My super happy special trip to Southeast Asia #1--
I want to preface this by inviting any one of you to remove themselves from this list if they have no desire to hear the chronicles of one white chick looking to get as much ass play
as possible for 100US (that's $100 to you and you unless you're one of my exotic foreign friends, then you do the math). I am not a fan of the big email myself but I don't have the money to write each one of you individually. Okay, I do have the money, I don't have the time...all right, I’m just lazy but you all knew that.
The trip has been AMAZING (I should end it there, you know, just because amazing is one of those words not yet hackneyed. But, I'll continue just because I know people love stories about waterfalls and train rides (who don't?)).
It seems that finally, after years of fruitless searching, I have found the answer I've been looking for and I'm going to spare you all the pain of international travel by sharing it with you. The pharmacies here WILL sell you the 10mg pills of Alazapram and yes, just as many of you suspected they are BLUE (looks like someone owes me some money). I usually don't enjoy shopping, but some things are too irresistible to pass up.
It's Thai New Year today (no shit, seems like Thai fourth of July was just yesterday). My observation is that it is much more sober than ours. They do sell bags of white powder but the kids here waste it by mixing it with water to douse pedestrians. I grabbed one of these laughing urchins and shook it violently (boy/girl--at that age it's all the same) thinking the kid was having some sort of reaction and needed to be talked (violently shook) thru the haze, but it turns out that this powder is just flour and this "cleansing" is part of their holiday.
Well, imagine my red face (or "chicken milker" in Thai). Everyone celebrates differently, I guess that's the first thing you learn when you leave the country. No wait, the first thing you learn is that Cheaper by the Dozen, that feel good chuckle-fest with Steve Martin isn't even palettable after four drinks. I was worried that I had boarded a plane to hell, but luckily we made it safely to Bangkok.
I left after three days because, as the locals say, "Bangkok sucks with baby teeth", but I also didn't venture far from my guesthouse so it's likely my fault. They do have a lot of American guys watching football in the company of other whiter, English guys and shit, I think I even saw a few Canadians--talk about a melting rot.
I did hit a few markets. They're huge sprawling saunas full of everything you could ever want to see someone else buy and shlepp around in their backpacks for the next three months. At one point I witnessed a Thai man with no legs dragging himself through the crowded market with his face. I was going to drop some money in his bucket but I figured it was just a matter of time before he got rolled. He would probably only spend it on booze anyway. He did get me thinking about adversity and how easy we have it in comparison to the crushing poverty they endure here. I felt soft and white and then I said to myself, 'fuck it, I'm going to go and find those embroidered
skirts I saw earlier if I have to go back through this entire market'. You know what? I found the skirts. See? We all can overcome. I raised the bar that day.
For the past four days I've been in a town on the Burmese border (sadly, Burma's name has been changed into something I can't spell. I figure I'll wait it out, they'll change it back eventually). Since I’ve been here I've hiked a seven-tiered waterfall, eaten corn, ridden a "death train" over the river Kwai and obtained one of those round straw hats so popular in Oliver Stone movies. I have also pet tigers, eaten corn and did I mention the hat?
I return to Bangkok tomorrow to wallow in whiteness for a while longer and then it's off to
Cambodia for gang rape and cow destruction on Friday. The town I'm rolling into has a tour package where you get to blow up a cow with a grenade launcher. As many of you know, this has been a dream of mine since I was just a girl and now, for a mere $200US I will live my fantasy.
I wonder if I'll get to pick my own cow. Let me know if any of you know how to tell whether a cow is happy (besides erection) because killing a sad cow just seems like I would be doing it a favor.
I'm off to start my day of drinking now. I hope you all are doing well and super.
xoxoxoox
big kiss
j
Greetings from MY trip:
Again, if you are receiving these on accident (we've since had some falling out I didn't remember or you talked to some people after I left and found what I really think of you) let me know and I'll remove you and begin dismantling the shrine I've built to each and every one of you in my heart.
