I've been craving this for months and here I am...sitting on a beach log with my back to the ocean and looking at ducks (mallards and buffleheads) floating on a small lagoon. Their invisible feet propelling them effortlessly makes it look like they are being blown randomly by the cold wind that is biting my neck. Driftwood all along the beach sticks up out of the sand at random angles like long forgotten tombstones shining white in the harsh low angle of sunlight. A monstrous blue heron circles silently overhead before alighting on a fir. I'm not sure if "alight" is the right word as the tree branch bends precariously under its weight. A big yellow cloud of pollen puffs off in the breeze under the giant bird. It is spring here and I had forgotten the amount of pollen a single fir can generate. The pollen reminds me it is spring. The sun is still low in the horizon even though it's noon, and the wind keeps nipping at my exposed skin. But in this little sheltered area the sunlight feels good on my face. Walking earlier along the path through the giant trees I saw no one. I heard only the sounds of birds and wind in the trees and the small wavelets licking the shore. What made the tears come was the smell. I hadn't expected the power of the smell of the pine trees. I hadn't missed that smell at all as the odors of Asia can be overwhelming. The heavy wet decaying smells of the jungle, or the hot smokey stench of all the roasting meat-stick vendors, or the ever-present funk of open sewers. The humidity of SE Asia made the air feel used , like I was breathing someone else's sigh. The halitosis of hundreds of millions of people was at first oppressive but I soon acclimated and forgot the subtle and fresh scent of a cold pine forest after a cleansing rain. Even though the wet earth smelled of mushrooms and ferns and moldy wood it was the fresh scent of nature... and things occurring as they should. There were no tuk-tuks fouling the air or clouds of diesel billowing from tail-pipes. As I wandered the path it led to the shore and the smell of the sea mixed with the pines and I finally felt home for the first time.
At home for the first time...both in my own skin and on this island. I'd walked this path many times before but never as this man at this time in his life. I walked it alone and enjoyed it more than if anyone were with me. I have been here for 5 days now and haven't called anyone or seen any friends...only family members. I'm still in a state of transition and being alone with James is a thing I have never been comfortable with until now. I'd always look for someone to spend my time with in the past. I'd try to plan my day around who I was with or what I was doing next. Even when walking on a trail I would be thinking about what the next thing on my days agenda would be. I'd hurry through the walk to get it done or over with and check it off my list so the next thing could be done. It was as if my entire life was a thing to be lived after I was done doing the thing I was now doing! The harder I ran looking for the next thing to do, the less attention I gave doing the present activity. Sure I had a busy life and lots of things going on but I never really enjoyed those things. I've grown up a bit. I need to slow down...not for my body and not for lack of energy, but for lack of joy. Do I get some prize at the end of this life for being busy? The prize comes now by enjoying this precious moment. I think spending 6 to 8 hours a day pedalling, always pedalling, doing the same thing even in different places and with different amazing experiences broke me of the "what's next" habit. Even though I constantly still wonder "what's next" in my life regarding career and ways to make a living, it's different. I can spend time alone now with James and actually like my company and not have to wonder about the next minutes or hours...they will, no doubt, lead to the next career path no matter how much I stress about it.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
Re-entry
Back in town for less than 24 hours and I'm sitting in an old high school gym waiting for the "music" to begin. I moved out of this town 5 years ago and looking around the crowded bleachers is like a time warp. My god, it feels like I never left as I see the same faces that I used to and will again, daily, for the foreseeable future. Five years and the circle is complete. I left here after a divorce suddenly shrank this already small island north of Seattle. It seems big enough again. Big enough to breathe and big enough to start over. And if I ride around it 10 times, big enough to feel like I'm on a bike tour...in Iceland! I am so NOT ready for the freezing wind and rain that has met me in the NW. OK, so it's in the 50's and cloudy and I'm whining but crap, I had a heat rash on my scrotum a week ago and now I almost miss it.
Sheryl, the woman who waited (sometimes patiently) six months for me to come home from Asia, and I are here to listen to her younger son Julian play the trumpet in his band concert. The kids look excited and anxious. The parents look more like...resolved. I mean, when is the last time you attended a 6th grade band concert. Sitting here it hits me that 5 years is a long time. The passage of time for me seems like a blink and the mirror doesn't change that much from day to day even though the grey is more prominent and the wrinkles deeper. But there are kids here playing a horribly arranged Star Wars theme who were just out of kindergarten when I left. It seems to me that their parents have changed much more drastically than I have as well. Of course they have. I'll never get old. I'm different than everyone else! Old acquaintances walk by. Whoa, is that...? Or, man, ...isn't looking so good these days.
Then I see him. Sitting there in the trumpet section playing 3rd trumpet. The smallest kid in the band, hunched over and reading his music with a nervous intensity. I can't tell if he is any good through the cacophony of mistuned wind and brass instruments but he is the clearest thing to a past life experience as I've had in a long time. This life, that is, in my past. Memories of being the small, scared, runt of the school playing in my first band concert, desperately seeking approval, flood my thoughts. I don't have any children of my own. How else can a 44 year old guy go on a trip for 6 months and be so "irresponsible"(and not be on a 'deadbeat dad' list somewhere)? So, I haven't been to a school event in a long time. I realized with some clarity that this concert (or football game or baseball game or debate) is one reason people have kids. To remember, to relive, to continue ones unrealized dreams through another. You get to hit the rewind button and play it all over again with a mini-me. For a few minutes I became that little kid as he played and struggled and persevered and stood up to take a bow. It was a sweet melancholy. I remembered how, even through my fear of making a fool of myself, I would come through and feel elated and feel the love of family, and feel successful. Of course the music was awful tonight, just as it was 33 years ago when I sat in that same chair in a different gym. But it sounded so sweet as I got lost in the drama of one kids struggle and in the drama of life continuing on just as it should. It's funny how we all torture ourselves voluntarily, in our own ways, and struggle so we can grow. Growth is a painful process so we hate it and yet crave it because without it we die. I realized this past year that pain, while not really a friend, is an ally. The changes I've experienced this year have been so enriching while also painful... whether through cycling, a crumpled relationship or some yoga asana that twists me in ways I don't want to be twisted. I have spent so much time avoiding that which helps me grow...hmmm. So this new pain of being cold all the time, and aimless, and unsure of what is next, and not cycling daily, and living in the "real" world again, and living "an ordinary life"...what lessons am I to learn from this time in my life?
I'll find out soon enough but in the meantime I'll just go play my trumpet with Julian and watch us both grow.
Sheryl, the woman who waited (sometimes patiently) six months for me to come home from Asia, and I are here to listen to her younger son Julian play the trumpet in his band concert. The kids look excited and anxious. The parents look more like...resolved. I mean, when is the last time you attended a 6th grade band concert. Sitting here it hits me that 5 years is a long time. The passage of time for me seems like a blink and the mirror doesn't change that much from day to day even though the grey is more prominent and the wrinkles deeper. But there are kids here playing a horribly arranged Star Wars theme who were just out of kindergarten when I left. It seems to me that their parents have changed much more drastically than I have as well. Of course they have. I'll never get old. I'm different than everyone else! Old acquaintances walk by. Whoa, is that...? Or, man, ...isn't looking so good these days.
Then I see him. Sitting there in the trumpet section playing 3rd trumpet. The smallest kid in the band, hunched over and reading his music with a nervous intensity. I can't tell if he is any good through the cacophony of mistuned wind and brass instruments but he is the clearest thing to a past life experience as I've had in a long time. This life, that is, in my past. Memories of being the small, scared, runt of the school playing in my first band concert, desperately seeking approval, flood my thoughts. I don't have any children of my own. How else can a 44 year old guy go on a trip for 6 months and be so "irresponsible"(and not be on a 'deadbeat dad' list somewhere)? So, I haven't been to a school event in a long time. I realized with some clarity that this concert (or football game or baseball game or debate) is one reason people have kids. To remember, to relive, to continue ones unrealized dreams through another. You get to hit the rewind button and play it all over again with a mini-me. For a few minutes I became that little kid as he played and struggled and persevered and stood up to take a bow. It was a sweet melancholy. I remembered how, even through my fear of making a fool of myself, I would come through and feel elated and feel the love of family, and feel successful. Of course the music was awful tonight, just as it was 33 years ago when I sat in that same chair in a different gym. But it sounded so sweet as I got lost in the drama of one kids struggle and in the drama of life continuing on just as it should. It's funny how we all torture ourselves voluntarily, in our own ways, and struggle so we can grow. Growth is a painful process so we hate it and yet crave it because without it we die. I realized this past year that pain, while not really a friend, is an ally. The changes I've experienced this year have been so enriching while also painful... whether through cycling, a crumpled relationship or some yoga asana that twists me in ways I don't want to be twisted. I have spent so much time avoiding that which helps me grow...hmmm. So this new pain of being cold all the time, and aimless, and unsure of what is next, and not cycling daily, and living in the "real" world again, and living "an ordinary life"...what lessons am I to learn from this time in my life?
