one laotian riverboat

who wants a thai tot?

2007-12-20T21:57:00.000-08:00

theres one with a tummy that sticks out past his feet and has the best two-year-old waddle ive seen. dao is his name. we walk around together, his hand gripped on my pinky. he usually wears little red plastic paddington boots, sometimes two right feet. his teacher says he can come back with me to america. hes getting adopted soon though, and not by me.
theres another. monkey, b calls him. hes maybe five and has mild cp thats left him with a rapid trot and the tendency to fall down a lot. but b's taught him to do it with pride. now, when he crashes down on his side, he looks up at b with a giant goofy smile and gives him a thumbs up. and when we leave, he blows b a kiss.
one little girl likes to pee all the time. anywhere. she gets naked in front of ali and i and pops a squat on the playground and waits as ali fetches her shorts and pulls them up her pee streaked thighs. she's got round puffy cheeks and loves to make faces at herself in ali's sunglasses.
one is a gymnast. hes two maybe and can fly around on the old school monkey bars like no other kid in town.
theres a chinese boy with a face splitting smile and very convincing tantrums.
and theres more. many more. and we sort of want them all.
the kids at vieng ping childrens home arent the orphans we imagine. they live in a huge complex outside of chiang mai that looks more like a school than an orphanage, with open green fields and playgrounds that sit against the mountains. they have teachers with infinite patience. a woman who has worked there for 22 years, raising countless children, and still shows complete enthusiasm for the lives she affects. they have clean clothes and flip flops and rain boots. they have a tv. they get older and they go to school in tidy brown uniforms, coming home on buses; adolescent boys being adolescent boys.
they leave us with warm feelings so that at night, after the orphanage, the three of us sit around and gush about it. about each child we adore, about how amazing the place is, how well tell everyone we know to adopt from there.
but still, it hits, they are orphans. and when dao falls down and crys and needs to be held, im sorry hes with me--that he doesnt have a parent's arms to collapse into. still, they go to sleep at night alone, without the warmth of constant love curled next to them. they will grow in a community, but not a family.
its these thoughts together that will make it hard to say goodbye this afternoon. four days was more than enough time to become attached.
to want to take dao, his taut tummy pressed against my side, his paddingtons kicking at my hips, and carry him home with me.

ya's village

2007-12-15T05:29:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year take Hmong

2007-12-10T21:25:00.000-08:00

My most vivid memory of this weekend is watching a pig being carried into Ya's* house on a platter. It looked very much like a living pig, except it's back legs were split open and it's insides were taken out. The pig was surrounded by a handful of chocolate candies, strawberry wafers in pink wrappers, and two dead chickens. Minutes later, Leslie, Bryce, our friend Brian, Ya, Ya's brother, and I were gathered around the platter. Gathered around us were twenty-five Hmong men, and gathered around them were the Hmong women and children. We were taking part in a Basaii ceremony, where bad energy is removed from your body and replaced with good energy. The ceremony began with a long prayer chanted by Ya's grandfather. The six of us held our hands first down, then up, and then with our palms facing each other as the Hmong words filled our ears. Then the old man tied a white string on each of our wrists. The Hmong men in the room followed suit and began tying them on our wrists as well. Each time one was knotted, they said a prayer in Hmong ("It means for good things to come," translated Ya). When they were done, we each had two wrists full of white strings, and we were ready to sample what was on the platter. Ya's grandfather took a handful of sticky rice and a piece of chicken and handed it first to Brian, then to Bryce, and finally to Leslie and me. Leslie and I looked at each other, and with only a few moments hesitation, began to eat our chicken**. We were also given an inch of a clear liquor ("It has bees in it," said Ya) and a strawberry wafer. Then Ya led us outside, where Leslie and I breathed a giant sigh of relief that we did not have to sample the pig. The Hmong children that had been surrounding us ever since our arrival resumed their post, their dirt-smeared faces and runny noses not quite matching with the new clothes they wore in honor of the new year. We left the village a few hours later, but the white strings remain as memories of a truly unique experience.

*Ya is our lovely Lao friend whom we tutor at Big Brother Mouse. He is nineteen years old and one of the most hardworking, genuine, adorable people we have ever met.

**Ya knew we did not eat meat, and made sure we were given other options for our meals. But when you're handed a piece of chicken in the midst of an entire Hmong community, "no thank you" doesn't cut it.

dear blog

2007-12-08T01:15:00.000-08:00

we come home in three weeks.
were scared.
do you have jobs and a house for us?
thanks a lot.
love leslie.
ps. we really, really love laos, and, did you know, its the new york times number one place to visit in 2008? lets all go.
pps. were going to a village tomorrow with a student from brother mouse to celebrate the hmong new year with him and his family. more to come after our return.

chillin so hard i damn near froze my ass off

2007-12-05T20:19:00.000-08:00

Volunteering at Brother Mouse

Nothin but Hammock

For Tom and Denny

Lunch time

Thanksgiving

2007-11-21T22:11:00.001-08:00

Last Thanksgiving I was here.

With these guys.

Doing this.

This Thanksgiving I'm here.

With these girls.

Doing this.

Needless to say I'm thankful.

