes I was sweating my ass off and decided to retire from my street-football career. One by one the kids lined up to say goodbye and show off their English skills. My feet were sticky with chewing gum and filthy. I thought, “I have to wash my feet before going to bed.” I can’t remember if I did.

The sun was beginning to set when I reached the east bank of the Mekong. Magical. Northeastern Cambodia is flat as a pancake, and the sun seems to merge with the earth while its reflection shimmers on the still waters of the Mekong. I sat. Lit a cigarette. Wondered where Anne was.

Darkness took over the sky and my stomach reminded me that I had only had breakfast. I sat down at Red Sun Falling, a small but incredibly charming riverside restaurant. The owner was a man in his late forties from Chicago. He’d arrived in Cambodia in the early nineties and had lived there ever since. Tom Waits was groaning through the speakers, so I ordered a gin and tonic to match the mood. The vegetable curry was good enough to attract company: an impeccably behaved black cat jumped onto the chair opposite mine and waited patiently for a taste. I ordered a black coffee, lit a cigarette, and listened. Tom Waits had given way to John Coltrane and Miles Davis. Blue in Green filled my soul and I drifted away. I was back on my living-room floor in Berlin. I closed my eyes. Bluish and greenish circles painted the pitch black of my mind.

I was happy.