Caves, pigs and whiskey

Here's a toast to something far nastier than a worm in a bottle of tequila...













...Centipedes, snakes, scorpions, lizards and other assorted dead things in a five gallon jug of whiskey. After I drank this we ate a dog. All night my heart felt like a pinwheel made of raw bacon.








Joe Mans the helm in our Mekong going vessel while Captain Kampon keeps an eye out for ladies off the Starboard bow.













Boats.













A little boy adds chocolate sauce to his street bought ice cream. Little kids love the ice cream man.


















The ice cream man does NOT love little kids. He doesn't trust them.




























The beautiful Nong Khiaw countryside.














Inside a cave in which the villagers hid for years during the Indo-China war. The cave contained a hospital, a restaurant, a bank and all the other infrastructure of a real city. Or, I should say, it contained little wooden signs that said 'Bank', 'Hospital" etc propped up in different rooms of an empty cave.







We now know the sound of a pig being loaded into a truck by heart. ThispPig is alive, and the sound in incredible. 200 pound pigs DO NOT like to be lifted by their EARS and they let the world know. This sound is usually accompanied by giggles and sobs from nearby children, depending on how compassionate they are.








A woman rows by us in the Nong Khiaw river.














Children playing on the banks of the river. The whole town bathes here in the evenings.













Kids splash and play in the river.






























Mia dips her toes into the icy water.














This was one of the best days ever. I did nothing adult at all. First, I dug this hole. Mia does not understand that men do not need a reason to dig a hole. It is like meditation for us. Man VS Nature. I have seen other men doing this on our trip. We have asked them why they are digging. They don't have a reason. "Just cuz", they say. I nod in understanding.







Next I spent a long time practicing my drawing and Lao writing with a girl on the banks of the river. She taught me to write in Lao, I taught her to write in English.











Later that night I went star gazing and I caught this frog. Or, it caught me. A perfect, mindless day.












A view of the river and the town from the massive concrete bridge.













A woman walks over the bridge. In the mornings it is so foggy that you cannot seen the river below the bridge or the mountains on the other side. It seems to stretch off into the clouds, into infinity, rising from nowhere and leading to nowhere.

My bus trips

(By Joe)

This is not meant to be a complaint in the form of a blog or a story for which I would like pity. None of the stories we put up here should be viewed as such. They are 'learning experiences.' Experiences which 'build character' as Calvin's dad always used to say in the comics. That said...

We are currently in Laos. It is a land of steep mountains, pushed up by some of the strongest plate tectonic movements the world has ever known in its 4.5 billion years floating through space. It is a land cut deep by mighty rivers such as the Mekong and the Nam Juan Piasano. It is a land made foggy by its dense rain forests and chill mountain air. Its people are a people made poor by years and years of war. A people who lack the technological and financial means to wield any real power over Gaia (spirit of the earth). Though these people have little to work with, they have made quite an effort. They have managed to put down a thin strip of asphalt that winds its way along these zig-zaggy rivers and over these steep mountains. They have also located a few of the craziest, ballsiest road warriors this side of the pacific to take on these roads using any vehicle they can find with at least three wheels and a spot that can be spray painted with the word BUS.

Each of our individual rides North was done in a Sangthaw. This is a fancy word for a standard sized pickup truck with a steel cage welded onto its bed. The cages always sport lovely steel decorations to spruce them up. Steel flowers and leaves wind their ways up the metal bars like strings of knives. The whole contraption is then painted rainbow colors, and then 18 people plus luggage are loaded into it. The drivers have no interest in their passengers' safety. They want to get where they are going NOW! They weave and wind up the mountain roads, sliding the trucks around corners, squealing the tires when they slam on the brakes to avoid head-on collisions with other drivers doing the same thing the other way on the one lane roads. They pass on blind curves, throwing the dice and betting on the next bit of road being traffic free.