lao way

2007-11-19T17:01:00.000-08:00

in laos, we live by the sun.
six am this morning i wake up to the sound of beating drums, the call for alms at the temple across the street from our guest house. the rythmic thump is backed up by three women outside our window chopping vegetables. our walls are made of thin bamboo. i hear a man down the street sneeze and blow his snot onto the ground (very common).
sleep is no longer an option, so i go for a run.
here in luang prabang, we are staying one block up from the mekong river. running down our sidestreet toward the water, i pass a row of monks, ranging in age from maybe five to twenty-five, recieving alms from the numerous lao people lining the sidewalks on their knees with heads bowed and hands up in offering.
along the water the air is smokey. crop burning across the river.
the mekong is wide and the color of thick mud. the banks are steep and lined with rows of crops that drop directly into the water. on the other side, fires shoot up, just against the edge of the imposing jungle.
i run toward the outskirts of town, following the water so as not to lose my place. there are very few guesthouses out here, a nice retreat from the rest of the town that although beautiful, is highly equipped for the wealthy euro tourist.
here the shops are local and lao, save for an english sign here and there advertising 'beer' or 'coffe.' women line the front porches, sitting on their haunches, picking off papaya seeds, grinding in the mortar and pestal, rinsing rice.
a man on the corner catches my eye. hes on the edge of the sidewalk with a tightly woven bamboo slat held above his head. he times himself, and bounds out infront of me, across the street with tiny specks of sticky rice falling from above, raining down around him. he looks back and smiles, knowing hes just given me a show.
a bit further and two boys are playing soccer. they see me coming and stop for a moment, taking in lao, and laughing. maybe its my awkward american strides, my pale skin, my mens swim trunks and red coca-cola shirt. but i laugh with them, and they laugh harder.
further down it gets more rural, quickly. i catch myself crossing back and forth to avoid the street dogs, because no matter how many there are, or how much i see noel pet them, my mind still goes, rabiesrabiesrabies.
its now a jungle on both side of the mekong. giant palms tower over the banks, blurred in the sunlight and smoke. chickens peck around in the brush beside the road, a rooster belts out an all too annoying crow every few seconds.
i choose a line of tiny chicks in the road as my turn around point. im tired and out of shape, and not quite ready to go into rural laos alone.
i get back in time to see noel before she leaves for sleep away elephant camp, where, she hopes, she will be bathing and massaging an elephant named raja.
b is still sleeping, sore and tired after a long day of climbing yesterday.
ali and i are, as always, awake and ready to go.
we are volunteering again this morning at brother mouse, a non profit, lao run program that publishes lao books, promots literacy in the villages, and offers improtu english lessons (where we come in) to students and adults hoping to improve their skills.
after that, perhaps another round at our new favorite lao restaurant for another sticky rice extraveganza.
then maybe $6/hour massages.
or a bike ride along the river.
or some temple visits.
or just chilling all day every day. the lao way.

Ha Long (DWS) to Sapa

2007-11-16T01:42:00.000-08:00

Ha Long Bay

Pro! - Photo by Ses

Ses and Ali (DWS) - Photo by Noel

B (DWS) - Photo by Noel

B (DWS) - Photo by Noel

Cat Ba Island

Ha Noi

Sapa

Sapa Trek - Photo by Ali

Sapa Trek

Sapa Trek

Sapa Trek

and just plain cute!

Sometimes shrimp hits the spot a tofutti cutti misses.

2007-11-11T02:39:00.000-08:00

Many of you know that Leslie and I were vegans before this trip. And we were pretty hardcore about it: we made dinner every night from scratch, using organic ingrediants and scanning labels to make sure no gelatin or whey slipped into our diets. We replaced honey with agave, cheese with nutritional yeast, and even went so far as to buy vegan Worchestire sauce for one measly vegan meatloaf dinner. Anyway, the point is that we knew we couldn't sustain ourselves on this diet in the land of fish. We began our exit from veganism with a package of Nutter Butter cookies at the Seattle airport. From there, we dabbled in fish sauce, shrimp and eggs in our fried rice, a piece of fried squid every once in a while. We are definitely being good about eating nonvegan foods; while we haven't had any meat, we will eat soup with chicken broth, and if a kind Vietnamese family makes us dinner, we will eat whatever is served. But for the most part, we remain mostly vegan with some cheese or egg or fish every once in awhile.
Two nights ago, I was drawn to a floating restaurant in Cat Ba, Vietnam, where we arrived that afternoon. There was nothing special about it- no twinkly lights or giant fake martini glass adorning the roof- just another raft with a tin roof floating in the water. It was very hard to see it from the dock, and maybe that's why I wanted to go so badly. After two or three boat drivers asked us if we wanted to go across as I gazed longingly at it, Leslie, Bryce, and I finally said yes. We were taken to the restaurant, which turned out to be (basically) someone's house with some chairs set up in front. A family of ten or so were crowded around the television, which spewed what looked like a Vietnamese soap opera. We had already eaten dinner, so we planned on having a drink (our thoughts from afar were that this was a floating bar). A family member hopped up when we came over, and when we tried to seat ourselves at one of the metal tables, he motioned to us to follow and said the word "menu". The "menu" turned out to be a small aquarium of assorted fish in the floor of the restaurant. In separated nets, there swam crabs, tiny fish, small fish, big fish, gigantic fish, shrimp, and larger shrimp. We explained we had come for a drink, which we got and returned to our table. Meanwhile, vegans 1 and 2 decided that a trip to a Vietnamese floating restaurant which specializes in the freshest fish in the sea would just not be complete without said fish in our bellies. So I made my way back over to the menu and told the server (pointed, rather) that we wanted some shrimp. "One kilo?" he asked, and since I had never ordered live shrimp from a hole in the floor, I nodded, assuming this was the right amount for us. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at our table with a giant platter of shrimp. It was enough shrimp for a wedding party. They were pink and had their heads and legs and tails still on. I quickly remembered that I had only been a vegan since January; prior to that I ate everything under the sun, including said shrimp. So while Leslie (who has been a vegetarian for ages, and a vegan for two years) sat back and admired our abilities, Bryce and I peeled every last one of those shrimp. And we all ate them all.

