What Keeps us Whole

(I rode behind these dudes and snuck a shot...)

One of the cool things about early morning is seeing the people in front of their homes and businesses with food and gifts for the monks.  It’s something they hold quite sacred, this chance to give.  

This morning it seemed there were folks hunkered down with their little piles of offerings just about everywhere I looked, and long lines of monks with metal bowls slung on straps over their shoulders to catch their booty walking single file down the road.  (Though I’m thinking they probably don’t think of it as booty per se.) 

Truth told, I’m hard-pressed to imagine just how they do think of the offering, and the practice over-all, perception being filtered, as it is, through our own personal nets of experience.  What I might see as an act of charity quite probably plays in an entirely different light were I to have come of age in a Buddhist culture/country. And yet…it seems every single time I step out the door I spy a hole in that wall which otherwise sets us apart.  A look from some Lao dude on a mountain bike who’s out for a morning ride, followed by a big smile and a thumbs-up.  Isn’t this great?  Riding hard in the cool morning air? 

Last night I arrived at the hospital around 7:30 to pick up Rebecca.  It was dark but still quite warm.  My legs were tired from a long ride I took across the Mekong earlier that morning, plus I was hungry and thirsty.  You ready?  

We communicate via WhatsApp, and I confess to a growing impatience when I shoot a text and get no reply.  I’ll be down in a bit.  Well.  OK, then.  

The waiting area had maybe twelve or fifteen kids and adults hanging out and watching the flat screen TV, which was running a Disney flick I’m only vaguely familiar with. (There was no sound, Laos being low on the list of languages Disney translates, and so the room was eerily quiet, save for the shrieks of kids on the swing set next door.) The film involved a dinosaur (seemed to be a teenager) with a pack of primates on his back.  I can’t be sure, but the dinosaur  and primates were all kind of suffering first love trials and tribulations, and sort of bucking each other up through the hard stuff. I’m thinking the dinosaur was stoic and strong-if a little dumb. The primates (being animals that steal, bite, and hurl their shit at one another) had more of the wiseguy thing going on.  I liked the dinosaur, though. But I was fighting the urge to be impatient.  I’d pull out my phone every now and then, check the time, think about what could possibly be keeping Rebecca so long.  Probably hanging out shooting the bull.  Making plans to go do yoga…

Then I’d play at being a grownup and consider my surroundings.  Every adult in that room was there because some kid they love is sick or injured.  I’ve come to learn just how tough the Laos people are, and they don’t waltz off to the hospital for a scratch on their ass.  Also, Rebecca’s not a thoughtless bitch: she would make a line for the door if she could. Then, too there was the movie, which was getting kind of heavy…

Turns out a meteor shower was coming down, and all the dinosaurs and primates saw it as a lovely little light show: tinkling ribbons of light arcing gently down from heaven and landing off in the (also) tinkling sea.  They got brighter and brighter.  And more, too.  Until one whale of a meteor resulted in an atomic bomb-like explosion, and everyone died.  Kidding.  There was a big, atomic bomb-like explosion, though, along with a tsunami and, you know, hellfire, and panicked running.  Yadda yadda yadda.  Smaller animals getting crushed by bigger animals.  For a kid’s movie, it was pretty heavy stuff.  I looked around the room, and even the little dudes were completely transfixed by the images on the screen.  An old guy (probably my age) in front of me caught my eye and gave the slightest nod to the kids and smiled, as if to say, Isn’t it great? They’re lost in a different world.  Somehow he knew I would understand how important it is for children to sometimes get lost, and that I would see it for the beautiful thing it is. Even if that other world is one of pain and turmoil.  The primates clung to the big guy, the dinosaur did his best to keep them (and himself) alive. 

The dinosaur was a lucky guy.  Not because he lived in a time of mass extinction (to be fair, that extinction took a while…) but because he understood the gift of his circumstance: to be placed in a position of giving. 

I don’t pretend to understand the many ways the Buddhist faith has blossomed through south Asia and beyond, much less this branch of practice here in Laos.  But we’ve seen it before, this alms-giving—most recently in Myanmar—where one group subjugates themselves before another, and that other group sees it for the gift it is. I could be misinterpreting—seeing it for something entirely other than its intention, but still, this world’s crazy ways feels pretty right. 

Mike's Conventional Blog Post

 Sunrise. Sunset.  We’ve fallen into a routine.  Which, considering the greater cycle of geologic change and attendant/subsequent(?) speciation, is probably a healthy and reasonable place to be.  

