Monday Funnies

Well I thought it was funny.

These are, strangely enough, the only two pictures I took during my three days of beach-bummin' on the island of Ko Pha-Ngan.

I'm coming home people! Thanks to all those who kept up with my travels and often aimless ramblings... See you very very soon.

Addendum: Reasons why...

So of course I don't remember these while typing up the original Reasons Why

I could live in Singapore:

9. Ketchup. Yes, I did say ketchup. They've got the good stuff in the Lion City. My fellow ketchup lovers, until you've tasted the vile impersonators they serve along side fries/chips in many foreign countries... well, you just wouldn't understand. At least in New Zealand they call it by a different name, tom-a-toe sauce, because... well... it is a different condiment all together. Some countries - Fiji, Thailand, and Samoa for instance - call it by the name ketchup, but it's not the trusted companion of our family picnics and 4th-of-July BBQ's... oh, it most certainly is not! I don't know what exactly they do to it. My best guess, having studied tomato-based condiments extensively while travelling, is this: they take regular, delicious, perfect ketchup then add extra sugar [gag], some vinegar [eh-urp (that's the sound of surppressed vomit)], and a touch of clove [tear]. Why God? Whhhyyy? So yeah, Singapore has the good stuff... a very important thing they've got going for them.

I couldn't live in Singapore:

8. Music. Live music to be more specific. I was reminded of this one during my recent conversation with Cooler-Than-He-Knows brother. I'd actually called Pullman to wish Dad a happy birthday, but he was out at exercise class (way-to-go Dad!) so I got to shoot the shit with my favorite person in the whole world. Sweet! [Be warned readers, he is now 16-years-old and will finish Driver's Ed. in less than a month! But to be fair, I haven't seen him actually drive... maybe he's a very careful, safe and responsible driver. I am, however, basing my warning on his excitable, goof-ball, fantastically-ADD personality, as well as the instances where...

He: "can I shift for you?"
Me: "do you remember how?"
He: "yeah, yeah... so what do I do again?"
Me: "shit. well, okay, we're in 2nd now... here, see the picture on the shift-knob?"
He: "oh, yeah... that's right."
Me: "okay, so you're going to shift to 3rd for me. see the picture?"
He: "yeah, 3rd."
Me: "it's the easiest one. just push the shifter up 'til it snaps into neutral...
He: "uh-huh."
Me: "...then straight forward into 3rd. okay?"
He: "cool. just tell me when." [clutching shift knob with both hands... such focus]
Me: "you ready? alright. you can shift... NOW."
He: "ah, shit. wait. hmph... there!"
Me: [jerked forward] "no man, that's 1st!"
He: "oh-shoot-sorry. how's... is... is the car okay?"
Me: "it's fine, it's fine." [quickly shift to 3rd] "wanna try again?"
He: "nooo... you'd better just drive."

...be warned people. The streets of Pullman are safe no longer.]

So, live music...

Me: "Hey"
He: "Hey"
Me: "Dad home?"
He: "Nah, out at exercise class."
Me: "Shit... well I'll call him back in an hour."
He: "Okay, bye."
Me: "No, no... wait man. What's new?"
He: "Oh... well I'm going to Sasquatch [music festival] this weekend."
Me: "That's sweet. Who are you going with?"
He: "Want to hear the line-up? You won't believe this line-up."
Me: "Okay, okay... the line-up then."
He: "Clap Your Hands Say Yeah..."
Me: "What?"
He: "Beck..."
Me: "Shut up!"
He: "Ben Harper..."
Me: "You're kidding?"
He: "The Flamming Lips..."
Me: "You lucky little..."
He: "Sufjan Stevens..."
Me: "Enough, enough!"
He: "Iron and Wine..."
Me: "You're killing me."
He: "The Decemberists..."
Me: "Seriously dude, that's enough..."
He: "Death Cab for Cutie, The Shins, and TV On The Radio, but I won't get there in time for TV On The Radio..."
Me: "Ohhh... that sucks. Really, you might as well not go."
He: "Shut up. But seriously... can you believe that line-up?"
Me: "Honestly. No, I can't. It's going to be amazing. You'll go insane."
He: "Yeah... I'm so stoked."
Me: ['stoked'? kids still say 'stoked'?] "So are you camping at the Gorge?"
He: "No, Joe's parents won't let us... we're staying in a motel in Moses Lake or something."
Me: "I guess... who cares? Right?"
He: "Yeah... it's going to kick so much ass."

Okay... so I'd have a tough time without the Sasquatches, Bumbershoots, Folk-Lifes... the shows at Neumo's, The Showbox, Crocodile, Tractor and Chop-Suey. Seattle's awesome!

Epiphany! (of the most trivial variety)

So I figured it out - I think. How I ended up in Singapore, that is. While I like to think of myself as a wonderfully spontaneous person, even acting the part many times, truth-be-told I actually have to put in effort to be spontaneous. It's a sad truth, it really is, but the fact is... most everything in my life is a carefully calculated decision. The seemingly random things I do, have, actually, a lot of thought behind them... Pros & Cons lists, time-lines, budgeting, plans, fall-back plans... just disgusting.

And so, when, after only 2-seconds consideration, I bought a plane ticket to a country I hadn't even considered visiting, I thought, "ha-Ha! You've done it old boy... this is living spontaneously!"

But it hit me, as Epiphanies do, when I least expected it. It hit me that while the conscious act of venturing to Singapore was spontaneous, the subconscious motives were anything but! Doh!

Subconscios motives? What the hell are you talking about?

Simple... home-sickness, or rather, travel-weariness.

Huh?

Well... it occufred to me that while I consciously told myself 'Singapore's an amazing SE Asian city (and it is), you must visit it," my subconscious was saying, "Yeah, yeah... Singapore. It's sooo modern, and clean, and has mass-transit. There are museums, and stores, and Western food. They speak English... it'll be such easy traveling... kind of like being home!" I think the fact that I'm nearing the end of my travels finally got the better of me... it happens, you know? You eat better, stay in slightly nicer accommodations, take the Air-Con bus over the local bus. So before I even realized it, I'd bought a plane ticket to Singapore.

