As I sat at that remote restaurant on Don Khong, the loveliness of those females continued to emerge.
Initially, the little girls shyly looked at me, and then ducked their heads when I made eye contact. Not wanting to frighten them away, I just allowed them to venture close without responding to their presence. I was engrossed in my thoughts anyway. Over time, the little ones became more and more comfortable to approach me; they waved their hands, giggled, then ran away. Wooden planks rumbling.
Finally, a little girl came and Brazenly reached into my bag. With my head cocked to the side, I watched her as she fished out my neon green Kerropi case that contained my hair-ties and other miscellaneous. The other girls hurriedly gathered around Brazen as she clutched my case. Hastily, I had to snatch the case from Brazen before she emptied all of the contents onto the wooden floor, including my memory cards and phone battery.
In any case, I could see that they had no interest in the expensive technology it contained. Instead, they were fascinated by my colorful plastic barrettes. They laughed and clapped their hands and held them out, begging for the barrettes. Such simple pleasures. It reminded me about living in giddiness of seeing the smile of a loved one, the sweetness of a private joke, the burst of euphoria when feeling the Spring sunshine for the first time of the season. They coquettishly fanned out their hair for me to clip the barrettes into their dark locks.
Brazen continued to grab at my Kerropi case. She wanted another one. I shook my head—it wouldn’t be fair to the others. Also, I only had one green bow left—and it matched my scarf.
Just then, the Youngest of the troupe came back from her bath wrapped in a towel. Her hair dripped with water from the river. She had missed my little barrette party. Her lip quivered as she saw the rest of her sisters and cousins and neighborhood friends with the bits of colorful plastic in their hair. As she edged hopefully towards me, Brazen insistently pushed her back, with her hands proffered towards me. I frowned and shook my head, but: it’s not my job to scold this one.
I clipped the green barrette into my bangs and smiled at them. The girls lost interest in what I was doing because they finally realized I had nothing else to give them. They ran laughing down the dusty path among the chickens and the ducks. I turned towards my computer.
Youngest came out, dressed in a worn neon green tee and shorts and freshly combed hair. I looked around—none of the other girls were in sight. I waved Youngest over. She came over obediently, her bare feet padded along the smooth wooden slats. I removed the bright green barrette from my hair and compared it with her shirt. Youngest cocked her head up hopefully. When I clipped it into her hair, I was immediately wrapped in the soft brown arms of this little girl. She placed her hands together in front of her chest and bowed her thanks to me. Then, she ran away and I sat back down with my computer and coffee.
As I breathed in the freshness of the island air and contemplated the River, Youngest came back to me with a handful of dirty green beads. Smiling delightedly, I took the beads and slipped them onto my ankle.
Is there anything more sweet than the offering of a child? The plastic clattered as I shook my leg for her to display them. She patted my bare leg and then went to play with her sisters and cousins and neighbors.
I left the restaurant and fondly waved to the women and their daughters. They shouted “sabahdee” after me as I rode away on my rented bike.
There was a waterfall market, meandering cows, terraced fields, and the beautiful Laotian people. After a day of immensely enjoying this slow pace, I showered in the outdoor stall with geckos walking the walls. I thought about the palms, the dusty road, the brightly colored fabrics, and the blue-green river… the children’s laughter echoed. Those green beads clattered against my ankle again as the water ran over them. I had forgotten that they were around my ankle. As the streams of Mekong water ran down my legs over the beads, the mud rinsed away. The lovely child’s gift glistened like green diamonds against my skin.
So I've written in circles about my important or unimportant experiences in SE Asia.
February 13, 2010
There’s so much to say about this first half of the trip that I've taken. It’s gone way too quickly, but I can’t imagine going thru the events chronologically right now. I’m just going to give my impressions of now—what compelled me to bust out my computer at this moment is because I am sitting at one of the many open air restaurants that have proliferated upon the islands of Don Det and Don Khong. According to my new Spaniard friend Miguel, this particular restaurant is one of the most remote and least frequently traveled to on Don Khong.