It stands in sharp contrast to the hurly-burly of travel, with its daily shifting of sights, smells, and places to lay one’s head—an unsettled circumstance which, though conducive to growth (Think: the child who leaves home for the first time and must capture a whole new set of friends and allies) is nevertheless exhausting.  (Though exhilarating!)

The daily routine of our lives in Luang Prabang counters said trials, I think, and looks something like this:  I wake before Rebecca, usually at six, and pad out to the common area to start my little pot of tea. As it steeps, I gather bread and peanut butter for a snack, turn on the computer to check the news, and read, write, eat, and drink—all while keeping a weather eye to the gathering light of day.  Invariably, said day is hot and dry, though we did have a bit of rain the other night.

If Rebecca is scheduled to work, I’ll join her on her commute to the hospital around six-forty five.  We take our bicycles, one following the other, along a mostly paved path through streets lined with small shops, noodle stalls, hotels, proper restaurants, the big football stadium (soccer), schools, Wats and, finally, the Regional Hospital, behind which is Rebecca’s Children’s Hospital—appropriately smaller and somewhat cheerier, I think. While she toils at straightening the sometimes crooked path of life’s myriad pains, I go off in search of noodles.  An apparently easy task, you might think, given my suggestion of the plethora of noodle shops on our little commute, but to think thus would only shine a brighter light on your own lack of noodle stall schooling, dear reader.

Allow me to elucidate. Mere sustenance is certainly as plentiful as the dust which chokes this fair town’s late-day commute. Most streets find Sausage-a-grillin’, sweet, sticky rice folded into palm fronds, exotic fruits, noodles, pork parts, and even banh mi (Vietnamese sandwiches) in the offing at curbside.  Most folk will pull up on their scooters (often while taking the kids to school) and yell to vendors their desires, who promptly bag and wrap said goodies in such a way as make for easy conveyance via scooter to work/school/place of business. And certainly said world of food absolutely rocks. Like the kids say, good shit!

In fact, one such stall is to be found just up our street; I dare say I’ve developed something like a friendship with the proprietress (such as is possible given the yawning chasms of language, culture, religion, and life experience over which we reach.) Hers is a mixed bag of meat products, which I largely pass on, in favor of her spicy orange soup, served with a pile of bean sprouts, lime wedges, peppers, noodles, and greens.  For 5000 Kip (roughly 60 cents) I’m a happy camper, and often will start my day there just to sort of prime the pump. 

My morning noodle stall

Lots of meat

   Typically, my noodle girl (woman? Goddess?—no matter how I phrase her, it seems oddly pornographic in a middle-school kind of way. She’s my noodle girl, if you know what I mean…) will place the various parts of the whole soup ensemble into small plastic bags tied neatly and with surgical precision by small rubber bands.  All of which is placed in a larger bag with small handles for ease of conveyance.  I could eat right behind the counter if I wished, but typically bring it back to the guesthouse, that I may sit in the shade while I slurp.  But all of this is preamble, a mise en scene  for the larger composition gastronomic.  

My morning search following our ride to hospital involve something of a more full body experience.  I slow my pedaling to peer into the relative darkness of noodle shops, especially those larger, somewhat more established places with a range of options—stacks of deep, wide bowls, three or four cauldrons set over wood and charcoal fires, tables alight with customers, kids riding bikes or kicking soccer balls around the place and getting a yelling from mom behind the counter.  Action places, local places, places without menus.  And if it’s somewhat clean, that’s a bonus—though not a deal breaker in its absence.  Typically, I’m invited into the cooking area, where I smell the magic and make my choice.  With luck, I have a pretty good idea of what I’m eating.

Another stall, with ubiquitous offerings

Come one-ish I’ll swing back by the hospital to check in with Ashley, a young Australian woman of great warmth and skill who administers English language instruction to the hospital staff.  She has gracefully allowed me to take part in her lessons, though I dare say my efforts amount to little more than clown antics and expressions of encouragement to shy nurses, administrators, doctors, and general staff.  Sometimes she’ll have me sit for a one-on-one with a staff member who simply wishes to practice their English speaking and listening skills—a task I especially enjoy.  We’ll shoot the breeze, typically me peppering them with questions (What is the one thing you never leave home without?  If I were an animal, what would I be?  What would you say is the best noodle shop in this town, and would you please mark it on my map?) 

The molten-lead heat of late afternoon pushes me back to our guesthouse, where I’ll strip off my sweaty clothes and stand under a stream of cold water, turn on the air, and read a bit before nodding off for a ten minute nap.  

If I’m feeling my oats, I’ll have a yoga session.  Sometimes a workout or a run, though the latter can be pretty tough sledding.  Hot, dusty, crowded, and with the added spice of acrid smoke in the back of the throat.  The bonus here is the myriad possibilities of small, snake-like streets.  I’ll simply run, turning here and there, until I’m not sure where I am, then stop and ask people which way to the Mekong? If I can find the river, I can find my way home. 

