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Showing posts with label Laos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laos. Show all posts
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Pics
Well here are some pictures I have finally been able to upload, I'm new to Picassa so we will see how it works. It took me three days (as my gchat buddies have seen) to upload, sort, and get these pictures in any sort of presentable order, so I hope they're not too redundant (some of the temple ones probably are, I couldn't stop taking pictures though, every corner I turned was more amazing). I will add more Bangkok pictures to the 2nd one. For the most part they are (should be) chronological, Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai, Meong River, Laos, Cambodia, Railay Beach, Bangkok. ENJOY!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
mekong youkong
Well this is a bit late, and while I worte it long after the fact, I thought I published it way back when. Anyway, here 'tis:
We went from Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai, spent the day in the outskirts of Chiang Rai, then the following day drove to the river to get on this boat that Mom swore up and down was not going to be uncomfortable or affected by the rainy weather, because : "my 80 year old friends recommended it to me, so how bad could it be?" She said it like that is a good thing. Attempting to communicate reassurance, I was not comforted.
So it was not surprising that once we crossed the river to Laos in the rain on a tiny little long boat to get our visas, that the hot frenchmen who I had been chatting with kept going straight when we stopped in to our check in to our tour. There were a group of older white haired Brits, who wore socks with sandals and took turns while speaking. "By golly George," Blanche said while checking her timepiece, "it's nearly time for a snackie, wouldn't you say?" It was 9am. George said something in an accent so thick I couldn't tell what he responded, but apparently it was hil-ar-ious, because they all laughed in unison. Cue iPod.
Once we got our visas and our luggage on the boat, we got comfortable. I of course chose the table with the guys who were under 40, mom went for comfort over company, and Sarah bee lined to the front of the boat where she could smoke. Cue Don DeLillo.
I must admit, I immediately stereotyped everyone one the boat within the first few hours. What else are you going to do for 7+ hours on a boat? Mountain scenery and trees only entertains you for so long. The interesting part is not that my preconceptions were shattered by the end of day 2 (they in some cases were), but that for the most part were spot on: each person fit into his or her regional stereotype perfectly... with we Americans headlining the playbill.
Canadians (4): A 30 something woman traveling with her elderly father, who I think was only there to amuse his daughter. She had a nose ring and a short man haircut circa 1990, and wore socks with her tivas. She had one diamond ring on her left ring finger, and it looked like it was either from HSN or Debeers. She dressed for comfort and practically, and had a fanny pack that she never took off, even when she was wearing her backpack - which was always. Her dad was old and distinguished, and neither spoke to the other for the entire two day trip. They just sat on different benches, near but never across from one another, and read books that they admitted to having read before. But not to each other. They were traveling with another Canadian couple, a retired couple of childless teachers who seemed to have come to Asia to document their benevolence. Because, you know, it isn't good unless you can show your friends back home how philanthropic you are. When scouring one of two scheduled stops at hill tribe villages, the husband actually had his wife re-walk the path from the boat with candy in hand to give to the begging children, because his camcorder wasn't on the first time. Day 2 this man bought whiskey from the 2nd scheduled hill tribe and got hammered before noon. "We're Canadian, this is how we stay warm," he breathed. Touche.
Swiss (4): 2 interracial couples, and none of them from Switzerland, all of them men. One from Holland, one from Germany, one from Belgium, and the last one from the Czech Republic. 3 lawyers, one anesthesiologist. The German was extremely interested in American politics, and was happy to inform us of the world's view of America, which I will spare you (this was pre-election, by the way). They all also loved to talk about chocolate, and were happy to break their diets when we shared our Sees candies.
Young British guys (2): Very pale. Lawyer, AdMan. Made extremely dry, sarcastic and snarky comments aloud and unabashedly about most everyone and everything, but no matter how funny they were I'm pretty sure they were the only two in on the jokes. Became weak in the knees when I mentioned "fish and chips."
Northern Californians (2): A recent college grad traveling with his very hip and worldly mother. She looked very bohemian and all her clothes were native to somewhere far away and probably one of a kind. She had really chunky jewelry that I was envious of, and she had a lot of good information on places in s.e. asia to visit. He was a good source of info for places where backpackers liked to party.
