[LEMONS] 2.12.2004
Dengue Fever: One Year Later.
One year ago, today, Harper, Nina and I were spending our last night together in Laos, on Don Det in the Si Pan Don (the four [si] thousand [pan] islands [don] in the Mekong River on the border with Cambodia). That afternoon, we walked to the West end of Don Det to a bungalow complex that overlooked the wide, muddy Mekong and ordered a couple of BeerLaos.It was where we went every night--where many of the travellers on the island did--to watch the sun set into that river of five nations. I split off, and smoked with a couple of other Farang who were hanging out there at another table, watching the river traffic first pick up, and then die down as fishermen in longtails hurried to get home before dark. Then I walked with Nina (a friend from home who we had been travelling with for over a month) and Harper to an isolated platform that jutted out over the river. I wanted to get one last picture of the three of us, for Harper and I were heading to Burma by way of Bangkok the next day, while Nina had extended her visa to stick around in Laos. As the sun began to drop, we sat down on the wooden platform, and grinned into the blinking light of my camera. I don't know for sure, but I imagine I did what I always do when I'm looking at a camera with a timer, and quoted Rasing Arizona, "We're set to pop here, honey."
And as the camera flashed, and caught that last Laotian sunset, I noticed my lower back hurt, presumably from sitting on the ground so much, and I thought that it would be nice to get back to Bangkok and sit in chairs again for a few days.
Of course, it wasn't sore from sitting at all. By that night, Harper and I were completely debilitated with a mysterious fever, our bodies and bones screaming in pain, and 500 miles from any sort of healthcare. It was Dengue Fever, and we had to make a mad dash to get back to Bangkok across hundreds of miles in conditions that would have been barely tolerable even if we feeling our best.
I'll never forget it. I'll never forget that mad dash back, crammed into songtheaus and trying to find someplace within myself where the pain wasn't so bad. Looking across at Harper who was in the same horrible condition. I'll never forget sitting on the steps of a Thai Bank in Ubon Ratchathani, holding a weak and too-thin Harper in my arms as she cried from the pain and the misery and the wonder and hopelessness, worrying in the back of my mind about what we might have and whether or not we'd be able to get to a hospital. I'll never forget waking up in the middle of the night on the train, biting my pillow so I wouldn't scream, climbing down to the bunk below so Harper could wipe down my feverish skull with wet rags. I'll never forget writhing in pain at the D&D Inn--I've never actually "writhed" before and never fully comprehended what it meant until my body began to make the semi-unconscious movements trying to escape the constant pain--while Eminem blared all hours of the night and day on Thanan Khao San below us. And the rash. That Godawful rash. Never before have I been so profoundly ill. So miserable.
It's all like yesterday. I can hardly believe it's been a year.
When you're travelling, you feel like you'll do it forever. It goes on and on. And then once you get home, you begin to recognize the sad fact that you will not. It's disorienting, and I miss the new adventures of the road every day. Here, the days slip by in an unending current, and time seems mightily accelerated. I miss travelling in an uncomfortable style. For all the terror of coming down with some mysterious tropical disease when you're isolated from healthcare, for all the discomforts of the buses, the mosquitos, the straw-filled mattresses, the lack of familiar sights and comforts, the frightening sight of masks worn to ward off SARS, travelling appeals to me in a way nothing else does. Every day is new. Every moment is now.
I miss you, Su, Nid, Thep, Muu, Lek, Mai, and Meu. Sabaii dii, mai? I miss you even more, Mr. Deng. I miss playing cards with you in the evening, and going out in the Mekong with you in your boat to cast nets for fish. I miss taking my meals with you in the evening, and watching your son Dipoy play with knives and lighters, until you look over at him proclaiming "Oh-My-Gott," and run to scoop danger from his litttle hands. Sabaii dii, bao, Mr. Deng, sabaii dii, bao?
Tomorrow, we're flying to San Diego, and then we're taking a public bus down the coast of Baja. It won't be the same, but it will be enough for now. Enough for now.
- l i n k -