Wow, what a lovely country, and such a smiling people, absolutely enchanting! i mean, absofuckinglutely in chantfucking! I have my own driver (Kevin-for lack of a name anyone could, or want to, pronounce) and he takes me everywhere I could dream of going on the back of his moto. I sit like “good Cambodian girl” (sidesaddle) which at once makes me look like a lady and a short stop from death (my two favorite things!). I read once, or maybe I saw it on The View (what is the difference these days?) that, like me, Barbara Walters hates to drive. Well then, she would love the red light district of Phnom Penh. Barbara and I have a lot in common beyond our education at Vassar and tryst with newsman Gerald Rivera...but that's another letter isn't it?
I'm sitting in a cafe near my guesthouse typing the mail with one hand and patting the head of my nine-year old "best friend" with the other. Did I mention how wonderful this country is? It's been a wild ride since the mini bus driver with Thai turrets dropped me off all twitchy and shit a block from my guesthouse in Bangkok. I could go into detail but it seems point less as you don't speak Thai.
a couple of highlights (it means something different here, something less superlative): calamari with the alioli sauce and Mojitos with FRESH LIME. Savages? I think not. From now on I've decided to document my travels solely through my diet. I think that this is an American thing to do and just because I’ve abandoned my country physically, I want you all to know that I’m still fighting the war on terror deep in my heart (‘heart’ means ‘vagina’). From now on journal entries will read more like this, ‘Remember that day when I ate the Samosas with feta? Oh, that was a day'. And it was. I think that I went to Angkor Wat that day and roamed those misty rocks we call "wonder". That was fun, and the tuk tuk driver, Mr Phat, that guy was a delight! I could eat a baby if I didn’t have such an aversion to dark meat.’ I think my journal would be more interesting and isn’t that what’s really important (more)?
I also witnessed my first bus driver/obnoxious lesbian scene since leaving San Francisco. I didn't realize that she was ubiquitous with her thick glasses, low riding khaki shorts and understanding that all adversity stems from the seed of her distaste for shaft. She accused the bus driver of "fucking with her" (as if they have nothing better to do and $2 a day isn't to be earned). Apparently she really wanted to sit in the front of the bus and her girlfriend was being supportive, even during the part of the argument where lesbian #1 (let's call her: psycho) well, she said "What?! Those seats for your fucking family, dude?"
Stand by your man (as Tammy would say). I do hope to find this kind of love some day, an overwhelming acceptance of any douche. I think that the bus driver tried to explain to her something along the lines of, ''those seats are only for pretty girls who suck cock' in Thai, but she wouldn't listen. It was only when he told her to "shut the fuck up get off bus" that she got that it really wasn't about her (I know. I was surprised too). We all felt a little shame. Later I looked at the two of them and they were cuddled up like two clams in some carpet. It was really romantic.
As expected, I took my perfect seat in the front of the bus and saw all of the billboards for factory sites in panoramic view. It was a lovely bus ride, thank you for asking.
Since then it's been food and cards and burning searing flesh burn due to my fear of sunscreen. Thank these peoples freak multi-appendaged 'God' that the beer is cold and the Mojitos...it's as if there’s a third world (I'm sorry- developing beaches/countries) bartending academy. Well, Jesus FUCK, sign me up!
I better get going as there are still chickens to shoot, my best friend wants "pasketti" and my moto driver is getting antsee. I'm staying here for a couple of weeks and then it's off to Vietnam where I don't have to see as many fat white guys escorting 11 year old girls. I do like it that they hold hands but again, I'm a romantic.
xoxoxoox
yenny
What a place.
I have never felt so comfortable, so at ease, so positively tranquil in a land where I have no idea what the fuck is going on at any given time. Maybe it's all of the drugs, maybe it's something in the water? Maybe it's something in the drugs? Maybe I'm actually stupid. Who knows? And moreover, who cares? All I know is that I am in Phnom Penh Cambodia and loving the hell out of it.
