I woke to the soft morning sun the next morning and felt incredibly filled. I knew it was going to be a beautiful day. I meandered toward the café that I had been to the day before, wanting to try their tuna sandwiches. I could see Jackie just across the street from me, but I didn’t want to keep on harassing her if she didn’t want the harassment. I ordered a sandwich and hopped onto the Net when I heard her calling my name. We used our 12 foot voices with each other and then sheepishly decided that she should join me after she finished her coffee. “What’s your plan today?” Jackie settled in across from me. “Waterfalls. Yours?” “I’m not sure, I’ve got a limited amount of time… are the waterfalls supposed to be good?” “That’s what I’ve heard. You know—waterfalls… I’m sure it’ll be pretty nice.” “Indeed. Can I join you?” “Of course.”
We made our way up there, through the rolling hills and past the stray cattle slowly plodding about; rising mountains and pastures and terraced rice fields. It seemed impossible to think about where I had come from. The endless non-stop craziness of Seoul—workingworkingworking 6 day weeks, getting yelled at by my boss, having strange trysts with dumb white men, and the cold cold winter.
Here I was among the beautiful tropical flora, the pinks and greens and startling yellows. This beauty, I’ve seen before, but there is something so lovely about seeing it here in this setting—Among these lovely people who smile and yell “Sabahdee!”. Most men and women have a smile to flash and sun-browned kids raise their hands for a high-five as you pass. This beauty, it is evermore increased by the people of this lush, fiery land.
The waterfalls were shaded by the surrounding forest and spilled into turquoise-blue pools. The colors were dazzling—startling to look at. Again, though my eyes have beheld spilling water before, it is hard to understand how molecules of hydrogen and oxygen could possibly be this color. I took shrieking leaps from the top of a 15 meter fall, and then swung into the pools from a rope swing. Clean turquoise splash.
Jackie had to leave back to Vientiane to catch a flight and possibly have a romantic encounter with a French guy she met out there, and I was going to have a night alone. The dusky afternoon led me to a coffee shop/bookstore that a friend had recommended to me from a trip here long before. When I got there, a movie was playing—one of those Winter block-busters I had been curious about. I lay out on a cushion that was spread on the floor, in front of a fan that cast breezes from outdoor Laos over my lightly perspiring body. This is perfect. The ginger tea I ordered stung my taste buds pleasantly and I was cast into 19th century England...
Oh no!! it’s already 9 days into my trip?? How did this happen? Luang Prubang was a dream:
While I sat in the dusty bus terminal in Vientiane, I wondered if it would be hard to procure housing when I got to Luang Prubang late that evening. I made a few calls, but they all were full. I was a little nervous, but the lady I spoke to on the phone reassured me that I would be able to find a place to stay if I told the tuk-tuk to go to the area of the post office.
It was a long hard 10 hour ride. At first, I had some sunlight so I was able to read my book, but when the night descended, I had nothing I could use to distract myself, save for a moment of writing that first journal entry.
We stopped almost every hour and a half—almost for no obvious reason. The bumpy roads wound up and down and the driver blasted and sang along to the LOUD Laotian music (despite the crying baby), and almost everyone on the bus looked at me with a half-smirk, knowing that I was a foreigner who was getting tossed around in the mix of their incomprehensible vowels and consonants and dried frogs.
I was still wearing my sundress from the Bangkok heat and had smoked a cigarette nearly every time we stopped. We stopped for dinner at a random truck area type of place. My status as a non-Laotian made me feel somewhat self-conscious. I was getting stared at. The guy who was taking the tickets laughed at me several times and made rowdy, snickering commentary while looking over his shoulder at his buddies and then pointing in my direction. I simply smiled back and offered him a cigarette. He was more considerate after this.
At about the 5th time we stopped, the night had gotten inordinately chilly and I asked to get to my backpack so I could cover up. Ticket-master opened the storage space and gave me a hand with my bag.
