The Wonders of the World Wide Web and Singapore

I arrived in Singapore a little overwhelmed. This is a big city and I had only 3 days. I didn't want to get sucked into duck tours (TM) and the tourist trash (expensive and not worth the time). I wanted the real Singapore - you know, the kind you see on the Travel Channel.

I logged on to the Internet and went to the Smith College website. Lishan Yang, a girl who had lived in my dorm was from Singapore. I hadn't seen or talked to her for about 6 years and wondered if she was still around and, more importantly, if Smith was up-to-date with her contact info. I cut and pasted her email address into the "To" field and zipped of a quick "I'm in Singapore!" Turns out she was too (and had Monday off of work) - fantastic. Connection success in under 24 hours!

I've had a great time in Singapore thanks to Shan. I've driven around to different neighborhoods, enjoyed her company at Singapore's world-class Asian Civilizations Museum, asked a multitude of questions about local life, toured around Arab Street and tried a variety of unique culinary treats - e.g. chicken rice, porridge and frogs legs. Today I even had little fish eat the dead skin off of my feet...and boy, did they have a feast! Mmmmm!

Welcome to Bangok...Take Two

WARNING: This post is for mature audiences - reader discretion advised.

My first visit to Bangkok turned me off of the place - all the party boys and unkempt expats strutting around with their "little Thai girls" in tow - bought and paid for. With some of Asia's cheapest flights, however, it seemed to be the best option to launch the next portion of my trip. I booked a flight from BKK to Singapore for the 24th of November and arrived back in Bangkok a day early with a strategy that I hoped would improve my experience the second time around: "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." I would go to an infamous Bangkok ping pong show.

Wanting to somewhat balance the evening (and add a little irony to whole night's program), I started at Cabbages & Condoms, a swanky Thai restaurant that runs AIDS education programs with its profits. The atmosphere was top. The food was good. And most importantly, the ping pong show was only a tuk tuk ride away.

Not being much of a sex show aficionado myself...or even knowing any, I put my fate in the hands of the driver. His local knowledge would surely lead my friends and I somewhere that would provide an authentic sex tourist experience (without going over too many lines...this was to be a purely anthropological mission after all.)

We pulled up to a storefront that was tucked among a row of seemingly legitimate businesses. The ground floor was filled with cafeteria-style tables and Thai men looking bored and watching some stale video they must have seen a million times. My assumption was that this charade was merely a decoy for the authorities. Passing officials might write this establishment off as a tame bar worthy of little or no investigation - a thinly veiled cover for the otherwise shady operation we witnessed when shepherded upstairs by a large Indian man. We were charged 600 Baht each and shown inside to black vinyl seats encircling the similarly black stage.

The lights were low. A single girl stood on the stage swaying back and forth to soft rock with romantic lyrics - the kind that make the soundtracks of movies staring Kevin Costner. She was slowly and unenthusiastically pulling a florescent ribbon out of her lady bits. She looked bored. Everyone else looked bored too. I wondered when the ping pong balls would come and how far they would fly.

After the few yards the ribbon came to its end the music switched to an uptempo number more fitting for a strip show. A girl came out in tall shoes holding two coke bottles - one empty, one full. Long story short, she emptied one into the other without pouring it directly. Strange. Happy Birthday started playing as she picked up the bottles and walked off the stage. No one was celebrating a birthday, but a Japanese businessman with wallet open was selected. He was summonsed up to the stage as a girl walked out with a fake cake covered in over sized candles. He held the cake as she used a pipe and her lady muscles to blow them out one by one. He was amused. I was still waiting to be impressed - where were the ping pong balls?

A series of girls came out, all lackluster and looking mechanical in their movements. This seemed like a crap job (not that that hadn't been my assumption). One girl pulled a chain of covered razors out of her and cut a piece of paper into a hat for another Japanese businessman (the first part with her you know what and the second with her hands). Another girl came out with a large blue marker and a piece of white paper. She inserted the pen, crouched down like a crab and proceeded to write "Welcome to Bangkok." Finally a girl came out holding ping pong balls in hand - this was it, this was the true Bangkok experience I had been waiting for hoping it would redeem this otherwise seedy and sad city for me. Surprise...it didn't.

The girl inserted the ping pong balls. I prepared to block any oncoming balls from hitting me. Ping, ping, pong, pong, pong. Three balls dropped out, the first two landing in the glass placed between her legs and the third missing the target. This was the lamest ping pong show I had ever imagined. Where was the danger? Where were the ball flying en mass bouncing off of walls and creating an atmosphere of awe and chaos?

I looked around. No one seemed very impressed accept for the Japanese business men who periodically opened their wallets to keep a bevy of girls draped around their shoulders. There were other curious tourist just like me who ranged from bored to repulsed. We stayed through the rotation and left when the ribbon girl reappeared. Once was enough. I think I've seen Bangkok...don't need to go back.

Found

The majority of my time in Smith's Jordan house was spent at the end of the hallway of the 3rd floor. It was a gathering place filled with laughter and smiles (even during finals). My friends and I would discuss Communism, Capitalism, boys, girls, what was for dinner and well...anything. What I remember the most, however, was the carefree laughter that bounced off of the wallpapered walls.