I'll find out soon enough but in the meantime I'll just go play my trumpet with Julian and watch us both grow.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Home!...Now What
Bangkok to Seoul to San Francisco to Seattle...30 hours. I feel numb and tired and lethargic. I also am a bit confused as to what is next and where I'm going. For the past 6 months I never really knew where I was going until I got on my bike and started pedalling. That I had just got out of bed in the morning, eaten some breakfast and had another diarrheal stool was enough direction for me. Now I sit and look out at a cold and cloudy sky, wet pavement and windblown trees. My bike is in a box and my panniers are put away. What do I do now? I have identified with "being a traveller" and feeling "special" somehow, and now that part of me is gone (until next time)... What part of me will fill that void? Who am I now if I don't cycle and be adventurous and hunt for an internet cafe so I can write (brag?) about it and get all the love and feedback from friends and even people I've never met?
And of course nothing has really changed at all. I awoke this morning and ate some breakfast and had a poop (if you must know it was solid, brown and it floated) and still have no idea where I'm going...but I know I'm not pedalling there...too freaking cold! Not to mention that my rear rim is bent and god only knows what other disasters await me when I open the shredded box that contains my once beautiful bike. So the cycling adventure is over. It replaced the zip-line-tour-guide-adventure part of my life. And that replaced my E.R. nursing adventure. I realize of course, as I write this, that all those things just describe only one aspect of my life while I was experiencing so many other aspects at the same time. So why do I feel like I have to identify with parts of my life instead of the whole? Do I have to be doing something cool to feel good about who I am like some 18 year old with a self esteem deficit? What about this guy who has been the constant through all these life changes? He's still here and is the constant. He is still naval gazing (especially here in the NW with dark cold clouds and really good coffee) and laughing and loving and breathing and self-doubting and second-guessing and worried and care-free and putting his body into wierd yoga positions and then asking why. He's still asking what it all means and looking for the point in any of this. James is still here, the constant. And constantly whining and laughing and crying and knowing that this is the next adventure...this moment and this second. In the words of Bob Marley (who, before the trip I used to love and now just flinch when I hear, as every Asian bar catering to Westerners overplays his hits ALL THE TIME...and don't even get me started on the Jack Johnson rant!!), "when one door is closed, many more is open". These new moments are all unfolding right now to creat my present adventure. And that they all add up to make a life of meaningful and meaningless moments but moments none the less to be experienced as only I can.
I thought I would wrap up this adventure of mine with relevant anecdotes... or comparisons between the East and the West, or sone poignant moment that defined what the trip meant to me. I find that I can't do it. I will continue to write stories and memories from the recent bike trip and I will write about moments from this new adventure. On one of my last days in Nong Khai, I was writing in my journal trying to keep back the tears and a woman sat down and asked me if I was a writer. It was the first time I ever just said yes, and let it be. This trip has given me that incredible gift. It may be crap. It may be good. But I write and I put it out there for people to read and I found out that I love it. I want to thank you for reading it and commenting and keeping me going when I was pissed or down or discouraged and tired. People whom I've never met like Stoder, or met once like Wheelz or acquaintances who now feel like a friend...Margaret! Hopefully you'll keep reading because if I fail as a writer I might need to borrow some money from time to time! And I need help picking a new blog name...send me some ideas... as I know now why I left Kauai.
And of course nothing has really changed at all. I awoke this morning and ate some breakfast and had a poop (if you must know it was solid, brown and it floated) and still have no idea where I'm going...but I know I'm not pedalling there...too freaking cold! Not to mention that my rear rim is bent and god only knows what other disasters await me when I open the shredded box that contains my once beautiful bike. So the cycling adventure is over. It replaced the zip-line-tour-guide-adventure part of my life. And that replaced my E.R. nursing adventure. I realize of course, as I write this, that all those things just describe only one aspect of my life while I was experiencing so many other aspects at the same time. So why do I feel like I have to identify with parts of my life instead of the whole? Do I have to be doing something cool to feel good about who I am like some 18 year old with a self esteem deficit? What about this guy who has been the constant through all these life changes? He's still here and is the constant. He is still naval gazing (especially here in the NW with dark cold clouds and really good coffee) and laughing and loving and breathing and self-doubting and second-guessing and worried and care-free and putting his body into wierd yoga positions and then asking why. He's still asking what it all means and looking for the point in any of this. James is still here, the constant. And constantly whining and laughing and crying and knowing that this is the next adventure...this moment and this second. In the words of Bob Marley (who, before the trip I used to love and now just flinch when I hear, as every Asian bar catering to Westerners overplays his hits ALL THE TIME...and don't even get me started on the Jack Johnson rant!!), "when one door is closed, many more is open". These new moments are all unfolding right now to creat my present adventure. And that they all add up to make a life of meaningful and meaningless moments but moments none the less to be experienced as only I can.
I thought I would wrap up this adventure of mine with relevant anecdotes... or comparisons between the East and the West, or sone poignant moment that defined what the trip meant to me. I find that I can't do it. I will continue to write stories and memories from the recent bike trip and I will write about moments from this new adventure. On one of my last days in Nong Khai, I was writing in my journal trying to keep back the tears and a woman sat down and asked me if I was a writer. It was the first time I ever just said yes, and let it be. This trip has given me that incredible gift. It may be crap. It may be good. But I write and I put it out there for people to read and I found out that I love it. I want to thank you for reading it and commenting and keeping me going when I was pissed or down or discouraged and tired. People whom I've never met like Stoder, or met once like Wheelz or acquaintances who now feel like a friend...Margaret! Hopefully you'll keep reading because if I fail as a writer I might need to borrow some money from time to time! And I need help picking a new blog name...send me some ideas... as I know now why I left Kauai.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Relax...Take Deep Breaths...Balance
Over and over this past week I've heard those words repeated. I've been in a yoga retreat in Nong Khai, Thailand for the last "adventure" of my trip. Pancho, my yoga instructor and all around spiritual community builder here, has a background in theater and those three reminders were uttered just as you would imagine a yoga teacher should. They came slowly, stretched out and breathy. It worked: I actually relaxed and breathed deeply and found my balance. The yoga class was perfect for me as the focus was on breath and quieting the mind (not that I need any mind quieting at all) and the improved flow of pranic energy. This is the kind of inner work I've been seeking the whole trip and here, and found it in my last week in Asia...without pedalling! The inner journey experience while cycling was difficult and yet invaluable. Through stubborn perseverance and lonliness and determination I overcame fears and my own insanities of which I've mentioned before. I found an inner resilience and strenth and self respect I never knew before. I discovered a James who I like that I never knew before. I found scrotal pain I never knew existed before!! Yoga is analagous (except for the scrotal part) but takes a very different approach. Through cycling, I became more aware of the dispiriting inner voice that always whines and wants to quit when things get hard (easy gutterheads). I could settle into a cycling rhythm that allowed me to gently but assertively hold an uncomfortable but maintainable edge. And I got a lot stronger physically. And as the riding was just what my stagnant yoga practice needed, the yoga was the perfect ending for this trip. Abused and overworked muscles and tendons and bones that were never meant to move that reptititiously for that long, day after day and month after month were worked and stretched in a different and more wholistic way.
I cycled into Nong Khai and followed an inner beacon that often leads me to right where I need to be. It's weird and I don't know how it woks but I'm learning to really trust it. Lost in the bustle that is day market stall after day market stall I saw a sign saying Mut-Mee guest house. I had signed up for the yoga class weeks earlier and thought maybe the Mut-Mee people could guide me there. A small, quiet, tree lined side street led toward the guest house. Pancho's yoga studio and home are both next door to the Mut-Mee. Providence led me to the right place once again and I was glad as it had been an 80km ride from the nature preserve in Laos and the direct sunlight was bearing down as if through a magnifying glass. I hopped off my bike and smiled knowing this was going to be my last stop on the trip and it was over looking the Mekong river. The smile soon faded when I looked around at all the white faces and the young hippy set eating western food. Once again I was in Thailand and yet could be anywhere. Americans, Dutch, Germans, British and Canadians...all being served by the Thais who didn't really mingle. But by the next day my dismay had evaporated as I realized very few people were drinking. A lot of these people either lived here or were long term renters who came for the yoga/neditation classes...then fell in love with the little community of new agers, and decided to stay. Here was a group of like minded, spiritual seekers that spend way too much time naval gazing. It was a place that would have had my friend Cary looking for a semi-automatic weapon. I was in heaven. An 11:00 post yoga breakfast would last 2 hours as we would discuss things like whether morality is subjective. It's kind of embarassing to write about now because none of us were even stoned. The atmosphere and heat just fed these discussions until the 2:00 meditation hour started. I actually had a hard time leaving the Mut-Mee after 2 days and just languished at the tables reading or waiting for another conversation to start up. There was a little bookstore and an art studio and people playing music all around and shady banana trees and a thatch roofed restaurant and the flowing Mekong behind it all. I spent one of the most relaxing weeks of my life there (even though the yoga retreat was physically and mentally difficult) and was sad to have to leave. Especially since the train from Nong Khai was taking me back to the familiar and evil haunts of Bangkok.
