The Inviting Path

Once in a while, I get fixated with a view that might not mean much to anyone else. This time, I find my eyes captivated by a simple daily scene. I look at it every day for a week, and never grow tired of its beauty. We are staying on an organic farm in a small village about 4 kilometers outside the town of Vang Vieng, Laos. The farm sits serenely on the banks of the Nam Song River, flowing clean and fresh into the larger Mekong. Across the river to the west soars a scenic cliff, rugged and rocky, with dense foliage tangling into its nooks and crannies.

As I sit silently in the wooden hut at the farm, sipping a cold glass of refreshing organic mulberry tea, I can't take my eyes from the view. I continue to stare across the river at the tall, majestic tree that spreads its healthy boughs outwards, catching the light on its bright green leaves, and casting a welcome shadow in the scorching sun. Its roots grow wild over and under the soil, firmly grasping the riverbank, drinking in the clean water that nourishes its every fiber.

A well-worn dirt path leads from the steep riverbank and disappears behind the tree. From where I sit, the evening sun shines from the west, blinding my sight with the twinkling reflections of its bright light against the waves of the river. I have decided to call this path "the inviting path" despite the fact that it leads only a short distance to a small patch of farmland that lay between the river and the towering cliff.

From the same spot, I can watch the villagers bathe in the river. They come twice a day, once in the morning and again in the evening. The days are hot, and by mid-afternoon, before the unofficial bath time, village children come and play in the river, riding the quick current, their giggles and laughter escaping in their innocent pleasure. Farmers with hoes on their shoulder commute between their village and the farmland, crossing the river on foot. In the evenings, just before sunset, the pebble-filled sand banks become crowded with villagers who employ the water for their daily needs. Mothers wash their laundry; wash their babies; older children wash up through play; young women wash themselves with graceful modesty, careful to cover themselves with their sarongs.

Travelers pass through the guesthouse, stopping for a cold drink or an organic meal, and are mesmerized by the view as well. They quietly observe the daily ritual as if in a meditative state. Some join the villagers in washing and play. The sun sets early behind the rocky cliff, and we appreciate the cool afterglow it leaves behind.

There is no need to go to town. Tubing down the Nam Song can be an attractive option, but instead we stay on the farm, and cool ourselves in the shallow spots of the river, as it washes its cooling water over us. Once sun has set, a grand chorus of crickets and frogs begins their song, and we settle into an evening of conversation with other travelers.

Time passes in a dreamlike manner, and before long days flow into a week. Not even books are necessary, as long as we have the "inviting path" within our view, laughing children, the sound of the river and the clean, fresh energy of the organic farm where the plants speak through the beams of the waxing moon. It's no surprise that we stay longer than expected.