chon: coffee beans picked out of weasal excrement

2007-11-04T05:46:00.000-08:00

hoi an, it feels like epcot. but maybe less manicured. hoi an, it feels like venice. with the river spilling onto and taking over streets. with boats parked next to doorsteps. it's venice, but shallower. people wade through the murky water, lifting their knees high, maneuvering around the boats and up onto cement steps. the small streets, the way they twist and turn it feels like any small town in eastern europe. italo calvino echoes in my head.
the more you travel, he says, the more every city looks the same.
he's right. hiking through a pine forest outside of dalat may as well be oregon. it may as well be one of our backyards. we're huffy and puffy and splotchy the same as we would be climbing any mountain, anywhere. trekking, our guide says, is easy. "but watch out for plant that might poke you in eye. trekking not so easy." we are not in middle america. the difference is the yoda-like advice we recieve along the way. the need for a guide. the bright green snake littering our path . his head is detached and crusted over with blood. if this bamboo snake was alive enough to bite one of us, our guide says, it's no problem. "two hours maybe, and then you're gone. dead." it makes me wonder how long i would have lived if the coral snake this summer bit me. and of the first time i touched a snake in the childrens zoo in indiana and thought it felt like a basketball.
the next morning, waking up on langbiang mountain, ali and i jump out of our tent and place our feet in large muddy circles made by an elephant. we follow his footsteps down to the river and watch him take a bath. i think maybe my cousin would love to be here watching this. ali has a list of people she thinks would love this too. this isn't a normal event we're watching, but normal enough maybe that we can picture our friends here sharing the experience with us.
sitting on the beach in nha trang may as well be any beach anywhere. a beggar woman who i earlier saw walking around perfectly straight, approaches me as though she's a ninety degree-er. slumped over, her teeth are black and protruding and she keeps coming closer. i'm scared to shake my head no to whatever it is she's selling because my nose is large and her teeth are protruding and black, and she's still coming closer. i'm reminded of false teeth my brother had during halloween when we were children. i'm thinking about my friends who smoke. and bryce brings me back from my barrage of associated thoughts by cracking a joke. do you think she chews any of that gum she's selling?
we admit the fact that we are tourists and join a day tour, a boat trip that will take us to four islands. we're not hopeing for anything particular but the day quickly becomes more than a stroll through disneyland. a vietnamese tourist, drunk by eleven am, he hops up on a table laden with fruit. waves crash into our boat, and unknowingly force him to sway and stomp, and his feet are squirting watermelon juice. this man in his glasses, white tank top, short shorts with his arms flailing, he thinks he's dancing. two austrailian tourists are becoming makeshift towers as their friends grab plates from under his feet and pile them on their laps. we're paralyzed. laughing so hard no sound is coming out. we've reverted into thirteen year old girls, embarrassed by everything our parents do. we're digging our elbows into each other's rib cages because we can't look away but want to make sure all of us are truly seeing this. if we were with it enough to videotape this, it could be the next big hit on youtube. this table dance on this no-nonsense primary colored boat. this is an event. we picture our friends here. we think of every boat ride we've ever been on.
it's a game. find reminders that you are traveling. that you are halfway around the world from your life. pagodas and temples, they stand out with their overtly asian influenced architecture. but pass five, pass ten and the novelty wears off. it feels as though they've been there your whole life, only every time you passed by the fence you maybe forgot to look up. in hoi an, i think i may as well be in epcot or maybe venice. i can easily picture friends and family here. the thing here that keeps grabbing my attention are the lanterns. they don't remind me of anything. it's the first time in weeks where i'm struggling to find an association. i think maybe my life has been lacking in lanterns. devoid of diffused lighting. i'm enchanted by them. the pink one next to my bed. i can't stop turning it on and off. the red ones in the coffee shop distract me from my book. i rethink my future and clutter any daydreams with lanterns. i want to buy a bunch and fill my backpack with them. and set them up everywhere i go from now on. be the johnny appleseed of lanterns. but then i pass a large, round white one and realize, maybe i've seen it before. it's similar to the one on our porch in kampot, cambodia. and i've failed.
i've failed at finding the unusual in hoi an. lanterns have been in my life before. the only real difference from city to city are the people. the people i grew up with, the people i went to college with. they make every city, every place an event. i'm not searching for anything in particular, but the people i meet along the way, they are the reasons why my memories resurface constantly. and this nondescript white lantern it makes me think of the engagement party in cambodia and why i travel. and it makes me want to share the latest letter we received from our new penpal. because even if we aren't great at responding to your comments, to your emails, everything here reminds us of everyone there. and really, our new penpal, his english and his spelling, it's too cute not to share. and really, i spelled his name wrong too. it's not chet, its socheat. so there.

hello how are you in this morning im well. becouse my puppy have another dog come to beit my puppy black one so blood came out and alot of blood on the fluor and after that i talk puppy to hospitol dog. so after view hour puppy better but for me so sad becouse i love puppy so much . now are you still in vietnam it nice country and did you have interesting some pleace. say to everyone i miss all friends like you eriksen lesliw and ali and all the best for everyone. enjoy your holiday socheat your friends see you bye

trekking

2007-10-29T21:41:00.000-07:00

a sea urchin and me, together forever

2007-10-24T20:11:00.000-07:00

crossing the street in ho chi minh city is a lot like nightmare i used to have--the one where youre stuck in the middle of a million people, naked and scared.
of course here i am fully clothed, but the feeling is quite similar.
ali has been here before and has to coach us through it, saying the best way is probably just to close youre eyes and go.
everyone and their mother, their grandmother, and their grandchild drives a moterbike, making for streets that look like an ant hill just hit by a tornado.
but were learning. the key, weve found, is to wait for a local to start to cross, to cling desperately close to them, hold hands with eachother, and wait until the other side to take a breath.
that said, im already in love with vietnam. on our six hour bus ride here from phnom penh i worried i would miss cambodia too much. miss the people, the kids, the feeling that that country gave me--this feeling of being connected to every human and every part of this world. i know, incredibly, overly, disgustingly sentimental, but true nonetheless.
we are now in vietnam because after finding ourselves in the northernmost rural parts of cambodia, ready to go to laos, we realized we were taking a geographically backward route, were weeks away from an ATM with not enough cash to last, and i still had a sea urchin in my foot that threatened me everyday with the thought of something scary in laos. (a nice french doctor informed me yesterday that my sea urchin and i need not part, because even he wouldnt want to cut open his foot in this part of the world.)
coming from cambodia, vietnam feels worlds away. it is, in comparison, clean, wealthy, abundant with chubby babies, overflowing in declicious food, and equipped with an outdoor climbing wall for b.
today is our second and last day in HCMC. tomorrow morning we leave for dalat, a city six hours north of here in the central highlands, where we hope to do some trekking in the national parks and to the surrounding hill tribes, and will write more once said adventures have taken place.

