Had We But World Enough And...

Friday 29th January 2010, 10.20pm, Satri Lounge Bar - Luang Prabang

Time is such a blessing. Really, the best gift I have ever been given, or given to myself as it were. I've only realised this today I think, being on my own, having no agenda, no demands, nowhere to be and no one to answer to, only the long hours of the day stretched before me on a blank canvas awaiting my scribble. Talking of scribble, this is my second blog of the day, how productive I am with hours to fill! If I'd given up work a year ago and spent 12 months sitting in bars I would probably have written that elusive novel by now! Either that or just been very drunk, all the time. I thought that on leaving Ella I would be in a huge state of panic to find others to adopt and entertain me, but that's the furthest thing from my mind, it has been a pure luxury to be a quiet, anonymous observer of everyone else. And if there's anywhere on earth that befits solitude so gracefully, it's Luang Prabang. It's been a thoroughly glorious day.

After my temple siesta, determined not to give in to my sickness, I fought the good fight and walked in sunshine for a few miles along the other river which borders the town, the Nam Khan. I stopped at L'Etranger, a bookshop library and cafe (is there a more complimentary combination of establishments in existence?) and reclined in it's treehouse hammock for a couple of hours, reading my book and taking in the sights on the water. One thing I must tell you. L'Etranger plays a different film each night at 7pm in it's rooftop lounge area. I asked the patron what film was on this evening,
'The Road', he said.
'Oh, I've not heard of that, maybe it's a new release. What's it about?'
With an almighty booming voice, completely at odds with the one he had just spoken to me in, he summoned a deep, Hollywood trailer voice-over persona and resonantly replied, 'In a moment... the world changed forever.' He seemed happy with this explanation and also rather pleased that I had jumped backwards in the air at the shock of it. People are great aren't they.

Some more aimless wandering and e-mail correspondence later I went home to get changed and was invited to share coffee and conversation with the family who own my guest house. Their broken English and my non-existent Laotian made for some stunted sentences and misunderstandings but it was fun nonetheless feeling welcome and relaxed in their company. I believe that the discussion mainly focused on the baffling question of why, at the grand old age of 23, a young woman such as myself would still be childless and most shockingly of all, single?! They looked at me like a pariah of society past her prime, foolishly gallivanting when she has no time to waste before the biological clock starts winding down. It's a good job that I'm such a Luang Prabangophile because my love of their town thankfully redeemed my unmarried brazenness and eventually they took to me like a duck to water. They probably think I'm a lesbian.

For the past couple of hours I have been at Hmong Night Market. A treasure trove of cross-stitch quilts, silk pyjamas, opal vases, satin sheets, pewter bangles and technicolour dreamcoats that would make Joseph proud. On my first night here I bought myself a glass ring which, on getting up for the bathroom during that nightmare evening, I languidly knocked off the dressing table and sent shattering in to 20 pieces. To make amends for this injustice I purchased another ring, that is sturdy and silver, and that should be immune even to my clumsiness.

Strolling home just now I've been in pain again with crippling heartburn and the taste of acid reflux in my mouth; despite avoiding food altogether today my body is clearly determined to throw up something. Well then, I thought, I need either solid or liquid that is milky, cooling, bland, alkaline, creamy but not thick: something to neutralise the acid. I know what you're thinking - milk, yoghurt, a banana, ice cream, maybe even some cheese, and do you know what I was thinking? Baileys. This is because I am dastardly clever and perpetually sneaky at finding ways to justify the drinking of liqueur. In this case, through logic and the powers of deduction, the glass of Baileys and ice I now sit swirling in my left hand, can be excused, 100%, as a medicinal substitute for Gaviscon. I. Win. So regardless of the fact that my day has been lacking in culinary delights, I will go to bed soon full instead with the pleasures and peace that time on my hands has fed me.


N.B. The poem referenced in the heading, it just made for a handy title, but I feel the need to say that I have never liked To His Coy Mistress. What kind of man scares a woman with talk of earthworms eating her decomposing flesh and the loneliness of the grave purely to rush her in to bed? Andrew Marvell, thanks for the quote mate, but I hope she told you where to stick it.