Time to get this show on the road! (As my mom would and did say.)

When you start having dreams about people in FedEx uniforms, you know it’s bad. I have spent two solid weeks waiting, and can wait no more. This morning I packed my bad knowing that I was going somewhere today, at first thinking I would take a side trip to a couple small towns east of here to pass some time. There is nothing really to see there besides some war remnants, so the trip would have been for the sake of feeling like I was going somewhere and would have ultimately brought me back to Savannakhet.

Alas, plans have changed! After looking into FedEx’s rerouting policies, I checked my email and got a suggestion from mother dearest saying that I should call the bank and have them send me a new card to Oxford, where I can pick it up in less than a month’s time. Perfect, no? The call was made an hour ago, and the bank gave me no problems. A new card will be sent out in the next day or so, and I am free to get a move on. Suddenly, life is exciting again.

There is one VIP bus that leaves from Ssavnnakhet at night and arrives in Vientiane in the morning. There are also a host of local buses that pass through in the daytime. And, as one of the guesthouse people tells it, there is a local bus that does the overnight trip as well. No A/C, erratic stopping, and no guarantees that the seats will recline or even have padding. I think I’ll take it. At the least the stops should be fewer than in the daytime, and if I have to tinkle I can do what I did in Cambodia and use the darkness to squat behind the bus in case we aren’t near a rest area. (Guys have it lucky on this front: they can hop off the bus and take care of business with their backs turned in plain sight of everyone.)

So that’s that! I am off to Vientiane and will spend the next two weeks seeing what I can see in Northern Laos. I had a few out-of-the-way destinations in mind that I likely will not be able to reach due to time. My visa expires September 10, and travel in the North takes up a lot of time due to mountainous terrain. We’ll see what happens from here.

For those of you at home, the familiar (if slightly shaggy) Matt Lauer has been to the land of a million elephants a few years ago on one of Today’s “Where in the world is Matt Lauer?” deals. The first segment is here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wuBUPyoJNQs and the rest of the segments are easily found from there. If you have some time to kill and want to learn a bit about Laos, this is a good way to do it.

Now that my attention is off the waiting, I am feeling invigorated once again. I went for a stroll around town, and a couple small observations that I would like to share:

– An old woman, wearing the loose top and sarong that is the traditional outfit for woman, solemnly shuffled out of a house onto the road. She stopped at the window of a parked van, peered in, and started making monster noises. An unseen child inside erupted in giggles, to which she responded with more goofy noises. That’s how many people are here: playful and happy. Not a bad way to be.

– Texting and riding a motorbike seems like an instinctual no-no, but people here (and in surrounding countries) still do it with some regularity. An old man on the road had the furtive look of someone sneaking a text, and his left arm cocked below the handlebars was in exactly the right posture. On top of that, he kept glancing down at whatever was in his hands. I watched him approach on his bike, prepared to tsk at his recklessness. Then he passed, and I laughed at my own assumptions. He wasn’t texting; he was holding a chicken. And the chicken was taking the open-air motorbike ride in stride. I can only hope his final destination wasn’t someone’s dinner plate.

– A few nights ago, a local girl about my age and I turned down the same street at the same time, both heading home. I smiled at her, and we chatted a bit in Thai. She turned down an alley before the guesthouse, though it turns out she actually works at the guesthouse. I have seen her a few times since then, including this morning when I was pulling my overloaded pack through the doorway. She commented on a pair of sandals strapped to the outside of the bulging bag.

Side story: this whole trip I have had two pairs of shoes: gym shoes bought just before I left and a pair of flip flops I found discarded at a music festival. The flip flops were in rough shape when I found them, and the previous owner obviously thought they were on their last legs, which is why they were abandoned in the middle of a field with no camp or shoeless soul/sole in sight. Turns out they had another pair of legs in them yet. I have been wearing them ever since, and have a pretty righteous flip flop tan from them. But Meh (just like my mom in the States) wasn’t too pleased with the ragged state of my footwear, and insisted on getting me a pair of sandals. I wore them at home, but since then they have been strapped to the outside of my bag. They are pretty (leather-colored with lots of beading) but not too comfortable and not that easy to get on and off due to an ankle strap. (I like my footwear to be comfortable and easy. Even my gym shoes are slip-on, slip-off. I haven’t retied them in months.)

So, there they were, on the outside of my bag, and this girl commented on them in a nice way. I figured I wasn’t likely to wear them again, so I asked if they would fit her. A Cinderella match! Now she has a nice new(ish) pair of shoes, and I don’t feel guilty about not wearing them. Win-win. Plus, in the strange world of cosmic exchange, a tea seller gave me some free fruit shortly thereafter.  If shoes can get me fruit, then methinks the Fraulein Fruitenberg may end up barefoot before too long…

So long Savannakhet…

… is what I would like to say. Unfortunately, I am still “stuck” here indefinitely, at least until my new card arrives. According to the FedEx tracker, it is in Laos, but who knows how much longer it will take to reach me.

As I have said before, Savannakhet/Laos in general is not the worst place to be stuck, but the fact that I am stuck in the first place is what has me a tad rankled. Sure, I like reading, sleeping, eating, and wandering around town as much as the next person, but there is more that I would like to do and much more to this country. I don’t mind slow travel (I would actually prefer to take my time and tend to work rather slowly anyway) but I would at least like to be on the move. When this damn card finally gets here, there will be much celebration and I will be on the first bus out of here. After all, I have less than a month left until this adventure is over. Times moves on, and I am ready to move with it.

Side Trip to Salavan…?

Okay so I just spent the last three hours typing a long, thoughtful post about my last four days in Salavan province and the adventures I had there. And… it looks like despite all my attempts at saving while typing, all my writing (except for the title) somehow got lost in transition. Maybe tomorrow they will appear when I try from another server, but at the moment outlook is grim. It sucks when this happens.

Since I am not up for another three hours of typing the same stuff, let it suffice to say that the bus trip there and back was long (no potty breaks again), the waterfalls in the village of Tad Lo were beautiful, and I had some exciting moments trekking in the rice fields and jungles around said waterfall. And it was nice to speak English with other foreigners in the village.

There, three hours of writing summarized in less than a minute. Ba humbug.

On a brighter note, my debit card is currently in Laos and should hopefully be in my hands by tomorrow, meaning I can finally move along with my travels. Fingers crossed and best wishes to FedEx.

Side trip to Salavan

Local Encounters

Already I am losing track of the days. A glance at my watch (a good investment from Kuala Lumpur’s Chinatown) informs me that it is shortly after 18:00 (confirmed by the Thai national anthem that someone’s speakers just played; in Thailand all media plays the anthem at 8:00 and 16:00. This apparently applies to any neighboring countries who are consuming Thai media.) on Saturday, August 17th. That means I have been in Savannakhet five days already. How the time flies! I have been spending my time wandering the town, reading, doing Sudoku, and frequenting a couple different eating establishments.

