||October November Continues More Ramblings
November 1, 2000:
Well, welcome to November, month number 11. I knew when
I left that if I made it this far I was a lost cause -- I'll
never come home. And it's true, I am officially addicted to life
on the road, simply proven by the fact that I'm anxious with
only having two months left in this trip. In the beginning I
was scared because I felt I didn't have the experience to tackle
the things I was immersed in. Now, I have a new problem. I'm
still just as confused, but now I have more to be confused about.
It would take me lifetimes to become an "expert" on
any of the places and people I've seen. Any number of thoughts
pop into my mind when I travel through countries; I'm comparing
and analyzing current experiences with past continually.
When I left Bangkok and headed to the north of Thailand last
week to the city of Chang Mai I mulled over the past ten months.
When I flew into Bangkok on my way to Nepal the 27th of December
1999 I would not let myself think about my return to Thailand.
What can happen in ten months... I was discussing this fact with
one of my college friends Allison, who was vacationing for a
few weeks in Thailand. "I can't imagine where I'l be in
ten years." I said. "Ten years?" She said. "Try
ten months, ten days." I could only shake my head. Given
those words, I'll be in Laos heading towards Vietnam inside the
next ten days.
November 2, 2000:
Heading off to Laos in less than five hours. I've just returned
from collecting my laundry and packing up my bags. Usually in
these big cities laundry can be done easily -- you just take
your grubs to a small stand on the street and pick them up again
the following day. Of course for me it wasn't that easy. First
I had to go around, winding through streets to find each little
stand I'd previously seen disappeared, swept off the streets
in the monthly clearing of the roads. If I spray enough insect
repellant on my clothes maybe I won't need to bother washing
them, I thought, trying my hardest to overlook the three
large stains on my one "clean" shirt I was wearing,
the cleanest of the bunch. I refused to smell the pile I had
in hand. After weeks of tramping through the hot humid heat of
Bangkok ripe is the gentelest of the words that come to mind.
I finally found a what looked like a promising cart but no
one was nearby. "Kortod ka? Excuse me?" I asked
a small boy sitting on his heels opposite the cart. "Do
you know where the laundry is?" He stood up, came over and
held out his hands like he wanted me to give him my bag of rotten
clothes. I did. He appeared to be weighing them. "40 baht."
He said. He wanted just under a dollar to wash nearly 3 pounds
of clothes. I looked around thinking that his mother would show
up now and take over the transaction. No mother though so I handed
over the dollar. With that the boy, who looked less than a day
over five, sprinted away up the alley. "Ummm?" I said
and was left standing there 40 baht and dirty clothes lighter.
Well, that's a pisser, I thought and turned and walked
back to my room. For some reason though, I wasn't too concerned
about it. What could I do? I'd go back tomorrow and if the clothes
were gone then I'd worry about it.
So this morning I had a leisurely breakfast and planned the
day before meandering over to check out my laundry. This time,
when I showed up to the cart, a young woman was sitting on a
chair beside it, clothes in bags next to her. "Oh sawasdee
ka. Hello." I said and inquired about my clothes. The
woman looked at me blankly. "I not see you yesterday."
We looked at each other, me thinking oh crap, and her
thinking I was crazy. Half a minute later the boy peeked around
a corner. I caught his eye and instantly he ran over, big bag
of clean clothes in his hand. "I cleaned." He said
and the woman looked at him and at me before leaning her head
down and laughing into her hand. They exchanged some words in
Thai before the woman frowned and said, "I'm sorry, he's
only four years old. He washed your clothes with my shampoo."
And as I sit here in a small travel agent's office, in newly
shampooed clothes, I can only shake my head and laugh.
NOTE: Next stop: Laos. As things in Laos are a bit more primitive
than Thailand I'm not certain I'll be able to update the site
for the next few weeks. Please keep on checking and I'll do my
damnedest. Lagon. Bye.
November 3, 2000:
LAOS: Hot damn, what a place!
I'm sitting at a small wicker desk in an old, run-down French
colonial hotel in Pakxe, Laos thinking about the previous day.
The overnight train from Bangkok to the Thai border town was
fairly uneventful, long being the only real hassle. Bill, my
friend and therewewere web guru, and I hopped on a bus
outside the train station. From there on out we were left to
hand signals and basic grunting to communicate with anyone we
met. Two bus-rides later we landed at the immigration buildings
for both Thailand and Laos. Things proceeded easily through those
checks -- horror stories of traveler's whoas unnerving me unnessaccarily.
With our "Welcome to Laos PDR" stamp in our passports
we walked the short distance to the taxi/bus stand. People waved
us up into the pick-up taxi -- a large truck with two benches
running down the sides that can hold up to a dozen Westerners
or three or four times that of Laotians. It wasn't too cramped
in there, only a handful of women inside. After a few minutes,
however, people began to pour in. Bill and I shoved down the
seats to make room for the onslaught. As we sat and waited one
of the ladies flashed me her bra. I blinked and turned away quickly.
Did anyone see that? I thought and turned back to the
woman to see if I even saw her correctly. What I thought was
some type of Laotian advance turned out to be an act of bra-stuffing.
The women were all shoving products into the their shirts, tying
plastic bags around their knees under their skirts, lifting up
the benches and wrapping bags to the cross bars. The one next
to me made a motion to me that I interpreted to mean that she
wanted me to hold the three live chickens and pretend they were
mine. I smiled and picked up my backpack, put it on my lap. She
shoved the chickens, clucking, under my feet.
(This women, and a dozen more who squeezed in shortly before the truck
took off, stuffed bottles of lotion down her shirt, tied bags
of eggs to her legs and shoved chickens under mine, just another
day on the Thai/Lao border smuggling goods.)
The things they were smuggling across the border weren't firearms,
drugs, or even Levis, they were eggs, apples, small, what they
call mouse-shit red and green chilies, and face cream. Most of
the things I thought would be easy and cheep to find within the
country. We made the check point easily and as the truck proceeded
onto Pakxe dropping people off along the way more and more things
appeared in out of the way hiding places -- the woman with the
chickens held a large shaving razor and cut away three plastic
bags filled with eggs that had been stuffed inside a plastic
sheet dividing the back of the truck from the front.
(Immediately, moments actually, after entering Laos from the southern entry
point of Chang Mek, I was struck by the children. Always smiling,
always posing, the Lao kids have taken over my camera and as
I look through my recent snaps, they're all I find.)
Walking from the hotel later pick-up taxis passed Bill and
I by. I wondered if anyone had forgotten a bag or two of eggs
under a seat somewhere. The sun was setting and a haze came over
the town perched between the Mekong and Xe Dong rivers, a completely
different world from the big cities of Thailand next door.
(I did get a little worried when, 10 minutes into our 6 hr journey
down river, the captain started bailing water out of the boat.
Every half an hour or so I could hear a whoosh-whoosh
sound coming from behind me, Xekong river being put back where
it came from.)