The Sangthaws we took were often crowded not only with people but an assortment of livestock and produce. On one ride a man's sack of rice burst open and he had us all scoop handfuls of rice from the filthy floor into a new bag. During another ride a woman climbs in and props a woven bamboo basket on my feet which contains two chickens. I am thrilled. It is one of the few topics about which I can really communicate with people in all the countries we have visited. "Jao yaak tow sawng kai!" I say to her with a big smile. "You have two chickens!" A big smile spreads across her face and she launches into a whole speech of which I can only make out the words "two chickens". I stare dumbly at her, still grinning. When she finishes and looks at me expectantly I just shrug. Luckily I have also memorized the phrase, "I don't speak Lao very well". I insert it after my shrug. Other passengers who have been eavesdropping laugh. We all go back to looking at the countryside rushing past through the bars.

Same trip. We stop for another passenger. There is never a question of IF another passenger can fit. The question is WHERE will this passenger fit. This particular man has brought with him a hog. There is no room in the bed of the Sangthaw, so the hog is lashed to the bumper with a rope. It becomes the voice for all the rest of us in the truck. When we hit a bump hard it squeals in terror. When we slide around each blind curve it lets out a shrill whine of panic. It also makes the ride a little less relaxing for the rest of us. And just like us, when the ride is over, it goes about happily searching for grubs in the dirt as soon as its legs are untied. As though nothing has happened at all. (We don't search for grubs, we just go on happily.)

On the way back from the north Mia and I opted for a bus. A REAL bus. We thought this would make the 18 hour ride more bearable. At this point I will give it over to an excerpt from an email Mia wrote to describe climbing onto the bus. Not because I am lazy, but because she is great with descriptions. (and I'm lazy.)

(By Mia) By now wise to exactly what having a ticket does (and doesn't) mean in Laos, we arrived at the station early and were ready to fight our way onto the bus to nab a pair of seats before they were all gone, and we were made to spend the entire journey sitting or standing in the aisle. Joe handled getting the luggage up onto the top of the bus, and I pushed and elbowed and squeezed my way through the door with everyone else doing the same, against the flow of departing passengers struggling equally hard to get off. I laid claim to two seats near the rear, not prime but not the worst, sat myself down and stared defiantly ahead, just waiting for anyone to challenge my right to two whole seats, side by side. By the time they loaded all the bags of rice, sugar, stinky dripping clams, oranges... into the center walkway, I was up to my shoulders in white sacks of varied goods. While it was a bit claustrophobic, especially during the heat of the afternoon when the road was too dusty to let down the windows, a big bag of white sugar does make a nice head rest at night.

(Ok. I'm back.)

Picture an old, run down school bus. Fill it with children who are the size of adults. (Or adults who act like children. Whichever you prefer.) Really pack it tight, fill the aisles with them. Now give them each a brand new cell phone with all the features. MP3 players, speakerphones, walkie talkie capabilities, long lasting batteries. Everyone here has had technology dumped into their laps in the last couple of years without any of the slow buildup that we have had in Western countries. The instruction manuals tell them how to play the ring tones on full volume but they do not teach proper cell phone etiquette. This means that every single person in the bus is trying to show each other up with blasting songs and screaming over their speaker phones the whole ride. All night long. They cuddle up in their seats and in the aisles, clutching their phones to their chests like a toddler who refuses to go to bed without their brand new toy. They also fuss with them, constantly switching to a new song before the old one is complete. The other passengers also nose pick, spit and puke like children. They are, however, intensely offended by feet. If you point at them with your foot they react as though they were hosting a fancy dinner party and they are watching you poop on their dining room table.

Two hours into our trip the bus breaks down. It is getting dark and the driver pulls open the engine cover and goes to work. We are on the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. We sit there for 8 hours in the cold. People build a fire outside. People blast their phones. A few hours into the repairs the I stand up and crane my neck to see if there is any progress being made. The men who were working on the engine are now sitting around it having dinner. An hour later I am looking forlornly out the window and I see a truck drive by with our driver in it. He doesn't return. No more work is being done on the bus. We can't find out what is going on because our command of the language isn't at that level yet. I try once to ask but fail.