I cycled into Nong Khai and followed an inner beacon that often leads me to right where I need to be. It's weird and I don't know how it woks but I'm learning to really trust it. Lost in the bustle that is day market stall after day market stall I saw a sign saying Mut-Mee guest house. I had signed up for the yoga class weeks earlier and thought maybe the Mut-Mee people could guide me there. A small, quiet, tree lined side street led toward the guest house. Pancho's yoga studio and home are both next door to the Mut-Mee. Providence led me to the right place once again and I was glad as it had been an 80km ride from the nature preserve in Laos and the direct sunlight was bearing down as if through a magnifying glass. I hopped off my bike and smiled knowing this was going to be my last stop on the trip and it was over looking the Mekong river. The smile soon faded when I looked around at all the white faces and the young hippy set eating western food. Once again I was in Thailand and yet could be anywhere. Americans, Dutch, Germans, British and Canadians...all being served by the Thais who didn't really mingle. But by the next day my dismay had evaporated as I realized very few people were drinking. A lot of these people either lived here or were long term renters who came for the yoga/neditation classes...then fell in love with the little community of new agers, and decided to stay. Here was a group of like minded, spiritual seekers that spend way too much time naval gazing. It was a place that would have had my friend Cary looking for a semi-automatic weapon. I was in heaven. An 11:00 post yoga breakfast would last 2 hours as we would discuss things like whether morality is subjective. It's kind of embarassing to write about now because none of us were even stoned. The atmosphere and heat just fed these discussions until the 2:00 meditation hour started. I actually had a hard time leaving the Mut-Mee after 2 days and just languished at the tables reading or waiting for another conversation to start up. There was a little bookstore and an art studio and people playing music all around and shady banana trees and a thatch roofed restaurant and the flowing Mekong behind it all. I spent one of the most relaxing weeks of my life there (even though the yoga retreat was physically and mentally difficult) and was sad to have to leave. Especially since the train from Nong Khai was taking me back to the familiar and evil haunts of Bangkok.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Roberto, squared
I've already written, OK whined, about my first days' ride out of Luang Prabang, Laos. It was a 80 or 90 km day (already repressing the pain) of mostly uphills and heat. But I failed to mention that this is where I ran into Roberto. And his friend, Roberto. The guest house was at the top of the hill and I was dead tired as I pushed my bike into the storage room next to the restaurant. The storage room also had a large mattress on the floor and doubled as someones bedroom but no one seemed to care I was parking my bike there. It was then I saw a beautiful new Trek mountain bike next to the fridge and piles of veggies and fruit. My sense of "off the beaten track" was offended, but I looked forward to talking trash with another cyclist. It's the kind of conversation that will make the average non-cyclist fall rapidly into REM sleep. You know, "how many kilomteres did you go today" and "how much water did you drink" and "what did you think of that last hill" and the like. It's weird but we instantly have a connection. No matter where we are from or how old or how different, a cyclist out here is a kindred spirit. So I sat down and was thinking about my upcoming noodle soup when a very handsome and ruggedly stubbled Italian guy came in and sat down at another table. I walked over and sat down and he introduced himself as, you guessed it, Roberto. After 2 minutes the conversation ended. It was clear the kindred spirit thing was not going on here, at all. At first I thought it was a language issue, but his English was pretty good. You know that feeling when you really wish you hadn't just sat down and committed yourself to a conversation with someone you have absolutely no connection with and you feel sort of tight in the throat and chest and a little squirmy and fidgety and you start looking around for empty tables and thinking up excuses for why you have to eat alone and can't come up with a good enough one to make it hide the fact that you'd pretty much rather eat anywhere else in the world than at this one table? Yeah, that was the feeling I was having just as his giant, bald headed, bird faced friend named, mm hmm, Roberto came and sat down with us. I was relieved...for about 2 more minutes until the same feeling crept over me and the silencio at the table became strained. I tried the always reliable, "George Bush is a moron" line of conversation but it fell away almost unnoticed. I tried the well worn bike-gear-blather but again a big miss as he didn't seem too interested even in his own cycling adventure. As a matter of fact he didn't seem interested in much. He had just met his friend, Roberto, in Laos and Roberto was following Roberto via bus and carrying a lot of his gear for him. I was wishing Alisa would hurry up and save me from this scene but since she and I were needing a lot more space than a small box of a room with two single beds can provide (i.e. wishing the other would accidentally ride off a mountain cliff), she was in no hurry to share dinner as well.
When dinner came we all dug into the food and I finally noticed the eyes of these two mis-matched Italians. They were bleary and bloodshot. When the conversation was thus directed to the always popular subject of drugs they both perked up and the discussion was lively. Both in their 30's and a bit old for constant drug use I was startled to find out that this was why they liked Laos so much. With the constant pot use, and smoking opium when available, I wondered when the one Roberto had enough time or energy for bike riding. It was like a full time occupation with these guys as they discussed the different aspects of drug use here in Laos.
We vowed to cycle together the next day and I finally escaped off to bed. By 9:00 the next morning there was no sign of Roberto, or that his bags were anywhere near being packed so Alisa and I took off. We ran into him later that day. Since his buddy had all his gear on a bus somewhere, he caught up with us easily...even after smoking his morning joint. That afternoon, found the two Robertos staying at the same guest house as Alisa and I, once again. This place was a jewel that every passing cyclist had mentioned to us. As an aside, after cycling for hours and seeing the cars, busses and mopeds passing, and having long internal dialogues with oneself, it is a rare and wonderful treat to see a geared up, loaded down, cyclist coming from the opposite direction. I always like to stop and chat and it gives me another excuse to not pedal. There are an amazing number of us cycling fools out on the roads of the world and even if it makes me feel a little less "special", it's always good to share the pain and information. The ones that make me feel like the wuss I am are the ones who have cycled from their homes in Europe somewhere. Through the middle east and Pakistan, into India up the Himalayas into Tibet, through China, maybe dip in Kyrgistan or durka-durkastan until they find some beach in Thailand to hang out on. I find them heading north, cycling home...2 years or so later. Along this stretch of road every cyclist had mentioned the hot springs just outide of our next destination. After 2 days of mountain passes the decision was a no brainer and we altered plans so as to stay at the bungalows just next to the hot springs. The steep mountains and woods surrounding the place were beautiful. The atmosphere, even though built right on the main north/south route of Laos, was serene. "Main route" here means an occasional truck or bus passes as opposed to a smaller road where nothing passes. A large square pool had been dug out right next to the road but a little further up the hill was a hot stream that, nestled in the trees and boulders, soaked away all my muscle tension and pain. In the morning I was glad I had chosen the stream to sit in as there was a group of locals that were brushing their teeth, doing laundry and bathing, soap and all, in the big pool. The two Roberto's were sleeping in apparently, once again, so Alisa and I took off after a snack, vowing to eat in town. We didn't want to repeat last nights dinner experience. The Roberto's must have had the munchies last night because the food that arrived at the table was sketchy and had no similarity to what was ordered. I'm used to that by now of course but the disparity had reached a new level. Why Roberto chose to order schnitzl in northern Laos was a mystery. So was the plate of food that arrived about an hour later. My vegetarian noodle soup had more huge chunks of meat in it than noodles but it looked rather like chicken so I picked out the bits and ate the rest...and I hate doing that! But they must have run out of chicken because the mystery meat that everyone else ate brought up the topic of eating dog meat in Laos. Apparently eating a dog that had yellow fur gives one more power than if the dog is another color. In Thailand a yellow dog will be exported (as pets of course) and fetch up to 4000 Bhat. That is almost $150!! As dinner here was dirt cheap the meat must have come from some poor black mutt. No one felt very good the next day.