There are other foreigners in town, though they are few and far between. For the most part, I have been continuing to experience the long stretches of solitude that is part of the package while traveling alone. This is by no means a bad thing; I don’t mind being alone and have enough interaction with local people to keep from feeling lonely. A few encounters…

– Yesterday afternoon I was following my map, trying to find a building that was now either a museum or a government office; its current use wasn’t clear from the description on the map. While walking, I passed by a bustling section with a number of vendor carts and construction workers taking a break in the afternoon heat. As usual, there were a few smiles and hellos for the foreigner in the un-touristy part of town. Then one old man stepped in front of me and said “Resort? Resort?” and pointed the way I was going. I smiled and stepped around him.

But he was persistent and started to follow me. I crossed the street, and he crossed too. After a couple blocks, I turned to tell him that I don’t have money for a resort. He accepted that and then asked where I was from. I answered “Saharat America,” and wished that I knew how to add “and please stop following me.” I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want someone with unknown intentions on my tail. I crossed the street again, and this time he walked another block on his side before crossing too. Then we passed by a couple of shops, where he announced with gusto that I was from America. And he continued to do this for anyone we passed. I walked faster, and soon I was a ways ahead but could still hear him behind me, heralding my passing and origin to everyone within earshot.

I was partly embarassed, partly amused, and mostly thankful that Lao-U.S. relations are friendly. I was also happy to get far enough ahead to turn a corner and lose him for good. Who knows what he was up to? My guess is that he has nothing else to do and so tries to “help” tourists in this fashion.

– Later that evening, there was a live music show scheduled at Chai Dee Cafe. I still had over an hour before the music was set to begin, so I decided to try a bottle of Spy Winecooler while watching the sunsest on the river. I got the bottle from a convenience store on the main drag of town and then walked down to the riverfront. I found a ceramic table at and abandoned food stall to sit on and set about enjoying the view. And opening the bottle. I hadn’t thought about needing a bottle opener, and much to my dismay the cap did not come off with the usual ease. I bunched up my skirt and tried twisting it off, to no avail. I tried popping it off against the edge of the table, which only ended up scratching the table. I tried again against a wooden table, which succeeded in wedging little pieces of wood into the grooves of a still firmly affixed cap. I tried twisting with my skirt again. This time the cap gave a little bit, and soon I was able to twist it 360 degrees. But still I was unable to change its vertical orientation.

Then, using pickle jar logic (if you tap the edge of a pickle jar lid against the counter it becomes much easier to open), I tapped the bottlecap against a tree. Oompa! The carbonation in the drink caused a fizz to bubble through the tiny airholes made by twisting the cap without removing the cap itself. So there I was, with a bottle sticking out of my mouth, completely missing the sunset because of an obstinate bottlecap. I was about ready to give up on the whole endeavor when I saw some people drinking beers in a riverside shack/restaurant next door. Ask and you shall receive, right? Right! They understood my Thai (or at least my intention — holding up a bottle and pointing at a bottle opener is pretty universal language) and were more than happy to have me sit and drink with them.

They were a group of local guys and the mama that ran the restaurant, along with some of her family/friends. People came and went, and with each new person a new glass with ice and beer was produced. One guy was in charge of making sure everyone’s drink had a couple cubes of ice in addition to plenty of beer. Whenever one person took a drink, they toasted everyone else and everyone else drank too. Without the ice, they would have been quite drunk.

They tried talking with me, and I understood bits and pieces, but mostly I smiled and laughed and enjoyed the situation. These guys were friendly and not visibly drunk, and the presence of a few women put me at ease. They helped with my Laotian pronunciation and asked questions about my living in Thailand. They also toasted my luck, health, and safe travels for the future. I took my leave once it began to get dark, my cup runneth empty (I am still not a beer fan), and it was time to get to Chai Dee for the music.

– The owner of Chai Dee is Japanese, and he had asked a friend to come and do a show. His friend is Samurai Suzuki, from Tokyo Japooon!! (Samurai Suzuki announced this after every song, making sure that the audience of five was not soon to forget.) He wore traditional Japanese clothes, including the wooden clogs that were also used as percussion. His head was bald save for a ponytail on top with some long hair on the sides, which was held up with a Japanese flag headband. He sang a few catchy songs in Japanese and a few classics in English, though he coughed his way through much of the lyrics. It was a nice, funny, and intimate show, which could have been more intimate if I were to have put on the “bunny” costume that he had apparently brought with.

When he first asked if I would be a “bunny” and assist him, I thought all I had to do was put on a pair of rabit ears. Harmless, right? Then he comes back with an unopened “bunny” costume set, including fishnets, a strapless leotard, and oversize wrist cuffs. And, of course, bunny ears. “You’ve been traveling with this?” I had to laugh. He promised that I could be famous if I was his bunny assistant, but quite frankly I know that fame wouldn’t make me any happier than I already am. (Plus I wouldn’t even wear that costume for Halloween back home!) I declined the offer and settled for wearing just the ears. The other patrons (including another Japanese boy, two Thai women, and one guy from France (I think)) laughed and also each took a turn with the ears. Wish I got a picture.

– This morning, I walked to the bus station to buy a ticket for a trip to Salavan (an undeveloped province nearby — Lonely Planet says to approach any trips here “in the spirit of adventure.” Bring it on!) tomorrow. As I was leaving, a security/police officer out front waved me down. Not sure what he wanted, I went. He asked where I was from, and then if I had a boyfriend. When I said “America” and “not yet” (“not yet” is the Thai way of saying no, since it is always assumed that someday you will) he propositioned that he be my boyfriend. Ah, yet another comedic situation. How does this stuff happen to me? He wrote down his name (in Lao — I was able to read it!) and phone number on a scrap of paper and said that he would take me out for beers. I answered that I didn’t like beer, and he offered rice whiskey. Not much better, but I laughed and said okay. He gave me the scrap of paper, and as I walked away his female comrade said “don’t forget to call!” I have no intention of calling, though I figure being in contact with someone from the authority doesn’t hurt.

– Lastly, I have been enjoying the company of the owner of the vegan shop in town. Today we sat and chatted (and ate — she gave me guava, sweet corn, and a jumbo bag of boiled peanuts for the road tomorrow) for a few hours in her shop, which is in front of her house. With her grandchildren running around and her son coming and going, it almost felt like a homestay. She showed me family pictures and talked about the few trips she has been able to take around Laos and Thailand. Not only does she know Yasothon, she has been there for a religious convention! Small world.