Mia and I are the only white people in the bus. Every time I try to get off to pee or walk around like everyone else is doing I hear sentences muttered containing the word "Falang" and am not let by. Just glared at. Falang is the Asian equivalent of 'Cracker'. The cramped seats and dusty air are tough to take, especially for someone as big as me. The leg room is not designed to comfortably accommodate a 6 foot tall man. Finally, at 2 am another bus arrives. Everything must be unloaded and re-loaded. The buses are pulled along side each other and successfully block the entire road for a good hour while this takes place. Huge 80 pound sacks of rice, clams and textiles are passed through the windows. I stand up and start helping. Suddenly I am getting smiles from the other passengers. They are saying Kop Jai (thank you) with each sack I help with. One of them shows me how to stack the bags next to my seat to make a nice leaning area and helps me do it. After this everyone is friendly to me. They smile at me. I offer them some pizza flavored Pringles. They accept. For the rest of the trip I do not hear the word Falang. With the bus loaded, it is time to get back on the road.

If the passengers are children in adult bodies the bus driver is a 16 year old with a brand new licence. As we board the second bus I see a 1200 watt amplifier has been duct taped to the dashboard. I can't see the speakers, but I know they are around. A dark leather cowboy hat hangs from the rear view mirror. Once everything is loaded into the new bus our driver steps in. He pauses to survey the passengers. Like a conductor looking over his orchestra before the first note. He sits down. Takes a moment to position his hat on his head. A calm before the storm. He reaches over to fiddle with something on the dash and the fastest most throbbingest techno I have ever heard starts pounding through the speakers. He guns the engine. Yanks on the oversized stick shift lever. Metal crunches as gears strike each other and fail to catch. Again. And then suddenly we are lurching forward through the dust and the fog. Faster and faster. We rush through a tree lined corridor at the end of which will suddenly appear a home or a cliff or a seeming dead end. I watch through the cracked and filthy windshield as it comes impossibly close. Like a fun house ride. And at the last second he swerves the bus around a curve and everything is a momentary blur before again we are rushing into the corridor. The music pounds. It tries but cannot drown out the sound of the cell phones which are turned up in a seeming competition with the driver's stereo system. He slides the bus around corners. THE BUS! The smell of burnt rubber filters in the the windows with the frigid mountain air. To my right a man sits with a stack of letters. He holds them like they are million dollar bills. Looks through them over and over. As we pass through towns he opens his window and flings them from the moving bus out into the street. He is, I realise after some time, the mailman.

Our 18 hour bus ride ended up being a 30 hour bus ride. It was a good experience and it built character. After a good night sleep we are about to board what promises to be at least a 10 hour bus ride south.

Pics from Laos

Boating the Mighty Mighty Mekong on the way to a tiny little village the locals call Ban Paklung.

Sunset over Laos.

Charlie waits in line at an all you can eat for 50 cents vegetarian street restaurant in Luang Prabang

























Mia and Rebecca crouch down into the frame to tell me, "Hey! Stop taking pictures of just our LEGS, JOE!" My photo of their legs is ruined.

Little boats line the muddy river banks.


























The entire strip along the river in Luang Prabang is lined with locals playing Bacci Ball. They play for $4 pots every game.
























This was like a bamboo bridge to Terebithia. Though my best friend didn't die trying to cross it, the bills in my walled took a painful hit.


















Our friend Vinnie tell me, "You need to tone this down a little. On second thought, a LOT!"



























Tiny fishing boats line the Mekong river.



























The following are a series of portraits we took in Ban Paklung. We printed these and more out and returned to the village to distribute them to all the people who had been so kind as to let us take their picture. Here an old man sharpens a knife.






















An old woman prepares some fresh fish.


























A family hangs out the window to talk to neigbors.













A old woman takes a break from napping on her porch to pose.

















Two friends up to no good.













Pushing a wheel with a sick. Smoking a candy ciggarette. Another lazy Sunday.














Mia and Rebecca taste their curry in a Lao cooking class.












Four friends take a parting photo before attempting to tube the ice cold Mighty Vieng Nam River.

New Years Photos 2008! See story below!

A Vientiane fireworks specialist puts on a show.