When I graduated from college I found laughter in new locations - car cabins on road trips, the living room at 2167 Hayes, sunny days in the park, ski cabins...easy. Sometimes I'd laugh so hard I cried, even at little things that probably weren't that funny. It was easy.

Slowly, I don't know when, I started laughing less and less. Maybe it was long hours at work or more responsibility. Maybe it was higher rents or less company as the number of roommates decreased. Whatever it was, it was subtle. And whatever it was I could escape it, with laughter coming easily once again, like when with my Smith ladies on those rare long weekends in New York, San Francisco or Northampton.

I think it was at my 5th college reunion that I noticed a difference. While I enjoyed the company of my friends and chuckled at stories and things, that truly carefree laughter that consumes one wasn't there. I was constrained. No matter hard I tried, I couldn't let go. I couldn't laugh like I used to.

While there were many reasons for my decision to take a break from the life I had created for myself in San Francisco and embark on the adventure of a lifetime, finding my laughter was one of them. It's not really something I expressed to anyone, afraid that it may never come back. But, you'd never guess where it was...Laos.

In truth, it wasn't in Laos, of course - it was in me the whole time, just hiding. With the help of good company and a deep cleansing breath of total freedom, I found my laugh. It's unbridled. It's contagious. It's here again...and this time, I'm determined not to lose it.

The 4k Islands

After Vientiane I continued south, headed for the place where the Mekong spreads into 4,000 tiny islands ripe for exploration. One overnight bus, a 2-hour minibus ride and a boat, I arrived on Don Khong - the largest of the islands (32km).

The landscape in the south of Laos is very different. Flat and comparatively dry. Don Khong was no different, but had one stand-out feature - a beautifully maintained road wrapping around the island. (The Prime Minister of Laos is from Don Khong and had a hand in providing this truly enviable feature.) A few new friends and I hopped onto some rented bicycles. We rode around nearly the whole island. I think we passed 2 trucks, a small handful of motorbikes and even fewer potholes. This road represents political favors at their best.

The cycle loop was about all Don Khong had to offer so we arranged for a boat to two smaller islands right on the Cambodian border where we hoped to see the rare Irrawaddy dolphins, explore Dong Khone and Dong Det by bicycle and sleep in straw bungalows overlooking the Mekong. We were thankfully successful in all pursuits.

The bungalows were basic, but an evening sundowner on the porch made up for the slightly smelly squat toilets and hearing the nighttime snoring of neighbors. The dolphins were cooperative albeit under the water and a little difficult to view with great detail. The bicycles had less than effective breaks and made me feel like the Wicked Witch of the West...

The bikes one finds in Laos are all the same (although do vary a bit in their level of junkiness). They all have seats that are too low, handles that curve in like an old-fashioned tri-cycle, a basket on the front and only one gear. I was the 3rd bicyclist in a line of five. I saw a small boy (probably about 1-year old) crossing the dirt path. "I should stop," I thought. Then his parents called to him to stop. He slowed. I decided to keep going...just as he did. I slammed the breaks, but they were, as I mentioned, less than effective. Before I could dig my heels into the ground the boy had run into my leg and bounced off, landing on the ground. He looked up to see if anyone was watching. Everyone was. He started crying...loudly. I turned red. Onlookers glared at the white foreigner who had "run over" their child. His parents, who had seen the whole thing, brushed him off and indicated that it was no big deal. I felt evil...truly a Wicked Witch in the eyes of this munchkin.

All in all the islands were enjoyable - mellow, friendly and cheap. Not quite the magic that I found in the North, however.

Laos Burrito

The next stop after Vang Vieng was the capital, Vientiane. A "major" city with hints of charm and a small dose of hustle and bustle. With a sore throat and the memory of Luang Prabang still lingering, I don't think I gave it the chance it deserved and perhaps moved on a bit fast. However, no regrets...not even the burrito.

I arrived at dusk and checked into a mediocre hotel on the waterfront of the Mekong River. Rather than lounge in my slightly damp room with walls that used to be white, I headed out to find sustenance. There were plenty of eateries - traditional Laos food, Indian, bakeries, Mexican, Western, French, Japanese, etc. all at my disposal. But there was one I just couldn't shake - Mexican.

Now I knew this was risky. A child of California and a self-proclaimed connoisseur of Mission burritos, I was guaranteed to be let down by the Laos burrito...but how let down? I needed to know. I entered "Tex-Mex" and took a seat on the balcony.


When my order came it looked kind of like a burrito despite the side of steamed white rice. It had a tortilla and some red sauce on top. The filling consisted of stewed tomatoes and some barely spicy bell peppers and onions. The whole thing tasted a little like a meatless and flavorless spaghetti sauce wrapped up in a moderately authentic tortilla. I ignored the cole slaw.

Monica, Chandler, Rachel, Ross and Joey

...are in Laos!

