Writing Exercises to Add Wonder to Words

Jared and I have sat and down a few times to lyrically capture our experiences into our journals with organized writing exercises. Some pretty fun results have come out of it and we thought we'd share the pictures that come up in our minds. Enjoy!


One Day. . . (from Suzi)
Early morning sit, roosters sharing airspace with crackling speakers blaring something in Lao. Walk on bustling street, matching khaki slacks and Patagonia shirts. Assault by Akha jewelry sellers, persistent with their handmade wares. Their earth-worked hands and aging eyes beginning to drop some finer detail. Red-black teeth and lips, eyes piercing, colorful traditional dress. Bicycles, cruisers, seats too short, or we're too tall. Maung Sing Market, babies on hips, women with produce: lettuce, tomatoes, chilies, chicken feet, intestine. Bags of rice, fire pit grilling meats. Basket backpacks with the days grocery list. Little boys being little boys, (universalizing the planet.) Dirt road takes our eyes to wooden huts on stilts.

Monk's robes slung over deck walls. Chicken cackling through the Yard. "Can I take your photo?" asked only by gestures. "No." shakes the head of a young Lao boy in hi orange gown, seemingly posed for the shot never taken. Women beating clothes in a slow moving stream. One finds money in a pocket of a skirt. Gardens enclosed by bamboo fences: lettuce, kale, herbs.

Dirt, dust, we ride on. One woman puts on a shirt after nursing her young. Hot sun, open fields. Melons covering vast spaces of land. Men giving men haircuts, girls brushing the long black hair of an elder. Boys on bikes, baskets, soccer game after a day of school. Cane sugar, cold, in a
bag. . . "Can I borrow your bike?" . . . with ice. Tomorrow's a full moon.

Part of our first day of trekking... (from Jared)
Breakfast, western, banana pancakes and eggs lead to a bumpy van ride out of town. Locals in open back mountain tuk tuks. Our air condition on high. New eyes here with a guide. Making rice noodles. Rice milled and boiled in a cotton bag. Pounded into a sticky paste, and crushed through a screen into boiling water. Pulled out with a stick, separated and dried on bamboo thatch. All machines the way they have been forever. Engineering from a simpler time.
School children laughing. Everywhere the same; smaller world then we think. Not shy for the camera. One brave boy says something to me and runs. The rest laugh - embarrassed, amused. More time in the van.

Began trekking near a river with naked children, brown and playing in brown water, giggle and run from us. Up and over a dusty mountain road. Hardly the virgin forests I imagined. Old world slashed and burned to supply China. Sugar and rubber. The world as we know it lost without these. Banana leaf wrapped lunch; water buffalo with ginger, green beans, an omelet. Bare hands and sticky rice as utensils. The road keeps going.

Bare chested Akha women rest for their lunch. Breasts hanging from born children, lips and teeth a deep red from born tradition. Beetle nut. An hour and a half more they say, two hours later we pass through the spirit gate into the village. A young man bathing in a small stream. Lean and fit with these mountains. Attention focuses solely on us. First white people ever in the village. Feeling awkward...

They sit and watch us, we do the same to them. An intrusive camera always at our sides. A woman weaving her burial shroud in her traditional clothing and headdress. Not because she knows we were coming but because that is what the still do. I want to take so many more photos. Words will have to do...