You can imagine where we (3) fit into all this, and that by the end of day one, at the river lodge, mom and I were sitting with the Swiss dudes sharing wine and sticking our noses in the air at the stiff old Brits who otherwise stayed in a completely isolated part of the boat. By the time we got to Laos, we had exchanged emails, phone numbers, and home addresses with nearly all of them, with open house policies instated across the board. Interlaken, anyone?
We went from Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai, spent the day in the outskirts of Chiang Rai, then the following day drove to the river to get on this boat that Mom swore up and down was not going to be uncomfortable or affected by the rainy weather, because : "my 80 year old friends recommended it to me, so how bad could it be?" She said it like that is a good thing. Attempting to communicate reassurance, I was not comforted.
So it was not surprising that once we crossed the river to Laos in the rain on a tiny little long boat to get our visas, that the hot frenchmen who I had been chatting with kept going straight when we stopped in to our check in to our tour. There were a group of older white haired Brits, who wore socks with sandals and took turns while speaking. "By golly George," Blanche said while checking her timepiece, "it's nearly time for a snackie, wouldn't you say?" It was 9am. George said something in an accent so thick I couldn't tell what he responded, but apparently it was hil-ar-ious, because they all laughed in unison. Cue iPod.
Once we got our visas and our luggage on the boat, we got comfortable. I of course chose the table with the guys who were under 40, mom went for comfort over company, and Sarah bee lined to the front of the boat where she could smoke. Cue Don DeLillo.
I must admit, I immediately stereotyped everyone one the boat within the first few hours. What else are you going to do for 7+ hours on a boat? Mountain scenery and trees only entertains you for so long. The interesting part is not that my preconceptions were shattered by the end of day 2 (they in some cases were), but that for the most part were spot on: each person fit into his or her regional stereotype perfectly... with we Americans headlining the playbill.
Canadians (4): A 30 something woman traveling with her elderly father, who I think was only there to amuse his daughter. She had a nose ring and a short man haircut circa 1990, and wore socks with her tivas. She had one diamond ring on her left ring finger, and it looked like it was either from HSN or Debeers. She dressed for comfort and practically, and had a fanny pack that she never took off, even when she was wearing her backpack - which was always. Her dad was old and distinguished, and neither spoke to the other for the entire two day trip. They just sat on different benches, near but never across from one another, and read books that they admitted to having read before. But not to each other. They were traveling with another Canadian couple, a retired couple of childless teachers who seemed to have come to Asia to document their benevolence. Because, you know, it isn't good unless you can show your friends back home how philanthropic you are. When scouring one of two scheduled stops at hill tribe villages, the husband actually had his wife re-walk the path from the boat with candy in hand to give to the begging children, because his camcorder wasn't on the first time. Day 2 this man bought whiskey from the 2nd scheduled hill tribe and got hammered before noon. "We're Canadian, this is how we stay warm," he breathed. Touche.
Swiss (4): 2 interracial couples, and none of them from Switzerland, all of them men. One from Holland, one from Germany, one from Belgium, and the last one from the Czech Republic. 3 lawyers, one anesthesiologist. The German was extremely interested in American politics, and was happy to inform us of the world's view of America, which I will spare you (this was pre-election, by the way). They all also loved to talk about chocolate, and were happy to break their diets when we shared our Sees candies.
Young British guys (2): Very pale. Lawyer, AdMan. Made extremely dry, sarcastic and snarky comments aloud and unabashedly about most everyone and everything, but no matter how funny they were I'm pretty sure they were the only two in on the jokes. Became weak in the knees when I mentioned "fish and chips."
Northern Californians (2): A recent college grad traveling with his very hip and worldly mother. She looked very bohemian and all her clothes were native to somewhere far away and probably one of a kind. She had really chunky jewelry that I was envious of, and she had a lot of good information on places in s.e. asia to visit. He was a good source of info for places where backpackers liked to party.
You can imagine where we (3) fit into all this, and that by the end of day one, at the river lodge, mom and I were sitting with the Swiss dudes sharing wine and sticking our noses in the air at the stiff old Brits who otherwise stayed in a completely isolated part of the boat. By the time we got to Laos, we had exchanged emails, phone numbers, and home addresses with nearly all of them, with open house policies instated across the board. Interlaken, anyone?