First of all, I feel that it's my duty to give you all a lesson on Cambodian history. it seem as if we (Americans) invaded Cambodia because we believed them to be conspiring with the north Vietnamese and ...well, just let it be know that it ended with the genocide of a quarter of the Cambodian population because of the subsequent civil war and Kissinger being a dick and of course, Pol Pot and his men. I know what you're saying. Wow! What a downer. Why do I have to hear about that? Well, I'll tell you why, because thanks to that little brush with horror, there are NO LAWS!
It isn't so bad, it isn't like I drunkenly ride my $1 a day moto around town picking up children for fisting and drinking games. In fact, I haven't played drinking games with one child. I did lock someone in a bathroom and I did carry someone home after convincing him twenty minutes prior that he could have 'one more slice' of "happy pizza", but they were both grown men.
The country is beautiful and the people are quite nice considering all that they have been through (I dare you to find me a smileyer Jew). I would love to go into detail but you don't speak Cambodian and I would be wasting valuable eating and drinking time. What I can do for those of you interested, is get you a copy of the most boring vacation footage ever which was shot by another American while heading down the Mekong on what used to be a boat. He lives in Colorado (hence the Fat Tire beer shirt) and finds the country "really amazing".
I'm confident that he got some great shots, from cow in water to cow near water, that boat ride was excitement on speed. I haven't had a camera or any money for quite a while. It's a good thing too because if I had money in this country I would surely have killed a hundred chickens with grenades by now. I was disappointed when I couldn't shoot a cow, they tried to tell me that "chicken just as good". My companion and I had none of it. Jonny, my new English friend said, "I don't think so, my friend. I can blow up chickens at home". I commiserated with a head nod and we were out of there.
From there it was off to the disco where the youngsters in our party, let's call them "the hooker buyers" got drunk as YOUR dad and brought a couple of ladies back to the guest house. It seems the drunker of the two had to pay the woman he brought home to stop slapping him. I didn't see her, but his not as drunk friend said that she was a "midget". i asked how much he had to pay to make the midget quit slapping him and he said $10 (good deal, at home, it would cost twice that). The other guy thought that the girl really liked him because she sat at the guesthouse watching us play cards the entire next day. it looked like a really pleasant first date. He felt badly about asking her to leave and wanted to do what a good foreign gentleman does after drunkenly picking someone up for a one night stand in another country.
What a nice guy! And I thought that all of the good ones were taken. Well, color me wrong. I watched that first date and although it looked pathetic, her sitting there not talking, him not talking, both staring, it still warmed my heart. Later, when we were told she was a whore, I was elected to break the bad news. Seems he had no idea.
So, it is true, unless specifically told otherwise, all women are whores.
The guesthouse we've chosen to live in until it sinks into the muck is called "Same Same But Different". It's run by Mark who is really going thru some shit. I don't know if anyone has ever gone through some shit, or knows someone else who has gone through some shit, but it isn't pretty. We watch him every day, melting, waiting for the crack. He reminds me of the abusive alcoholic father I never had.
The good news is that "she's not taking the baby". What that refers to, we don't know. we just know that it's good news because he laughed after he said it. Oh how his mustache glistens when he's happy. It's really amazing.
Let's see, anything else worth mentioning. I covered the part about there not being any laws and how traffic fits into that "law" category. I'm never scared on the back of my moto, not even a little bit when we're driving on the wrong side of the road trying to get back into traffic. I pee a little, but I think that's just from the excitement.
Or maybe I have some disease. Who cares? All I know is that I love this country and the dog I ate last night was the most tender piece of meat I had had in ages. I was promised moist, but I found it more tender.
Sadly, I'm leaving Cambodia and all of its charms. I'm off to ho chi minh. I definitely recommend Phnom Penh for vacation or if anyone's on the lam or maybe you just like doing absolutely nothing all day long but staring at bamboo walls and playing cards or maybe buying abusive dwarfin whores.
