Here’s just an extract from “Beyond the Hills” written by Val in 2004.
Alighting from bus, we were told that we had to walk though a forest in order to reach the village of Prakchin, Thailand. At the edge of the forest, we gazed with unconcealed awe at the majestic trees, their leaves raised to touch the domed sky. Luckily, we saw the slightest hint of a ‘pathway’ that would lead us to the village. The meandering path snaked its way over the jade green hills that seemed to be looking down on us, as if daring us to make the treacherous climb over them.
With light and eager steps, we followed the path while the heat from the fiery sphere in the sky beat mercilessly down on us, suspended in a cloudless sky. The hill’s gentle gradient was gradually evolving into a steep slope that it became a horrendous torture for us. We trudged along, mostly in silence and deep concentration. Having spotted the tops of houses, we ran to the edge of the hill, where a platform of greenery lay in wait for our arrival.
The sight that greeted me was breathtakingly beautiful. I pirouetted on my toes, taking in the wondrous sight that lay below me. Tiny, ant-like huts peppered the ground below us, surrounded by vast paddy fields. I was thunderstruck with amazement. There was really no word I could use to describe the unfolding scenery or what I felt. Lush, luxurious greenery spread out its carpet as if welcoming an emperor. I was enclosed in another world unlike my own. I was surrounded in a myriad of colours.
At last, after a long journey, we arrived at the village and asked to speak to the headman of the village. His name was Jongrakinthorn. He was a wise man who spoke in a calm, well-mannered way, that it was clear he was a man who was respected by all. Villagers stopped to greet him and he would graciously greet them back and smile. His smile made his crescent crinkled eyes dance. He greeted us warmly and invited us to stay in his daughter’s house during our stay.
On my last morning, I decided to wake up early and take my last look around before I leave. It was still dark when I awoke, but in the moonlight outside the window, I could see the shimmer of dew forming on smooth leaves. Propping myself up on my elbow, I looked around. The whispery gossip of the leaves outside surrounded us all, snug inside the little thatched hut. I closed my eyes again, and listened to the morning noises flow about me. The breezes of dawn, sieving through the countryside, brushed against the wooden shutters of the windows, making them creak gently.
Moving quietly so that I would not disturb the others, I crawled out of the mosquito net and tiptoed down the ladder. I stretched upwards, to grasp a wisp of air that was fresh and cool. I strolled along the path that led to the river. It was beginning to dawn now. Squinting slightly in the direction of the dawn, I scanned the horizon. As far as I could see, young rice stalks gently parted and merged in the early morning wind. Looking at the far left of the river, I walked towards the spot where the old wooden bridge stood gracefully over the water.
Carefully avoiding the holes and the loose planks of the rickety old bridge, I sat at the bridge and dangled my bare feet over the river. The bridge has been my favourite place in the countryside for it boasted an extravagant view of the vast fields around. Surrounding the river were bullfrogs, their deep croaking rose and ebbed like a baby’s quiet sobbing. Glancing skywards, I watched the sunglow creep over the awakening world and the sun carelessly tossing droplets of light onto the river water.
It was finally the break of dawn and as usual, I was witnessing the great event from my special place, the bridge. I stood up and marvelled at the tender green of newly planted paddy fields stretched out, tinted with a tenuous gold. To me, the fields stretched out as far as they possibly could to touch the domed sky. The calmness of the fields seeped into me bringing me a new sense of peace as breezes of dawn shifted through the countryside.
The crowing of a rooster drilled through the fluid stillness as if breaking through a new day, a new beginning, I stretched out my legs and came down from the bridge to enter the real world of nature. My feet met with the ground that was squishy and cool from the night rain. Everywhere along the meandering pathway, leading back to the village was invaded by such mud-puddles. As I walked down the soggy path, I was accompanied by the pulsing croaks of the bullfrogs, fragile first cries of small sparrows, the rustling of palm fronds and birds calling out to one another.
Along the way were long blades of grass that were tickled by the gentle breeze and the shimmer of dew formed on smooth banana leaves. The whispery gossip between the leaves and the coy breeze seemed to increase and it made me burst into song. My voice rose up to twine around the wind as if teasing the dull rustle of the weeds. As I sang, the coy breeze played with the drowsy countryside, awakening the sleepy villagers. The sun had risen by now, and was carelessly tossing droplets of light onto the water from the clear blue sky. Sounds of the awakening village were carried by the gentle breeze –children’s cheerful laughter, men bringing the buffaloes for a bath and the cries of babies waking and searching for a mother’s comforting touch. The world was finally awake. I had become accustomed over my stay of eight weeks – the whispering of the weeds, the rhythmic sounds of croaking frogs, the rustling of thick leaves in the jungle and the song of crickets to these sounds. Standing there in the midst of nature, I listened to the morning sounds grow louder, as village awakened.
This was to be my last morning here. It seemed like all the other mornings that I witnessed here, and yet there was a special glow somewhere, a lingering sadness in the cool dawn air.
Leaving Prakchin was not easy. Villagers came out of their homes to bid us goodbye and to thank us for coming o their village. The headman presented us with a hand-made gift – a khitakchin, which was a symbol of friendship that was woven with leaves. The bus honked sharply at that moment, and I saw the bus-driver wave impatiently for me to board. Immediately the crowd surged over to me, and I was shoved, patted, hugged and somehow pushed to the steps of the bus. As soon as Janelle and I got on, the bus roared off. The villagers’ faces all receded into the distance. When they had disappeared from view, green stretches of paddy fields slid past my window, going by as fast as slippery fish. Ahead of me was the river, and I caught a last glimpse of the bridge on which I had so often greeted the sun for the past eight weeks.
Seated on the bus, I looked through my photo-album of Polaroid pictures. Never before had I such a wonderful experience, living in the village. Somehow, the atmosphere seemed to clear my mind of all worries and to enjoy the lifestyle of the people. What I enjoyed was the calmness, the stillness that one would never be able to encounter in the bustling city. The city is saturated with soot and exhaust fumes and every breath seemed to sting one’s lungs with a deadly level of carbon monoxide.
No – I preferred the countryside. From the sunglow rising over the awakening world to the sweltering heat of the afternoon’s sun, the last streak of sunlight slithering under the trees and to the stars glimmering over the river until a new dawn begins.
bE
Posted by Valerie 