And when exactly did this "Epiphany" come to me? Well, it occurred to me as I was seated in an I-max sized theater staring wide-eyed at X-MEN 3: The Last Stand, with my little mitts wrapped around a Banana-Cream Frappuccino from Starbucks. I'm so weak... I don't even like Starbucks... and X-MEN 3? Just pathetic.

music of the moment

DeVotchKa - "How It Ends" - great emotive album, lead singer sounds sort of like Thom Yorke (Radiohead)

Band of Horses - "Everything All The Time" - and they're from Seattle? Wow!

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - "Clap Your Hands Say Yeah" - I love this album.

I'll be home in a little over a week! Can't wait to hear new music on the radio! Sensory overload! So many exclamation points!!!

...

Financial District, Singapore.
Clark Quay District, Singapore.
One more from Clark Quay.

Reasons why...

I could live in Singapore:

1. MRT - mass rapid transit. Subways like NYC (but cleaner and more efficient)... maybe more like Tokyo (but probably cleaner still and just as efficient).

2. BREWERKZ - Microbrewery. Seriously... in Singapore... yeah, you can buy a draft microbrew Oatmeal Stout.

3. Botanical Garden. The sprawling garden/park is only a 30min walk from the commercial heart of Singapore. The orchid garden there is surreal.

4. Changi International Airport. Provides cheap access to travel in pretty much all of Asia, and isn't too far or too expensive from the States.

5. Singaporeans. Thoughtful, considerate, and friendly... I also blend in nicely, appearance-wise that is. (An aside... the first time it happened to me I was confused, frozen in my tracks... a car, with a real-life lady driving it, stopped as I waited to cross a street. The driver made eye-contact, smiled, and gestured with her hand to shepperd me across. I stood there for what seemed like 5 minutes, she continued to smile, so I decided it was okay and wouldn't you know it, I reached the other side unscathed. My Frogger-like traffic dodging skills, finely honed in the streets Thailand, Cambodia and Laos, are worthless here.)

6. Little India. Oh man, the food.

7. China Town. Again with the food.

8. Singaporean accents. At first I couldn't place it, (FYI, in case you didn't know English is the primary language in Singapore) the accent sounded so familiar. Then it hit me... Singaporeans talk pigeon-English. They sound like Hawaiians, and you know how much I love the Hawaiian accent. I do this thing, even with other accents, but especially with the Hawaiian accent - I start to imitate it. Most of the time I'm not even thinking about it... it just comes out... more sing-songy, with the "Howsit's" and soft-vowel sounds. It cracks me up...


I couldn't live in Singapore:

1. I don't dress well enough. Seriously, these Singaporeans have style... with their hip hair-cuts, designer t-shirts, and fancy shoes... which look like bowling shoes to me, but I know that they're fancy because I've seen them in the stores that only have like 7 items on display, and as a friend once told me, the number of items on display in a store is always inversely proportional to the price of said items. Hence... bowling shoes are fancy.

2. My cell-phone only makes phone calls... blasphemy! My, relatively speaking, huge clunker of a cell-phone holds the phone numbers I care about, rings when I get a call, stores messages when I don't answer, and that's about it. You should see these kids with their cell-phones. They play music, picture slide-shows, and even short films. They fit in that spot in your wallet that used to be reserved for your credit cards, and my WORD how these kids can text-message. Sitting on the train, I'm in awe watching their thumbs working those cell-phones. If I would've had such skills, I would've been the undisputed champion of Mike-Tyson's-Punch-Out... no doubt.

3. Singapore is still really far from family and friends.

4. I need seasons. Seattle doesn't have seasons, you say. Well, it might be overcast and misty from October to April, but at least we have a distinct Spring, Summer and Fall! Singapore only has two seasons... HOT and RAINY... and RAINY is still HOT! I need me some cold weather once in a while.

5. Now you're going to think I'm shallow, but I have difficulty dating Asian women. I think I have some complex or something... like they remind me of my mother... I don't know. Anyway, I'm sure I would get over it, but in this stream of consciousness rambling, it came to mind. So ANYway.

6. No mountains. I love that Singapore is surrounded by water, but I really love the mountains. I don't have to live in the mountains... I just want to be able to have relatively easy access to them.

7. I'd go broke in this town. It's tailor-made to empty your wallet. I'm not much of a shopper - typical guy, you know? When I go shopping I've already done the research, cased out the joint... I know what I want, where to buy it, and how much it will cost. It's a stealth operation really... I avoid eye-contact, swoop in and pick up the item (predetermined size, color, extra-features, etc...), and make a B-line directly for the cashier. Many women, and some men, I know will shop for fun... they like to get dressed up, go out, and look through the retail items, the hidden gems, that are out there in the shopping centers of this world. Well... Singaporeans even admit this... shopping IS the country's national pass time! Men & women, old & young... they just love their shopping... and it's contagious, I think. And... I need to get out of here!

this is the part where I wish I had a macro-lens

Semi-obligatory Chaing Mai post

Okay. So I have a confession (or disclaimer): there are times when I write and post stuff on this blog which sucks... I mean sucks more than usual. This is one of those instances (still want to continue reading? I won't be offended).

You see... most of the time when I write a post, I enjoy it. There's something that's inspired the idea behind the post... an experience, a conversation, a place, but most importantly a feeling. I want to write on those occasions. Also, by all this, I don't mean to say my "inspired" posts don't "suck" (most of them do), what I mean is I enjoyed writing them no matter the quality of writing or entertainment value. That's the point... I enjoyed the writing part of it.

Okay, okay, so back to this post.

Why even bother with it, you may ask. It's a very good question, one I've even asked myself. Here's how I rationalize it (because it's always important to rationalize):

1. My close friends and family actually check this silly blog to see where the hell I am and what the hell I'm up to. (So cool of them!) The least I can do is try to post something - anything. (And for the new and random visitors to this blog, I apologize).

2. There'll come a day or days when I'll want to go back and revisit what I was doing. It's the same reason you write in your journal at night even when it was a crappy or uneventful day.

3. I'm not a good enough writer to be without instances where I lack inspiration and/or motivation - it's just how it is. So, got to keep at it, because it'll be enjoyable again soon. I just think of those instances as spells of blogger's-block, if you will.

So, to the older and wiser Tim who will read this some day, I can tell you that your younger and wilder self was in Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai for a few days. You hopped the Thai/Lao border on a boat across the Mekong - crossing from Huay Xai to Chiang Khong. You mostly explored the temples in town, visited night markets, read, and ate great food. You thought about going on another guided trek, or an elephant ride, but felt unmotivated - largely due to the rains that accompanied you through Northern Thailand.