“Mandatory” Relaxation

From what I have heard from other travelers, Laos is a very laid-back place. From what I have seen so far in Savannakhet, I would have to agree. Savannakhet is the provincial capital of the most densely populated province, but it is still a pretty quiet place. Tonight will be my fourth night here, which is already longer than I had thought I would stay. Somehow I have a feeling that I will stay through my one-month visa in Laos and then stay through another fifteen-day visa in Thailand, which will land me at the exact time I need to be at Oxford. I was hoping to go to Belgium, but with the enjoyably molasses pace of Laos (moLaosses?) I have already started looking at BKK-LON flights.

The easy-going vibes aside, there is another reason for my lingering in Savannakhet. The day after the bag debacle another “adventure” came my way: missing debit card! The discovery was made in the morning and the rest of the day was spent handling the situation. Thank goodness I had copies of my card and the number to call if this were to happen. Finding a phone, however, proved to be a bit of a problem. I tried the tourist office, the post office, phone stores, and internet cafes. No one had a phone. The owner of Chai Dee Cafe proved that his establishment deserves its name (Chai Dee means “good-hearted”) when he lent me his phone to use. He had recently lost his wallet in the Bangkok airport and knew how it felt. I made the first call to cancel my old card (no activity on it since I last used an ATM) and then sucked it up and bought a local SIM and a lot of minutes for my cheap Nokia phone.

After hours of phone-hunting and dropped calls, I had finally done all I could, which was to arrange a Western Union money transfer for instant cash and to have a new card sent to me here in Savannakhet. So now I am resigned to wait until it arrives. FedEx estimates it will take about a week more to arrive. That’s a really long time to be in Savannakhet, so I may take a side trip or two next week.

But all said and done, the situation isn’t that bad. While I was taking a break from crying (again — can’t be helped) and talking with the bank, I made the following list of good things:

– Just my debit card and not my whole wallet is gone.

– There has been no activity on the card since I last used it, meaning forgetful ol’ me probably just left it in the ATM.

– Bank of America is able to wire me funds from my account via Western Union, meaning that I don’t have to pay ATM fees for the rest of my stay in Asia.

– I already have enough hard currency to last me at least a week if needed.

– Laos excepts Thai baht at a uniform rate of 1 baht = 250 kib.

– I’m not dealing with this in India! (This thought has occurred to me a few times since then…)

And even if I do end up spending a week and a half in Savannakhet, it is not the worst thing in the world:

– The tourism department has done a good job of marking the roads and directions to attractions, even including an estimated distance. Maps are accurate and not impossible to find. I spent the whole day yesterday on a “treasure hunt” to see and photograph all the buildings marked on the self-guided walking tour map.

– The riverfront is shaded, breezy, and full of places to lounge in lawn chairs with a fresh coconut. I did this yesterday and will likely go again tomorrow and take up the offer for a riverside manicure that was proposed to me. At the time I had my fingers hard at work digging out coconut meat so I had to decline.

– Vegetarian food (besides coconuts) is easy to come by. In addition to the veggie- and in-general-friendly Chai Dee Cafe, there are two Jay — strictly vegan — shops in town. The one I have been to every day serves different kinds of noodle soups and I am on friendly terms with the mama in charge. She appreciates my efforts at Lao said maybe this weekend her son can take me to the monkey forest.

– Internet cafes are also abundant. There isn’t really anything to do after dark, so I have been coming to the place just around the corner from my guesthouse. While typing this post I am also simultaneously watching a BBC documentary (America Was Here: Vietnam and Cambodia. The grim reality aside, it is cool to see places I have been and makes me nostalgic of this trip already.) and have been taking some time to research travel in Laos and anything else of interest.

– Prices here are on par with Thailand, and vendors don’t inflate their prices just because I am a foreigner. That said, my ability with the language may be helping, though I get the feeling that in laidback Laos people may be slightly more scrupulous than their neighbors to the East and South.

– All this free time and my friendly status with a few establishments means that I am able to practice speaking and reading Laotian. As I said in my previous post, the languages are quite similar and each day I connect more dots.

– The people are super friendly, besides being honest. I get a few looks, plenty of smiles, and exchanges of Sabaidee! due to my farang status, though people don’t gawk and only young children will excitedly shout Farang! Farang! Even then, their parents shush them and tell them to give a proper hello. The lady at my veggie restaurant reminded me to take precaution with my bag and said that it would be a good idea to not wear my ring. (The only bit of jewelry that I have actually worn on this trip is a silver and turquiose ring that my dad got me at the Grand Canyon. I haven’t lost it yet and fear that if I take it off I will lose it. So the ring stays.) 

– As my Thai family promised, there is plenty of nature in Laos. When it comes down to it, I like cities for the opportunity that they offer but I actually feel much happier in quieter places. Tampa or St. Pete, for example, are perfectly-sized and close enough to nature for me. Yasothon is also a good fit, and by extension so is much of Laos.

There are organized treks and tours that leave from Savannakhet, though unfortunately they are quite expensive. The cheapest is a day trip by bike and costs $50. In Bali I did an excellent tour (I must remember to start a TripAdvisor account and recommend them!) for $30 and in Hoi An, Vietnam I did a private afternoon tour for $6. Since I have the gist of the Asian bike tour, I decided to rent a bike and follow the map (yes, there is a bike tour map. Bravo to the tourism office.) on my own.

Leena’s Guesthouse (my home until further notice since that is where my card is being sent) rents out bikes, and I got one for around $2 for today’s adventure. It was a country-cruiser with a basket on the front and only one speed. I checked to make sure the tires were full, got a bunch of bananas and a big bottle of water, and set off. The ride was 30 or 40 kilometers, maybe more with the couple wrong turns I took. But it was a lovely way to spend the day.

Getting out of Savannakhet was easy, though the state of the roads vary widely. At some points it was nicely paved, other times it looked like a gymnasium’s worth of balls (sports balls) were dropped on the road and left an indent wherever they landed. A baseball here, a basketball there. Watch out for the beach ball potholes. My bike wouldn’t make it through that.

My destinations were Bungva Lake, That Ing Hang Stupa, and the Dong Natad Protected Area. Happily, I made it to all three. Bungva Lake didn’t seem to photograph well, but it was lovely. The road ran along the bank, separating the lake from the half-wild, half-rice fields on the other side. A family repairing fishing nets shouted hello as I whirred by, smiling and sighing at the beauty. A number of floating restaurants dotted the shoreline, and I imagine they are packed during the rocket festival and boat racing activities.