In closing, the up side of traveling though Cambodia is the 'no law' thing, and the ready availability of hookers, the down side is, as I'm sure many of you have already guessed- amputee beggars. Thanks to the whole land mine during their civil war thing, you can't swing a prosthetic arm without hitting the space where a leg should be. Luckily, you can run away if you need to.
I give them money but I'm a sucker for cripples. Speaking of which, I fed my first monkey! It was a mamonkey with a little baby hanging on its rack. I wanted to rip that baby off mamonkeys teat and live with it forever, sweaty and happy in Cambodia. But those monkeys are mean. Another one came up behind me and stole my stick of cacti (what you feed them) and when I tried to grab it back he hissed. Let me tell you, he's just lucky I didn't have my AK47 on me.
Chickens/monkeys/dog/ it's all one animal, and one long day in the capital city!
xoxoxo
big kiss
Well hello there my round-eyed friends!
Gosh, where to start. It's been a while but I was waiting for something interesting to happen before I burdened you all with reading about ME. This mail will probably be long, maybe a little dull and most likely not that fun to read (oh, and obscene). That said, let's get right to it (or delete, whichever you think is best).
I want to start with the French guys in the Hawaiian shirts I met my first night in Ho Chi Mink. They were a couple of keepers. Moving on...
The one French guy, lets call him Pierre, he said that Vietnamese girls were "rude" and "snobs". He proved this by yelling "hey" to the first Vietnamese girl who walked by. To my surprise she didn't turn around and blow him. He was right; those Vietnamese girls don't know a good thing when they see it. Maybe it was because it was dark and she couldn't see the chest hair peaking through the buttons in his tight Hawaiian shirt, or maybe it was because he was so sunburn his skin matched his tiger print top, maybe she was deaf. That must be it.
No worries, he has a "girlfriend" in the Philippines that he'll be going back to next week. I told him he could have a girlfriend in sf if he wanted, but he had already taken off down the street after another woman who wanted nothing to do with him.
I ran into him last night at what the residents of Hoi Ann call a "bar". Now, I've been drinking and sometimes my drinking takes me into some odd places: Dirty bars, sides of roads, prison...but the bar last night really sucked. I’ll get to it later.
For now, I'm still in Ho chi minh trying to shake the Swede I picked up somewhere near the border. We wound up sharing a room (as you do when you travel AND are a total slut) for five of the funnest war filled days I’ve ever had.
I feel as if I would be remiss to not include some of the history of this here country I’m drinking through. Well, turns out that they had some sort of civil war and then we (the US) came to help some of them and then decided that they wouldn't help after a while and in the meantime the entire country fell apart. You know, the yoush: concentration camps, poverty, blah blah blah...are those spring rolls vegetarian???
I saw all of the sites my first day thanks to my cyclo driver mr tho. Mr Tho won me over straight away when he told me that I looked 23. 23, can you imagine? What a great guy. He filled me in on what it's like to fight for the south side by side with Americans and then BAM he's driving a cyclo and dirt poor for the rest of his life because the government won't let him have a good job. He drove that cyclo like a champ. He hauled my fat ass from temple to temple. If he wouldn't have gone on so incessantly about his grandchildren and how they couldn't eat it would have been a great day.
I had so many questions for my cyclo driver by the end of the day. Everything he said was mulling around in my dirty head for hours (those cyclos move pretty slow and mr tho wasn't exactly still in fightin' form if you know what I mean). As I was leaving the cyclo I couldn't hold it in anymore. I said, 'mithter tho, do I look 23 because my face is fat or is it because I’m pretty?'. Ah thuch a good day with mithter tho.
The next day I went to some tunnels. 150 meters is a long way when you are 6 meters underground and in a space the size of a mole. I didn't freak out of course. I ran behind the guide because he had the only flashlight. The German guy, now he freaked out. Such a puss that guy. He was the first in the hole and by the middle he was crying like a little bitch. "I want to get out of the hole" "I’m gonna die" you know, the usual bullshit people scream when they're stuck in a hole.