The night wore on and it grew later and later—I watched the sky and thought about how the clear stars made me think about Tennessee and my old life. Out of caloric necessity, I ordered a bag some strange pastry with a chalky yellow filling. It was pretty disgusting, but I didn’t feel enough fortitude to mime what I wanted to eat at that point. I had been stared at too closely for too many hours at that point.
When I arrived at Luang Prubang at 2am, I felt slightly concerned b/c Laos seemed like it shut down early. Also, I had a moment of apprehension because the guy sitting behind me had pulled out a rifle and slung it across his back. He glanced at me and as he tried to pass. I quickly lifted my heavy backpack and backed up as far as space would allow. Yes. Gun-holders first, of course.
I was ushered into a tuk-tuk with no explanations. The guy across from me asked me where I was from in broken English. I gave him my demographics, figuring he was just a curious Laotian.
Ah. Originally from America but living in Seoul, Korea.
He was from Tokyo, Japan.
Let’s find a hostel together?
He agreed.
When we got to the hostel lane, most of the lights were off, but we confidently strode around with our US dollars figuring there would be some place to sleep. But after knocking on several doors and being turned away (“we’re full”) we both began to worry.
A cute Asian girl with a funky haircut was smoking a cigarette and sitting on the street. When we passed her the second time, she looked up hopefully and then said in perfect English—“I’ve been sitting on the street for the past 2 hours because I couldn’t find a place to stay. Could I join you guys?”
Of course!
Our little motley crew set off as the hour approached 3am, in search for a bed for the evening. We finally found a beautiful little place and paid the exorbitant price of $30USD, but we weren’t homeless for the night. Plus, we roused the sleepy-eyed bedraggled overnight manager at the late hour. The girl (Jackie) and I instantly connected because she lived in Seoul, Korea—and a 3rd generation Korean American—I’ve never met one of those before. We spent much of the night talking and accidentally got up after only 3 hours of sleep because Jackie had set her alarm to Korean time and not Laos time.
Well, the 3 of us ended up parting ways and finding different hostels to stay in—I ended up at a place on the Mekong River. A bright room with cool breezes and magnolias coloring the sunlight that filtered in. Lovely.
I walked around and found a riverside restaurant with an incredible view. I ordered some laap (Laotian spiced meat) with a huge mound of various delicious greens and cucumbers. After eating, I then walked a little further down the Mekong and decided I wanted a fresh fruit shake. $.80. Amazing.
It was hard to sit still and just read. I still felt so stirred up with life and didn’t know how to slow down and just relax. But somehow, I forced myself for a period. And then, I got up and began to do a little exploring of this beautiful little town.
Bright flora, flapping laundry, rusting corrugated tin, sandwich and fresh fruit smoothie stands, and these beautiful Laotian children laughing and running and smiling and waving, “Sa-bah-dee!”
I had heard about Phusi—that it was one of the places to hit while in Luang Prubang. While I strolled and then saw the sign, I slowly climbed the 400steps to the top. The vegetation crowded around me as I ascended and I enjoyed the frondy respite from the sun. I had no idea what I was going to see, but it certainly more than what I expected:
The city outstretched below me was lit up by the bright sun overhead—the beauty of the people calling out to each other and riding bicycles below the bluest sky and the whitest cottony clouds.
While I attempted to take pictures of myself, a monk dressed in brightly colored orange came and shyly greeted me. Was I willing to talk to him?
Of course!
And so we conversed for about half an hour while my skin began to brown and glisten with sweat.
He was 19 years old, had been in monk school for 2 years and entering his last year. He knew how to speak English because it was part of his training. He asked me if I wanted a picture of myself with the backdrop, and of course I agreed, but then he couldn’t accept the camera directly from my hands. I had to set it on the bench and then he could pick it up. But after snapping the shot, he commented on how beautiful he thought I was. That felt a little confusing.
Eventually, I left for the night market and ran back into Jackie. We ate dinner and then drank beers together at Utopia—a bar that hung directly over the Mekong at the end of a twisty winding alley. We shared our lives and stories and commented about how long it had been since we actually saw stars. I went to bed feeling tired, happy, and slightly drunk.