One day, as you were killing a few minutes in an internet cafe (you had 10 minutes left of the 1hr that you purchased) you decided to browse some of the websites of the SE Asian discount airlines. You found a $35 ticket from Chiang Mai to Singapore... which leaves the next day. You'd never considered going to Singapore, but decide "What the hell! It's $35, and I can cross overland through Malaysia back into Southern Thailand." So you went to Singapore.

...

Novice Monks caring for Wat Chedi Luang...

I'm looking for a book - Part 2

I've got to thank Anonymous Commenter No.3 today. For the last 5 days, as I've been consumed by Jeff Eugenides' Middlesex, I've been silently thanking whoever suggested the title.

If anyone out there hasn't read this book... you should. Right off, I can think of so many friends who'd love the book... Ms. MyLastName, Ms. Reuling, Cooler-than-he-knows brother, Starving-artist brother, Ainge, Weed, Spunch, BC ex-girlfriend, Popo, Deuce, DA-Richard, DA-Karen, Dad, Delaney, Abs, Franny, Aurora... most everyone I know.

I grabbed it off the shelf of a book exchange because the title sounded vaguely familiar (I didn't have my journal with me with its last page listing books, movies and music I needed to check-out), but mostly I saw the gold emblem on the cover proclaiming "Winner of the Pulitzer Prize." So, I exchanged one Pulitzer Prize winner, All The King's Men - which incidentally is also an incredible read (thanks Popo), for another Pulitzer winner. A free swap.

Of note, my writer friend Jess was right. There are so many secondhand book stores in SE Asian cities, there's no need to bring more than your first travel-read if you're headed here.

So anyway, at 1:30am last night I finished Middlesex, and with the satisfaction of closing a book for the last time, I also couldn't help but feel like I was parting ways with a real person - Cal, the narrator. The fictional autobiography - yes it's about a hermaphrodite - is so charming, heartfelt, painful, astounding, and often hilarious... it's hard to believe Cal is a figment of Eugenides' imagination. It's really good.

So now I'm hunting for my next book, journal in tow this time, thinking I might go non-fiction for this one. Anyone have more suggestions? Keep 'em coming!

My Life in Little Bags

SCENE
Time is dusk, a mid-May day in the Kamu tribal village of Ban Na Lam in Northern Laos. It is dry and warm, but not hot. The village is small, 30 thatched-roof houses, and teaming with activity - pigs, dogs, chickens, and children roam freely - women attend to various domestic chores - men are absent, having not returned from the rice fields. The village has no roads, no electricity, no running water. Our characters lounge on wooden benches, seated on the porch of the thatched-roof bungalow where they will spend the night. Having trekked for 5 hours, led by local guides, the characters now relax and await a traditional Lao dinner they will have with the village chief.

CHARACTERS
Caro - 26, Australian, female. Dressed in baggy yoga-type pants, long-sleeves with stripes, and a bandanna. Her head is adorned with a heaping pile of thick dreadlocks. Intelligent, well-educated, and witty. An extensive traveller, her passport scarcely has room for the immigration stamp she will get when she leaves Laos. For 6 years, Caro has split time between odd jobs (cook, shoe-sales-woman, internet-cafe-attendant, etc...) and travelling the world. Starting to think about "settling down" to attend grad school.

Lucy - 21, British, female. Dressed in "hiking trousers" that are "very functional without compromising style", short-sleeves of a synthetic material, and an entire tube of bug-repellent. Intelligent, naive, and still a bit mystified by the world. Yet to start Uni, has been working odd jobs in sales and travelling a bit within Western Europe. Did a 3-week trip in Mongolia last year that seems to have awakened something within her. Might have "a thing" for our last character, but hasn't revealed as much.

Tim - 26, American, male. Dressed in poly-pro head-to-toe: pants, long-sleeves, socks, boxers and it all smells pretty bad. Indifferent to dirtiness and smelliness, but not with out a self-conscious side. Fairly intelligent, well-educated, and likes to think of himself as witty. Not an extensive traveller, but not a novice either. Worked as a well-paid engineer for 3 years before, somewhat spontaneously, quitting to seek "adventures." Meticulous and absent-minded at the same time... likes to think he's out there "finding himself."

ACT-1
caro - "I'm kinda bored. Anyone have a deck of cards?"
lucy - "not me."
tim - "nope."
caro - "I swear this is the hundredth time I've wished I had some cards. I don't know why I haven't bought a deck by now."
lucy - "I don't know any games anyway."
caro - "Hey Tim, you got anything cool in that massive pack?"

[caro and lucy cary only day-packs on the 2-day trek, while tim carries nearly his full pack. He left his stove, tent, sleeping pad, and books in town, but not much else.]

tim - "It's not that massive... is it?"
caro - "I guess not, but we're only out here for 2 days. I mean, what's in there besides some toiletries and a change of clothes?"
tim - "I brought my 10-Essentials, plus my camer..."
lucy - "10 what?"
tim - "Never mind... I know it's pretty ridiculous... for only 2 days I mean."
caro - "Whatever... so, you got any cool toys in there?"
lucy - "Yay, toys!"
tim - "Well..." [digs in the top pouch] "here's a compass..."
caro - "Ooo... it's all fancy. Look it has a mirror."
lucy - "Let me see!"
tim - "Hmmm... what else... I mean, what do you guys want? I can show you pictures on my camera."
caro - "nooo... come on, what else you got in there?"
tim - "oh, here's my Leatherman."
lucy - [snatches Leatherman] "I love these things... my dad has one. He's a plumber."
caro - "let me see."
tim - "here, let me see what else I've got." [now opens main compartment of pack and begins emptying contents]
lucy - "Oh my God, Look! He has everything in cute little bags!"
tim - "they're stuff sacks." [mumbles, feeling a bit self-conscious]
lucy - "Oh MY God, Look! They're all different colors! This is so cute."
tim - "they're... they're for..."
caro - "what've you got in them?" [chuckles]
tim - "this one has my extra clothing... this one my socks, boxers, bandanna, beanie, gloves..."
lucy - "gloves?!?"
caro - "yeah, gloves?"
tim - "yeah, yeah... they're liner gloves. I don't know what I was thinking... thought maybe I'd need them in the mountains."
lucy - "okay, okay... what's this one?"
tim - "my dirty clothes. And this one has my sleeping bag liner. And this one..."
caro - "Look..." [empties contents of the top pouch on the pack] "he has all this stuff in little zip-lok bags, too!"
tim - "ha-ha-ha... laugh it up."
lucy - "what's this one?" [snatches a zip-lok that has a rubber-band wrapped around]
tim - "my first-aid kit."
lucy - "and this?"
tim - "water treatment and fire starting stuff... matches, lighter..."
lucy - "and this?"
tim - "tools and repair stuff... cord, duct-tape, zip-ties, sewing kit... the Leatherman was in there."
lucy - "This is awesome! You're such a nerd!" [laughs uncontrollably]
tim - "alright, alright... I think that's enough fun for now. If you don't mind I'll be packing away my O.C. gear now."
caro - "Ohhh... don't be sore."
tim - "I'm not... I just know I'm a bit neurotic..."
caro - "I love people like you... I had this friend back home that was just like you. He'd make lists of things he needed to do, with check-boxes next to each thing. He'd tack them to his bedroom walls. He loved checking those boxes. I bet I know exactly what your bedroom looks like..."
tim - "I never had check-boxes..." [grumbles - mostly just for show]
caro - "Oh come on... I love people like you. People like you help me to get my life into nice little bags."
tim - "ha-Ha! Sweet. So I've got that goin' for me."