Riding along in the afternoon heat I discovered how Roberto can do so many drugs and cycle around Asia so well. As passenger truck passed by I heard a "ciao" coming from the back and saw the Roberto's waving amiably with big grins and a bike tied to the roof of the truck. "Hey, that's cheating" I yelled smiling and waving, forgetting all the trains and busses I've enjoyed over the past few months. For the rest of my time in Laos I kept running across the Roberto's. In Vang Vienne they came up to our breakfast table, already hopelessly stoned, and ordered their second breakfast of the day as ours looked so delicioso. Later that day I ran into them heading for the "happy pizza" place and they were discussing the magic mushroom shake with which to chase it down. In Vientiane we cycled passed them once again and they invited us to visit them at their guest house later in the day. I never did get there. I think we took our relationship as far as it could go...even though I ended up really liking these guys. I can't even say why. Maybe it was just seeing a familiar face everywhere I went. Maybe it was their relaxed attitudes and constant smiles. But ultimatley, it's not nearly enough as stoned people are really boring. Pleasant maybe, but boring and I couldn't face another evening with the Roberto's.
When dinner came we all dug into the food and I finally noticed the eyes of these two mis-matched Italians. They were bleary and bloodshot. When the conversation was thus directed to the always popular subject of drugs they both perked up and the discussion was lively. Both in their 30's and a bit old for constant drug use I was startled to find out that this was why they liked Laos so much. With the constant pot use, and smoking opium when available, I wondered when the one Roberto had enough time or energy for bike riding. It was like a full time occupation with these guys as they discussed the different aspects of drug use here in Laos.
We vowed to cycle together the next day and I finally escaped off to bed. By 9:00 the next morning there was no sign of Roberto, or that his bags were anywhere near being packed so Alisa and I took off. We ran into him later that day. Since his buddy had all his gear on a bus somewhere, he caught up with us easily...even after smoking his morning joint. That afternoon, found the two Robertos staying at the same guest house as Alisa and I, once again. This place was a jewel that every passing cyclist had mentioned to us. As an aside, after cycling for hours and seeing the cars, busses and mopeds passing, and having long internal dialogues with oneself, it is a rare and wonderful treat to see a geared up, loaded down, cyclist coming from the opposite direction. I always like to stop and chat and it gives me another excuse to not pedal. There are an amazing number of us cycling fools out on the roads of the world and even if it makes me feel a little less "special", it's always good to share the pain and information. The ones that make me feel like the wuss I am are the ones who have cycled from their homes in Europe somewhere. Through the middle east and Pakistan, into India up the Himalayas into Tibet, through China, maybe dip in Kyrgistan or durka-durkastan until they find some beach in Thailand to hang out on. I find them heading north, cycling home...2 years or so later. Along this stretch of road every cyclist had mentioned the hot springs just outide of our next destination. After 2 days of mountain passes the decision was a no brainer and we altered plans so as to stay at the bungalows just next to the hot springs. The steep mountains and woods surrounding the place were beautiful. The atmosphere, even though built right on the main north/south route of Laos, was serene. "Main route" here means an occasional truck or bus passes as opposed to a smaller road where nothing passes. A large square pool had been dug out right next to the road but a little further up the hill was a hot stream that, nestled in the trees and boulders, soaked away all my muscle tension and pain. In the morning I was glad I had chosen the stream to sit in as there was a group of locals that were brushing their teeth, doing laundry and bathing, soap and all, in the big pool. The two Roberto's were sleeping in apparently, once again, so Alisa and I took off after a snack, vowing to eat in town. We didn't want to repeat last nights dinner experience. The Roberto's must have had the munchies last night because the food that arrived at the table was sketchy and had no similarity to what was ordered. I'm used to that by now of course but the disparity had reached a new level. Why Roberto chose to order schnitzl in northern Laos was a mystery. So was the plate of food that arrived about an hour later. My vegetarian noodle soup had more huge chunks of meat in it than noodles but it looked rather like chicken so I picked out the bits and ate the rest...and I hate doing that! But they must have run out of chicken because the mystery meat that everyone else ate brought up the topic of eating dog meat in Laos. Apparently eating a dog that had yellow fur gives one more power than if the dog is another color. In Thailand a yellow dog will be exported (as pets of course) and fetch up to 4000 Bhat. That is almost $150!! As dinner here was dirt cheap the meat must have come from some poor black mutt. No one felt very good the next day.
Riding along in the afternoon heat I discovered how Roberto can do so many drugs and cycle around Asia so well. As passenger truck passed by I heard a "ciao" coming from the back and saw the Roberto's waving amiably with big grins and a bike tied to the roof of the truck. "Hey, that's cheating" I yelled smiling and waving, forgetting all the trains and busses I've enjoyed over the past few months. For the rest of my time in Laos I kept running across the Roberto's. In Vang Vienne they came up to our breakfast table, already hopelessly stoned, and ordered their second breakfast of the day as ours looked so delicioso. Later that day I ran into them heading for the "happy pizza" place and they were discussing the magic mushroom shake with which to chase it down. In Vientiane we cycled passed them once again and they invited us to visit them at their guest house later in the day. I never did get there. I think we took our relationship as far as it could go...even though I ended up really liking these guys. I can't even say why. Maybe it was just seeing a familiar face everywhere I went. Maybe it was their relaxed attitudes and constant smiles. But ultimatley, it's not nearly enough as stoned people are really boring. Pleasant maybe, but boring and I couldn't face another evening with the Roberto's.
Friday, March 16, 2007
International Womens Day...Laos style
My third day at Lao Pako nature preserve and things were moving as slow as possible...just the way I like it. My morning herbal sauna was over and I was wondering what to do. The sauna was amazing. I had to meander through a hot jungle to get to the sauna house. The small wood structure with a grass roof was on a gentle slope just above a stream for the refreshing dip afterward. Most people describe this part of Laos as a sauna and wonder why anyone would want to go from one sauna to a hotter one. I wondered that too as I stripped down and entered the steamy dark room. But I realized that day, that if one steps from the hottest fires of hell into the more reasonable fires of Laos, it makes Laos seem rather refreshing...which it isn't. From under the hut a pipe leads horizontally out to a small boiler sitting over two long logs that had their ends pushed into a fire. Its a great system. Someone puts eucalyptus leaves and other "herbs from the jungle" into the boiler and if the room cools down too much you just run out in all your sweaty nakedness and shove the logs farther into the flames and streak back in. It was plenty hot however as I stepped into the steamy abyss. The herbal smells and wood smoke mix with the hot wet air as I melted into a puddle of sweat. The smell was cooling and counteracted the heat which allows one to stay longer than is prudent. Not known for prudence, I hung out in there for a good 30 minutes before feeling the (by this time in my trip, normal-post-cycling) effects of dehydration and electrolyte imbalance. The lightheadedness was kind of nice and for a dollar one of the cheapest highs in Laos. That and Beer Lao, but I've already discussed the magic of Beer Lao. And since I've decided to go back to beer abstinance (which as we'll see in a minute lasted all of three hours) I felt great. Stumbling into the cool stream I stared up at the leaf speckled sky and smiled at how perfect this moment was. The dizziness wasn't clearing after I took 3 or 4 more trips to the steam room and started to wonder about the "jungle herbs" that were in the steaming pot above the fire. Back at the resort however my mind cleared after 2 liters of water. It was then, in my paralytic state, that I realized that Phut was talking to me. It was 90 degrees by now and it took me a minute to formulate an answer to his question. He just stood there waiting for my answer. Either he sees a lot of really drugged out tourists or, like everyone else in Laos, is so mellow that waiting 20 seconds for a reply is not abnormal.
"What party?" I asked. "You know, I told you yesterday my village is celebrate international womens day". Leaving the shaded, open deck/reception area and cycling in the blazing midday heat didn't sound really fun after a dehydration high. But how often does one get invited to a Laoatian villiage party? (As it turns out...all the time but how was I to know?) "Of course I'm going" I said, and thought, 'as soon as my legs lose that gelatenous feeling.'