(from 17 days ago... will keep on posting as i get my thoughts together)
So, I’m officially on the 3rd day of my Thailand/Laos extravaganza. It’s been a rushing whirlwind-suddenly-Summer along with dozens of new sensations and perspectives. Although I’m sitting somewhat uncomfortably on a forever-bus towards Luang Prubang, Laos, I feel like I'm settling down.
The definitive decision to come to Laos today was a split second one after traversing the swirl of Bangkok’s endless peacock palms, honking cars, glittering palaces, Buddhas in every size and posture (sitting, standing, sleeping), plumes of throat clenching exhaust, and gently drifting magnolia blossoms as they detached, spinning from trees.
This past month has been an exhausting one in pretty much every arena of my life. I wonder: Am I just not able to handle stress that well? Or are there genuinely *that* many crazy things that happen to me? And if the latter is true, why me? Why the hell me?
Well let’s examine the past month: I was working extra long days and hours while negotiating the tricky issue of quitting a job and getting my shit together for the next one. After too many cluster fucks with paperwork, getting yelled at by the only boss I’ve ever really respected, being charmed by a handsome/smart womanizing imbecile—then having strange friendship dynamics arise as a result, I drank like a fish while making new friends, and smoked myself into a lung infection. I’m still coughing up that bright neon greenish goo out of my lungs.
I felt dizzy with exhaustion throughout, and had these strange moments when I felt like I was losing my memories. Or my mind. I don’t know how else to explicate upon the chaotic nuclear implosion I was having.
When last Saturday finally came and the closing ceremony for Winter Camp wrapped up, it was hard to believe that it had finally arrived. Drinking beer and soju with my co-workers and (now apologetic) boss was relieving, but it all felt like more of the same. I was out until 7:30am dancing and flirting and letting loose, but the tension was still there. After the monotonous story of packing/moving/saying goodbye to my studio and then meeting a friend for dinner, I ended up a homeless person in a jimjilbahng for my last night in Seoul.
The 12 hours of flying and transferring from plane to plane to bus to subway to foot continued to abrade my weakened state, but I was determined to get some noodles for my first night in Bangkok. And so I did, and had a lovely conversation with a Thailand-born Chinese man who insisted I looked either Japanese or Chinese—definitely not a Korean. It was mysterious. While we had a beer together, I realized that his overly jovial manner was actually genuine, and this charmed me.
I smoked many smokes while I said ‘hi’ to all of my loved ones via Facebook, then coughed out lung infection until I fell asleep. That first night, I slept and slept until I awoke, somewhat refreshed. Surprisingly, I was able to sleep a full 8 hours, which truly indicates how tired I must have been.
Over breakfast, a handsome blue-eyed man nodded a hello to me. I decided to engage him. His name was Sven. Sven from Germany.
Sven was a 37-year old man who had a lot of money and used to be a workaholic. While we had a city tour in a tuk-tuk (which later turned out to be a failed scam), he told me about his life: How he and his ex-girlfriend had bought an enormous house together on the border of Germany and Switzerland and they had spent 6 years renovating it together. Until she got sick of it. And sick of him. And she fell apart, began to drink--‘losing her mind’. They parted ways.
For the two years following, Sven womanized many women and/or had unfulfilling short relationships. He threw himself into his work and gathering possessions. He has a 15 bedroom home, 3 motorcycles, a Porsche, and even a Caterpillar excavator. These things were ‘not enough’: “There was no end to it. The women, the work. There is nowhere that it gets you,” he said earnestly in his clipped German-accented English. We veered and turned through the pink taxis and roaring buses, sometimes through narrow alleys and headlong into oncoming traffic.
The flowered rosary swung from the rearview mirror of the tuk-tuk and our driver kept on smiling knowingly at us, “Boyfriend-girlfriend?”
“No no no. We’re just friends,” I smiled genially.
Sven smirked, “for now.”
“You’ve got a new girlfriend, Sven. You just told me about her. Don’t be the typical guy that makes me never want to date again.”