Northern Lao

Northern Lao is a funny place... like stepping into a time-machine that whisks you back to the Lao of 20 years ago. Much like Southern Lao, the people in the North tend to take things... really... easy. Take, for instance, the 7am bus that was to travel 8hrs to the Thai border crossing. There was, contrary to the posted schedule, no 7am bus... the next bus was at 9:30am. But... the 9:30am bus doesn't leave until 10:30am, which doesn't get to the Thai border until 6:30pm. And, since the immigration office closes at 6pm, you'll need to stay an extra night in Lao. Oh, but your visa expires today? That's a bummer... just pay the (gulp) $10 fine at immigration tomorrow morning when it opens at 8am. Don't sweat it. I didn't.

The winding, bumpy dirt roads can be nerve rattling, but that's what riding the time-machine feels like. Instead of the expansive Mekong River, the northern "cities" of Luang Nam Tha and Muang Sing are surrounded by rolling mountains and endless rice paddies.

The towns aren't especially charming, though the people are. What really draws you here is the nearby Nam Ha National Park. The eco-tourism in Lao is in it's infancy, and unlike many of the guiding companies in Thailand, Lao has done an incredible job of developing an eco-tourism industry that is culturally sensitive and responsible in its interactions with the hill-tribes that reside within the Nam Ha N.P.

A 2-day guided trek will allow you to visit, and not intrude upon, the Kamu and Hmong tribes that reside in small villages that can only be reached on foot or small boat. More than 50% of the money you pay the government sponsored Eco-tourism Project goes directly to the villages. The group I went with included Caro (Aussie), Lucy (Brit), and our two guides Tah and Noi. Groups are kept small, and visitations are staggered to minimize the intrusiveness of Western visitors.

The villages have no electricity, running water, or roads. They are self-sustaining communities who grow the rice, vegetables, and fruit that they need. Animals (pig, chicken, and dogs) roam the village freely... they are all considered communal food, and no one takes ownership. The hill-tribe villages we visited were clearly accustomed to seeing Western trekkers; however, they did not seem to resent our presence. Children were coy and shy, later becoming curious and playful. Adults were friendly or indifferent.

When not trekking, my time in Northern Lao was spent bicycling around the dirt roads that snaked their way through rice paddies... there's little else to do besides eat, read, and sleep. I enjoyed my time immensely.


A one-cylinder "truck" parked along a dirt road leading out of Luang Nam Tha.
Our guides, Noi (left) and Tha as we return from our trek.
Caro carried one of those old-school Polaroid cameras, giving away pictures to the Kamu kids. Many had never had seen a picture of themselves. What a sight... a dozen kids laughing and shaking their Polaroids.
Kamu children.
Hmong children.
I told her the one about the Priest, lawyer and scientist who walked into a bar and...
One last rice paddy pic.

Lost in Translation

Luang Prabang is an easy city to get lost in… it’s a city you want to get lost in. The century’s old former royal capital is one of those cities that exude a kind of tranquil aesthetic beauty that leaves you feeling sort of dreamy, very much at peace, and all together blessed. I’m reminded of Kyoto, Japan, but instead of Shinto temples and Zen gardens, this city is adorned with Buddhist temples, cobbled alleys, and French colonial architecture. It’s a photogenic sort of town.

…

This afternoon I found myself ducking out of a handicraft shop, once more thwarting this city’s ability to innocently empty your wallet, and noticed a temple across the street that I hadn’t seen when I’d entered the shop.

It’s Sunday and the temple grounds of Wat Wisunalat are quiet… the odd pair of monks stroll about in their orange robes, but no vendors or tourists are to be seen. Rounding the corner to the backside of the central temple, I come upon the 3 simple wooden buildings that are the monks’ quarters.

Two monks, maybe early twenties, are sitting on the porch of one building… their legs casually swinging off the edge. As I walk by, they pause their chat and turn their gaze my way. I wave and greet them with, “Sabai-dii.” (hello)

They both reply with smiles and “Sabai-dii.” Then the fellow on the left asks, “How are you?”

Slightly surprised by the well phrased English, I approach them and reply, “Very good. How are you?”

“Okay,” he says, and, “okay” says his friend. The two of them wiggle apart and pat the open space on the porch that is now between them. I smile, dip my head, and plop myself between Buun Ping of Pak Mong and Khao of Luang Nam Tha.

The extent of my Lao vocabulary being “Hello,” “Thank You,” “Yes,” “No,” and “Beer Lao?” we start conversing in English. Their English is humblingly good…

Buun Ping: “You Japanese?”
Me: “Very good guess, but no I am American. My mother is Japanese though.”
Buun Ping: “No, you do not look all Japanese.”
Khao: “Nihongo o hansemasuka?”
Me: [stunned] “Woh… sukoshi, sukoshi. So you speak Japanese?”