I set out at about 1:00pm instantly remembering it was the hottest part of the day. In the clear cut jungle area I was surrounded by the pleasing and mystical sounds of wooden cowbells. The sound was all around and weird since I could only see an occasional emaciated cow in the scrub. I always think of percussion instruments as each bell has its own tone. With dozens of them tinkling invisibly and no other sounds and nothing around for miles it was my own private concert and I stood in the shadeless road smiling once again at Laos. It was the sweat pouring down my asscrack that pulled me from my reverie and I rode on to the small village. The booming subwoofers told me I was close. When I got to the school field there were maybe 150 people sitting outside under the trees. Plastic benches and stools were set up in front of a wall of massive speakers as a guy with a microphone in his hand was shouting excitedly into it. Being the only white guy in the crowd I felt a little uncomfortable realizing that this was their party and I was crashing it. Even though I had been invited, my host was back at the "resort". Just blend in I laughed to myself as I leaned my bike up against the fence. I haven't really bothered locking my bike these days as I have had no reason to. Back at home I would have put the chain through both wheels and found something strong to lock it to. Here in Laos it feels way safer than my own country. Maybe its just because they are all so wealthy I shrugged and went off into the crowd. The musicians had taken over the mic and were blaring some nice sounding Laos pop which has a swinging little reggae beat and great lyrics. Actually they were singing in Laoation which pissed me off but didn't seem to bother anyone else. People were staring at me while I was leaning up against a tree trying to be as inconspicuous as possible but the looks were not hostile at all. A handsome young guy in a starched shirt came up to me and invited me over to his table of friends. I told him I'd be right over and made a detour to the beer stand. There were 3 tables set up for concessions. One for chips and sunflower seeds, the other for meat stick snacks and the biggest by far was the Beer Laos stand. Grabbing three large bottles of beer I headed back to the group of friends who had cleared a spot for me. They were all well dressed and looked fresh whereas I had on a sweaty dirty T-shirt and some natty shorts. They didn't seem to care as their gaze was fixed on the beer. I was a hit as I opened them up and passed them out. But even though they were pleased, no one grabbed a bottle but just kept them together in the middle of the table. Then I realized that there were no cups and started looking around for some. The last pot luck I attended at home someone always brings the cups and plates...its an unspoken expectation and they always show up. Then at the end of the party we always gather up the trash bag and throw away 5 pounds of plastic. No such waste here! Someone stood by my side and poured me a half cup of beer and waited. I took a sip and continued the tortured conversation of where I lived etc. The guy pouring beer was still at my side and my young friend said "You must finish your beer". I thought it was some sort of macho thing about not sipping beer so I downed the rest. The guy pouring looked relieved and grabbed my cup, refilled it and gave it to someone else. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle! I don't know how many of us shared that cup that day but I was there for 3 hours and it was going strong when I left. I was at the table of college students who were visiting the village for 4 months teaching English to the local kids. They all wanted to speak English so I had the same conversations over and over until one woman asked me if I wanted to dance. The music was too loud in front of the speaker wall and that's just where everyone was. The Laos dance, as a generalization of course, like they live...very relaxed and slowly. Kind of like a reggae sway...you find that groove and hang with it. Everyone in the crowd with the same move and all smiling and laughing and loving the afternoon. Everyone includes the cool teen-agers, the married couples, the old ladies dancing together and a few drunk old men dancing alone. I was surprised to see that everyone was drunk as well. The Beer Loas was flowing hard but I was a bit shocked to see one 60-ish year old woman pouring beer down the throat of another older woman. As the beer soaked the front of her shirt they both just laughed and supported each other with a free arm. It was International Womens Day after all and these girls were milking every minute of it and having a blast. After many, many half cups of beer later and dance after dance with half the village, I had an experience I've never had before and gave me just one more reason to love this country. While dancing and looking out over the crowd I realized I was looking out over the crowd! Being 5'7" on a dance floor usually allows me the view of armpits and bouncing breasts...OK so not all bad but still a bit claustrophobic. Here the tops of heads were swaying and I could see to the horizon which was also swaying! It was time for me to go back to the lodge and drink something other than Beer Laos. I had to extricate myself from the party and especially from one guy who wanted me to sleep at his house all night...but not really sleep. The bike swayed a bit as I rode out of town they all waved and smiled and shouted goodbye.
The women here in Laos got one day off this year from cooking and sweeping and toiling and harvesting and slaving away. They took that day and, here in this village, played just as hard as they work. Unbridled joy in a crowd is a rare thing to see...it's a memory that I hope stays with me for a long time.
"What party?" I asked. "You know, I told you yesterday my village is celebrate international womens day". Leaving the shaded, open deck/reception area and cycling in the blazing midday heat didn't sound really fun after a dehydration high. But how often does one get invited to a Laoatian villiage party? (As it turns out...all the time but how was I to know?) "Of course I'm going" I said, and thought, 'as soon as my legs lose that gelatenous feeling.'
I set out at about 1:00pm instantly remembering it was the hottest part of the day. In the clear cut jungle area I was surrounded by the pleasing and mystical sounds of wooden cowbells. The sound was all around and weird since I could only see an occasional emaciated cow in the scrub. I always think of percussion instruments as each bell has its own tone. With dozens of them tinkling invisibly and no other sounds and nothing around for miles it was my own private concert and I stood in the shadeless road smiling once again at Laos. It was the sweat pouring down my asscrack that pulled me from my reverie and I rode on to the small village. The booming subwoofers told me I was close. When I got to the school field there were maybe 150 people sitting outside under the trees. Plastic benches and stools were set up in front of a wall of massive speakers as a guy with a microphone in his hand was shouting excitedly into it. Being the only white guy in the crowd I felt a little uncomfortable realizing that this was their party and I was crashing it. Even though I had been invited, my host was back at the "resort". Just blend in I laughed to myself as I leaned my bike up against the fence. I haven't really bothered locking my bike these days as I have had no reason to. Back at home I would have put the chain through both wheels and found something strong to lock it to. Here in Laos it feels way safer than my own country. Maybe its just because they are all so wealthy I shrugged and went off into the crowd. The musicians had taken over the mic and were blaring some nice sounding Laos pop which has a swinging little reggae beat and great lyrics. Actually they were singing in Laoation which pissed me off but didn't seem to bother anyone else. People were staring at me while I was leaning up against a tree trying to be as inconspicuous as possible but the looks were not hostile at all. A handsome young guy in a starched shirt came up to me and invited me over to his table of friends. I told him I'd be right over and made a detour to the beer stand. There were 3 tables set up for concessions. One for chips and sunflower seeds, the other for meat stick snacks and the biggest by far was the Beer Laos stand. Grabbing three large bottles of beer I headed back to the group of friends who had cleared a spot for me. They were all well dressed and looked fresh whereas I had on a sweaty dirty T-shirt and some natty shorts. They didn't seem to care as their gaze was fixed on the beer. I was a hit as I opened them up and passed them out. But even though they were pleased, no one grabbed a bottle but just kept them together in the middle of the table. Then I realized that there were no cups and started looking around for some. The last pot luck I attended at home someone always brings the cups and plates...its an unspoken expectation and they always show up. Then at the end of the party we always gather up the trash bag and throw away 5 pounds of plastic. No such waste here! Someone stood by my side and poured me a half cup of beer and waited. I took a sip and continued the tortured conversation of where I lived etc. The guy pouring beer was still at my side and my young friend said "You must finish your beer". I thought it was some sort of macho thing about not sipping beer so I downed the rest. The guy pouring looked relieved and grabbed my cup, refilled it and gave it to someone else. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle! I don't know how many of us shared that cup that day but I was there for 3 hours and it was going strong when I left. I was at the table of college students who were visiting the village for 4 months teaching English to the local kids. They all wanted to speak English so I had the same conversations over and over until one woman asked me if I wanted to dance. The music was too loud in front of the speaker wall and that's just where everyone was. The Laos dance, as a generalization of course, like they live...very relaxed and slowly. Kind of like a reggae sway...you find that groove and hang with it. Everyone in the crowd with the same move and all smiling and laughing and loving the afternoon. Everyone includes the cool teen-agers, the married couples, the old ladies dancing together and a few drunk old men dancing alone. I was surprised to see that everyone was drunk as well. The Beer Loas was flowing hard but I was a bit shocked to see one 60-ish year old woman pouring beer down the throat of another older woman. As the beer soaked the front of her shirt they both just laughed and supported each other with a free arm. It was International Womens Day after all and these girls were milking every minute of it and having a blast. After many, many half cups of beer later and dance after dance with half the village, I had an experience I've never had before and gave me just one more reason to love this country. While dancing and looking out over the crowd I realized I was looking out over the crowd! Being 5'7" on a dance floor usually allows me the view of armpits and bouncing breasts...OK so not all bad but still a bit claustrophobic. Here the tops of heads were swaying and I could see to the horizon which was also swaying! It was time for me to go back to the lodge and drink something other than Beer Laos. I had to extricate myself from the party and especially from one guy who wanted me to sleep at his house all night...but not really sleep. The bike swayed a bit as I rode out of town they all waved and smiled and shouted goodbye.
