Luang Prabang, Lao, South East Asia

I do not really enjoy walking in cities. My feet hurt more walking on concrete than grass and I constantly forget how to safely cross roads, jumping out of the way of buses regularly. As I have the tendency to walk with my head down I miss most of what’s going on. When I take a car however, I instantly fall asleep and wake up when we stop. In Laos I miss so much that I will not see again because I look at my feet or sleep.

Walking down by the massive, brown, Mekong in Luang Prabang,
wooden boats lying along her banks, I found a bicycle rental shop. I paid a dollar and leaped onto my new bike, unworried by the inefficient brakes. I slid off the curve and wobbled away in a bizarre fashion, right in front of incoming traffic. As I turned the corner, narrowly missing several street vendors, I felt free.

Lao is a good place for bicycles as they outnumber cars and it's possible to ride down side streets that bigger vehicles can’t negotiate. All the way along the street there are ramps to roll your bike up and the drivers don’t try to run you off the road.

I shot past monks in saffron robes, exchanging nods as I turned around large piles of rubbish. Past women selling fried chicken heads, past stalls and stalls of dresses and bags, lamps and baskets. The piles of rubbish by the side of the back streets seem so odd when you notice how thoroughly the shop fronts are swept. I was soon in the mood and confident about my riding. I started using my bike for transporting anything from my big back pack to teenage girls.

As I cycle off into the distance, my checked khmer scarf flapping in the wind I ponder the aspect of communist life in South East Asia that most appeals to me: the wide spread use of the bicycle.