specialty friends

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.

teaching in a high school

April 12, 2010

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.

man, woman, & the morning after

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?

Life in Korea & Thailand/Laos/Cambodia V

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 Mekong River 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 Mekong River, 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.

“Good bye J. Enjoy your travels.”

“And you.”

Thailand/Laos/Cambodia V

March 10, 2010

So, I should probably explicate upon my experience in Van Vieng. I was hesitant to go there because it had a notorious reputation to be a crazy party place and I was trying to get away from the busy busyness. However, it was on the way to Si Phan Don, my next destination. Also, I had heard that the Van Vieng scenery was absolutely stunning. Both party and landscape had a “must see” tag attached to every account, so I figured it was worth a go.

The 6 hour bus ride was actually quite pleasant because I could watch the green wrinkled velvet of the mountains dotted with the wooden lean-tos with their thatched roofs. Barefoot children ran with their friends along the dusty road. They were beautiful.

Apparently, our road wound precariously down the side of a steep mountain and we were often teetering on the edge. I could hear some of the travelers squealing their discomfort about the hazardous nature of our ride, but I refused to watch the road ahead. If I die via bus crash spinning wheels off the side of this mountain in Laos, it is what it is. If it’s “my time”, who am I to question my fate? My anxiety about this will make absolutely no difference about whether/not this bus plummets.

We made another random stop. Some people decided to eat at the ramshackled hut, but I wanted to wait for the town. I grabbed a bottle of water and sat down with some French and Canadian people. The guy across from me was quietly smoking a cigarette.

“So, where are you from?”

“Holland… and you’re from… the States?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I can tell by your accent.”

“It’s a bit of an ugly accent, huh?”
”No, it’s just different. And it’s obvious when you hear one.”

“I’ve got some issues with being American, apparently.”

He laughed and put out his hand: “J_____.”

“Mary.”

Of course, we were dropped off about 4K outside of the city so that the tuk-tuks could take advantage of us. I headed into Van Vieng with a number of other travelers and was shocked by the absolute ugliness of the town. After the beauty of the French Colonial Luang Prubang, Van Vieng was a mess. The roads were dusty, dirty, rocky. Many of the structures were made partially or wholly of rusting, corrugated metal. Piles of broken brick lay in the midst of other half-raised structures. There was little sign of plant-life in the town—though, there were jagged mountain peaks that sawed up along the horizon. The mountains rose and fell backwards into the blue sky. This took the edge off the man-made structures.

I sauntered about and kicked up dust in the hot sun. I wanted to find a place to stay quickly so I could put down my backpack. I saw J down the street. Our eyes connected.

“I’m looking for a really cheap place while I’m here. I need to recoup my losses from Luang Prubang.”

“I am of the same mind.”

“Cool. You want to find a cheap place in this town with me?”

“Sure.”

We were directed to the Champa Laos—with its stunning, uninterrupted view of the mountains.

“Do you have a room?”

“Yes. But only one.”

“Hmmm. How much?”

“30,000 kip. But there are 2 beds.” I was right about to tell J that he could take the place and I would look around, but he just shrugged at me.

“I’m cool with sharing a room. You?”

“Uh. Sure. I’m pretty sure I can trust you?”

“You can trust me. Think I can trust you too?”

“You better keep an eye on that passport.”

We laughed. We settled in and then took a walk around the town. It was a bizarre place. There were only a few major streets that ran through Van Vieng, and every street had bars and outdoor restaurants. There were these bars that were playing loops of “Friends” and “Family Guy” while people lounged around on the floor cushions smoking cigarettes and looking dreamy. Or hung over. I wasn’t sure which. Maybe both?

J and I grabbed a long lunch and then went to the “Irish Bar” and had a long chat about random things over Beer Lao. He was pretty smart, so we had a good conversation. He mentioned his girlfriend—which automatically helped me to put up that boundary—but J had this bizarre sexual but asexual vibe about him.