brand new

2007-10-16T05:31:00.000-07:00

boy in kampot

still wet from being born

sunsets never get old

kind of wish we could sit here all day every day too

we went on a five hour bumpy ride in a camry to get here

bokor hill abandoned casino turned hotel turned khmer rouge headquarters

same same

we think we see ghosts

we went to church. nobody showed.

a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose

2007-10-15T19:26:00.000-07:00

We weren't really ready to come to Phnom Penh, but somehow we're here and it isn't bad at all. Leslie and Noel and I are walking down the street and it's hot and dusty and there are no sidewalks. Every few steps, a moto nearly knocks one of us over, but somehow we're having a good time. We go to the largest market I've ever been to, but it's too hot and I can't breathe through my nose there, so we leave. Men on their motor bikes follow us to see if we want a ride, and we don't but they keep asking and following. Tuk tuks inch up to us and stop in front of our path because how could we possibly want to walk in a city with no sidewalks? We don't want a ride, we can find our way. Except somehow we can't, and we end up outside of central Phnom Penh. We have to step over piles of garbage as we make our way back to the main city and to the restaurant we've picked from our Lonely Planet. Our water is gone and our shirts are wet with sweat, but we're still having fun. We walk all the way to the restaurant and a sign says it's closed for a few days. So we find a restaurant next door and all is well. We eat and we're too full to walk back, so we find a tuk tuk and when I point on the map where we want to go, the driver doesn't know and says 'do you know' and I do know but don't know if I can instruct him over both of our shoulders, so finally I point some more and he nods that he knows where to go. So we drive but he doesn't know, we end up at a restaurant and he hops out and the three of us smile at each other because it's pretty funny. The driver disappears and then comes back and takes my Lonely Planet and brings it to a big group of Khmers at a table. They all look at the book, eight or nine of them, and Leslie and Noel and I are laughing, and finally they realize where to go and the driver is yelled at by the group of people. He gets back in, and the three of us don't care if the ride takes an hour, but it doesn't and we're back at our hotel in ten minutes and we spend a few hours in the room, but it's not at all boring and somehow we've had a very excellent day.

tuk tuk me to the bathroom

2007-10-13T00:49:00.000-07:00

sweat is cascading down my back and my arm brushes against the boy next to me. i smile an apology and change my rhythm to mimic his movements. he smiles back mischievously, changing his dance to something quicker and more complicated. i'm not sure what's more surreal, the fact that i've been invited to an engagement party in rural cambodia or the eight sub-woofers that are blasting a new beat for what feels like the entire village.
a large group of onlookers are leaning against mango trees content to watch an even larger mass of dancers. leslie's pigtail braids bounce against her shoulders as she dances next to ali in front of a crowd of eager children. something happens and a handful of girls slow to a halt. there is some whispered conversation and a shy girl in a yellow shirt is pushed to the front. she blushes and in a moment finds the courage to move her hands from in front of her face to behind her back. she stretches her neck skyward.
"are you happy?"
somehow leslie and ali both manage to make their already large grins bigger as they nod vigorously.
"yes. very happy."
the posse of girls shriek and their grins somehow grow as well. the dancing continues with renewed energy. behind the group and off to the side, bryce is towering over our khmer host. twenty four year old, chet is the picture of cool in his black wife beater and black pants. he is a good dancer. his movements are relaxed and smooth in the same easy manner he exudes at night, talking story with us on the porch of our bungalow. if he knew that our presence at the party would encourage so many stares, he doesn't let on. he is the only one here who acts like this is completely normal. we do our best to dance and fit in but many locals follow us around staring. many approach and practice a few lines of english, the children have attached themselves to the girls and the men want bryce to drink rice wine and play cards. we've even captured the attention of the town drunk who is always close by.
chet works at the guesthouse we are staying at and, since our arrival a week ago, has quickly become our friend. when he mentioned tonight's party, none of us knew what to expect. but now the four of us are across the street from his current, and childhood home in a village eight kilometers outside of kampot. rocking out, immersed in a cambodian block party.
The music slows and most of the dancers move to the sides. eager for a breath all of us end up on the edge of the dance floor. we've been here for a few hours and just like every other break we've tried to take, it's interrupted by another local asking us to dance. the invitations are too good to pass up. there is a folding table in the middle of the dance floor with two vases full of fake magenta flowers. we join everyone slowly making their way around it as they walk in a circle, taking four steps forward, and then four slow steps back in a traditional dance. lightning occasionally brightens the night sky providing strobe lights for anyone relaxed enough to look. after a few songs, we opt for another break on the sidelines. an old woman with a hard face approaches chet. she leans in and says something that sounds serious. he tells us we've been invited into her home for refreshments. we smile agreement, and her deep wrinkles rearrange into a heartfelt smile. we take off our shoes at her doorstep and enter a one room house. there is a bed and and a floor mat full of sleeping children. another mat has nine school age boys crowded around a handheld sega game. they are all eagerly watching the screen but impressively not fighting over it. the four of us follow chet and the woman and sit cross legged around another floor mat. i notice for the first time that the old woman is already in her bubblegum pink silk pajamas and my eyes meet her gaze. i place my hands together in front of my chest and bow towards her saying the only khmer words i know au khon 'thank you.' she bows back and points to plates of cookies and a customary holiday food of candied bananas wrapped in sticky rice and banana leafs. after some tea cools, it is passed around as well. we sit, comfortably smiling and completely content, forgetting even, that there is a language barrier. after a bowl of water is passed around to wash our hands in, we are invited to once again dance.
we start again with the traditional dance but after a while a song from the black eyed peas that has been dubbed into khmer takes over. it's almost midnight, the night has passed all too quickly and this is our last dance. as we exit the dance floor everyone seems to know that we are leaving. the crowd of our new friends stop moving. our waves are returned with smiles and shining faces. herman hesse has a short story where he basically says he is forced to travel, to be a wanderer because so much love gushes out of him. he says every tree he passes, every coffee shop he steps into, even the strangers across the room engaged in a lively conversation with someone else pull more and more out of him. if i thought i understood his sentiments before, they have grown tenfold to a point that is almost painful. i'm overjoyed with the fake flowers, the tea, and even more with the faces that are familiar after just a few hours of dancing. khmer hospitality is not just a rumor. and i hope that the man i bow to just before ducking under the fence, understands that i'm not just saying thank you as i utter au khon.

