Thailand/Laos/Cambodia I

(from 17 days ago... will keep on posting as i get my thoughts together)

So, I’m officially on the 3^rd 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.