At this moment, I am feeling indecisive about whether or not I’m going to spend another night on Don Det or if I begin moving again and explore one more Laos city (Champasek). I’ve been feeling like I’ve been on the movemovemovemove—though I’ve had some very relaxing moments.
But this moment, this today, I find myself at this most remote of restaurants on Don Khong. I ended up here because I could have *sworn* that I had left my camera on the red tablecloth just before sunset yesterday. It was getting too dark to bike back, so I had to wait out the night. I felt alarmed about the prospect of losing my camera, but at the same time, I have moved into this lazy pace of the here and now. This present.
This morning, I biked through the unbelievable tropical beauty along the Mekong River. Islands large and tiny were scattered to the end of the horizon. I feel sure that God took them in His hand and gently skipped them across the surface of the river—there they settled and rooted themselves where they landed. Palms, bamboo sprigs, and florescent flowers overhung the bumpy and dusty road I traveled upon. It had crossed my mind that my camera might be lost somehow, maybe stolen, maybe sunk beneath the surface of the river. I could see it twisted up with the algae and crushing along the river stones.
When I arrived at this restaurant, there was a gaggle of women and girls sitting on the wooden slats of the restaurant floor. The ladies and girls burst into slow movement and Laotian speak when I rode up on my bike. This place… Parts of the floor are covered in those waterproof thatched mats that I remember from my childhood. The ladies slowly move about in their brightly colored sarongs and mismatched tees and blouses. Chickens peck at the floor and each other on and around and about. Candies, bags of what looks like oversized Fruit Loops, and sundry items of bamboo hang from nails affixed to a crooked 2 by 4 swinging and crackling in the wind.
When I tried to mime to my predicament of lost camera to the women, they looked confusedly at each other and began speaking miles and miles of their beautiful lilting speech. This was all incomprehensible to me, of course. They shook their heads and held up their empty hands. They were sure that I had not left it.
My heart sank, but in a very strange sort of way. I was disappointed and confused that my camera wasn’t there, but I didn’t feel the loss that I normally would have. It was a bizarre, unimportant sense of loss. I should have been somewhat broken-hearted about my mistake, but all I could feel was the heat of the sun on my black hair. I stuck out my lower lip as my thoughts moved torpidly. What could have happened? Maybe I should review the contents of my backpack a little more closely.
They watched me as I stuck out my lower lip and walked to the basket of my bike. Thinking it a lost cause, I rummaged through my backpack carefully. And then, a shiny glint of silver. My camera sat on the bottom of my bag. It couldn’t be. But, there it was—I had spent a night in slight concern for nothing. The Hmong ladies watched me carefully and then began laughing as I pulled it out. I exaggeratedly wiped my forehead and then hit it to indicate my chagrin and feeling of stupidity. Their laughter continued.
Well, I felt that maybe I needed to take a break and buy at least one cup of coffee here after my gaffe. I reviewed the menu and noted how overpriced everything was. I pointed to the noodle soup—“nonono”, they murmured. They didn’t have it. I pointed to the salad, “nonono”, they didn’t have that either. Of the 100 items on the menu they only had ingredients for 5, none of which I could stomach at the first part of the day. So I just sat and asked for a cup of Lao coffee with milk. Maybe I will read a chapter and then move forward to the waterfall market and then hit another restaurant. Then I’ll visit the jungle and then head back to Don Det and then relax there.
But as I opened my book, my mind wasn’t focusing. You’re being too calculated. I could feel the shimmering feverish air from just outside the brushy overhang of the eaves, but the breezes into the restaurant were surprisingly cool. It has all been slowing. Laos has been slowing me down.