We emerged from the tunnel sweaty and shaken. It wasn't any sort of fun. It wasn't even really an "adventure" and definitely not something you "have to experience" (Jesus, how people LIE). It was sweaty and sticky and similar to being buried alive.
The part of this cu chi tunnel trip that made it all worthwhile was when we got out and the German was apologizing to the entire tour group (who had none of it) our guide (lets call him-Doug) asked if anyone wanted to shoot ak47s. The German was the first one on the range. I wanted to explain that the gun range was for men and not little pansy girls who can't stand the heat or how he could clean the guns but shooting them was out of the question, but he couldn't hear me over the blare of his M16.
I also saw some monkey but I was told they were "for to eat" so I didn't get too attached.
It seems that Doug had the same problem as Mr. tho. He spent eight years in a concentration camp after the war. He lost his wife and his children are illiterate. Finally I told 'Doug' that he was really harshing my mellow and I would drink my refreshing Orangina elsewhere if he couldn't keep his shit to himself. Then the Swede did the ‘tiny violin’ pantomime and hilarity ensued.
After soaking in as much propaganda and two-headed napalm fed fetuses as I could I headed out of town to the beach. Ah, the beach. It was amazing, like bathwater only not all full of pee. I sat on the beach and thought of my father wading in to fight the little man. I thought of him raiding before dawn, terrified yet brave. Then I thought of him rescuing sick children in the jungle outside of Quizas then I thought of him teaching a gym class in Colorado. Gosh how I wish I knew who my real father was.
Most of the time I act like I'm from Peru to avoid the guilt of not buying postcards and books every ten minutes. They can guilt you in English but they're at a loss when I reply in my version of Spanish. It isn't that I don't want to buy everything I see, I mean, if they would say "hello whore" instead of "hello Madame" I would go for it. I also can't decide whether I should have a suit made or just buy a child and teach it to sew (you know, the whole, teach a man to fish parable). I am doing a lot of thinking this trip.
I'm also getting the hell out of this country as soon as possible. I learned from lbj's mistakes (unlike some people, George bush comes to mind). It's depressing and even the other backpackers are bugging me. "It's like they're (the inhabitants of this country) all out to get you,” I was told. And it's so true, the other day I wanted to hang out, listen to my bootleg cds and enjoy the ambiance of my $2 a night guesthouse. I started to get hungry (as you do when you "enjoy ambiance") and called down for a pizza. The woman wanted $1.50 for just one pizza, as if I’m made of money.
Time passed and last night, after I sent back the crab I ordered saying that they were "too small" (I had already sent back a drink and harassed a shopkeeper) I asked my fellow travelers why the people here were so dishonest and slimy. Oh, that's not me, that's the Irish guy I met. I get us mixed up, we're so alike. It's weird; I thought that the third world was a great place to get drunk and buy shit for cheap, I mean, isn't that why it's here? I don't understand so much about so little.
So now, the bar I went to last night (bout time huh?). It was a lot like a high school party in someone's basement where the parents are too stoned to bother to leave town. I met a couple of drunk dads but the highlight was running into 'Pierre' and having him tell me that he wanted to "fuck my head". Can a girl be more flattered? I think NOT. Did I mention the sea of chest hair on the cherry red chest? What about the shirts? Did I mention his flare?
It seems today I’m in love and all is right with the world. It's been a great couple of weeks but I’m leaving for Laos as soon as I can pack up all of my tailor made clothing and convince a moto driver to take me to the bus station for a stick of gum and a smile (they don't really need the money).
I also went to Monkey Island (no, it isn't a euphemism) but I’m writing a short story about that little adventure. You don't get to read that because I doubt that many of you made it to the end of this one.
Just some ho chi minutes for you all to think about when planning your next vacation. If you like the mall, you are going to love Hoi Ann. I have to go and grab the Swede; it's nearly beer thirty. The good news is that everyone loves Cambodia and the guy I met who shot the chicken says "Vacation is when you do things you don't do at home". I agreed and am looking for a black guy to sleep with. Last night drunk dad number one told me "Asian women to westerners are like black men to western girls". Oh how I enjoyed drunk dad number one. He was very insightful and drunk (how often does that happen?? I profess as often as you find a really racist Australian).
xoxox
big kiss
j
Hello Madame!