The Buddha himself is reputed to have spoken at That Ing Hang Stupa, and part of his skeleton is believed to reside there. I had to borrow a traditional sarong before I was allowed to enter (borrow on a pay-what-you-wish basis, much unlike the mandatory t-shirt purchase at Cambodia’s royal palace. I never did write anything on the shirt and have been using it as pajamas and a towel.) and was not overwhelmed by the place. The stupa sits at the center of a walled compound, with a vast collection of Buddhas standing guard in the shade of the inner walls. Only men are allowed to enter the sanctum of the stupa. My pictures didn’t come out so well, so here is a nice one from Google:

Next up was the Dong Natad Protected Area. I asked the lady renting out the sarongs for directions, and she pointed to the road that I was thinking of taking after studying the map. I set off, passing stand after stand of lotus blooms and banana leaf creations for worshipping at the temple, and evetually arrived at a dead end at a busy road.
According to my map, I was at Route 9 and had passed the forest several kilometers back. I didn’t remember seeing anything that looked remotely like a park entrance, so I asked some ladies selling fruit just to be sure. They pointed back the way I came. “I’m tired already!” I exclaimed in Thai, and they laughed, smiling at the strange behavior of this farang. (No Laotian would go carting themselves around on a bike in the heat of the afternoon to look at some trees.) A guy got out of a car nearby to add his thoughts, practice his English, and proudly say that he works in a goldmine by the border with Vietnam. Judging my his clothes, car, and clean fingernails, I doubt he is one the miners.

So I turned around and headed back, stopping to ask directions from the friendliest-seeming of the lotus sellers. She had waved at me when I passed the first time, and was curious what brought me back this way. “Go straight and turn left at the green sign.” Green sign? I don’t remember a green sign. But I thanked her and pedaled on. At the Sundry Shop (named so in English), I saw a green sign. I parked to try to make out the sun-faded lettering and asked a nearby granny if this was Dong Natad. Indeed it was! This green sign was a far cry from the brown signs including English that had got me this far. A quick pedal down a road (with lots of land for sale, I noticed. Someday…?) and there was a sign with an introduction in Lao and English to the park. That and a rusty open gate was the only indication that I had arrived.

Dong Natad has plenty of trails running inside it, and there is a scenic lake at the center. At least I think the lake is scenic. I didn’t make it that far. It is the rainy season now, and after getting stuck in the mud on the main once I decided to turn back since I knew it would happen again. I explored as far as I could on a few other side trails and was delighted. The shaded air was cool and my city bike was holding up under the rough terrain. And the butterflies! I saw at least twenty different species today. It was like going through a butterfly garden. At one point, a big brown one with a white spot on the bottom of each wing coasted between my arms in the draft of the handlebars. Even though I couldn’t get into the park proper, I was more than satisfied with the fauna on the outskirts.

—

So that’s pretty much what I have been up to. I have another week of “mandatory” relaxation before heading down to the Four Thousand Islands for some “optional” relaxation before heading north for some more of the same.

On another note, I found this video while looking for the BBC documentary. It is a short PSA about not texting all the time (I guess that’s a problem in Laos…? Haven’t seen it yet though.) and offers a glimpse at what Laos looks like. I think the city scenes were filmed in Vientiane, the capital city that will be my port of departure when the day comes. Enjoy! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AvdA0mgziG4

“If you are brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello.”

The quote above comes from Paolo Coelho (Monica if you are reading this I am thinking of you!) and was introduced to me via placemat at a veggie/book/volunteer-friendly cafe in Siem Reap. Three weeks later, it is in my mind again. This morning I said goodbye to my Thai host family, once again uncertain of when I will see them again. Unlike last time, however, the farewells were done one by one and were tearless. Now that I have come back, I know that returning is possible and that things don’t change that much after all. It’s a comforting thought.

Now that I have said goodbye, I can finally say a hello that I have been wanting to say for awhile, ever since my leg got stuck in the mud in an early attempt. I was on a family trip to Mukdahan, a town on the Mekong River, and I was trying to steal away in a canoe to get to Laos. Slurping mud (and lack of a paddle, not to mention police) kept me on the Thai side. But today I made it! Sabaidee, Laos!

Sabaidee in Thai means something like “I feel good.” In Lao, it means “hello.” The language of Laos is very similar to Isaan, which is the dialect in the Northeast of Thailand. The script is similar enough that even I am able to make out what signs say here. Best of all, most people understand Thai and I have a chance to practice my Isaan/Lao too. I have barely arrived and already I feel myself liking Laos.

That said, my arrival was not without, shall we say, hiccups. Everything on the Thai side was fine; Paw brought me to the bus station to catch a 10:30 am bus to Mukdahan. From there, I was able to catch a 1:30 bus to Savannakhet, Laos. I had about an hour to wait and spent it crunching the ice of a Thai iced tea (which I see they have in Laos as well). Around 1:20 I went to the bus and loaded my bag in the undercarriage myself then climbed aboard. No one checked my ticket. The bus was only half full and left five minutes early, both of which are unusual occurences in this part of the world. But the ten minute ride to the border left little time to ponder any potential explanation.

Checking out of Thailand was a tidy business, stamp stamp and you’re done. My visa expired today, so I have two matching “12 AUG 2013” stamps next to each other. After being processed, we boarded the bus again. By “we” I mean me, the previous passengers, and a bus and a half full of people that were waiting. This time the driver took our tickets without checking them and tore them up. There was a mob jostling to board the already standing-room-only bus, so I didn’t bother to ask the driver for a stub as a momento.

This ride was even shorter; just the length of the Friendship Bridge II spanning the Mekong River that serves as the border between Laos and Thailand. I stood in the back, the only obvious foreigner, enjoying the scenery and smiling at a little girl sharing seats with her grandparents. On the Laos side, the bus emptied again. People jostled, relaying Big C shopping bags (the Thai equivalent to Wal-Mart) herding children. I stood in the “foreign immigration” line, knowing that I needed to fill out an arrival card but not knowing where to find one. It was quite the wait, and when the customs officer handed me the card I had to go to the back of the line to fill it out. I was almost to the window when another officer pulled me out of line and brought me to the “visa on arrival” window, which is where I was supposed to go first but the window was closed when I first arrived. There I had to fill out another form, produce a passport photo, and hand over $35. While I was doing this, I happened to look up and see the bus leaving, with my pack in tow. It’s been a few weeks since I had a good cry, and I could feel the tears building up already. (I am still child-like in many ways, including the ease with which I can produce tears. Someday if I ever get pulled over at least I won’t have to fake being emotional.)

I told the official (in Thai) that my bag was still in the bus, but he just pointed to the next window in a sorry-I-can’t-help-you kind of way. At least he told the official at the next window about my situation so by the time I got to him at least he knew why I was crying. The tears were still coming when I had to pose for another picture. I think I tried to smile but I know I must have looked pretty pathetic. He tried to ask me where I was staying, but I just said that I didn’t know and repeated that I needed to get my bag. He let me through without hassle and a gentle smile.