One can reasonably argue that one thing many Asian countries have in common is a culture of blatant "borrowing." Original thought is a new thing in many of the Communist-led developing countries. Tailors are great at copying clothes. Bootleg DVDs are more readily available than toothpaste. And when one business is successful, there are bound to be copy-cat storefronts popping up in the surrounding blocks (sometimes changing the name by one letter to invite confusion). In Vang Vieng, Laos this has led to one very obvious and very disturbing trend...

Vang Vieng is situated along the Nam Song river and stunning limestone peaks. The natural beauty makes this place a must-see destination. However, the town itself is lined with yellow and green Beer Lao umbrellas and cookie-cutter bars all with reclined seating facing wall-mounted television screens -- 92% of which are playing old episodes of "Friends." It seems that each bar has a box set of the complete series which they continually play with short breaks only to switch the disc. Everything is open air so just walking down the street one is bombarded with the classic sitcom laugh track.

A few businesses diverge, but still fewer have branched out beyond the trend of relying on some sort of "proven" branding. For instance, one bar dropped "Friends" after getting feedback that some people don't like it. They now play "Family Guy."

There are the odd businesses that have maintained some integrity and tried to capture the market through their own innovation. Unfortunately, the cafe that boasts only playing "Jack Johnson" is packed every morning while the Organic Farm Cafe directly next door remains relatively empty.

The now problem is that Vang Vieng has been so overrun by the dark side of mainstream Western entertainment that those who flock here are the those who thrive on cultural bankruptcy - the drunk and high 20-something backpacker. Some make a special trip to Vang Vieng from their charades in Thailand and end up spending their entire duration of their visa slurring their words as they tube down the river and jump from rope swings provided by the string of bars. Everyday is a massive pub crawl along the river in Vang Vieng.

Don't get me wrong...tubing and rope swings provided for a enjoyable (yet surreal) break in my travels, but after a day and a half I had to move on and bid an eager farewell to Monica, Chandler and the rest of the "Friends."

Muang Ngoi Wedding

The highlight of Muang Ngoi was not the trekking, the fishing or the chilling - it was the wedding.

Camilla and Eric were on my bus from Luang Phabang. They had first been to Muang Ngoi 4 years ago and stayed 2 1/2 months. They had visited again 2 years ago and rekindled their love affair with the village. This time they were back for one very special reason: to get married in a place and in a way that was meaningful to them.

The day before the wedding the went into the forest to chop down trees for the cooking fires, bought 12 cases of Beer Lao and 12 bottles of Lao Lao or local rice wine (read: rubbing alcohol) and inspected and purchased the only pig available in town. Having extended the offer to help in any way, I went down river with a young local man to deliver invitations to some of the neighboring villages, doing a little fishing along the way. Before retiring to their separate dwellings, they gave me the most wonderful and exciting task of being the unofficial "official photographer."

Around 1pm I met Eric at the restaurant that had become my hub in Muang Ngoi. He gave me the camera and I raced off to find Camilla in an undisclosed location. Seeing that Muang Ngoi is about as big as Mission Street between 18th and 20th (if that), I found her with great ease. She was in a home being adorned with jewels and debating the virtues of blue eyeshadow with the local women. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a conical shape and wrapped with gold beads. It sounds hideous, but was stunning.

I soon went to meet Eric at the other end of town where the men would gather. They dressed this cool-kid Swedish designer in black slacks, a blue button-down shirt and the first tie Camilla had ever seen him wear. The men drank Lao Lao and prepared a man-bouquet for him with the vegetation and flowers readily available in the yard. Someone brought an snoopy umbrella to shade Eric's head (as is customary...the umbrella, not snoopy) and the procession started down the road to meet the bride.

Outside the house in which they were to be wed were all sorts of revelers and a tent set up for the following party. The tent had been put up that morning and was in actuality a large white parachute left over from America's "secret war" on Laos. (Don't know about this? It's true. We launched a offensive by air coinciding with Vietnam - code name: "The Other Theater").

As Eric approached the women by the door washed his feet, removed his shoes and led him to his bride. They knelt together in front of a beautiful shrine of banana leaves, flowers, rice, Lao Lao and assorted nibbles. Both were overcome with tears brought on by happiness. I snapped away.

A local wise man (for lack of a better word) said a bunch of things that I couldn't understand - I'm sure they were blessings, advice and the usual nuptial hurrah. Next the string came out. He tied their hands together in a very meticulous and purposeful fashion. They cried more. It was beautiful. Then string appeared from everywhere! Locals were pulling fist fulls of string from their pockets and tying "blessings" around the couple's wrists as well as the wrists of others. I took a break from the camera to receive some string blessing bracelets of my own.

They ate and drank little bits from the shrine and then exchanged rings (more of their own addition to the ceremony as I understand it). We emerged from the ceremony, everyone smiles. Tables, food and a stereo with huge speakers that could be heard throughout the village awaited us. The generator stayed on well past 9pm that night.

Note: As i was being the dutiful photographer, I don't have any pictures on my camera at the moment. I promise to post them/a link once the happy couple emerges from Muang Ngoi and sends them...but don't hold your breath.