I know, I know, it's been a while and I promised bi-monthly updates on exactly what I'm doing and how deliriously happy I am. I know that the lack of missive has caused a lot of you to lose sleep and even more of you to lose interest, but that was the risk I had to take when I decided to infiltrate the world of lazy (no, I didn't go to Mexico, that was a couple of years back and, seriously, don't EVEN get me started on that nightomaro...).
Laos is great. If you like lying around all day doing drugs and watching the Hot Chick, you are going to love yourself a trip to Laos!
That said, more on the Hot Chick-- I too thought that it was just another Rob Shneider vehicle and sure, everyone in the biz thinks he's hilarious but I've always found him a poor man's John Lovitz and isn't a poor man's John Lovitz just a turd in a tux?
Oh shit, who am I trying to kid? I don't remember the Hot Chick (although it was on at least twice), nor do I remember Stuck on You, Underworld or any of the other movies they played in that opium den I called home for whatever, a week, ten days (as if there's a difference). What I do remember is Love Actually but only because one night while stumbling back to my guesthouse I had "All I want for Christmas is you" (the theme song) going through my head. That was a catchy little tune--
I don't know if I have to spell it out for you all, or if you are starting to get the picture through my mazy letter, but Laos is basically an opium den with a river running through it (not a metaphoric river...I did get up to pee every now and again. But a real river.).
As I may have mentioned, before I got to Laos I had been told how "LOVELY" it was. Over and over again (ad nauseum if you're literate) I was told how the people are "lovely" (with heavy English accent (although I'm happy the English have switched from calling everything "nice" to calling it "lovely" I’m still tired of their weak superlatives (and oxymorons)). The Laotians were a very laid back people as far as I could tell, but lovely? I don't know.
Okay, that aside let me recount what I can remember of my trip for you.
This is the final email in my self-indulgent emailing to all of you. Now, as you know, all writing is vain and most people are boring. I am neither of these things but if you are tired of these emails and want to remove yourself from the list just hit reply and type “I’m a non-reading douche bag” into the subject line. You will be spared any more minutia of a life that is vain and boring…oh shit, I am boring aren’t’ I?
I was told once that watching bad movies in other countries is just an exotic way to be stupid. Actually, I think I thought of that at some point during my trip, maybe mid-way between a Sandra Bullock film and anything with Colin Feril as the star. Yes, it was me! I remember trying to share my brilliance with a fellow traveler lounging in an adjacent couch. I was so proud of my revelation (I think James Joyce calls it an epiphany, Jung calls them “peak experience” but what the hell does he know?). I thought myself so clever, ‘cleverest girl in the den’. I knew I was going to get that coveted award, but nope, he didn’t care. People in opium dens have no sense of irony.
That was the first thing I learned. Wait, actually the first thing I learned was that when people say “lovely” they mean ‘gropey’ so like, to an American- Frat-style love. I learned this after a seven-hour bus ride that was supposed to start at noon and didn’t end up starting until eight at night. It was nice because every hour I would load onto a bus and sit for twenty minutes before being told that the bus wasn’t leaving. As I am a bigger fan of potential than actual, I had no problem with this set up.
The brit behind me, now, that bitch had a problem. Seems she had gotten into a nasty moto incident and her leg hurt enough to moan audibly. Her French boyfriend would assuage her pain with delicate kisses and it was cute when it wasn’t nauseating. Her French boyfriend had a monobrow and I’ve got a theory about these guys:
They’re different than you and me, not just because of the freakish hair that grows where no hair should, but they seem nicer, and genuinely concerned with whatever it is that people should be concerned with. I met my first one in Vietnam (The Shit, Nam, Charlieville) and he was so pleasant. I wish I could have looked him in the eye. Sure, I don’t shower much while I’m traveling and I do wear a mumu most of the time, but my snobbiness seems to trail along on every long and dirty bus ride. I made a note to myself to find myself a nice monobrowed boyfriend when I got home and then of course, have him wax it to my satisfaction.