Upon exiting, I met yet another officer who asked to see my paperwork. If I tried to ask me any questions I didn’t hear because a tuk tuk driver was already on me. I explained the situation yet again, and he said to take a tuk tuk to the bus station. There was only one guy there, and I couldn’t talk him down from the 200 baht price, about $7 and quadruple what I paid for the bus ticket that was supposed to take me to the bus station anyway. He had me by the proverbial balls and he knew it.

Five minutes and 200 baht later, we were at the bus station. The bus was there, but the throng had dissipated. A quick word with the attendant and… divine providence! My bag was still in the undercarriage exactly where I left it! I waved off the persistent tuk tuk driver that was now trying to take me to his friend’s hotel and went to sit for a minute in the terminal. There I dried my cheeks and had a couple words with the little girl and her grandparents that I stood by on the bus. Sweet people, tired from the travel. I will admit that I was a little sick of the travel too. For the past two weeks I have been spoiled at home, and having an incident like this had me thinking “I am sick of traveling solo.” There are perks, but today it would have been nice to have someone to talk me into laughing and to share a grumble about the tuk tuk driver.

Somewhat recovered, bag in tow, I checked the bus departure times in preparation for the next leg, wherever that may be. Satisfied, I left the station only to stand on the road, staring first left, then right, then back again, like I was watching a tennis match in slow motion. I didn’t have a map, a hotel address, a reservation, or a clue where I was even if I did have any of the preceding items. And a storm front was moving in. Ah, the romance of travel…? I went back in the station. Determined not to be swindled by a tuk tuk driver, I approached the one that seemed the least interested in picking up a fare. He was oiling some parts when I asked him (in Thai) which way to the “city.” He pointed down a road forking off an intersection, saying to turn left and go for two or three kilometers. I set off on foot, hoping to find a cheap place to stay downtown (which isn’t really much more lively than Yasothon).

There were a few guesthouses near the bus station, but I forged on hoping for digs closer to downtown. Seeing a couple of other foreigners riding in tuk tuks going the same direction gave me hope, and I knew that worst case scenario I could get a tuk tuk to take me to one of the guest houses that I already passed. Accomodation and food stalls/restaurants (which are usually close together) were sparse on the ground when it started to rain. Afternoon downpours are a daily happening in this season, lasting for an hour or so. I was lucky enough to be in front of a shop with an awning when it began, and was debating whether I should forge on with my umbrella when I looked across the street and saw a massage parlor. A ha! Screw sloshing through the rain with a heavy pack toward an unknown destination: I’m getting a massage!

The lady asked if I want an hour or two hours (in Lao). I replied something on the order of “how many hours is it going to rain?” She laughed, and we agreed on an hour and a half. That way I would be ready to move on around five, leaving me over an hour to find a place to rest my head for the night. But first I would rest my head in the parlor. For $10, I had a nice place to wait out the rain, bottomless hot tea, cool water, pleasant company with chattering Lao grandmas, and an hour and a half massage. Plus when I was ready to go the sun had come out and dried most of the puddles.

The proprietress advised me to go back the way I came if I wanted cheap accomodation. I wanted to take her advice, but I also wanted to press forward. To decide, I did what Uncle Dave Fitz taught me to do in moments of indecision: flip a coin. If you instantly don’t like what the result is, then you know how you really feel. The coin told me to go back the way I came, so I went the other way. Simple as that.

A couple blocks later, I came across some fruit stands and an old man wearing tattered clothes with only a few teeth left. He greeted me with great exuberance — in French. My French skills are limited to a seven-week crash course, which only leaves me with understanding of a few words and the ability to speak even fewer, though I am able to say “I don’t speak French.” He carried on anyway, speaking more loudly and with more gestures. From what I understand, he lived in Paris for ten years and took an airplane to get there. Whether that is true or not, his smile was genuine and he wasn’t trying to get anything from me; he just wanted to chat with a foreigner. Soon afterward a group of little girls in a storefront waved and giggled and called Sabaidee! after me. They giggled even more when I answered them back.

And then! Blessed be, I found a guesthouse. 180 baht ($6) for the night, which is as cheap as it gets here. The room has only a creaky fan and kind of smells like mildew, and there is just a bucket with a leaky hose for a shower. But for one night for one weary traveler, that is perfect. Tomorrow Iｗｉｌｌ　ｌｏｏｋ　ｆｏｒ　ｎｉｃｅｒ　ｄｉｇｓ,　ｂｕｔ　ｔｏｎｉｇｈｔ　Ｉwas happy enough to have found a vegetarian restuarant, a Singaporean girl advising me to head to Pakse and the Four Thousand Islands in the south before heading to norther Laos, and this Internet cafe. I　ｗａｎｔ　ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ　ｍｏｒｅ　ｆｒｏｍ　ｌｉｆｅ　ｎｏｗ,　ｅｘｃｅｐｔ　ｆｏｒ　ｍａｙｂｅ　ａ　ｂｏｔｔｌｅ　ｏｆ　ｗａｔｅｒ　ａｎｄ　ｓｏｍｅ　ｓｏｒｔ　ｏｆ　ｆｒｕｉｔｙ　ｅｖｅｎｉｎｇ　ｓｎａｃｋ.

Assorted Images of Cambodia

Flashback! At the moment I am still in Yasothon and haven’t made any plans whatsoever for my departure on Monday. I will deal with the future tomorrow. But first a pre-drafted post with more pictures of Cambodia…

It seems that I did quite a bit of up-to-the-minute picture posting while in Cambodia but there are a few more that I would like to share, in no particular order.

I don’t even remember what this building was. I think the National Museum….? That sounds about right.

Phnom Penh certainly had a bit of a gritty feel to it, which is somewhat captured by the graffiti here and the texture of the walls.

Welcome to Cambodia! Driving from the border to Phnom Penh, our van got a flat tire. All the men puffed up and tried to do their masculie duty. I waited in the shade until it was fixed. Yes, I’m a Girl Scout, but I never earned that merit badge.

Early morning pagoda in Phnom Penh.

My toasty meal on the road to recovery! It was really good toast too. It took an hour to eat while my tummy worked on digestion and my hand worked on writing a wistful postcard. Hopefully the postal system pulls through here and it gets to its recipient. Outside the window, tuk tuk drivers stand at the ready to hawk a ride to any foreign passerby.

One afternoon I was walking along the river in Siem Reap and stopped to observe a house that was positively blasting music. There was a collection of speakers in the front facing outward, thumping all kinds of music with a strong beat. Visible in the gated yard of the house was a crowd of young children, all bouncing and dancing to the beat. Near the river, a woman squatted in the grass and bathed herself with bowlfuls of water from a pump. Once clean, she ran over and scooped up this little kid and started dancing with him. A really skinny fellow next to her also grooves to the beat, though it looks like he might want to save a few calories.