Friday, November 7, 2008
Kuang Si - Waterfall
It is difficult to find fresh words to describe something that has existed long before there were eyes to witness, but if it can repeatedly disturb dormant emotions, then it's worth a try.
Walking upstream throughout the forest is absolutely necessary. In doing so, it dutifully works you up: bit by bit, teasing you with small trickles that will grow into little falls. The pools get prettier as the sound gets louder. Winding up the muddy paths, you take great care to step over roots, puddles, and vegetation. You pause for pictures. You look around, to absorb your surroundings. With every turn, more depth is revealed behind the blankets of thick brush. Layers upon layers of feral flora and fauna. You're continually surprised, this next landing could not possibly be prettier than the last, but here they are: bigger lagoons, bluer waters, louder falls. You rest. Leisurely indulge in a dip. With every step, as you wade in, you become awakened by the clean water. You expect it to be cold but it's only crisp. It's pure, here. The falling water causes currents and they're strong, but playful as you embrace them. You become comfortable. Once you're dry, you feel centered.
You move forward. The sound is louder, the turns are teasing now because right when you think you've reached there, you haven't. It is still getting better with every surge, you feel progress, you've moved forward, but it's less rewarding, you just want to be at the top already, the sound coaxing you to come hither, you're almost there. You realize your pace has quickened, and you find you're nearly running through the final stretch throughout the thick vines and leaves and around the trees, you hop over creeks instead of crossing the bridges because you can hear the pounding force of God's green earth under duress, Newtons 3rd law in effect, creating the sound that absorbs you to the point of asphyxiation, you want to be right there, and the turns and plants seem less alluring because it's only a side to the main event, it's not as important because you've seen it a hundred times already and who really cares about another tree or plant or whatever, until up ahead you catch a glimpse of what you've come to see, and when you finally get there, oh, my, God. The final pay off. It's a heart stopping invigoration, thrust upon you, and you're nearly knocked over by the sheer force of it's size -- the casual spilling over as though on a whim, the power of free falling water completely suspended, touching nothing but itself for one-one thousand, two-two thousand, three-three thousand...the tiers of surrounding life that is overripe, dripping wet and thriving, heavy under it's own, you don't even matter because even if you wanted to you couldn't do anything of consequence, here you can't even say so because being drowned out by this pure power is part of the deal, your sacrifice for being allowed to witness the dynamic state of perpetual unfolding, you're a little fleck of nothing, you run around the base trying to capture it's essence, take something with you, you don't want to let go of this magnificence, but it's futile. It is so much bigger than you. You realize that water always has, and always will continue to fall, and it does so entirely independent of your existence. It is then you are able to be electrified by something, in a way that you will never fully understand.
You move forward. The sound is louder, the turns are teasing now because right when you think you've reached there, you haven't. It is still getting better with every surge, you feel progress, you've moved forward, but it's less rewarding, you just want to be at the top already, the sound coaxing you to come hither, you're almost there. You realize your pace has quickened, and you find you're nearly running through the final stretch throughout the thick vines and leaves and around the trees, you hop over creeks instead of crossing the bridges because you can hear the pounding force of God's green earth under duress, Newtons 3rd law in effect, creating the sound that absorbs you to the point of asphyxiation, you want to be right there, and the turns and plants seem less alluring because it's only a side to the main event, it's not as important because you've seen it a hundred times already and who really cares about another tree or plant or whatever, until up ahead you catch a glimpse of what you've come to see, and when you finally get there, oh, my, God. The final pay off. It's a heart stopping invigoration, thrust upon you, and you're nearly knocked over by the sheer force of it's size -- the casual spilling over as though on a whim, the power of free falling water completely suspended, touching nothing but itself for one-one thousand, two-two thousand, three-three thousand...the tiers of surrounding life that is overripe, dripping wet and thriving, heavy under it's own, you don't even matter because even if you wanted to you couldn't do anything of consequence, here you can't even say so because being drowned out by this pure power is part of the deal, your sacrifice for being allowed to witness the dynamic state of perpetual unfolding, you're a little fleck of nothing, you run around the base trying to capture it's essence, take something with you, you don't want to let go of this magnificence, but it's futile. It is so much bigger than you. You realize that water always has, and always will continue to fall, and it does so entirely independent of your existence. It is then you are able to be electrified by something, in a way that you will never fully understand.
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