Laughter, “all men are the same.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Sven and I took the subway and then the express boat up the river to the amazing view of the Bangkok that existed on the river: modern shiny buildings, the dangerously creaking rusting porches that hung over the water, palm and magnolia trees, a curious tall white structure shaped like a bishop chess piece, and the rising form of Wat Arun (The Temple of the Dawn). We shared the river with all variety of maritime vehicles. The drivers of the boats nodded at each other as we passed.
As we walked through the bustling city together, we snapped pictures of each other and of the dazzling structures covered in gold, turquoise, and thousands of carefully implanted mirror chips. There were brightly painted designs on nearly every surface.
“This is incredible.”
“I have never seen anything like this.
“Hey, what is that sound?” I asked as we stood atop the Golden Mount (Wat Saket).
Pause. “I think that’s the call of the macaws… Yes. Look, there’s one up in that tree.”
“Sven—look at the orchids! I can’t believe I’m actually looking at any of this.”
There were moments of slight awkwardness. He said he had a girlfriend, but kept on making slightly suggestive comments. It was odd. He seemed like a decent guy… but then again, he is a man. Not to be trusted.
When we finally made our way back towards the area our hostel was in, the sun had long since vanished and I was ravenously hungry for some more Thai noodles. An old man on the corner of Sukhumvit road and the subway scraped and spun his metal spatula in two enormous woks on the street. I watched as he threw in half a cup of oil to fry up the vegetables, noodles, meat, cilantro, sauces, hot spices, and eggs. He talked to me about how he’d gotten an award for his culinary skills, and spoke about the differences between the different dishes of his expertise.
The Pad Kee Mao I ordered was certainly the best I’ve ever had—but hell, I have to say that many Chicago places have got it pretty close. After our meal, Sven and I went back to the hostel and he talked to a few other travelers while I tried to find a ticket to Laos.
Being in Bangkok, albeit beautiful and exciting and someplace I’ve always wanted to visit—was not the change in pace I was looking for. And there was something so worldly and traveled about the place. I just wanted some quiet. However, there was no direct flight to Luang Prubang from Bangkok.
I’ll just take the bus. How bad could it be? Well, while I waited at the dusty Northern bus station in Vientiane, I cracked my Lonely Planet and was chagrinned to read that the bus could take anywhere from 9 to 13 hours. Well, there goes my Wednesday, huh?
However, I’m pleased to watch the Laotian countryside pass by in the fading dusk, sometimes read a book, and intermittently doze despite the blaring karaoke music the bus driver is cheerfully singing along to. It’s slower. I think I like it. This chance to do nothing but introspect and watch the headlights appear in the inky sky above and bouncing on the road ahead, feels alright. It’s all part of the journey of this trip—the extremities making me appreciate the adventure of what I’m doing in life all the more. (A banana box with the rooster and hen was pulled out of the storage at the rest area and encouraged to mate.)
I’ve been thinking a lot about my ex-husband lately. Bouncing with the ruts of this road, I am having strange contemplations of how much the wild vines of this darkening jungle reminds me of the ravaging cudzu in the rolling hills of Tennessee.
And then, the stars!—the clearest diamond bright sparks in the sky; the clarity of the Dippers and the Belts and the cloudy swirl of the Milky Way. Again, this reminds me of the first time I actually saw this—a different lifetime ago. A completely different woman, though it was the same brown eyes that the star-light reached. This slowing of pace is going to give me a chance to think.
about; rising mountains and pastures and terraced rice fields. It seemed impossible to think about where I had come from. The endless non-stop craziness of Seoul—workingworkingworking 6 day weeks, getting yelled at by my boss, having strange trysts with dumb white men, and the cold cold winter.
The waterfalls were shaded by the surrounding forest and spilled into turquoise-blue pools. The colors were dazzling—startling to look at. Again, though my eyes have beheld spilling water before, it is hard to understand how molecules of hydrogen and oxygen could possibly be this color. I took shrieking leaps from the top of a 15 meter fall, and then swung into the pools from a rope swing.