One afternoon, I took a pottery class on a whim. It was fun to get a little messy and do something craftsy…

… I made a plate, a cup, a bowl, and a vase. With help, of course. The course only lets you fire one piece, so I chose the vase and did a little decorating on it with the intention of giving it to my Thai host mother.

Pancake vendor! It is less of a pancake as known in the U.S. and more of a fried piece of dough with lots of butter, condensed milk topping, and fillings like banana or Nutella. These pancakes are popular in Southern Thailand as well in the touristy spots.

The end of the rainbow: A typical day in Yasothon

Yesterday was a Tuesday and quite the ordinary day in Ban Nong Faek. For the elderly women of the village and a few select relatives, the day started around 03:00. I happened to be one of those select relatives. It took awhile for Kuhn Yai (grandma) to rouse me, but she was persistent in rapping on the glass door leading to the porch and calling me. It was a special Buddhist day, and she was going to spend twenty-four hours at the temple dressed in white meditating and making merit along with the other elderly ladies of the village. She was ready to go and wanted me to wake up Paw so he could drive her to the temple.

I did so, stumbling through the dark to knock on my parent’s bedroom door. Then I promptly fell back asleep, though it only felt like I had blinked when I was pulled from the deep waters of sleep once again. I hadn’t quite broken the surface yet when Paw asked if I wanted to go to the market. It was still dark out and I muttered something incoherent to both Thai and English ears. He took that as a “no,” which I suppose it was. But after he walked out the door I came to and decided that this little piggy wanted to go to the market after all. 

Paw was already getting in the car (which I could see from my bed through the glass door leading to the porch) so I threw a scarf over my shoulders and scooted out the door. Raw do-ai! Wait for me! Some flip flops from the communal pile of shoes completed my boxer and t-shirt outfit. Off to the market we went.

Shopping lists are not a part of Thai culture. List making in general is not a common habit like it is in the west. Things get done when they get done and if something is forgotten then no big deal. So Paw and I went to market knowing who we had to buy for but what we had to buy was pretty open-ended. Sweets cooked in banana leaves to give to the monks. Bundles of cut orchids to put on the family alter. Grilled pork for Mackey’s breakfast before school. Pumpkin to put in coconut milk to make my favorite dessert. Boiled vegetables and ground meats already neatly bundled in serving-size bags to bring to Kuhn Yai at the temple. My presence attracted some attention, but foreigners are common enough and the excitement ends with a comment or two and maybe a few double-takes. Otherwise business as usual. 

Back at the house, the sun was finally coming above the horizon. Paw and Mackey had to get ready to for work and school respectively while Meh and I showered and dressed for a trip to the temple. Kuhn Yai was already there, along with all the other Kuhn Yais of the village. All were dressed in white and sitting on mats, betel leaf kits close at hand. Meh and I made our merit by putting sweets and sticky rice in the overflowing monk bowls that were lined up onstage. Usually the monks will make rounds in the village begging, offering people a chance to make merit by giving them food. However, since it was a special holiday, the monks stayed in the temple and villagers came to them instead. 

Two ladies sitting in the front row wanted to chat with the foreigner, so I obligingly sat with them. Granted, I didn’t understand much of what was said (what’s new?), but they had big smiles and I was able to understand when one of them reminded me to invite her to my wedding because she wants to come too. Such is Thai humor and line of thinking. 

Joking aside, there were rituals to be performed. The monks made their way to their places in clumps. Kuhn Boo (grandpa), the eldest monk, came last. I only remember him and the second-ranking monk; the other five are all new recruits and are much younger. It is Thai custom for all men to be a monk before they can get married, so the rotation and young demographic is not surprising. The monks chanted in Pali. Having been to a number of similar ceremonies before, the chants were familiar though I certainly am not able to join in. I kept an eye on wedding-guest grandma next to me to know when to bow during the chants. Once the ceremony was over, the monks were free to eat their main meal of the day (no food allowed after noon) and Meh and I were free to go. 

We futzed around at home for a bit and then I asked her if I could really go help with the rice planting. Paw and I talked about it the day before and I was ready to follow through. Meh laughed and got me some old clothes to wear: black sweatpants that belong to my brother and a longsleeve black police shirt that belongs to Meh. With the red star cap from Vietnam I thought I looked like Viet Kong and said so, though the association isn’t strong here.

When I moved in with Meh and Paw for the first time, it was late October and the harvest season was already underway. But now it is early August, the rainy season, and the rice has been planted and grows green and fresh across the land. My job today was to help a cousin (the same one who let me ride his water buffalo! Sadly the buffalo has since been sold. It was the nicest buffalo I have ever met and tolerated children poking its eyes and pulling its ears. It would even lick you, just like a giant, horned dog.) replant the tightly packed rice seedlings in rows. Meh took me by motorbike to his field and brought some knitting to do while she waited. Kuhn Loong (uncle) was jolly as ever and ate a hearty meal of rice, fried crickets, and grilled fish before taking me out to the field. He used a machine to churn the mud first, which used to be a job for water buffalo but has largely been replaced by machines. Then it was time to hop in the mud and get to work.

His wife came out to help too, and she showed me how the process works. Not much to it, really. Just take two or three stalks and plant them together in the mud in rows. It took awhile to get the row concept down, and even longer to figure out how to plant efficiently. She worked at least three times as fast as me, but in my defense she has a lot more experience. After a spell I got in the rhythm and sped up. Kuhn Loong brought a radio out and put it on the roots of a tree in the field that was simultaneously providing me with shade. I found this video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XB9EBNGYyrg) that shows both what I was doing and provides and example of Isaan music. The lyrics are about farming rice.

I was at it for a few hours and could see how a lifetime of work like that would take a toll on the body. Today my legs are a bit sore, but my back thankfully is spared. While we were working my aunt and uncle joked with me, asking if I was having fun and inviting me back to help with the harvest. I helped with the harvest for a few days when I was here before and goodness gracious does that do a number on the back! That time I also managed to cut myself a few times with the sickle. Oops. Nothing sharp this time around, just the crabs and spiders that crawled up my legs out of the water. Thankfully there are no leeches in these parts, though I took care to not look when I felt something slithering on my foot. Sometimes not knowing is better when it could be dealt with later.

Around lunch time (the temple hits the gong every hour, just like churches toll bells to let the community know what time it is) I took a water break that turned into a permanent break. Meh was getting hot and I was getting tired. We said goodbye to aunt and uncle and went back to our own house for a shower and lunch. It was just Meh and I for lunch, but she cooks extra of everything and we ate enough for the family. Ihm maak! So full! A good lunch was followed by a good nap, with some reading (I wouldn’t say a good read, though) to transition the two.