The very pregnant lady was cutting up some oblong green fruit into thin slices. A 3-4 year old girl with a high pony tail picked up another sharp knife and began mimicking her mother’s movements cutting crooked slices onto the mat. After several pieces of fruit had been shaved into slices, the women and the girls all huddled around the plate on the woven mat. They gestured towards me to join them. I sipped on the thick dark coffee and nodded my assent. The green fruit was un-ripened mango served with a spicy garlic and fish and cilantro sauce. They smiled and sang to me in that beautiful language of theirs.
So, with my 3 of 4 classes canceled, I will now move onto a different subject. f-buddies. I’m going to skip dropping the f-bomb in this grouping of words because random widgets or whatever-you-call-ems will pick up on the phrases and then start leaving lascivious comments on my post. I suppose I might deserve that.
I am definitely cognizant that engaging in a purely physical relationship is probably not a great idea, but I’m out of ideas right now. I don’t really want a serious relationship because I’m a bit of a hot mess. I’ve got some serious issues with men and trust and don’t want to be pinned down or have to answer to anyone else. Plus, my neurosis is my neurosis! I don't need anyone judging any of that without really knowing me.
But hell!—I don’t know when exactly it happened, but I’ve definitely entered into my sexual peak. Well, maybe it's not the peak, but I can't imagine an even higher peak than this? I suppose this is partly what compelled me to end up in bed with the young German fellow that first time, and now for the past 2 weeks. There is some grime and grit in those details, but I think I’ll save them for the book.
So, maybe it’s an Americanism to have to DTR, but I was beginning to feel confused about what the German and I were doing. Repeat meetings smack of something more personal/intimate--which presently, is not for me. However, even though having a *talk* was perhaps a bit overanalytical, I didn’t like feeling so awkward-footed when gauging my interactions with him, particularly because there was sex involved. As is typical fashion for me, I just chose my moment and asked directly. I was met with some knowing chagrin. But, we had an honest conversation. Though not all of this was explicated, there are way too many problems that would make a relationship between him and I tenable: we’re 7 years apart; I am clearly and adult and he is not quite there; he wants to sow his wild oats and I’m trying to rein in this propensity; neither of us want anything serious.
So, what’s the problem? Here’s some of the shite inside my concerns about getting into a f-buddy relationship: inevitably, things will fall apart. At some point, being sexy and getting the gratification of making a man extremely excited will wear thin. Especially if I’m feeling that he does not respect me. Which will happen, right? Correct me if I’m wrong, but men are generally pretty simple: "If it feels good, why question it?" And, now that we’ve made it clear that this is simply a physical relationship, the little sweet considerations will probably disappear. After having *the* talk, there was a sense of relief mixed with a little nervousness (for me). I could feel myself wanting to shut down—to shut him out, but at the same time, wanting some kind of affirmation. Urgh—so what the hell am I doing?
On Saturday morning, I felt that I needed a quick get-away, so I called a friend who lives within a few minutes walking distance from him. He gave me a sheepish look when I was leaving, “so, no coffee this morning, huh?”
Confusion. Always the confusion. I had no idea if he was being ironic or sarcastic. This time, I quickly walked myself out.
I need to get my journal for my travels from my home computer before I can post anymore. That trip had a pretty powerful impact upon my person and the myriad of feelings, impressions, and lessons that I learned while trekking over the miles of the countries were indelible.
Today 3 of 4 classes have been cancelled. I really don’t know how seriously my school takes my teaching, but it’s been an incredibly fun challenge to put together lesson plans and figure out how to negotiate the student interactions. The students have gotten extremely attentive and sweet after I got my bearings in the classroom. I’ve been teaching them little phrases. I was getting sick of the hundreds of “hi”s and “hello”s I was getting with a blush and averted eyes. Now the campus and hallways are ringing with “what’s up?”s. It’s been a bizarre experience to give instructions to 400 and then watch the masses shift accordingly. It’s a heady sense of responsibility to have this kind of influence upon young people. It scares me that somehow the kids might find out how I spend my weekends.