top ten list

2007-10-08T20:16:00.002-07:00

less in the mood to blog, more in the mood to list, so here are the top ten things i keep thinking about:

1-the fact that were in cambodia.
2-the girl that went flying off the top of our double decker dilapidated boat on our trip from battembang to siem reap after our boat, while navigating through the mangroves, managed to run into/slightly over a family's fishing boat/house (ie few pieces of plywood painted blue). the girl was fine. were still glad we were on the first level.
3-the blue pumpkin cafe in siem reap, clearly fashioned after some swanky coffee shop from sex in the city, complete with while pull out couch beds to eat ice cream and drink coffee on.
4-veganism. were being good non-vegan sports, but miss it terribly. veganism and i were meant to be together.
5-how incredibly stupid i must be to have stepped on a sea urchin yesterday. his needles are still purple and in the bottom of my foot and i feel like an idiot.
6-truman capote and virgina wolfe. read other voices other rooms, am reading to the lighthouse. i know things didnt end well for either, and they had their share of issues,but sort of want to be both of them when i grow up.
7-the prospect of doing a homestay in laos. our lonely planet (the book we read about 30 times a day) informed us that a lao homestay is a must, seeing as if you want to experience lao culture, and most people live in the country or the hills, you just gotta join em.
8-khmer kids. going to have to keep one someday.
9-bryce on a bike. much to his displeasure, we spent our first day at angkor on rented crap bicycles that shook and rattled us for hours along the roads from temple to temple. his ass still hurts and he hasnt let us forget.
10-still having fun. it doesnt feel like its been a month, nor does it seem possible we only have two and half left with all the things we still want to do.

Cambodia

2007-10-06T21:23:00.000-07:00

Prior to a cooking class in Battambang...

2007-10-03T05:50:00.000-07:00

The next morning, we're in the market- Noel, Leslie, and I- and it's ten in the morning and there's blood everywhere. To my right there's a woman with purple painted nails and diamond ring and she's taking the scales off a fish, and gutting a fish, and there's blood on her manicure and her ring. Behind me there are white frogs, their skin pulled off prior to their market arrival. I can't keep my eyes off the frogs (that look absolutely similar to the ones we dissected in my biology class) and the bucket of live turtles and the catfish flopping in a centimeter of water and the fish already dead and dried and pried apart and hung up for shoppers to ogle. Everywhere there are people and they laugh at me, a white girl with blue eyes, who's maybe never seen a fish being gutted (though I have) or chunks of red meat being squeezed like a fat baby cheek. I stare at the foods, and they stare at me, but there is a kindness in their eyes, too, and I don't feel embarrassed. It reminds me of being a little kid, when my parents would take my sisters and me to Chinatown in New York. I would be terrifed at the strange foods and smells: the black snails in barrel, the pork buns, the Chinese characters I couldn't being to decipher. Then, I couldn't wait to get back in the car and drive home to what was familiar to me. Here, now, in Cambodia, there isn't another place I'd rather be than this market, with the noisy bursts of Khmer, the putrid smells, and the blood of somebody's dinner underfoot.

long ago

2007-10-02T06:39:00.000-07:00

the road is rough and i dont know where to put my hands.
im fighting against my urge to wrap my arms around my moto driver, kim, and decide to lean uncomfortably back and grasp onto the metal bars behind my butt.
"are you ready for the snow?" he says. i lean forward, our cheeks nearly touching, and can see that his round face is breaking into a smile.
"the snow?"
"cambodian snow. you go home and tell your family it snows in cambodia."
for a moment i think that the language barrier has gotten to us, then i catch a face full of dust, hear him giggle, and get the joke.
kim and i are in the front of the group with noel, bryce, ali and their drivers behind us. were going slow, navigating the thin line of raised dirt between pot holes and puddles.
i tell him repeatedly how lucky he is that im not the one driving.
we are just outside of battambang in northwestern cambodia and are driving through the country side on our way to see a former khmer rouge killing cave.
"my mother works in one of those," he says, nodding his head towards a rice patty where i see a group of heads rising above the water. "its very bad. very bad."
the majority of cambodians live in the country and work as rice famers of fishermen. the rice patties, however, can only be harvested in the four months of the rainy season, leaving a large portion of the population our of work for eight months at a time.
i struggle with my words, hoping to say soemthing more empathetic, more understanding, more human than, 'thats crazy.'
we stop a few kilometers before the cave so b can get off and take a picture on the side of the road. walking towards us is a line of five children. "look at that naked one; hes the leader," kim says, with his signature kim giggle.
i look and see a little naked boy, no older than three and unearably cute, leading a group of children all holding bamboo fishing poles. like all the other cambodian children and families we encouter, they turn to us and smile.
they smile the most genuine smile i have ever seen.
and they wave, their arms flying in the air as if it were possible we would miss a group of the most adorable children on a fishing trip.
at the entrance to the killing cave, kim says he will make the fifteen minute hike with us to the top and be our guide.
after panting our way up the hill we stop outside a modest temple that was used, as most were, as a prison during the reign of the khmer rouge.
"it was very scary for everyone," he says, looking out ove the hillside. "you could no longer work. they closed all the factories. you had to move the jungle and obey your khmer leader."
he points to bryce and i and explains that we wouldn't be allowed to be together then. that couples, families, werent recognized, and that we would have been paired with a random person by our camp general. if we chose not to do this, an example would be made of us, with all others in the camp around to watch as we were beaten to death.
kim gives us a timeline of the last thirty years in his country, inserting on occasion references to his own family and their decision to flee cambodia.
we learn he spent ten years of his life, from age five-15, living in a refugee camp in thailand. again, i dont know what to say, and only manage to tell him it must have been hard.
"no, it was fine, my parents carried me some. it was a long time ago," he says.
im thrown by how casual he is. the history seems painfully recent to me, a person from the other side of the world who wasnt even alive at the time.
yet kim tells me again and again, it was long ago. when i say it is hard for my dad and his friend to comprehend us coming to an area they fought desperately to aviod, he laughs. "no, very long ago."
we leave the cave and our back on our bikes. driving through small shanty villages, i see this attitude in everyone.
people are sitting on the ground under grass roofs, eating with their families, smiling and jumping up to wave at us.
these are people who lived under a regime of complete destruction and terror, saw their families torn apart, and now struggle to feed themseleves. yet, they look indescribably more happy than the people of any american town. any town where the people have homes, schools, food, money.
i cant help but eagerly wave at every child we see. some run alongside the motorbike for a few steps, saying "hello, byebye, hello, byebye."
kim notices and asks me if i like children. i tell him about my girls in san francisco that i miss and how im pretty sure im going to have to adopt a cambodian child someday.
very good, he says.
kim has three younger siblings of his own, all of which are in high school that is not publicly funded.
between his seven dollars a day as a tour guide, if the tourism is high, and his mothers salary as a farmer, they pay for school.
"i have to be very good," he says. "i am good, my brothers and sisters will see be and be good too. if i am bad, they will be bad."
he says he is proud to be the example to them. he also has an older sister who has a family of her own. i almost ask kim if he is married with children, as many 30-year-olds here would be, but then i sense something uncomfortable in his tone. he says that since his sister has her own family, he must be at home. his father is too old to work, so he is, as he says, second dad.
i tell him about my brother, my niece, my family, and he wants to know everything.
i keep thinking im going to feel awkward at some point. awkward that i am here, traveling, and he has left cambodia only as a refugee. awkward that i make more in an hour than he does in a day. awkward at our extreme differences.
but i dont.
we continue to talk. about going to university, history, work, bush, and american hip hop. i ask him question after question about khmer history, all of which he answers eagerly.
he wants to know everything about working in the us, as he has a cab driving cousin in la and a card dealing one in vegas. i lean foward so we can talk more easily, my chin hovering above his shoulder, my hands in my lap.
"what are all the jobs you have done?" he asks.
i tell him i used to work at a coffee shop and had to get up at 430am to work before school.
to that, he laughs and tells me he is very lucky.