Although she turned out not to be Japanese, our host still knew how to thow a great New Years Eve party.












Mia gets down traditional style with a glass of watered down whiskey and a friendly old man.












3 generations of ladies (and Mia).













Fish, crickets, clams vegetables of all shapes and sizes. One of our hosts shows Mia how it's done.













New years day- the tractor ride. Made more uncomfortable by our host wearing a silver helmet and breast feeding.












Jame gives Carlies beard a delacate yet firm scratching and then quickly places his hand on his own chin as Charlie rolls away. Jame hopes the magic of such a magnificent beard will trasfer. Charlie feels uncomfortable.










Pinky cops a squat, deciding whether to pee or poop. "What will I watch my parents guest step in next..." she thinks.












Strings of good luck are tied to Rebecca's arms and prayers are said on each of them.












This gentleman was the only guy in the group who kept it together. We respected eachother. He sat next to me, and told Jame to tell me I was his friend. Then he asked for a picture to be taken to commemorate the event. This picture could be used to sell a watch. If only I was wearing a watch.








Rebecca is a good sport and dances her 30th dance of the evening with Noy.













Noy was once a beauty queen until a monk passed her at a pageant one day many years ago. He renounced his monkhood and bought her right then and there. He, was Jame. Now she lives on a porch and is covered in pee. We saw pictures of her when she was younger. She was very beautiful.