A few hours later, I woke up still feeling a little groggy but wanting to get a walk in before the sun set. Meh was at P’Pat’s watching over Nong Chip, who was already back from nursery school. I walked to the river that forms a border of our village, going up the bank and then back down to see our family’s rice fields. Other people do the harvest, but Paw owns the land. The people who work the field keep two-thirds of the harvest and we get one-third. That is pretty common practice in the countryside.

Miracle of miracles, a rainbow appeared. A full-colored, horizon-to-horizon, perfect rainbow. At the time the Stones’ song “She’s A Rainbow” came into my head and I thought of how I stretch (like a rainbow) from Thailand to the USA. I certainly wouldn’t be who I am without the influence of both places, that is certain. But personal musing aside, the rainbow was beautiful. I didn’t bring my camera on the walk, so it is one of those moments that can only be shared in words that pale behind the real thing. So there I was, walking along a river in the shade of eucalyptus trees, with a rainbow overhead and the sound of crickets and frogs, nothing more, coming from the fields. It was serene, beautiful, a perfect moment.

Back at home, Paw was warming up for his evening exercise. He showed me some Chinese yoga moves (Qi Gong? Tai Chi? Who knows.) and I showed some yoga moves that I learned from classes at UT. I didn’t do much, but my arms are sore today! Regular exercise is one thing I miss while traveling, but the rewards are well worth it. Meh watched us for awhile before leaving to to start in on making dinner. Kuhn Paw went for his walk-jog and I went to sit with Meh. When I lived here, I would make my own food (fried vegetables) most days, but this time around Meh is making me different dishes every day. I accept her hospitality and observe, though this night I was distracted by the grass seeds stuck to my skirt. I joked that I walked for just one hour and then had to pick grass seeds for two. It is not much of an exaggeration. A delicious dinner, all the fruit one could want for dessert (especially of the custard apple, dragonfruit, lum yai, and durian variety) and then a relaxing evening. My Thai family has the equivalent of each person having “their corner” as my family in America does, but here we share space even if we are doing different things. Mackey practices music. Meh knits and watches TV. Paw works on the computer. I read or do Soduko. Tonight I helped translate an official form for Paw. He wants to work abroad with the UN — power to him!

When it was time for bed, a thunderstorm came in. I sat on the porch to watch the lightning and listen to the thunder. (Fitzgerald tradition!) Paw was surprised since he said most women are afraid of thunderstorms. Not this one! I slept like a baby to the sound of the rain.

Such is a normal day living in Yasothon. And if you want to read more about my year abroad or just look at pictures, my old blog can be found here: http://http://kellyfitz.typepad.com/.

Homecoming

The date May 19, 2011 loomed in my mind for months. Admittedly, sometimes it was a date I looked forward too. But for the most part it was  date I dreaded. When it came, I cried and literally made myself sick; fever, rash, upset stomach, anything my body could do to delay the inevitable. But time waits for no one, and so the date came and went and I went back to America along with it, not knowing when I would return. Alas, two years, two months, and two weeks (that is an exact count. Imagine that!) later, I was once again facing the house that became a home.

But let me back up a bit, since I didn’t come straight home to Yasothon. I stayed in Bangkok for a night and took the night train to Ubon Ratchathani, where my mom lives during the week to work. I got a cheap cell phone and SIM card in Bangkok, but couldn’t figure out how to top up my balance so I only had enough money to send one text to Meh (Mom) to let her know I was on the train and that it was meant to arrive at 7:30 the following morning. A few minutes later, she called back. A few minutes after that, Paw called. And then my sister, P’May. Word travels faster than the trains, that’s for sure! I hadn’t showered after a long day of wandering Bangkok, so my own sour body smell kept me up most of the night. I opted for the cheapest option, which was the top bunk of a fan-only car. The windows on the ground floor stayed open much of the journey, which I actually enjoyed. It is the rainy season, so the dust isn’t too bad and the smells that creep in are usually inoffensive.

Still, I managed to sleep. My recurring alarm woke me up at 7:30 (I did manage to sleep after all, stinky pits or no) and still we were a ways from Ubon, which I didn’t know at the time. Meh called again and I said that we were about to arrive and that she could come to the station. I didn’t know that we were still an hour and a half away, and I didn’t have enough money in my phone to tell her to hold off. So I sat, staring out the open window at the breath-takingly green rice paddies, and feeling guilty for making her wait. But when the train finally pulled in and I saw her sitting on the benches by the tracks with her beautiful smile, any feelings of guilt or doubt vanished. I was almost home!

My arrival was on a Wednesday morning. We stayed in Ubon until Friday afternoon. She went to work during the day, and I went with Friday morning. She works in the accounting department at a police station that is almost (or is? I am not quite clear on the whole situation.) part of the military. Everyone wears fatigues, including Meh. It is a bit strange to see her go from sitting in a sarong watching TV to putting on a crisply ironed uniform and shined boots, but still she has that smile. Everyone else at the station wears the same uniform, and in the mornings they line up for a morning prayer to Buddha, to sing the national anthem, say some sort of pledge, and hear the day’s announcements. Just like I remember at school. Seems some rituals never end.

The morning ceremony over, her housemate and co-worker, P’Oi, took me to see the tanks on the base. When we got there, some men were warming them up. The door of one not yet running was ajar, and P’Oi asked if I wanted to hop in for a picture. Uh, sure? I climbed in, and one of the maintenance guys said I could sit in the driver’s sit and poke my head out the open hatch. I did so, gladly. This is what I love about Thailand: life is much slower and more relaxed here. The authorites will let an “inside” foreigner check out their toys before taking them down to the South to quell some violent unrest. (No worries: Isaan is about as far from the ongoing unrest in the South as one can get. The violence is nothing new and was an old story when I first got here three years ago.)

Friday afternoon, Meh came home, made us some vegetarian lunch (delicious home cooking at last!) and we packed up, ready to go to Yasothon. The ride was only an hour, a little longer with the stops to buy various fruits and sweets along the way. This region is pretty much nothing but farmland, so it is easy to get the feeling that you have been on this road before… But the signs put me straight. Numbers next to the name Yasothon, standing tall in anonymous fields. 65. 34. 12. The kilometer markers now tell me we are in Yasothon province. So close!

Finally: something I recognize. Dtalad Dtad Tawng. Meh says the name to jog my memory. Out the window on her side I see the market that was the destination of many lazy weekend bike rides. How many pounds of jackfruit have I eaten, sitting in the roots of the tree outside the adjacent temple, watching life scurry about in the shade of the market umbrellas?