The women here in Laos got one day off this year from cooking and sweeping and toiling and harvesting and slaving away. They took that day and, here in this village, played just as hard as they work. Unbridled joy in a crowd is a rare thing to see...it's a memory that I hope stays with me for a long time.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Hey...I'm not dead yet!
I've been out of computer range for a while now but thanks for all the feedback...I'm so so so pleased you have enjoyed this blog. But don't stop now!!
I've been crying a lot lately. Well, not a lot, but sporadically and at inconvenient times. I have just over a week left on this journey and while I'm ready to go home I hate to leave. It's not Thailand that I hate saying goodbye to however. It's the entirety of it all. The intensity, and growth, and all the challenges and the meeting of those challenges that travelling has brought me. But that trip home is still a week away...lets go back a few days. Crossing the Friendship Bridge from Laos to Thailand was too easy and it was when I got to the immigration stop that I realized that the "adventure" part of my trip was over. The ass-kicking hills and the out of the way places and the general sense of being off the beaten track were all behind me now. In front were the 8 lanes of immigration checkpoints. The area was clean and organized and with yellow "king" shirts everywhere it was a stark reminder of being back in "civilization". The official smiled and warned me to ride safely as he saw I was on a bicycle. I was recalling my introduction to Laos a few weeks ago at a small border crossing where two grumpy officials in military fatigues unhappily stamped my passport and wouldn't answer my questions. But once beyond those guys Laos was the friendliest place I've ever been. If Thailand is known as the land of a thousand smiles then Laos would have to be the land of a whole lot of really smiley, high-fivin', happy people that don't resent you being in their country... at all. Cycling into Nong Khai I was amazed at all the traffic. Only the biggest freeway in Vientiane was this busy. I had become used to a newer, better pace. Here in Thailand people stopped at the red lights because there might be a car coming from another direction. In Vientiane (lonely planet calls it the most laid back capitol city in the world) people would come to a red light, realize no one was around for a mile or so, and run it. It seemed sensible enough to me even after I passed numerous painted outlines of mopeds on the road. At first I didn't understand. Then I came across fresh paint marks that were surrounded by monks praying for the souls of the deceased while family members held candles and flowers.
The pace was especially slow in the last place I visited in Laos. It was a nature preserve 50 km out of Vientiane. It was a nasty ride there as the air quality was some of the worst I've seen over here in Asia. This city was a smoke filled oven and even still I was a bit sad to leave it. Vientiane, for all its charm and crumbling French architecture, amazing baguettes and French food, incredibly ornate Wats and the smilin'est people on earth, is kind of a crap hole. I love Vientiane. You can't not love Vientiane. You love it like an old widower loves his 17 year old mangey, stinky, flea ridden but sweet dog. The dog that wants nothing more than for you to pet it... but the pustules on its skin make you think twice because you know intuitively what that skin will feel like all crusty and moist under your fingers. And you know what your hand will smell like after petting the thing, just as the old man inevitably offers you a pretzel or some other finger food that you can't politely refuse. So you have to excuse yourself to his bathroom for a hand wash but notice the bathroom hasn't been cleaned since his wife died and makes the the dog look positively sparkling. THAT is how you love Vientiene. Only the bathrooms aren't as clean and there is never soap or towels so your post anal scrub and cold water rinse while wiping your hands on your sweaty, salty bike shorts don't really improve your hygiene. But this isn't what I wanted to write about today at all. Back to the nature preserve.
Alisa rode about half way out to the park with me as she said she needed some exercise. Of course she was suffering from classical separation anxiety as we were going our own ways. Her fear of all the Laos children running up to her while cycling and giving her high fives was starting to take over her rational mind. She regarded me as some talisman of protection and didn't want to be on her own anymore. She had convinced herself that some 5 year old would take her out with a high 10 unless I was riding out in front. It's amazing what heat and electrolyte imbalance can do to ones mind. During the ride I had to give her the almost cliche, "Do you think your brother Lance worries about all the little French kids high 10-ing him everytime he has a hard climb up the Peloton?" speech. It seemed to work as she was able to shout out a few weak "Sabaidees" to the kids we passed. After 24km Alisa turned around and we said our goodbyes. As I watched her shrink in my rearview (with a tailwind dammit) I thought about how nice it was to travel with a friend who just happens to be a stronger cyclist that I. She pulled me up more hills than she will know and when the headwinds blew I was the perfect gentleman with a ladies first attitude. We managed to have only a very few arguments and I can count on both hands (OK toes too) how many times I wanted to kill her. Travelling is difficult. Travelling at close quarters under difficult conditions with a total stranger nearly impossible and yet we pulled it off and remain friends (until she reads this blog I'm afraid...sorry about the separation anxiety BS Alisa...but it is kind of funny). I also thought, as I travelled into the boonies, how nice it was to be travelling solo again. There is an openness that occurrs when alone and opportunities for self discovery present themselves. Actually the opportunity occurs with each pedal stroke (or each second of our lives if you will) if you pay attention. And I was paying attention as the road changed from paved to red dirt. I felt hot, dirty, sweaty, tired, strong, alone, connected, anxious, calm, concerned and care free. I FELT! I was alive and I knew it. This is life...this endless pointless spinning of pedals was life and I was in it and part of it all. This was my thought...and even before my usual afternoon opium dose! But still this isn't what I wanted to write about.
I'm sitting on the banks of the Mekong river looking across into Laos. On the main road over there an occasional car or moped drives by lazily. I miss that pace. I am in Nong Khai which is celebating some week long festival with amazing energy. Every night the streets are packed with stalls selling meat-shapes on a stick or fresh fruit or candies or coconuts or strange drinks like the black colored liquid with gelatinous chunks that taste like dirt and grass. Every other stall it seems is selling DVD's and the TV's with attached mega speakers pump out Thai karaoke. From distorted speakers, music overlaps the sounds from other distorted speakers. The shrill voices of hawkers trying to yell over the music. The masses all shuffle as if on a conveyor belt along streets too crowded to pass. Smoke from the noodle stands mixes with smoke from the "meat-stick-people" which mixes with the smoke from the fish grillers. Everywhere are blinkey lights and big stuffed animals and there is a screaming raffle give-away and small roller coaster rides for the kids. At the end of the street on a large stage a karaoke guy is singing between a group of Thai go-go dancers with black knee length boots. I pass by a TV showing mangled corpses being hauled out of some horrible car wreck (shown by the local EMS group). It all adds up to sensory overload and it is mad. Seeing as how I spent the last 3 nights in a nature preserve I'm not really that receptive to Thailands ability to overstimulate.
Lao Pako preserve sits on a 90 degree bend in the Na Ngam river 50km and a world away from Vientiane. Riding the red dirt roads through tiny unnamed villages with grass thatched huts I started to think I was lost. An hour and a half of jarring dust will do that. But finally a small sign pointed down a white sandy road and 3km later I was at the "resort". Surrounding the reserve was a flat desolate clear-cut area but once inside the park the beauty of the jungle was all around. The air was cooler and cleaner and the sounds in the trees calming. There were more staff than guests here and this place was laid back even for Laos standards. One of the activities on the notice board was "relaxing"...just under "reading a book". At the entry to the place was the omnipresent "sweeping guy". The Laos love to sweep. It's like a national past time. Everywhere you go someone will be sweeping. If there is another ice-age the Laos need to take up curling as a winter sport. Curling being about as exciting as Bocci ball...the other national past time in Laos. I think the reason sweeping is sweeping the nation is because of the brooms. Very flat and made with a wispy soft straw and a handle a foot too short, it's about as efficient as a size 10 Reebok for pushing crap into a pile. So a 15 minute sweep job takes an hour. Add to that the Laos sense of urgency about finishing anything and we're up to 90 minutes. But it's hot over here so I give them credit for even being aboe to move. Besides the gentle , slow, pushing of a broom the only other noise I heard was that of wildlife. The river slid silently by but the birds and insects and wind in the trees was serene. For the next 3 and a half days they would be my soundtrack of Laos.