Anyway, we ended up at the “Bucket Bar”—it is exactly what it sounds like. Loud music, debauchery, pretty people with pretty tans, raised wooden platforms where people took off their flip flops to dance. I danced a little, got dirty danced with a little and eventually just started feeling exhausted and wanted to go to sleep. J wasn’t ready to go when I was, but I had no idea how to get back to the guest house.

“Just let me finish my beer.”

“Take your time. But I’m going to lay down right here.”

“That’s cool. I’ll wake you.”

I leaned back on the wooden planks that were vibrating with the stomping feet of the dancers. I watched the stars for a while. A curly-haired boy with a cute face lay next to me.

“Sleepy?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m curled up like this.”

He chuckled, “you want to take a walk with me?”

“A walk to where?” I yawned.

“To the pier.”

“I don’t know where the pier is. And what’re we going to do down there?”

“It’s a really cool place. C’mon.”

“I don’t think so. I’m really tired and I don’t want to move.”

He brushed a few of those beautiful curls from his eyes. I smiled politely and turned over and continued to feel those stomping feet. Jasper shook me awake sometime later and we walked home.

Thailand/Laos/Cambodia IV

Luang Prubang cont’d

The next day, I took a bike ride through Luang Prubang and marveled at the beauty of this little town. There were quite a few more tourists than I had anticipated, so I decided to point my bike down a main road and keep on riding towards the outskirts. I passed fields and Laotians harvesters and fruit stands. The greens and oranges and purples and blues looked astonishingly different under the nearly blinding white of the sun. This sun beat down hotter than most of the suns I’ve experienced.

I got lost.

And I ran out of water.

And I needed some shade.

Bowing my head in a little lean-to thatched roofed fruit stand/napping place/home, I smiled at the husband and wife who lay on straw mats. They looked shy and slightly confused by my presence. I bought a bottle of lukewarm water and gulped half of it in huge swigs. Husband and Wife exchanged amused glances while they slowly fanned themselves.

There have been so many flies and ants that have been competing for my food for the entire trip. I’ve had to be really Zen in general about the insects, geckos, and other randoms that have been crawling crawling over everyplace-everything.

As I chased away the buzzing flies from the harvest of fresh pears that sat on a rickety wooden table, I reflected upon how this was a much more honest way of looking at food. Food occurs in nature.

I’ve worked in restaurants for at least a decade of my working years and the prepared vegetable florets and precisely cut ovals of meat is a strange façade. Flies buzz just as greedily in restaurant prep rooms as they do around the taut yellow-green fruit in little thatched huts on the Laotian countryside.

Slices of zucchini, carrot, onion, and tomato are sliced into sharp perfection by white-hatted chefs; they slide off cutting boards in the chaos of the lunch/dinner rush. These exposed vegetable meats soak in the brine from the kitchen floor before they are quickly snapped up by greasy fingers and tossed atop salads. The unaware consumers admire the pleasing geometric design of the edibles on their plates.

Those false lines and shapes—they are so far removed from their origins. The earth. The single-minded instinct of insects. The dusty, calloused hands that plant and harvest. I sometimes forget as well. Food occurs in nature.

This is the flash of thoughts that I had while I brushed an ant off of one of the 3 pears that I had chosen. This seems more honest somehow. Husband nodded his thanks when I paid 10000 kip for the 3 fruit.

I needed directions.

The quiet couple couldn’t quite understand my inquiries about where to find the bus station so I could check the schedule. A few more smiles at my pantomimes. Helpless shrugs and giggles between the 3 of us.

I cycled off into the heat and the green.

Eventually, I meandered my way there and booked my ticket for the next stop—the infamous Van Vieng: Tubes, parties, and everyone getting laid.

Thailand/Laos/Cambodia III

Luang Prubang, cont’d

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...

Thailand/Laos/Cambodia II

February 9, 2010

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 5^th 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 3^rd 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.