Happy New Year

NEW YEARS EVE- 2008
At 5:00 sharp we met up at the Hound and the Hare bar and restaurant to take part in our first Hash House Harriers run. Started in Malaysia by expats the run now has local chapters in most major cities around the world. Routes are marked with shredded paper and chalk piles and include multiple places where the route will branch and only one will be correct. To find out which one is right you have to keep going until it stops, then double back and try a new one. This keeps the faster people together with the slower people, who are usually arriving at the intersection as the fast people are returning to it. There is no winning, and trying to win is punished by sitting bare assed in ice and drinking a stein of beer, which must then be tipped over ones head to prove it has been emptied. Every chugging is accompanied by chanting from those not being punished at the time. Other punishable offences can include spitting, not wearing a sanctioned shirt, stretching beforehand, listening to a Walkman etc. The drinking is also accompanied by snacks. Delicious. After a number of runs the Hashers all receive Hash Names which they go by during the runs. HapPenis, Closet Screamer, Mount Pussy (A real mountain). The most shocking thing about this is that all these crazy frat types average over 60 years in age. The rest of the week they own businesses, work in embassies and globe trot.
Second half of new years eve... After a drawn out separation due to a husband and wife who had no desire to see each other, Charlie and I were able to hunt down Mia and Rebecca and we all rendezvoused at the home of a young woman Charlie had recently befriended because she looked Japanese. (Charlie loves Japan and all things Japanese. If you want to know why, you can ask him). Turns out she and her family were Lao, but that didn't stop them from inviting us into their home for drinks, eats, and dancing in celebration of the new year. The whole family was there, spanning 4 generations of people. They served us whole grilled fish, steamed clams, roasted crickets, and so much more, all prepared to a level that can only be described as gourmet. After the clock struck 12, all the children rushed out into the streets with Roman candles that were taller than they were to rain glittering fire onto the rooftops of their neighbors. Then, when we had had enough and we were ready to go home, we did. The preceding sentence may seem silly, but it wont after you hear the next story.
NEW YEARS DAY 2008
We woke up early to meet our new friends Jame (like Fame) and Noy at the fountain at 10am. (Early for Mia and I, as Charlie and Rebecca have ALWAYS been up for hours no matter what time the two of us roll out of bed). Jame and Noy had befriended us on the streets of Veintiane in front of the presidential palace the day before and had invited us to spend New Years Day with them in their home. It would be an honor, they had said. All their friends and relatives would be there. They would send a car to meet us in the morning. The first sign that something was strange is that the two of them (three if you count their baby daughter Pinky) arrived on a motorbike. They insisted a taxi would be too expensive and Jame headed home on the scooter to make last minute preparations while Noy led us on foot to the bus terminal. The whole time we were with her on the journey she never put down her daughter and never took off her motorcycle helmet. The second fact led to some whispered speculation over whether or not she had some horrible head deformity or a missing piece of skull which needed concealing. Our short walk took a detour to a market to replace Noy's broken high heel which came apart half way to the station. After a good hour wait we boarded a bus which was already over-packed. Standing room only would be a good way of describing it, except for the fact that the ceiling was about 6 inches shorter than I was and had been affixed with an assortment of sharp and dull objects whose only purpose seemed to be causing head and neck injuries. After about 2 minutes I opted for squatting in the aisle and trying to focus on the passing scenery to take my mind off the worst two deadlegs of my life.
A good 45 minutes after boarding, we climbed off in a dusty little town and started walking. Mia mentioned a need to pee and Noy directed us to a convenience store where the shopkeeper directed here to a little bathroom in the back portion (which was his home), and ousted the woman taking a shower. The rest of us stood around awkwardly and smile-nodded at the woman who was wrapped in a towel and had shampoo in her hair. At the time this seemed like just good service but what it really meant was, "We are a LONG way from the next bathroom." We started walking. We kept walking. We crossed old bridges, huts on stilts, the whole time yelling, "Sai Baa Dee PEE MAI!" (Happy new years!) to everyone we passed to keep the mood jovial. Noy eventually flagged down a tractor and we all piled on. The ensuing tractor ride then led to more whispers of, "We were supposed to WALK all this way?" By the time we arrived at their home (an abandoned government Hydrology plant, or rather the back stoop of one) it was almost two o'clock. Nobody was there but Jame, a quiet young woman, and a man who had very good posture and looked a bit like a Lao model for Rolex or cargo jackets. A few plates of food lay scattered about but all had either been picked through or had never been too full in the first place. Then, Noy and the young woman left to get us some food.
We all lay there on the concrete porch, not much wanting to touch the food which I guessed had been prepared by Jame. It wasn't that he may or may not have been a good cook, it was just that every time I saw him from behind he was up to his elbow in his own butt hole. It was like there was a stack of scratchers lottery tickets hidden in there and he knew one of them had the jackpot on it. It was also like he needed that money in a bad way. Scratch scratch scratch. The intermittent silences were broken by explanations of where his family was (not there) and gropes of Charlie's beard. Every chance he got Jame would lean over the lounging Charlie and squeeze his arms and then stroke his beard until Charlie would get uncomfortable and move to a new spot on the porch. Jame used that same hand... scratch scratch scratch.
After what seemed like an eternity the ladies arrived with some beers and some food, which Jame prepared fresh for us on outdoor clay pot grills. In the meantime I was able to learn a bit about motherhood. Noy released Pinkey and instantly the girl was an unstoppable blur. One of my lingering questions had been, "How do the kids not wear diapers here? Are they potty trained from an early age?" Pinkey answered this in three stages. First she peed down her mothers leg as we walked to the bus stop earlier that day. The pee soaked into the pink denim and eventually evaporated, leaving only a ghost of it's presence in the form of a dirt silhouette. The second time she depantsed, crouched and peed on the concrete right next to our porch mat we were laying on. Then she pulled up her pants, ran one way, came back the other way and slipped in it, sprawling out flat on her back. Her mother picked her up and cradled her little sopping wet body while she cried. She did not wash her hands. She did not mop up the pee, which eventually disappeared onto the bottoms of James feet and into the mat on which we continued to sit. Then, Pinkey pooped in her pants, and walked around with it swinging there, occasionally reaching back and fiddling with it, as though she had hidden a winning lottery ticket in her pants and was checking, just to make sure it was still there.
Jame finished cooking and brought a number of dishes over to the mat. The night before it had been hard to force ourselves to STOP eating. This day it was hard to START. Though the raw fish ceviche was delicious, we barely touched any of the food, prompting confused questions from our hosts who knew we hadn't eaten in many, many hours. We fake ate and focused on how we were going to get home. The sun was casting those slanty shadows that meant night was coming. On a positive note, our hosts initiated us into a tradition where the centerpiece (which was beautiful and hand crafted by Jame himself) is taken apart and each of the white strings are tied around the guests wrists with the hosts saying a blessing of good luck for the receiver of the bracelet in the new year. At the end everyone had 10 strings on their wrists which are left until they fall off.
Jame kept insisting that his brother would be there soon with the car to give us a ride back, but we were getting skeptical. As the rice whiskey and beer were consumed we struggled for time-passing conversation and settled on the exchange of songs and dances. This was fun for a little while but soon we realised that our hosts had no interest in ceasing their singing and dancing, and they pranced around the porch wildly, lost in a trance of their own voices. Time continued to pass. Charlie headed out with Jame in search of the missing brother with a car and when this brother couldn't be found, Charlie insisted on being taken to a taxi driver. When he arrived back at the Hydrology Plant the sun was down and the sky was turning a pinkish purple that called to mind hand towels often seen in the bathrooms of elderly women. The taxi driver wanted $40. Forty American dollars. In USD cash. Jame pleaded with us to stay, insisting that this was too much to pay but we hopped in. We didn't want to be there after dark, listening to the eerie rustle of the wind in the rubber trees and that Scratch Scratch Scactch that seemed to be getting closer. "Scratch screatch scratch, wheeeeere's my loootery tiiiicket... scratch scratch scratch, nooow you have eeeeeee-coooooOOOOoliiiii, scratch scratch scratch...." Thats what happens in a horror story. We wanted none of it.