But I think I started this blog with something about tears...not sure it was a long time ago. I feel torn between the pain of leaving and the joy I've had this year. But pain isn't even the right word...these are tears of being overwhelmed by an amazing journey. These are also tears of gratitude for a world so beautiful and for me being able to experience it. I went for a hard ride yesterday and while pushing it as hard as I could, I just lost it...screeaming and with tears streaming down my face. I am going home. My trip is over. I am not the same man I was 6 months ago...and of course I'm the same man. Travelling has kept me awake and alive and vibrant. I want to bottle it and take it home with me and sip from it and get drunk on it everyday! But I fear the "other" James. I fear my own sloth and laziness and self-doubt and inertia. I fear my own ruts and the shovels with which I dig them. The shovel of comfort. I fear toilet paper and cleanliness and hot running water and soft beds and all that I take for granted at home...how to stay aware and awake there?! I just read The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran and this struck me poignantly: "...or have you only comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house as a guest, and then becomes the host, and then a master". As doubts and laziness and comfort can drive me, so also can the fear of those things and I continue to move, to seek, to travel. It is time to find a balance between them...it's time to go home. My new mantra is, " Do not let comfort be my master".
I've been crying a lot lately. Well, not a lot, but sporadically and at inconvenient times. I have just over a week left on this journey and while I'm ready to go home I hate to leave. It's not Thailand that I hate saying goodbye to however. It's the entirety of it all. The intensity, and growth, and all the challenges and the meeting of those challenges that travelling has brought me. But that trip home is still a week away...lets go back a few days. Crossing the Friendship Bridge from Laos to Thailand was too easy and it was when I got to the immigration stop that I realized that the "adventure" part of my trip was over. The ass-kicking hills and the out of the way places and the general sense of being off the beaten track were all behind me now. In front were the 8 lanes of immigration checkpoints. The area was clean and organized and with yellow "king" shirts everywhere it was a stark reminder of being back in "civilization". The official smiled and warned me to ride safely as he saw I was on a bicycle. I was recalling my introduction to Laos a few weeks ago at a small border crossing where two grumpy officials in military fatigues unhappily stamped my passport and wouldn't answer my questions. But once beyond those guys Laos was the friendliest place I've ever been. If Thailand is known as the land of a thousand smiles then Laos would have to be the land of a whole lot of really smiley, high-fivin', happy people that don't resent you being in their country... at all. Cycling into Nong Khai I was amazed at all the traffic. Only the biggest freeway in Vientiane was this busy. I had become used to a newer, better pace. Here in Thailand people stopped at the red lights because there might be a car coming from another direction. In Vientiane (lonely planet calls it the most laid back capitol city in the world) people would come to a red light, realize no one was around for a mile or so, and run it. It seemed sensible enough to me even after I passed numerous painted outlines of mopeds on the road. At first I didn't understand. Then I came across fresh paint marks that were surrounded by monks praying for the souls of the deceased while family members held candles and flowers.
The pace was especially slow in the last place I visited in Laos. It was a nature preserve 50 km out of Vientiane. It was a nasty ride there as the air quality was some of the worst I've seen over here in Asia. This city was a smoke filled oven and even still I was a bit sad to leave it. Vientiane, for all its charm and crumbling French architecture, amazing baguettes and French food, incredibly ornate Wats and the smilin'est people on earth, is kind of a crap hole. I love Vientiane. You can't not love Vientiane. You love it like an old widower loves his 17 year old mangey, stinky, flea ridden but sweet dog. The dog that wants nothing more than for you to pet it... but the pustules on its skin make you think twice because you know intuitively what that skin will feel like all crusty and moist under your fingers. And you know what your hand will smell like after petting the thing, just as the old man inevitably offers you a pretzel or some other finger food that you can't politely refuse. So you have to excuse yourself to his bathroom for a hand wash but notice the bathroom hasn't been cleaned since his wife died and makes the the dog look positively sparkling. THAT is how you love Vientiene. Only the bathrooms aren't as clean and there is never soap or towels so your post anal scrub and cold water rinse while wiping your hands on your sweaty, salty bike shorts don't really improve your hygiene. But this isn't what I wanted to write about today at all. Back to the nature preserve.
Alisa rode about half way out to the park with me as she said she needed some exercise. Of course she was suffering from classical separation anxiety as we were going our own ways. Her fear of all the Laos children running up to her while cycling and giving her high fives was starting to take over her rational mind. She regarded me as some talisman of protection and didn't want to be on her own anymore. She had convinced herself that some 5 year old would take her out with a high 10 unless I was riding out in front. It's amazing what heat and electrolyte imbalance can do to ones mind. During the ride I had to give her the almost cliche, "Do you think your brother Lance worries about all the little French kids high 10-ing him everytime he has a hard climb up the Peloton?" speech. It seemed to work as she was able to shout out a few weak "Sabaidees" to the kids we passed. After 24km Alisa turned around and we said our goodbyes. As I watched her shrink in my rearview (with a tailwind dammit) I thought about how nice it was to travel with a friend who just happens to be a stronger cyclist that I. She pulled me up more hills than she will know and when the headwinds blew I was the perfect gentleman with a ladies first attitude. We managed to have only a very few arguments and I can count on both hands (OK toes too) how many times I wanted to kill her. Travelling is difficult. Travelling at close quarters under difficult conditions with a total stranger nearly impossible and yet we pulled it off and remain friends (until she reads this blog I'm afraid...sorry about the separation anxiety BS Alisa...but it is kind of funny). I also thought, as I travelled into the boonies, how nice it was to be travelling solo again. There is an openness that occurrs when alone and opportunities for self discovery present themselves. Actually the opportunity occurs with each pedal stroke (or each second of our lives if you will) if you pay attention. And I was paying attention as the road changed from paved to red dirt. I felt hot, dirty, sweaty, tired, strong, alone, connected, anxious, calm, concerned and care free. I FELT! I was alive and I knew it. This is life...this endless pointless spinning of pedals was life and I was in it and part of it all. This was my thought...and even before my usual afternoon opium dose! But still this isn't what I wanted to write about.
I'm sitting on the banks of the Mekong river looking across into Laos. On the main road over there an occasional car or moped drives by lazily. I miss that pace. I am in Nong Khai which is celebating some week long festival with amazing energy. Every night the streets are packed with stalls selling meat-shapes on a stick or fresh fruit or candies or coconuts or strange drinks like the black colored liquid with gelatinous chunks that taste like dirt and grass. Every other stall it seems is selling DVD's and the TV's with attached mega speakers pump out Thai karaoke. From distorted speakers, music overlaps the sounds from other distorted speakers. The shrill voices of hawkers trying to yell over the music. The masses all shuffle as if on a conveyor belt along streets too crowded to pass. Smoke from the noodle stands mixes with smoke from the "meat-stick-people" which mixes with the smoke from the fish grillers. Everywhere are blinkey lights and big stuffed animals and there is a screaming raffle give-away and small roller coaster rides for the kids. At the end of the street on a large stage a karaoke guy is singing between a group of Thai go-go dancers with black knee length boots. I pass by a TV showing mangled corpses being hauled out of some horrible car wreck (shown by the local EMS group). It all adds up to sensory overload and it is mad. Seeing as how I spent the last 3 nights in a nature preserve I'm not really that receptive to Thailands ability to overstimulate.
Lao Pako preserve sits on a 90 degree bend in the Na Ngam river 50km and a world away from Vientiane. Riding the red dirt roads through tiny unnamed villages with grass thatched huts I started to think I was lost. An hour and a half of jarring dust will do that. But finally a small sign pointed down a white sandy road and 3km later I was at the "resort". Surrounding the reserve was a flat desolate clear-cut area but once inside the park the beauty of the jungle was all around. The air was cooler and cleaner and the sounds in the trees calming. There were more staff than guests here and this place was laid back even for Laos standards. One of the activities on the notice board was "relaxing"...just under "reading a book". At the entry to the place was the omnipresent "sweeping guy". The Laos love to sweep. It's like a national past time. Everywhere you go someone will be sweeping. If there is another ice-age the Laos need to take up curling as a winter sport. Curling being about as exciting as Bocci ball...the other national past time in Laos. I think the reason sweeping is sweeping the nation is because of the brooms. Very flat and made with a wispy soft straw and a handle a foot too short, it's about as efficient as a size 10 Reebok for pushing crap into a pile. So a 15 minute sweep job takes an hour. Add to that the Laos sense of urgency about finishing anything and we're up to 90 minutes. But it's hot over here so I give them credit for even being aboe to move. Besides the gentle , slow, pushing of a broom the only other noise I heard was that of wildlife. The river slid silently by but the birds and insects and wind in the trees was serene. For the next 3 and a half days they would be my soundtrack of Laos.