Some other things worth noting about the bus ride, about three hours into the trip the bus picked up a native Laotian woman in traditional garb. She looked strong and proud and had a child strapped to her back and two more following her. She was so regal and determined. I thought of my own effete self and looked down at my dirty t-shirt. I thought about how much more she accomplished in one day than I ever would in my life. And how degrees and jobs and a house with a pool are as foreign to her as birthing was to me. Then I thought that there must still be something rotting under that traditional Laotian garb because if that woman didn’t smell like “cheesy cooch” nothing did.
Luckily, I was able to sleep through the rest of the moaning and smelling somehow (pills--it seems like just yesterday I was buying my first alazopram and now I’m practically running the Cambodian division of Pfizer!). I was awoken in the middle of the night in the middle of the nowhere by the bus driver. I guess it was my stop. I had no idea where my guesthouse was (my pack had arrived before me) and the town I was told was over there (insert sweeping ambiguous hand gesture and the smell of exhaust as the bus pulled away here ______). Now, the thing about Laos, besides the fact that it’s the Oregon of Asia (lotsa hype, lotsa green and not much action), is that they aren’t big on electricity. As it happened, the moon was bright enough to guide me through the field I needed to cross to get to the packed dirt road they called town. By the time I crossed the field I realized that if I didn’t have to pee so badly terror would take over. I went to the first guesthouse and knocked on the door figuring that if no one answered I could pee on the door (I always have a back up plan).
I know what you’re thinking, why didn’t you just pee in the field? No, maybe I don’t know what you’re thinking, but that’s what I was thinking the whole time I jogged across it. But then I also thought that it’s difficult to pee and run at the same time (I’ve tried).
So, finally I roused the proprietor of the guesthouse. He came down in his traditional Laotian garb (yeah, he was dressed just like the stinky lady, they also aren’t big on diversity). I said toilet and did the universal dance (we all know it). He pointed upstairs and I made a break for it.
When I came out he was staring at me like I was a pilled out top-heavy western chick with no backpack pointing to my soft spots in the middle of the night. I don’t know if you read penthouse, but this situation had “Forum” written all over it. He asked “room?” I said, ‘no, I need to get to town’ then I spied a map of the two roads on the wall and found my guesthouse. As I was figuring my route he reached over and put a hand on my chest and said “Room, no money”.
Then I thought about it, sure, it only costs $2 a night to stay anywhere in town, but saving $2 is a big thing when you’re traveling. Although I have never really thought of myself as a whore (I know you all do, but that’s cool as long as your nice to my face), I have thought about fucking strangers for money and no, $2 wasn’t the sum I thought about (at least not just $2, maybe $2 and a case of beer).
I didn’t panic, didn’t get turned on, instead I decided to make a break for it. I removed his hand and bolted out the door. Behind me I heard “My friend, you like” which I’m assuming was him pulling aside his traditional Laotian garb to reveal his Laotian friend.
He didn’t follow, as I said, it’s a pretty laid back place. I only had to run a couple of blocks before I found my guesthouse and woke them up. They were children, and since I was no longer in Cambodia, there wasn’t nearly the excitement (life isn’t perfect). While I was safely in my bed I reflected on my adventure. I didn’t feel dirty or even vow to leave the town, what I did think was that his little hands made my can look HUGE.
The next morning I got up and sat somewhere down the road until Wednesday (or some other day that ends in ‘y’). Now, Veng Vien is a place every Laotian tourist visits. They come for a day to inner tube down the river and maybe take in a few episodes of Friends over a happy pizza. I know this because I saw that I outlasted every group that passed through town. They would come all ready to be hip-- replete with piercings, trucker hats and other things that make people so very different. They would stay a couple of days, talk about how cool it was and then, for some reason I’ll never be able to figure out, leave.