…he asked if I speak Japanese and I replied a little, a little…

Khao: “Sukoshi. I like Japanese.”
Me: “Do you speak any other languages?”
Khao: “Thai, Chinese, and some French.”
Me: “My word… and you, Buun Ping, do you speak any other languages?”
Buun Ping: “Nooo… only Lao.”
Me: “And English. You speak English very well.”
Buun Ping: [smiling] “Ai… nooo. But thank you. Do you know other language?”
Me: “Me? No… I’m American.”
Buun Ping: “Eh?”
Me: “Most Americans only know English. It is quite sad.”
Khao: “You can learn Lao… it is easy.”
Me: “Oh, I don’t know if it is easy. I think I will try to learn more Japanese first.”

Khao: "What is this?" [asks while pointing to my right arm]
Me: "It's a tattoo."
Both: "Really?!?" [and curiously, both poke the dark skin on my arm]
Buun Ping: "What it for?"
Me: "It's a reminder."
Buun Ping: "A remin..?"
Me: "Sorry. A reminder. It helps me remember a good friend. Somone who died."
Both: "Ohhh..." [and both, not so curiously, but carefully now, touch the dark skin on my arm]

Buun Ping: “How old are you?”
Me: “How old do you think I am?”
Buun Ping: [squinting, head angled sideways] “Maybe… 30?”
Me: “Ohhh… do I look so old?”
Khao: “I think 25.”
Me: “Very close. I am 26.”
Both: something in Lao… then laughter.
Me: “How old are you two?”
Khao: “You guess.”
Buun Ping: “Yes, guess.”
Me: “Okay… Buun Ping, I think you are… 21. And you Khao… maybe 23.”
Both: “Wahhh!” [and hysterics]
Me: “Okay, okay… how old then?”
Buun Ping: “I am 19 and Khao is 18.”
Me: “Wow… I am the old man here.”
Both: [snickers, knee slapping, and rocking on bums]

We go on like this for nearly an hour. At one point I ask them if I am keeping them from some place they’re supposed to be. They explain that today is Sunday and they have no school today…

Buun Ping: “We wake up 4 o’clock. Do some chore, then pray. 5:30 we go collect alms on main street (alms are a daily donation of a small amount of food or money from the local Buddhist community members). 6 o’clock we eat breakfast, then we clean.”
Me: “What do you clean?”
Buun Ping: “Clean buildings, sweep grounds, and wash robe. After, we pray again then go to school.”
Me: “What do you learn in school?”
Buun Ping: “Buddhist teachings, mostly Buddhist Teachings.”
Me: “So usually you are in school right now.”
Buun Ping: “Yes, but today no school. We can study on own, read, or just talk with other monk.”
Me: “or funny Americans.”
Buun Ping: “Yes [chuckling], or talk with Tim.”

Khao and Buun Ping explain more about their days, how long they’ve been at the monastery (1 year a piece), how long they will stay (neither is sure), and what they want to do after their time in the monastery.

Buun Ping: “Not sure what I want to do. Maybe study and teach.”
Me: “What do you want to study?”
Buun Ping: “I like study religion, maybe.”
Khao: “I like to study science, then maybe doctor. What you study?”
Me: “Well I finished university in 2002...”
Both: “Woh… 2002?!?”
Me: “Yes, yes… it has been a little while. I studied engineering.”
Khao: “And you are engineer now?”
Me: “Well I wa… yes, I worked as an engineer for 3 years.”
Khao: “And now what you do?”
Me: “Well… not much right now. But I am thinking that I may study some more, like you. Maybe in 2 or 3 years.”
Buun Ping: “Engi…”
Me: “Yes, maybe engineering. But maybe ‘doctor’, or maybe ‘nurse’, or maybe ‘physiotherapy, or maybe ‘teaching.’ I don’t know right now.
Khao: “That okay.”
Buun Ping: “Yes. I not really know either.”
Me: [smiling] “Thank you for that.”

So the three of us sat and chatted more, and really, the only reason we stopped was that I had to pee real bad and needed to duck into a café. I thanked the two of them - I think I might have even blushed for they were monks and for some reason it made me blush - and they thanked me. So I strode away, briskly ‘cause of my bladder, but with a glow for reasons that are obvious.

Building front in some random alley.

Nightly street market.
Paper umbrellas at night market.
Back entrance to a cafe.
Fell in love with photographing doors... not sure why.
Cafe in morning light.
Novice monks collecting alms.
Novice monk kind enough to let me take his photo.

another post about food

things I can't figure out...

No. 1 - Why the following foods haven't been incorporated into the American diet:

Nutella... the most incredibly delicious spread of hazelnut chocolaty goodness. Like peanut butter, but a zillion times better... or, as my friend Fumbly Franny describes it, "orgasm on a spoon." You could spread it on a piece of wet cardboard and I'd probably eat it.

Sweetened Condensed Milk... widely used outside the states. Drizzle it on toast, put it in your coffee, or best of all... cut up some fresh fruit (that has been refrigerated - it's best when the fruit is cold) then drizzle that sweet nectar all over. So good.

No. 2 - How my mom was so clever.

I've been loving the banana milk shakes that they have in Laos. They're only 50-cents most of the time, and they have this... this... familiar goodness to them. Oh wait... that's because they taste exactly like the banana shakes mom would make on Saturday mornings.

Starving Artist Brother and I would get so excited for these delicious weekend treats. Saturday mornings, for me, were special because of those banana shakes. Things might have been different had I know just how healthy those damn things were...

I watched those Lao women make my shakes and all they put in 'em is a banana, plain yogurt, ice, some milk and a bit of honey.

Man, I might as well have been eating weight-watchers. Come to think of it... Mom used to give us frozen bananas for dessert and I used to get excited about that too! Frozen bananas?!? That's just a banana that got over-ripe, so mom stuck a pop-sickle stick in it, wrapped in plastic wrap and shoved it in the freezer.

She's a clever bird, that mother of mine.

Street Fighting Man

Browsing the silk scarfs and bags and such in one of the Lao craft stores, I come across a framed picture of a Lao woman (presumably the store owner) and a fellow that looks a lot like Mick Jagger. The picture sits on a shelf and looks very much out of place.

Funny, I think, and remember just then that a little over a week ago, as I was strolling up to Wat Phu Champasak in Souther Lao... you know, to catch it at sunset... that I strolled past a dude who looked kind of like Mick Jagger, too. I remember doing a double-take, then thinking to myself... "man, that dude looked like Mick Jaggar, except older, and skinnier, and more haggard." Then I didn't think anything more of it... not that afternoon, or since.

So anyway, I'm in this store, and I ask the young lady who is tidying up and straightening all the items hanging on display.