Well, it’s been a month; I’ve got about 10.5 more to go. If the next 10.5 months are as good as this one, I’ll be grateful.
I will continue to explicate upon my travels, but I did say that I would couch my story about J in another story. The bad habits. Damn. I never thought I would be into morning sex, but apparently it’s a really nice way to wake up. And then fall back asleep.
I don’t know if there is much to say about last weekend except that he was a cute German boy. He was tall, had a beautiful body, and he met me on the dance floor last Saturday night. I thought he was good-looking, but he looked young. I danced with many different men that night, but this one pursued me the hardest. Or maybe I pursued him? It's hard to say, and it doesn't really matter.
This may be distasteful to say, but as I mentioned before, I love the power that my body gives me. It’s surprising how compelling the suggestion of sex is over men. I would say the same about women, but I would argue that in the social scene, the market of meat that any bar or club turns into in the late late hours, it is often the woman who makes the choices. Men are at our mercy. We choose whose blue balls we will grant reprieve.
As the night wore on, I realized that I was in the mood. In a bad way. This is another thing that I am finding incredibly surprising—that I am such a sexual person. When I was married, I was never in the mood for sex. Even the idea of foreplay was a turn-off because I knew I would always end up in the kind of ‘adult situation’ that I was just not interested in. It is hard to believe that that part of my body and mind was dead for 4 years.
Well, last Saturday night, though I was at the mercy of my urges, I knew I would have little problem finding satiation if I so chose. This is terribly arrogant to say, huh?
He lived far. We took a cab and he pulled me by hand into his place. He put on music. The lights never came on. He had a beautiful, lean body.
I put on one of his shirts and padded barefoot down the hall to smoke a cigarette. He waited for me on his bed and pulled me into his arms and kissed me until we both fell asleep.
At some point, sunlight was filtering into the room and he was kissing me again. Suddenly, he was completely awake. The intensity of his needs was unexpected, though gratifying. We fell asleep again.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Hung over.”
“That’s not what I mean…”
“Ok… I think… I don’t normally do this.”
“I don’t believe you,” he smirked, but then touched the side of my face when he saw my widened eyes.
“Really. I don’t.”
“I actually do believe you.”
“Damn right you should believe me.”
I kept on moving to sit up and get sorted to leave, but he kept on pulling me back onto his chest.
“Stay a little longer.”
“I’ve got to meet my friends in a little.”
“What are you doing?”
“It’s Easter Sunday. I’m going to church.”
“I should go to church… but I’m not going.”
“You should only go if you believe.”
“I do believe.”
Pause. “Let’s not get into that.”
“Agreed.”
He watched me as I put my clothes on.
“You’re beautiful.”
I didn’t look at him, “Do you really think so?”
“I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”
I don’t even know how I responded to that. I was confused. I didn’t understand why he was saying nice things to me. Didn’t you already get what you wanted?
“I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”
“What’re you kidding? I’m going to take a cab.”
“All the way back to your place? It’ll be expensive.”
“I’ll take a cab to the subway—line 3.”
“I’ll still walk you out.”
I looked at him closely while he pulled on his pants. He didn’t look like an asshole. He wasn’t talking like an asshole. We had already slept together, but yet he still wanted to walk with me? Why was this surprising to me?
“P. Thank you. I would feel pretty lost if you didn’t walk me out.” Down the stairs, “so how do you like living here?”
“It’s way too small, but it’s better than living on campus.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I’d have to have a roommate.”
I laughed, “And then you wouldn’t be able to bring girls home, huh?”
“Yes. That would be a problem.” We continued down a hill, past store fronts and Sunday morning walkers. He slowed down, “so, would you like to get a coffee or something?”
Again, I was surprised, “uh, sure. I could really use a coffee right now.” We found a coffee shop close to the bus stop. While we waited for our lattes, I gave him a chagrinned look, “so, this is a little awkward, huh?” “Yes, but I think this is important… not running away and facing each other in the morning.”