hey, 711, stop selling me cookies and making me fat

2007-09-27T03:12:00.000-07:00

so, as it turns out, i am not a meterologist. for months when i gave people who asked about our then upcoming trip my little spiel, i would include, 'well you know, were going at the end of the rainy season (insert tone that means we are so smart to go then) so really, it will be sunny all the time.' who do i think i am? i know nothing about weather. and rainy season, well it means rainy.
since ali's last post from phang-nga, we spent one day of overcast at a waterfall park (photos by bryce below), then left the next morning for the beach town of khao lak. our lonely planet called this place a 'sleepy beach town,' a great place to get away and enjoy the scenery, which of course became completely romanticized in my mind to basically mean, 'leslie bryce and alis private beach, equipped with sunshine, hammoks, and free fresh squeezed juice!'
of course, this book is two years old and the town has completely recovered from the tsunami and is now a resort town reserved for middle-aged germans.
and it rained the entire time.
we didnt get to rent the motor bikes we wanted to and day trip to actual sleepy beach towns and nearby national parks.
instead, we ate at the restaurant attached to our bungaloo four times a day and sat on the bed playing cards.
we each had a few pissed off moments a day during which we stood on our porch, glaring at the sky, saying 'screw you rain, screw you thailand lake tahoe for germans, screw you 7-11 for being so close and letting me eat cookies all day.'
yet, those moments passed quickly and we went back to card games and talking.
so much of travelling, especially a trip of this length, is the company you are with. we all chose to be together, experience together, and travel together for a reason, and those shitty few days of rain in resort land were made not only bearable, but generally enjoyable due to that fact.
we left our not so sleepy bungalow yesterday for phuket, which, it turns out, is the town we were looking for. our room at the on on hotel was delightfully rustic (think character and cockroaches) and our afternoon spent walking around, seeing a thai movie, and eating at the largest and most empty restaurant,which in hindsight we believe may have been a brothel, allowed us a glimpse at life in a real thai city.
this is a balance id been waiting for.
in tonsai it was beautiful but could have been california.
in phang-nga we were the only tourists. it was slightly isolating, challenging, and uncomfortable at times-a discomfort that i love about travelling, but was ready to leave behind after five days.
in khao lak i felt like one of the travelers that i hate.
and here, it all came together. people actually live here and have lives outside of the tourist industry, and cute little homes with sino-portugese architecture. they seem happy to have us, yet arent hell bent on selling us sarongs and elephant tours.
this morning before we left our room, planning to spend the day in the city before taking off to meet ashley tonight, we all agreed wed have a great day in this town. i told b and ali i was done looking for the beach, because thats not the reason were here, and when you end up in a beach town in the tropical storms, you feel like and asshole. i said, if beach falls in my lap, ill take it, other than that, im done.
so of course, the sky opened up this morning, we met a social working, middle-aged bald gay man (ie a thai san franciscan) who served us coffee in his childrens art center, and told us we must go the beach, where to take the bus, and shooed us out the door.
the beach was beautiful. we spent a good hour jumping waves in the clear water, followed by excessive sun worshipping (with sunscreen, parents) and fresh pinapple, mango and papaya salads.
soon we will meet ashley, something we are all way too excited about, and be taking off for cambodia, again, too excited.
we hope to be in battembang eating french food (avioding the cambodian speacialty of deep fried spiders) and heading on to siem reap and angkor wat in a couple of days.