"Excuse me, miss. Is this Mick Jagger in this picture? With the owner?"
"Yes, he here 2 years ago and we all took picture," she says.
"Huh, that's weird," I say, "I mean, not weird that he was here, but..."
"He also here yesterday," she says.
"Mick Jagger was in this store yesterday?" I ask, my face all twisted.
"Yes, he come back and bought many many things,"
"Holy crap! That was Mick Jagger I saw..."
"You saw Mick Jagger here?" she asks, now interested in the conversation.
"No, no... I mean, I saw him about a week ago in Champasak."
"Ahhh... maybe. He here in Laos on vacation with his girlfriend," she continues, "Did you see his girlfriend?"
"Yeah... there was a lady with him," I recall.
"She was very big?"
"Yeah... she was pretty tall," I recall again.
"And very ugly, yes?"
"Well... uh... I don't really remember, but I don't remember her as very beautiful," I say.
"Yes... she was tall and ugly," she says with a completely straight face.
"Okay, okay," I laugh.
"And he had body guard with him?" she asks.
"There was one other guy with them, I remember that."
"Yes, the body guard." She affirms.
"Holy crap... I can't believe it." I laugh.
"Did you get picture with Mick?" she asks.
"No... I didn't even think it was him." I reply.
"That too bad."

Easy Rider, huh?

I think not. But cruising the dirt roads East of Tha Khek City, where the limestone juts out of the plains in an unnatural sort of way, I could pretend.

After visiting all the caves, and temples, and cliffs listed in the guide book, I could've just headed back to the city. I could've, but the cruising was too fun.

So I stayed out there in the maze of dirt roads for a couple of hours, with no destination, and thought, "Maybe, when I get back home, that Kutsko fella will help me fix up an old BMW bike. One of those classic ones like he has."

Yeah, Yeah. And this red-plastic-100cc scooter isn't a scooter at all. It's a big shiny Harley. And the guy sitting on it? Peter Fonda. Yeah, Yeah.

And it was fun to pretend. And it was a beautiful place, and a great day.

late afternoon nap

You lie there on your back and close your eyes once more. It's late afternoon and it drizzles outside, and you're trying to escape a headache.

You open your eyes again, with a sigh, as though someone were there to hear it, and without lifting your head you peer down at your hands, with fingers interlaced, lying across the slow swell of your chest. Your eyes move up now and find the blurred blades of the ceiling fan spinning above you, rippling the veil of mosquito net that hangs around you, and sending down swirls of air all about you.

You close your eyes again and hope this time it'll happen. And you think of your day and feel like it's the fifth straight day where all you've done is read. Just read... until your eyes and head hurt. And the image won't get out of your head. And it makes no sense, but it's still there. And it won't get out of your head... your dad, holed up in that dark workroom, with his book, and his scotch, and how he'd withdraw like that for days at a time. And it's a stupid thought so you open your eyes.

You see again that the fan spins above you. And the veil ripples around you. And the breeze swirls about you. So you close your eyes again and try to be soothed by those things...

But it's no use. You open your eyes, and you're thinking, and you don't want to be thinking...

But... but... time is precious, you think, and you're wasting it. And you feel lonely and a little sad. And you're upset that you feel lonely, and then you're upset about being upset over such a thing for it's natural to feel lonely sometimes. And sad sometimes. And that thought doesn't lessen the sad feeling under your interlaced fingers, but it brings you to peace with it.

And then you realize your eyes are still open. And there's still the spinning above, the ripples around, and the swirls all about.

And again you close your eyes, and this time they stay closed, and sleep comes to you easily.

A Sound Track to Southern Laos

give me something dreamy, something beautiful, and very very chill...

Carla Bruni - "Quelqu'un m'a dit" - I mean seriously... you can't already be a supermodel, and then have a voice so incredible. Haven't a clue what she's saying, but she makes me want to learn French just to find out.

Cat Power - "The Greatest" - How it took me this long to discover Chan Marshall, I'll never know. Buy this album. I promise it'll make you smile.

CocoRosie - "La Maison de Mon Reve" - Two sisters making music with kids toys? Yeah... and usually, somehow, it works. You decide.

honorable mention... the song "Littlest Birds" by the Be Good Tonyas.

...

What's with the new music? My chance run in with DA-Richard and his laptop (!?!) infused my ipod with some new tunes. Always hookin' me up... the man has 30,000 songs in his library! Happy Day!

Remembering the Troll

The small island towns of Si Phan Don (literally “Four Thousand Islands”), in the Mekong River of Southern Laos, typically have a single paved road - a main drag with all the shops, guest houses, and city municipal buildings. If you find yourself off that paved road, on one of the dusty alleys or side streets, you’re sure to encounter at least one animated groups of kids at play. And that I did, every day of my stay on the laid back islands of Southern Laos.

I’d usually hear them before I saw them… squeals of laughter piercing the air, as more often than not, a flip-flop came flying from around a corner. Without video-games, TV’s, or sometimes electricity, these kids used their imaginations to fill the long summer afternoons. A favorite game seemed to be something akin to the game of marbles. A circle is drawn in the dirt. Each Player places a bottle cap in the circle, then removes both flip-flops from their feet. The first flip-flop toss seems to be a mandatory defensive play. Like the ring-toss at our County Fairs, the flip-flop is gently lobbed into position in such a strategic manner that their bottle cap will be protected. The second flip-flop toss is the kill-shot… the intent being wing it, usually side-arm, so as to blast the other players’ bottle caps out of the circle. After the first round, any remaining players continue the kill-shots until only one victorious bottle cap remains. Squeals of laughter ensue.

Some may scoff and say that silly game would be boring after 5 minutes. I, on the other hand, was reminded of the many crazy games my friends and I made up during those after school hours in Pullman.

My good buddy Spence (now a high school science teacher) was always in the mix. Many of our best games were his adolescent brain-child…

For the longest time, Spence had a concrete-floored unfinished basement in his house on Sunnyside Hill. Over the course of a couple of afternoons we dreamt up an elaborate game of tag where the participants weren’t permitted to set foot on the concrete itself. You were, however, permitted to hop around on, and even move around, the pieces of cardboard we’d cut out of the moving boxes his mom stored in the basement. All non-concrete surfaces were in play… walls, the ping-pong table, even the mini-trampoline we drug down there. There were two ways of becoming “it”… a misguided foot on concrete, or being tagged by the one who was currently “it”. Great strategy and acrobatics were required to be successful. How no one slipped and cracked their head open, I don’t know.