As I said, the guidebooks tell you to “stay a day” and that “there isn’t much going on”. They tell you to move on to the Temples of Luang Prabang or take in the splendor of whichever Wat those monks built after the “must” of the tubing trip. Again, I disagree with the guidebooks. I decided one of those ‘days’ to write my own guidebooks as I think I understand more about traveling than any travel writer actually being compensated for their trip.
Sure, I could go from Wat to Wat and see Buddah sitting up, sleeping and even lounging like the fat ass he was, but then where would I be at the end of the trip? Isn’t traveling just another venue to think about ME? Where I’m at? I took this trip to figure out what I was doing with my life and during my time in Laos, I think I finally did. I’m going to share with you some of the nuggets I realized and save you all the trouble of bus rides, plane tickets, groping, learning a language you’ll never use again and unemployment that allow one to self actualize. Many of these are personal aspirations, but you feel free to borrow them and make my dreams your own (I get lazy too).
1. Marry a French man who is visibly disgusted with everything you do
2. Find yourself a side-dish and wake up with a 12’ cup of black every morning
3. “Golden Triangle” is not a reference to a frosted lap
4. Friends, the show, sucks
5. Dirty Nygen is actually a Dirty Sanchez with the definitive “moustache” drawn over the eyes.
6. When peeing into a squat, it is best to pee towards the back to avoid the ‘dancing waters’ effect of ricochet
7. Everything that happens in Asia is NOT in Japanamation
8. 150 meters means absolutely nothing when you don’t know what a meter is
9. The nicer the curtains, the dodgier the bus (this is at once a metaphor and a literal)
10. Life is covered in bugs (this is NOT a metaphor)
These are the things I thought about until a group of brits rescued me from my malaise. They asked how long I had been there. I asked what day it was. They said “Tuesday”. I replied “I arrived this morning”. The owner of my favorite den (let’s call him Bruce) walked by and I nodded a greeting that also came to mean, ‘the usual’. I realized that it wasn’t the same Tuesday I arrived on. The brits laughed at me (always laughing those people, just another excuse to show off their fucked up grills) then they took me in as their junkie American mascot. They took me tubing (no, I hadn’t made it out there yet… I was getting to it) and to the caves and they even took photos as proof that I went outside.
Outside I saw a carpet of brilliantly colored butterflies, inner tubed through a cave and then lazily down a river through a lush forest. Since it was monsoon season it rained for an hour during the trip and no one noticed, we were all too lost in the moment you look up and remember that there’s a sky (or maybe it was the fact that every 500 feet there’s a guy on a floaty selling big beers and joints. Whatever-- let me be poetic for a second).
More importantly, those nice brits made me realize that I needed to get home and start my real life. I think I would have stayed forever if they were showing The Simpsons instead of Friends in every den, but the fact that they weren’t signaled that I hadn’t actually died and gone to the lotus pond. And that there was still work to be done in this life and dammit if I weren’t going to sit and watch someone else do it!
This mail is long and I’m sure no one actually finished it. If you got to the end you are lucky because I learned one more, very important thing, for every hour your plane is delayed you can pick up a $10 drink voucher from the airline…mmm…drink vouchers at the Salt Lake airport. I wasn’t in the states two-drinks before I overheard a cell phone conversation that made my trip seem like a walk to the mini bar. A girl and her boyfriend were trying to figure out how they were going to get the keys to their truck if the girl’s mom went to her aunt’s house (oh yeah, I listen). She really wanted those keys and her and her boyfriend looked so tired. I was trying to figure out if there was anything I could do to help when she said “We’ve literally been to hell and back”.
HOLY SHIT! I wonder what her trip was like? How does one get in on that bulk email?
I love America!
And I love all of you—but you know that,
Xoxoox
Big kiss
Yenny
"I vowed I would not shed another tear over Burt Reynolds or my situation" --Tammy Wynette