a few more photos

2007-09-25T02:00:00.000-07:00

hey all, if you want to see better quallity images and others that i havnt posted click here: www.flickr.com/photos/62731681@N00

photos photos photos

2007-09-20T22:33:00.000-07:00

to tonsai

our house

tonsai

climb-on

pool pool pool

Muslim village on stilts

for the folks

Don't be alarmed if we come home with a Thai child

2007-09-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

By the time we left Ton Sai, the sun was just starting to make a reappearance. One of my favorite locals pointed to the weak spot of light to explain there was no need to move on, the sun was coming back out. Nonetheless, we had spent 9 days there, and we were a bit edgy to do something active. (Actually, I probably could have hung out there for the next for months, sharpening my pool skills. But there are other places to explore). We ended up spending the night in Krabi, a small city with not much in it. We ate at a night market, which was even more remarkably cheap than anything we've had. Bryce, the only one of us without a sweet tooth, somehow discovered one in the deepfried pancakes they were selling there. We played out our American stereotype and ordered the most gluttonous one: banana, chocolate and coconut. Bryce has continued to eat two a day since then. We planned on staying in Krabi for a little while, but aside from eating, there wasn't much to do. We took a bus to Phang Nga (no H pronounced), a city much like Krabi but without the tourism; I think we've seen two other white people here. the town is also surrounded by mountains on all sides, it's hard not to want to run immediately into them. The place we are staying is a little hole in the wall, in fact, if it wasn't for the sign, we would've missed in completely. The sheets on the bed are the dirtiest I've seen, and the toilet doesn't flush, but there's a lovely roof view of the mountains, and we kind of love it. The three of us ended up walking down the entire length of the town, passing shops that sell every possible item for sale ever: banana chips next to plastic guns next to underwear. We also passed a few schools, a market where we stopped to buy some doughnuts (again, Bryce's sweet tooth talking here), and a monastery that had some creepy statues acting out torture scenes. We ended up at our destination: the public park. A lot of people were hanging out there, feeding the monkeys and sitting by the caves that covered the park. I proceeded to kick an entire flipflop full of mud on the back of my pants, and we went home soon after. Needless to say, the shower I took was the best one I've ever had. Beforehand, we signed up for a tour that promised to take us to a Muslim village on stilts for an overnight, along with a day tour of some islands in the area. We were pretty unsure what we were in for, as the person we signed up with spoke little English. We only knew that we were going to be picked up at 8:30 in the morning. The next morning we waited downstairs, and sure enough our ride came. We were deposited at a small dock where another man had a boat waiting for us. We climbed in without so much as a hello and then were boated around for about two hours. We sat pretty much in silence observing the mangrove forests, and seemingly endless islands and mountains that dotted the horizen. Except for one or two fishing boats, we were the only people in the water. Finally, we stopped at a tiny deserted beach. Our driver gave us our lunch and flashlights and instructed us to walk through a cave. With B in the lead, we crept through the dark cave until we reached a paradise at the end: an enclosed area with towering trees, and a pool of water running through with schools of fish swimming around. Leslie and I couldn't stop looking at each other with our mouths open: what the hell was this place, and why weren't we living here? Eventually, we went back to the beach, at our fried rice, and took split-second naps that resulted in two groggy travelers climbing back on the boat when we were not ready to leave (B didn't nap). We had no idea where we were going next, but it turned out to be the Phrang Nha national park. It could not have been more opposite from the deserted beach: flocks of scantily clad travelers posing as if they were holding up the islands in the middle of the water covered the park. Ten minutes after we arrived, we were ready to go. Unfortunately, our boat driver was not. He was asleep on a bench. B attempted some climbing while Leslie and I sat and waited for our supposed tour guide to wake up. Evenutally he did, and took us to our final destination: the Muslim village on stilts. At this point, Leslie said she wouldn't be surprised if he dropped us off and left, which is exactly what happened. A different person at the village showed us where we were staying, and not knowing what to do next, we wandered around. The village was all built above the water, complete with a school, a mosque, and everyone's home. Unlike Ton Sai, where everyone was so friendly, the people here barely made eye contact. Not quite sure what to do next, we ended up sitting outside our room at a picnic table until dinner time, and sat some more after dinner until bedtime. It was a very strange day, we were given no instruction and did not know what was expected of us. As we played endless rounds of twenty questions, we could hear a booming voice from the mosque, apparently conducting a service over a PA system. There was something so fitting about the voice, as if to say "Here you are! In Thailand! In a completely different setting than you've ever been before!" and after being in such a secluded, easy place as Ton Sai, it was a truly welcomed experience to feel a little bit uncomfortable, a little out of place. The next morning (this morning) we were picked up by a different boat filled with people, and transported back to Phang Nga, and eventually home. Today is cleaning day: we had to drop our filthy clothes off, which won't be ready til tomorrow afternoon, and we need showers and maybe a self pedicure. We are meeting Ashley/Noel in less than a week, which we are all stoked about. Leslie and I have been looking at the Cambodia guide books, and not been able to contain our excitement. We can't wait for all that is ahead and can't believe how time is speeding by.

sandcastles in our underwear

2007-09-18T10:11:00.000-07:00

my summer has been full of battles. i thought i was moving to a secluded beach in costa rica to fight poachers and instead i had daily arguments with crabs having sex in my bed, crocodiles who were sleeping in my way, tidal waves that threatened to ruin my shack and the sand that was relentlessly covering my body.
now i´ve left the 5km of my own personal playa only to find that i no longer know how to use doors and toilets. living in a city right now sounds like a personal hell while reading about team honey´s battles in thailand sounds perfect. i´m ridiculously stoked to see all of you in another week, rainy season and all. although i´ve got to admit, the luxury of a few hot showers in chicago are pretty exciting as well.

doubledeepfry that banana, please.