When in Montana during the summer, visiting Spence’s Grandparents’ lakeside cabin, we played our thoroughly Montanan version of America’s favorite pastime. The game involved, first, an hour or so of fishing the *expletive* sucker-fish out of the lake. Spence’s Grandpa (Bapa) always added the *expletive*. Sucker-fish, which I still don’t think is the technical name for the species, were an ecological plague to the lake and, Bapa would add, “no good for eatin’.” Anyway. We’d get a good bucket full of sucker-fish, which were maybe 8 inches long on average and the ugliest fish you’ve ever seen, then start our game. “Sucker-Ball” involved a pitcher and a batter. The pitcher would grab a suitable “ball” by the tail, and while standing next to a good sized tree, would give the nearby batter a nice-and-easy underhand “pitch”. As soon as the “ball” left the pitcher’s hand, he’d dart behind the large tree. The batter mean while, would never take his eye off the squirming “ball” flying through the air, and at just the right moment would swing his little heart out. When the wood of the bat made contact, guts, scales and eye-balls would splatter the tree. Squeals of laughter ensued. We could do this for hours.

On summer afternoons back in Pullman, we’d play a game called Man-Hunt, whose rules I can’t really remember. I think it was basically hide-and-seek, but we called it Man-Hunt ‘cause it sounded cooler.

And of course there was Kick-the-Can, which we obviously can’t take the credit for. Some genius child made this game up generations ago, but we played it so often it warrants mention. For those deprived readers who’ve never played Kick-The-Can, it goes something like this. You get yourself a can and a bunch of kids. Place said can upright in a small clearing… maybe some place with at least a 30ft radius of clearing around the can. One person is “it”, and while he or she counts aloud to 30 (Loud… gotta scream those numbers) with their eyes closed, the other kids scramble off and find hiding places. “Ready or not, here I come!” signifies the start of the game. The “it” person cautiously ventures away from the can in search of the kids in hiding. If a hidden little person is spotted, it’s a race to the can. The “it” person leaps over the can and belts out, “Over the can on So-and-So.” So-and-So is thus forced to sit in jail next to the can. This continues until all the hiders are in jail. BUT… if you, one of the hidden little dudes, gets to the can without being spotted, or beats the “it” person to the can after he’s spotted you, then you get to triumphantly Kick-the-Can. Literally. And then the person who’s been in jail longest is released. When everyone is in jail, the kid who has been there longest is now “it”. There are so many intricacies and strategies, I can’t even begin to touch on them… it’s best if you go find yourself a bunch of friends and play.

The snowy days of the winter months brought with it the added excitement of the start of Pig-Skin season. Pig-Skin was a favorite game of the neighborhood, and had the greatest longevity of any game we played. Before there was Arena-Football and the XFL, there was Sunnyside Hill Pig-Skin. Combine the non-stop brutality of rugby, the semi-orchestrated plays of American football, the mayhem of a demo-derby on foot… and you have Pig-Skin.

There had to be snow on the ground, that was rule number 1. Our favorite playing field was the front yard of Spence’s neighbors across the street. The yard was large by our standards… maybe 30ft wide and 60ft long. It sloped slightly across the width of the field, and the downhill sideline was bordered by a tangle of thorny bushes. One end-zone was always a mess with rotten apples hidden under the snow… courtesy of the now leafless apple trees above. The other end-zone was a barked garden with the occasional landscape stone to make it interesting. The funniest part of it all… we played maybe 4 winters worth of Pig-Skin on this field, and never once did we meet the folks who lived in that house. That’s Pullman for ya. They probably sat in their upstairs living room and sipped coffee while watching the neighborhood kids beat the living crap out of each other.

Mom and Dad never let me play football in school… too small, they said. Well, they couldn’t keep me from Pig-Skin. As soon as we hung up our phones, we’d put on our uniforms and run over to the field. Dressed in ratty sweat pants, four sweat shirts, a beanie, and old running shoes… we were ready for battle.

The game was played with an American football, and there really weren’t any rules. We split ourselves in two equal teams of about 4 a side. The play only stopped when one team scored, and then it quickly resumed with a kick-off to the non-scoring team. It was kind of like rugby with forward passing. At any given moment the ball carrier could pitch the football forward, backward, or laterally to a teammate. If you were tackled, you released the ball and whoever was closest from either team picked it up again. The best hits would send the ball carrier flying into the thorny bushes along the sideline.

Added to this craziness was “The Troll”. The Troll was a position we invented for our gangly unathletic friend Barney. And yes, his name was actually Barney. But quickly The Troll became a favorite of every player, and we each took a turn as Troll. You see, the only way we could get Barney on the Pig-Skin field was to give him something that required minimum exertion, but provided maximum satisfaction. The Troll roamed a 10ft strip of snow at midfield, and basically smashed anyone who came through his zone… typically the ball carrier, but pretty much whoever he felt like lighting up. Barney was a natural, and would blind-side you if you weren’t paying attention. You always had to keep one eye on The Troll. As I recall, if we ever actually let our friend Sly (who was always a head taller than the rest of us) play Pig-Skin, he was never allowed to be Troll.

The game typically ended when we were too exhausted, someone got seriously hurt, or when Spence’s Mom yelled from across the street that hot chocolate was ready.

Watching those Lao kids having just the best time in the world tossing a flip-flop, I couldn’t help but hope that kids back home are still making up their games of Pig-Skin and Sucker-Ball to while away the afternoon hours.

Laid back face down

Lounging in the hammock strung across the balcony of my riverside bungalow, I lift my eyes from the copy of All the King’s Men sitting on my lap and gaze down at the dozens of fishermen skillfully tossing their nets from the impossibly narrow boats they stand on. There are no sounds of car horns, blaring music, planes overhead, or even a telephone ringing. Instead, all I hear over the warm breeze rustling my pages is the sound of chickens clucking, conversations of passersby, and the occasional putter of a riverboat cruising by. Besides taking a walk around the islands, there really isn’t much to do down here except relax, lose yourself in a book, and melt into that hammock. It’s too hot to do much else anyway.

Down here, where the Mekong River flows out of Laos and South into Cambodia, the river widens and weaves its way through thousands of mostly uninhabited islands. The slow pace of the river seems to have been adopted by the Lao who live on its banks. The river provides food, bathing, play, and a welcome respite from the heat.