Then I see the store on the side road where I know to turn to go home. It is farther from the market than I remember. The shop makes stickers to customize cars and trucks. Once I stopped in to meet the wheelchair-bound owner and he was happy to show me the sticker-making process and show me albums of his finished work.

After his shop is the crocodile farm. I ask Meh about it. Apparently it is closed; something about someone dying. Now that she mentions it, I remember people saying something about some funny business at the crocodile farm before. I don’t push the subject.

But we don’t turn down this road. Instead, we go straight and turn on the large road with the traffic light. If we had gone straight, we would have reached the town. Instead, we stay in the countryside. Another traffic light. And then, blessed be, the 7/11 that is closest to our house! As has already and will continue to happen many times during this visit, memories came flooding back. I smiled to myself, thinking about the time I made applesauce (and burned the bottom of the pan) and bought vanilla ice cream for some fresh, hot applesauce a la mode to share with my family. One morning I even rode a bike to 7/11 to buy another tub of ice cream to give to the village monks when they came around on their daily, predawn rounds. We don’t have a freezer, so I had to do this long before the sun rose. I still wonder if they even tried the applesauce. Later that day I didn’t have the nerve. At home, everyone liked the ice cream but barely nibbled the applesauce. “Too sweet!” they said. I kept it in bags in the fridge and ended up eating it all myself when I got violently ill after trying to make mushroom salad. Little did I know that you are supposed to wash and boil the mushrooms first. Live and learn.

After the 7/11, more rice fields, an electric plant, and a sign alerting us that we had entered Ban Nong Faek. Our village! My pronunciation of this name is spot-on, earning laughs from Thai people, border agents included.

Shortly thereafter, a marketplace that is empty at the moment but Paw has something to do with. Then a curve in the road which means… Home at last! Praises be, home at last. Meh goes straight through the curve, off the road onto our dirt driveway. The front of the house that used to be a shop is now an office and painted brown. I am pleased to see that the rest of the house is pink, from floor to ceiling, inside and out, just as I remember it. We park and get out. Meh’s keychain is a silver silhouette of Chicago, the very same one I bought at a Walgreens downtown when I first began dreaming of the faraway place of Thailand.

No one else is home yet, so Meh and I sweep the paved part of the driveway and wait for the family to come back from their work, school, and errands. My family lives as an extended unit. Their is no walled compound, but all the nearby neighbors are family. Meh’s mom lives behind our house, on a narrow dirt road used by our family exclusively. Her younger brother lives farther down, past the herb garden and chicken farm. Her mom’s sister and husband live even farther down, past another chicken farm and before the ox pen. A cousin lives in the house next door. Next to them lives Meh’s sister, P’Pat, who has two sons. Nong Pete and Nong Chip. Pete was five when I left, and Chip was still a few months away from taking his first step.

Chip comes home from nursery school first. He looks just like Pete and I could almost swear that he is the one and the same and that no time has passed. But he takes one look at me sitting on the porch steps (which doubles as a dining room in the evening) and runs to grab Meh, holding on and hiding his face from me like a frightened koala. He won’t let go, not even with temptation like a fresh coconut already cut open and ready for him. I even see a genuine tear roll down his cheek. He was too young to remember that once upon a time I held him and that he liked to pull on my skirt while I stood ironing my school uniform.

Pete has a better memory, but is still shy. Neither of them dare speak to me and I wonder if Chip can speak at all. Pete used to be a good teacher, talking to me and teaching me through his mistakes. If he mispronounces something, the adults repeat is for him correctly, slowly and clearly. I take these opportunities to practice too.

One by one, people trickle home. Everyone smiles to see me. The dragonfruit vines at P’Pat’s house are laden with fruit, so we all gather on her porch to eat (an ongoing obsession in Thailand; it is pretty much all I have done so far besides smile and laugh) and prepare dinner. Meh, Chip, and I take a break from snacking to gather ingredients. Mushrooms have sprung up in the field next to the chicken farm, no doubt encouraged by the wet weather. Meh gathers while I hold the bag. Then we head to Kuhn Yai’s (grandma’s) herb garden to gather mint, green Thai eggplants, and double-jointed leaves that smell like heaven and can make or break a proper Thai curry.

Back at P’Pat’s, Meh pulls aside a small amount of ingredients to make a vegetarian version of the main dishes. I watch as she mixes pickled bamboo with some fake meat and some other ingredients, then wraps it all neatly in a banana leaf, closed with two toothpicks to differentiate it. There are plenty of non-veg versions to be made, so I get some practice in banana leaf cooking. I can do a pretty good job of folding this simple pattern, if I may say so myself. She also makes a mushroom salad (making sure to show me how to wash and boil this time around) out of the bounty we harvested ourselves not an hour ago.

At dinner, Kuhn Yai laughs and jokes that I get to eat some weird food here in Yaso. “There is no other food like this in the country or the world,” she says, indicating Meh’s vegetarian alternatives. I am sure she is right.

My homecoming is warm, full of good food and that nasally twang that marks the Isaan language. Everyone asks how I have been and if my parents in America are doing well and then carries on with their lives. No big deal; I am seamlessly back in the fold. Back home, where I am happily going to stay until my visa runs out.

Which brings me to another little update. I have been talking wtih Paw and thinking aloud with P’Pat and have come to the decision that I will not go to India this time around. This is for a few reasons. 1) When it comes down to it, I don’t want to go to India alone at this point. After talking with other travelers, everyone says India is amazing but everyone also has horror stories that they saw/experienced firsthand. 2) I want to do a little more research about India. A little knowledge can go a long way in making one feel comfortable and downplay culture shock. If you know what’s coming, it’s not so bad. (Sometimes.) 3) When I go to India, I want to stay for longer than I have now. I have had a feeling of being rushed with being there only three or four weeks. I would like a solid month, or three or more if I could. It will just be another trip sometime in the future.

Instead, I am going to stay home as long as I can and then go to Laos. Other travelers and Thai people alike have good things to say about Laos. It still has a lot of nature, a slower way of living, and culture very similar to the Northeast of Thailand where I am now. I will travel there for two or three weeks and then come back to Thailand for another week or two. Paw has all kinds of connections both in Laos and in the south of Thailand, so I can do more homestays and see more local life. Now that’s the ticket! Now that the decision is made, I feel lighter, like some pressure is lifted. Of course I would love to go to India, but now is not yet my time. There is the whole country of Laos, and plenty to see yet in Thailand.

But for now, I still have a week and a half at home. Anouk is comng to town tomorrow, so I won’t lack for company and my family has day trips during the week lined up already. I don’t need sparkling red shoes to say that there’s no place like home.