“You don’t understand how much I appreciate that. I’m just really thrown off, is all.”
“Why?”
“Well, men are assholes.”
“I’m trying not to be one.”
“This is why I’m surprised. And appreciative.” We sat outside and talked and sipped our coffee. He was thoughtful, fairly intelligent, and 24 years old.
“Um… I’m 24 too…”
“I never ask a woman her age.”
“Thanks. I’m always getting asked my age in this country…”
“So, can I give you my number? You could call me?”
“Hm… well, I’ll give you my number. You can call me.” He walked me to the bus stop and waited until it picked me up. I gave him a hug.
He texted me later that day.
I am ever surprised. Maybe men aren’t all quite the beasts that I think they are?
I haven’t been writing enough lately. It’s a difficult thing to break free of—bad habits are. I’ve moved into a new job, neighborhood, and year. This has caused necessity for me to adjust to a new pattern of living.
There are things that I absolutely love: I enjoy living in this neighborhood. Last year, while I was living on the Yonsei campus, I was @ least a 15 minute walk up and down a hill if I wanted something like an egg or carton of milk or bag of crisps. When I walked around, I didn’t really see anyone but students who hurriedly traversed the campus, looking for a place to study.
Now, I’m in the middle of a Korean community and actually see children and school uniforms and grandparents and random lay-people that’re living their normal lives in this city of 25 million. When I walk down the little alleys of my neighborhood, there are countless little shops that carry bread or makeup or fried dumplings and ddukbokki. Every few days, I will be walking past a fruit stand (strawberries are in season right now) and the brightly colored flash of fresh bananas, strawberries, kumquat, or apples will catch my eye. I get to smile at the vendors and store owners who’re now able to recognize my face from my frequenting. This usually compels me to think about the other little things I may need in my daily life like a package of ramen noodles or juice or tuna or toothpaste. I love that I don’t have to make lists or drive cars anywhere—this tightly packed urban life makes every-anything really accessible and I can spend more time on myself.
BUT, what the hell have I been doing w/ my spare time these days? I’ve been bombarding my brain w/ television. It’s a huge curse that I have a TV in my apartment now. It’s way too easy to come home to my tiny little apartment and hit the green button on the remote and putter around while watching *whatever*. Sigh. Bad habits. So, I’ve decided that I must be intentional with how I spend my time or I’ll be spending my life in TV Land this year. It’s hard getting off your arse and forming better habits.
I’ve put off my book because I’ve lost the thread, the angle. I’m thinking that I have to take an entirely new approach. So, sadly—I’ve written 3 chapters that I believe I must scrap for another direction. Oh well. It is what it is.
I was naughty this weekend. Let’s talk a little bit more about bad habits.
I guess I can couch this in the story about J. So, sexuality. I’m pretty sure that I’ve got bad boundaries with men. I believe that there is probably an objectively “good” and “bad” where this is concerned. Sleeping around is probably not a good idea, but is it bad to get your physical needs met? My concerns are borne when considering aftermath. The fact that there’s an awkwardness the morning after is likely indicative that something is not right. What’s worse is the fact that I *expect* for men to be assholes to me. My thought is: Well, we both got what we wanted right?
It’s not that I don’t want anything more—that would be pure bullshit—but I don’t expect anything more. Let me just tell stories…
So, J and I had spent some time together during my 4-day sojourn in Van Vieng. He was intelligent, fairly decent looking and we shared many similarities in our evaluations about life and philosophy. Talking to him was enjoyable, particularly in the magnificent background of the MekongRiver with the surrounding bright fields and mountains and lazy cows and chickens.
There’s also the spirit—the romance—of the unfettered freedom of traveling. There’s a release from expectations and limitations—something that is extremely difficult to escape from in typical daily life.