And we're OFF!

GUEST SPOT BY REBECCA

First of all I would like to say how honored I am to have the opportunity to participate in this blog! I had two significant impressions on this trip. The first was of SE Asia (obviously) and the second was of Mia and Joe's ability to navigate the culture. I will speak on both. Arriving in Thailand, I was afraid I was not going to be able to find Mia and Joe because my plane was several hours late and I didn't know where we were staying that night...but low and behold, when I walked out of the baggage terminal, the first thing I heard was Mia's voice; "Rebecca!"...relief.

Our first meal was from a street vendor selling pad thai and chicken balls. I figure, hey, it's late this is the way to go- but then the next morning Joe and Mia were excited to get the fruit/yogurt/musili combo a lady on the street was selling...and so it continues. I realized that one of the skills these guys have picked up is that of identifying where the good, cheap food is. Also, eating was something you did on the way to something, and whenever you felt a little hungry...before I realized it we ended up going several days before we actually all sat down at a restaurant and had a meal together. Another thing these guys are excellent at is negotiating the price of a tuk tuk ride.

There are so many moments to recap, so I will just list some at random by city:
Bangkok (Thailand): It's Christmas eve and the four of us are walking down Ko San Road- one of the notorious party streets of Bangkok. Four young Thai women approach us wearing santa hats and holding candles and sheet music. They start to encourage us to sing Christmas carols with them, as Mia, Charlie and myself are giggling at this request, Joe starts of in his best "silent night....hooooly night....alll is calm..." then the Thai join in. Others start to gather around us. Next thing I know there are about 15 people singing Christmas carols lead by Joe Pagac himself- including a guy playing along with his guitar and another guy full out dancing as if it were the latest pop song. There were cheers and clapping after the song was over, but then they wanted more, so Joe gave them a little "Joy to the World". What the?!

Shopping at a food market outside of the main tourist area was another entertaining experience. There were all kinds of weird fish and sauces and mixes. We ate dragon fruit, durian (a fruit that is forbidden to be brought inside because it stinks so much), duck tongue, pig ear, mango, fried coconut, and more. I would also like to note that Joe is my hero because he ate some really gnarly things including the biggest bug I have ever seen.

Railay (Thailand): We spent four days in Railay, a little peninsula on the Andaman coast. Mia and Joe had already been here, and had spent a significant amount of time here (relatively speaking), so it was like being with some locals. Joe know some short cuts to take through town (there are no roads, so it's all foot paths), they knew a shady local guy, the best place to stay, and the best things to do. My highlight of this town was our hike to the lagoon (which has already been described in this blog).