2007-09-17T04:29:00.000-07:00

its our last night on tonsai, and as ready to move on as i am, im still a little sad to go.
it took a couple of days here to really fall into the pace and energy of things, but a few days ago we made it happen. after being stranded in the rain on railay, our return to our modest and quiet beach was quite amazing.
in front of the bar and restaurant on the beach there are large wooden platforms and cushions to lay out on. ali and i spent the evening lying there, with some locals and a few other travels, in awe complete awe. everyone around us was looking up at the top of a towering limestone cilff overhead, waiting to watch two norwegian basejumpers leap off and sail onto the beach below.
this is moment the vibe caught us.
each of us grew silent and held our breaths as though we were accumulating our energy for something far greater than the safety and excitement of the two jumpers.
and since then, we have been in love with the locals.
we spent the next day on a seemingly miserable boat ride so b could do some deep water soloing (climbing on smalll island cliffs so you can fall back into the water). the water was choppy and the wind and rain relentless. i paddeled around in the water, which was much warmer than the boat, for quite some time, being endlessly stung by tiny fish, before trying my weak strength at the climbing. my first attempt ended with a silverdollar sized crab on me belly, a shockingly girlish scream, and a splash. and that was pretty much the end of my deep water soloing days. b, however, was probably the happiest ive ever seen him.
after the climbing, the eleven of us piled back into our mufflerless longtail boat to tool around in the rain for a while before finding an island to each lunch on.
at this point, the misery became comical.
we all huddled below a haphashard shack, which b referred to as 'crusoe's pad before he upgraded,' shivering in our bathing suits eating fried rice with shrimp. (yes, eggs on rice on the vegan bellies).
all in all the adventure was pretty entertaining, perhaps something to be done again in vietnam. in the sun.
the days following this stromy boatride have been pretty uneventful. the rainy season came to bite us the asses.
it storms all night on our tine roof (a sound of comfort for the oregonians), and all day as we hide in the bar playing pool and connect four with the local guys, reading, and watching as the gray sky breaks open to reveal even darker shades boardering on black.
these bored, game playing locals are the reason we dont want to leave.
while it seems the other travelers have formed groups amongst themselves, the three of us have fallen into a daily pattern of broken english and body language with these guys, not much older than us, who seem pretty out of work in the off season and happy to be around different people.
i taught one to play checkers today, and after his first ever game he proceeded to beat me three times in a row. bryce and ali are in the constant rotation to play pool against men who play pretty much all day everyday.
were not sure what tomorrow is going to bring us yet. perhaps going to the phi phi islands if the dark sky falls away, or back to krabi to explore the nearby muslim stilt villages.
other trip fast facts: the mosquitos love us, deep fried bananas love us, the humidity which refuses to let out clothes dry is out to get us, we are still loving being with eachother all day everyday, and we have decided to wear nothing but one size fits all wrap around thai pants when we return.

We only miss soy ice cream a little bit.

2007-09-12T00:18:00.000-07:00

This is the first time we've had internet access since Bangkok. We're staying at Ao Ton Sai, which we had to take a taxi and a 20 minute boat ride to get to from Krabi. We found a bungalow to stay in for 200 baht a night (about 6 dollars). It has a tiny porch and a bathroom with a shower, which is basically all we need. Apparently during high season (not now) places can be three times as expensive. The only downside to being here during low season is there is only one restaurant open, and no internet on our beach. We spent yesterday climbing a little (mostly B), sunning a bit, and chilling on our porch. Today we came to Railay, one of the best rock climbing spots in the world. It is much more touristy than Ton Sai, though, and our lunch was a whopping twenty dollars. We planned on doing a lot of exploring to see if there were cheap places to stay here, but it started to pour and rained for a good two hours. Still, we all agreed that the rain was a nice break. We also agreed we were homesick for our bungalow, though it was about a three minute boat ride to get here. When the tide goes out, we can walk back to our beach, which should be around 3pm. I should also note how georgous it is here. The water is green, there are limestone cliffs all around us, and the palm trees and foliage are like something out of a movie.
Everything is excellent, really. We are all healthy, eating well, staying hydrated, taking our malaria medications, and back on a (better) sleep schedule. We still have two weeks here before we go back to Bangkok to meet Ashley, but unsure how we're going to spend it. As it turns out, it's a little pricier than we thought to island hop, so we might end up choosing a different place to daytrip out of, like Ao Nang.
Other wonderful things so far: sleeping under the mosquito net, deep fried bananas, Coke in a glass bottle, Bryce becoming friends with the Thai champion climber, Leslie eating spicy food without an upset tummy afterwards.

26 hours down, 14 to go

2007-09-09T01:17:00.000-07:00

were in bangkok, tired and hot.
weve decided to bail on our hostel here and head straight for the beach. so, we have another 13 hour ride ahead of us.
we all seem to not really belive that were here yet. sleep deprivation and heat will do odd things to the mind.
perhaps tomorrow morning when im taking a nap on the beach, it will hit me.

ps

2007-09-07T14:53:00.000-07:00

we leave in three hours.

still a little bloated

2007-09-06T17:46:00.000-07:00

one week ago today i went to the emergency room, writhed in pain for a while, got some morphine, and at 730 am the next morning went into emergency gall bladder surgery.
today, i am bloated. less bloated than less weekend when i appeared to be roughly six months pregnant, but nonetheless in no good shape to be lounging on the beautiful railey beach in southern thailand, watching my boyfriend climb, pretending i cant because of the surgery, reading my book (the heart is a lonely hunter) and realizing im in thailand.
but we are going anyway. a week ago we thought we were going to have to postpone the trip that had been in the works (ie talked about but never planned) for over year.
so today i am thankful for laproscopic surgeries, hippie surgeons with long gray hair who totally support my quickened recovery time, and the possibility of a one piece bathing suit.

I bought an ugly watch at Target.

2007-09-06T16:48:00.000-07:00

Somehow, we neglected to look at our time of departure on our tickets. On Tuesday, I called the airline to find out if 01:55 on Saturday was Saturday afternoon, or really late on Friday night. As it turns out, we are leaving at 2 in the morning on Saturday, ie, we are leaving for the Seattle airport tomorrow night. Which makes it seem like the whole trip is happening a LOT sooner, even if it's only twelve hours. We are sort of ready. Leslie and I keep running out to buy those last minute items, but it turns out there are quite a few of them. Bryce is still at his house in Bend working, so it's a little hard to feel completely ready without him here. Nonetheless, we will be on the plane tomorrow and arriving in Bangkok 11:30 am on Sunday. More interesting posts to follow then.