Anyway, after spending 3 days together, I didn’t really have any amorous feelings for J. He was a nice guy, but there wasn’t really a strong chemistry between us. I had met a gaggle of Aussie university students and we decided to go on one of those infamous Van Vieng tubing excursions.
Let me tell you, it was a sight to see. All the way up and down a section of the MekongRiver, there were platforms of bar upon bar upon bar. Extended 15-20 meters above the water, there were zip lines that people swung out from, laughing and screaming, then splashing into the river. The bright sun glistened off the half naked bodies of the drunken revelers while loud dance music thumped in syncopated rhythm.
Of course, I partook in the revelry, though not in the same kind of wild abandon as my 20-something counterparts. I enjoyed the sun and took in the sights of the beautiful tanned bodies in bemusement. J seemed to want to keep the activities at arms length as I did, so we ended up spending most of the day together. It’s funny because I don’t believe that either of us were necessarily attracted to each other, but I could tell that we both appreciated the shape of each other’s bodies.
The Aussie girls wanted me to come out with them, and I decided that I would go out for one more evening in this party town. J came with this crowd of girls that adopted me. As the evening closed into the night, we went to another bar that hung over the River. We laughed and played games and flirted with anyone who had a cute enough smile. Or body.
J had been leaning a little close to me—I had asked him to cock-block a creepster that had been following me around all day and he obliged with an easy smile. When our eyes connected, there was… something there. Not enough to lean in for a kiss or put a hand on a thigh, but there was something.
Eventually, the music made me a little stir-crazy and again, I ended up dancing under the bright stars and the flickering bon-fires. I was captured by the music, captured by the delicious feeling of my muscles responding to rhythm—I moved my body through the cooling night air and also with the various half-naked men that met me inside the beat.
At some point, I lost track of J and decided that I was done with the crazy party. I needed to get away from this ‘collegiate’ scene and away from people. I walked back to the guest house. He’ll figure out that I’m no longer at the bar and make it home.
About an hour later, J entered our room. I had been looking out at the mountains and smoking a cigarette by the window. I think neither of us were tired enough to sleep, but there wasn’t much to do. We both lay down in our beds and tucked in our mosquito nets. We faced each other in the darkness and began talking about our lives.
Then our previous relationships.
Then about how the sex was in our previous relationships.
Of course, when the subject turned to sex, I began thinking about what his body looked like.
The content of our conversation and the booze that ran through our veins compelled his inevitable question:
“So, how do you feel about casual sex?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I think that sex is a little sacred—I don’t just sleep with anyone—especially if he’s an idiot.”
Quiet for a moment. Then, “I’m feeling pretty horny right now.” I stared into the darkness in his direction and could just make out the form of his lithe torso.
“Hmmm…”
“And you? How’re you feeling?”
“Well hell. It’s been while since I’ve had sex and this conversation has been somewhat…”
“Would you want to sleep with me?”
“Only if you’ll come into my mosquito net.”
The moonlit mosquito net was tinted bluish white and billowed while we touched each other’s skin. I am always surprised by a man’s reaction to my body. The simple fact of my nudity stimulates and causes a seemingly irrepressible hungry response. I feel a certain power and sense of strength, knowing that I can make another feel this.
The sex was louder than it should’ve been, considering the fact that there were only thin boards between the rooms. When it was done, I lay in the circle of his arms, our sweat mingling in the sudden quiet. Our faces close—an artificial closeness derived by the physical contact, but we enjoyed the moment and the feeling of soft lips and tongues.
When I stirred into wakefulness in the dawning light, he softly said, “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“Is it? For you?”
I gave him a half-smile, “I think so. And you?”
“Yes. No regrets?”
“I don’t think so.”
I had some errands to run in the city before I left, but J waited at the guest house for my return. There was some awkwardness when we sat across from each other in the open mountain air in the light of day, but I think that we mutually felt that it was important to share these last few moments together. J carried my heavy backpack to the tuk-tuk that came to pick me up. He kissed my cheek and I kissed his stubbly one.