Vientiane (Lao): My lonely planet says that this city is "the most laid back country capitol in the world", which seems like it could be true. We had a wonderful time in the city which is in part due to the fact that we were there on New Years Eve. New Years Eve we ran in our very first "Hash". Here we met a lot of english speaking locals and were lead on a "run" through streets, fields, and allyways of the city. As we ran by a pack of waterbuffalo, the guy that laid out the run (or the "hare" as they call him), told me "don't worry, I told them we were comming". What the?! If you are not familiar with this odd ritual, I recommend you look up this "Hash" thing at another time to learn more. After the run, we went to some pubs, but soon realized that this was not necessary as drinks and dancing were a plenty in the streets. The night ended with an invitation to join a family in their home (which is also a store front) to watch the count down, and eat some delicious Lao food (I liked the clams- but there was also a bowl of cooked bugs being passed around). Before leaving the city, we brought the family a cake from one of the delicious local bakeries Charlie found (We have come to learn that Charlie is a bakery connoisseur).

Luang Prabang: The last stop on our itinerary, and the city I am writing this bog in. Luang Prabang is a charming little city, and has a ton of markets and restaurants that cater to the many tourists (falang in Lao). Today we had a difficult time trying to figure out what to do. We were bouncing between renting bikes, renting mopeds, or chartering a boat. Renting bikes or mopeds was a challenge because apparently a law just passed (lobbied by the tuk tuk drivers) that forbids the renting of bikes or scooters to falang. So, as we walked by a bacci ball game (yes, that right bacci is huge here!), an old guy asked us if we wold like a boat ride- great timing. We bought some food, beer, and lao lao (for the boat captain of course) and within 30min we were off down the (as Mia would put it) mighty mighty Mekong river! We pulled over about 45min down stream at what looked like may be a village by the canoe looking boats parked on the bank. I wish I knew the name of the city, as it was a great experience of a tiny lao village. There was an ornate wat (temple), some grocery stores, and beautiful people. As we walked around we began to accumulate a small following of children. This was a nice contrast to the touristy hustle of Luang Prabang.

As I write this blog I am so sad to be leaving Asia, and especially the company of Mia and Joe. I highly recommend that anyone visit these guys if you can. This has been an experience of a lifetime- and I am so grateful for the friendship and hospitality of these two...Thank you Mia and Joe!

Love, Rebecca

An intro to Lao

(By Joe)


I'm going to tell you all about Laos. We arrived here with our friends from America, Charlie and Rebecca, who are two of the greatest travel buddies a young carefree couple could ask for. Rebecca is chok full of interesting and applicable facts and has taught us about everything from the reproductive cycle of the banyan tree to the national language of Denmark. You may be thinking, "These things are applicable to what?" To traveling in Southeast Asia. Charlie has a knack for conversing with the locals. What he lacks in vocabulary he more than makes up for in energy, good humor, and enthusiasm, which instantly galvanise him with cab drivers, waitresses, people passing on the streets... everyone.


Some quick yet interesting facts. Laos is in the bottom 25% of the world's countries as far as finances are concerned. The have very little in the way of modern developments. The International Hospital in the capital boasts 100 beds, trained staff, and an X-Ray machine (according to an advertizement in the Vientiane Times). I read in the paper that the main hospital is going to start making improvements to allow them to test for and some day treat diabetes and high blood pressure! Of the few national monuments and community gathering areas they have, most have been built for them by friendly neighboring countries with a large sign declaring the name of the benefactor. Instead of posters of the king like the Thai people proudly display, every house sports a collection of pinup posters of sexy Asian women sponsored by BeerLao or cell phones. The country also holds the record of being the most bombed country EVER! It didn't even do anything, it was just in the wrong place during the Vietnam war.


Our first day here we we took a walking and bike tour of Vientiane, the capital. The tour mainly consisted of Swedish and Scandinavian bakeries, (which were both crazy good) and the Lao version of the Arch de Triumph- a project that was started in the 1960's but was never completed. A plaque on the wall describes the partly finished building as what could have been beautiful but now looks like "A Monster of Concrete". They never got around to putting on the decorative veneer.