But I think I started this blog with something about tears...not sure it was a long time ago. I feel torn between the pain of leaving and the joy I've had this year. But pain isn't even the right word...these are tears of being overwhelmed by an amazing journey. These are also tears of gratitude for a world so beautiful and for me being able to experience it. I went for a hard ride yesterday and while pushing it as hard as I could, I just lost it...screeaming and with tears streaming down my face. I am going home. My trip is over. I am not the same man I was 6 months ago...and of course I'm the same man. Travelling has kept me awake and alive and vibrant. I want to bottle it and take it home with me and sip from it and get drunk on it everyday! But I fear the "other" James. I fear my own sloth and laziness and self-doubt and inertia. I fear my own ruts and the shovels with which I dig them. The shovel of comfort. I fear toilet paper and cleanliness and hot running water and soft beds and all that I take for granted at home...how to stay aware and awake there?! I just read The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran and this struck me poignantly: "...or have you only comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house as a guest, and then becomes the host, and then a master". As doubts and laziness and comfort can drive me, so also can the fear of those things and I continue to move, to seek, to travel. It is time to find a balance between them...it's time to go home. My new mantra is, " Do not let comfort be my master".
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Who would've thought this was why I left Kauai
Hey! I have new photos up on the link if your interested check em out.
The heat was getting to us. It was the end of the day and after 10 hours of cycling out of the mountains and onto some level ground we were ready for the kick back part of the day. After heading south for the past 10 days the road started north again and the light headwind was getting annoying. Then after getting lost on smaller and smaller roads we were suddenly found. The dam appeared around a bend and we were almost to the guest house. Then out of nowhere it appeared. The road just shot up at an angle I hadn't seen since Thailand. One thing about Laos roads...they may be never-ending and damn steep but they were engineered with the idea of people actually using them...unlike Thai roads of which I've complained enough! But my legs were now jello after the long day and had nothing left, at all. We were both surly but I just lost it and started cussing and yelling at that hillside like it gave a damn. It didn't and around the next bend got even steeper. The spewing vitriolic hate that I let forth was powerful and started pulling me up the hill. Alisa was fighting her own battle and couldn't deal with my tantrum and told me to shut the hell up. I stood up and pedaled harder and with each stroke of my legs the cussing became more nasty and creative. I was out of earshot of Alisa now and having the big tantrum of this trip. My legs had re-developed the heat rash of southern Thailand and I was red-faced, soaked and mean looking when we came across two guys sitting at the side of the road. They smiled and pointed up the road when we asked if we were going in the right direction toward Na Nam. Normally this would have been encouraging but today everyone had the same response with differing estimates of distances. Ten kilometers back someone said, "Yes, Na Nam this way...maybeee 5 kilometers". Normally this kind of thing happens all the time here as people want to be friendly and polite and make you feel good. Normally this is an awesome trait that I love about SE Asia...friendly, smiling, and helpful strangers. These two pointed straight up the hill and said "Yes, maybe 2 kilometers". Normally I would have said thank you but it was good that I was panting so heavily or I might have started screaming at them to shut the hell up. As it was I rode off yelling at the road again and revelling in my hate fest. The power of anger is amazing and I tore up the hill using most of the little energy I had left. Turns out it was about a kilometer as the hill topped out around the next twist. And 2 hours later, I was feeling great and drinking a cold beer lao with the owner of a restaurant who used to work for the American secret airforce. ( Aside Alert! You know, the CIA funded nightmare called Air America that bombed most of Laos to hell trying to stop Ho Chi Minh as well as the communist insurgents in Laos. The airforce that ran more sorties in Laos than were run in Viet Nam! The secret airforce that dropped over 1000 pounds of ordinance for every citizen in Laos causing untold pain and death. Why didn't I learn about this crap in school, dammit?!) He still loved America and Americans and was so warm and sweet to us. With rotting teeth (some moving disturbingly as he talked) and love in his eyes he told of us repairing airplanes for the Americans. He didn't seem to care about the politics but he sure liked working with all the Americans. That was after his 9 year career of being a monk. In the morning he performed a ceremony and, putting a cloth bracelet on my wrist, blessed me and my family and wished me a safe and happy journey. It was a touching and wonderful connection in which two strangers from opposite ends of the world are sharing something bigger than each of them. But lets get back to my pain and infantile behavior for a minute.
The reason I began todays blog with my tantrum is that I realized something about myself in that rant. I can be a total whiner. I can be weak, or a crybaby. I can moan about the littlest things and I can be a real ass sometimes. In the past I always wanted to improve and change and "better" myself thinking that those traits made me unlovable. I got it, out here on the back roads of Laos, that nothing needs to change but the rediculous voice in my head that thinks I'm somehow incomplete! Ever! Somehow I came to understand (blame the heat) this week that those annoying traits make me human, not anything else. Sometimes they can even be assets. I don't have to be a certain way or have to change anything to be lovable. I've come to love myself on this trip. AND THAT IS WORTH LEAVING KAUAI FOR!! Having that realization has given me a feeling of completion and I'm ready to come home. I'm homesick for family and for my love, Sheryl and for a sense of groundedness that travelling often doesn't afford.
The heat was getting to us. It was the end of the day and after 10 hours of cycling out of the mountains and onto some level ground we were ready for the kick back part of the day. After heading south for the past 10 days the road started north again and the light headwind was getting annoying. Then after getting lost on smaller and smaller roads we were suddenly found. The dam appeared around a bend and we were almost to the guest house. Then out of nowhere it appeared. The road just shot up at an angle I hadn't seen since Thailand. One thing about Laos roads...they may be never-ending and damn steep but they were engineered with the idea of people actually using them...unlike Thai roads of which I've complained enough! But my legs were now jello after the long day and had nothing left, at all. We were both surly but I just lost it and started cussing and yelling at that hillside like it gave a damn. It didn't and around the next bend got even steeper. The spewing vitriolic hate that I let forth was powerful and started pulling me up the hill. Alisa was fighting her own battle and couldn't deal with my tantrum and told me to shut the hell up. I stood up and pedaled harder and with each stroke of my legs the cussing became more nasty and creative. I was out of earshot of Alisa now and having the big tantrum of this trip. My legs had re-developed the heat rash of southern Thailand and I was red-faced, soaked and mean looking when we came across two guys sitting at the side of the road. They smiled and pointed up the road when we asked if we were going in the right direction toward Na Nam. Normally this would have been encouraging but today everyone had the same response with differing estimates of distances. Ten kilometers back someone said, "Yes, Na Nam this way...maybeee 5 kilometers". Normally this kind of thing happens all the time here as people want to be friendly and polite and make you feel good. Normally this is an awesome trait that I love about SE Asia...friendly, smiling, and helpful strangers. These two pointed straight up the hill and said "Yes, maybe 2 kilometers". Normally I would have said thank you but it was good that I was panting so heavily or I might have started screaming at them to shut the hell up. As it was I rode off yelling at the road again and revelling in my hate fest. The power of anger is amazing and I tore up the hill using most of the little energy I had left. Turns out it was about a kilometer as the hill topped out around the next twist. And 2 hours later, I was feeling great and drinking a cold beer lao with the owner of a restaurant who used to work for the American secret airforce. ( Aside Alert! You know, the CIA funded nightmare called Air America that bombed most of Laos to hell trying to stop Ho Chi Minh as well as the communist insurgents in Laos. The airforce that ran more sorties in Laos than were run in Viet Nam! The secret airforce that dropped over 1000 pounds of ordinance for every citizen in Laos causing untold pain and death. Why didn't I learn about this crap in school, dammit?!) He still loved America and Americans and was so warm and sweet to us. With rotting teeth (some moving disturbingly as he talked) and love in his eyes he told of us repairing airplanes for the Americans. He didn't seem to care about the politics but he sure liked working with all the Americans. That was after his 9 year career of being a monk. In the morning he performed a ceremony and, putting a cloth bracelet on my wrist, blessed me and my family and wished me a safe and happy journey. It was a touching and wonderful connection in which two strangers from opposite ends of the world are sharing something bigger than each of them. But lets get back to my pain and infantile behavior for a minute.The reason I began todays blog with my tantrum is that I realized something about myself in that rant. I can be a total whiner. I can be weak, or a crybaby. I can moan about the littlest things and I can be a real ass sometimes. In the past I always wanted to improve and change and "better" myself thinking that those traits made me unlovable. I got it, out here on the back roads of Laos, that nothing needs to change but the rediculous voice in my head that thinks I'm somehow incomplete! Ever! Somehow I came to understand (blame the heat) this week that those annoying traits make me human, not anything else. Sometimes they can even be assets. I don't have to be a certain way or have to change anything to be lovable. I've come to love myself on this trip. AND THAT IS WORTH LEAVING KAUAI FOR!! Having that realization has given me a feeling of completion and I'm ready to come home. I'm homesick for family and for my love, Sheryl and for a sense of groundedness that travelling often doesn't afford.
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