Mr. Tho’s Bungalows, where I settled into on the island of Don Det, is run by the sweetest young Lao family. Mr. Tho himself past away a few months ago and his guest house is now kept up by his daughter Niing, her husband Khamtay, and their beautiful 6-month-old Alek. Alek doesn’t do much except babble and torment the chickens.

Niing cooks delicious meals whenever I pour myself out of that hammock, and Khamtay and I share Beer Lao as Alek bounces in his lap.

Blissful? Yes.

And maybe that can be my justification for the tumultuous last 24 hours.

At lunch, the day before I am to catch my ferry across the Mekong and bus up to Pakse, I ask Khamtay what I should order. He recommended the fish-laap, which I’ve had elsewhere and really enjoyed. It’s a dish of minced fish cooked with mint, cilantro and other herbs in a lemon sauce. Served with sticky-rice, it’s delicious. Niing poked her head out of the open-air kitchen and said she only had pork and beef for meat. I looked to Khamtay with a shrug, and he nodded, “pork.” Per her norm, Niing’s pork-laap was delicious, especially when chased with a frosty Beer Lao.

Okay… lesson learned: in a riverside community with no electricity (read – no refrigeration) it’d probably be best to steer clear of any meat other than fish. By late afternoon, my belly was starting to ache… by sunset, I was groaning and rolling around under the bug net of my bed. Stripped down to my boxers, the mattress was thoroughly drenched with my sweat. Gross? Yes, but that’s nothin’. The rest of the night my only small comfort was the thought that… well, it was bound to happen at some point - can’t expect to travel abroad for 4 months and not get sick once - let’s just get it over with.

Easier said than done. I think I got a total of 8 minutes sleep that night. Probably spent more time at the pit-toilet than in my bed. Watery fluid gushed from every orifice on my body. Sorry, but that’s how it was. At least the pit-toilet is nice to heave my guts into. What’s a pit-toilet? Well, for those who haven’t had the pleasure, imagine something like the Western urinal, but instead of being mounted on a wall, it’s buried flush with the concrete floor. No need to hug the porcelain throne here… just put your hands on the ground, brace yourself, and heave away.

It’s a lonely thing, being sick alone. For some reason I always crave home most when I’m ill. I’ve been away from the ‘rents long enough that I no longer crave Mom’s doting care. That night, all I wanted was a cold air-conditioned room, a couch, a TV, and a stack of my DVD’s.

Niing and Khamtay must’ve heard me, but I didn’t have the heart to tell them their delicious food was the culprit for my restless night. When it seemed that there was nothing left to expel from my exhausted body, I settled into a kind of sleepless trance until the sun rose.

The 3hr “bus” ride to Pakse was perhaps the longest of my life. I rode in a Sawngthaew (pronounced Song-Tao), which is a converted truck with benches along the sides of the truck-bed, another bench down the middle, and a tarp roof overhead. They managed to fit 34 adults, 3 infants, 4 toddlers, 3 live chickens, 2 bags of rice, and assorted baggage into a truck no bigger than a full-sized Ford. The poor kid sitting across from me kept crying… probably because he kept having to see the look on my face. It’s a miracle, maybe my greatest achievement of sheer willpower, that I didn’t crap my pants during that 3hr marathon.

So this is the part where I say “awwww… feel sorry for me,” and you say, “buck-up ya whiner… you can’t boast about the hammock and gripe now.” Well alright, alright.

A day later now, and after 20hrs of lying in my fan cooled room at my Pakse Guest House, I’m already feeling better. Been drinking water like it’s going out of style. I even ate some banana and a baguette a couple hours ago… I think I’ll be able to keep it down. Things are looking up!

...

The mighty Mekong snaking its way between the islands of Don Det (left) and Don Khon.
Sunset. Kids play. All is well.
Crossing the old rail-road bridge that spans between Don Det and Don Khon.
Fishermen at work at dusk.

May 4th 2006

An experiment... or me just being lazy. Forgive the grammer and spelling... I wouldn't be able to get through life without spell-check.

Lao at last

The last time I had a “real job” was nearly 8 months ago, as an engineer for a little medical device company. When I started with them as an Intern Engineer, which was 3 years earlier, I was a snot-nose inexperienced book-learned new graduate. I was lost, and it took me a couple of months on the very steep learning curve before I started to feel even remotely productive.

During my first year at the company, I worked crazy hours... long days, and sometimes nights. It was during that first year, that I began working with Som, Kham and Kheo.

The three ladies, all refugees who immigrated from Laos decades earlier, were hourly manufacturing assemblers at the company. I didn’t know it until I started working in the field, but it seems the medical device industry primarily hires immigrant workers to assemble their products.

15 or 20 years my senior, it felt strange when I became their defacto-supervisor when the company hired me as a permanent manufacturing engineer. I wasn’t their boss really, we were more like a small team within a burgeoning project, and I was kind of a captain. We worked a lot of stressful hours together… equipment wouldn’t work, deadlines were insane, processes weren’t defined.

Through it all, the three ladies were like older sisters, or maybe even mothers to me while I tried to figure out my professional identity. They provided me a buffer from my neurotic and obsessive feeling of responsibility for everything that went wrong… telling me, it’s okay… go home. I tried to provide them with a buffer from the management decisions that would affect what would be demanded of them every day. Start-ups a crazy place.

To this day, I haven’t met or worked with anyone who I respect more than those three. They came to the States with virtually nothing. The three of them and their husbands all work grueling hours to find that American Dream for their young kids. They’ve sacrificed, given up their educated professions (Som taught science in Laos), saved their money, bought homes, started families. And through it all, you’d never know how much they’ve done.
Today I find myself in Pakse, Laos. I’d always hoped that I would get to see the country these ladies came from.

Angkor What?!?

No words… just pictures that don’t do this world-wonder justice. Come here… see it for yourself.

As always CLICK on the pictures to get a larger view.

The massive Angkor Wat.
Impressive in it's scale, yes, but I had no idea the amazing bas-reliefs decorating the interior.
Solemn Buddah.
Sunsetting on Angkor Wat.
The Bayon Temple of Angkor Thom.
Yup... Bayon is the one with the faces.

Temple of Ta Prohm... where the jungle is slowly ingesting the stone structures.
Sun streaming into Ta Prohm.
Ta Prohm.