Rebecca is not done until well after dark.  Again, I’ll work my way to the hospital, sometimes stopping off at a little shop just outside the hospital gates to buy a cold can of Beer Lao, which I’ll sip in the parking lot while waiting for her to come out.  The hospital’s far enough from town that one can see the stars in the sky, smell the soft, warm air, hear the bugs. Just across the way are families camped out in the little area provided by the hospital, waiting on their kids to get better—or not. 

Early to bed.  My understanding is that there’s a disco scene here.  I have ridden by karaoke bars, but so far, come night, this dog’s tired.  We’ll typically get dinner at one of a hundred little places near our guesthouse—more conventional spots with menus and even western offerings, though my stomach seems more at peace with the native fare.  

And that, as they say, is that.  

Luang Prabang

 Where the Mekong and Nam Khan Rivers converge

Nam Khan River from the old bridge

Hoikhua Waterfall

Boat ride on the Mekong

Obama was here!!! 💕

A little about where we are until the end of March. 

  Luang Prabang is in Northern Laos. Surrounded by mountains, it’s where the Mekong and Nam Khan Rivers come together. It was the ancient royal capital until the mid 1500’s. In 1995 the city was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is the most popular tourist destination of Laos.

  We were here during our excellent adventure four years ago and fell in love with the place. It’s beautiful. Lots of French architecture, royal palaces and so many Wats (Buddhist temples.) The surrounding countryside is just as nice with panoramic views and waterfalls.  Since it’s a premier tourist destination it’s also got great amenities. Really good restaurants, yoga, massage and markets. And since it’s Southeast Asia it’s very affordable!

   When I heard about an opportunity to work here I couldn’t pass it up. I had such fond memories of this place. I think we’re finding that we’re more drawn to staying in one place for a period of time and trying to get to know the place although we will be traveling a bit when my work at the hospital is done.

    Things are a little different than our last stay. Last time we were here in May which is a very quiet time before the rains. This time we showed up in the middle of the Chinese New Year celebration. Apparently a road has opened across the border (China is just north of us) so there are many cars with Chinese license plates. It was really crowded everywhere the first few days we were here. We are told by locals that by the end of the month it will be quiet again and I have to say that I’m looking forward to that.

  The main tourist activities in the city are visiting temples, observing the alm giving ceremony every morning at sunrise, shopping and eating great food. Because of the French influence there is no shortage of nice coffee, bread and even croissants.  Lao cuisine is delicious but we’ve also had some good pizza and Indian food. At a simple place we can get away with paying less than $10 for a meal for the two of us including a couple of big Beer Lao. Our favorite breakfast is from the soup stand on the corner where you can get a delicious bowl of noodle soup for 5000 Kip (about 60 cents.)

   Outside of the city there is trekking, waterfalls, kayaking, elephant sanctuaries. Today we took a nice trip up the Mekong to a botanical garden and waterfall. Mike’s planning a mountain bike trip through the countryside across the Mekong tomorrow morning before it gets too hot. Hoping to check out the sights on my days off.

   We’re staying at a nice guesthouse about a 10 minute walk/ 3 minute bike ride to the city center (4km/ 20 minute bike ride to the hospital.) It was built by a doctor who helped establish the hospital I work at and now works for the Swiss Red Cross. The other people who live here are mostly volunteers also- a couple of Brit nurses, an OT and nurse from the US, an English teacher from the Netherlands, a couple of Red Cross workers. It’s away from the main tourist area so very quiet which is good considering I’ll be working nights and will need to sleep during the day. 

  Mike and I share a small room with an ensuite bathroom. We have good strong air conditioning and a little fridge. (It can feel a little tight even if you’re used to tiny house living.) We do have a nice open air common space/garden to spill out into and have our morning coffee or evening beer. There’s a communal kitchen if we want to cook but haven’t had the desire since restuarant food is so cheap and good. Wifi is a little intermittent but fine. So far we haven’t had any power outages. All in all a simple, clean, comfortable living situation for about 8 bucks/day.

   There are two sweet local girls who keep things neat. They do housekeeping in our room once a week and do my laundry for 10,000 Kip/ kg (about $1.20.) Dr. Vahnaly, who owns our house, has asked Mike to teach them a little English but he hasn’t had much success. They are very young and extremely shy. He keeps trying…

   That’s it for now. I’ll share more about work soon. So happy to be in this place!!!

Bring on the Clowns!

I do cop to being a cheap bastard.  Mostly, I’d prefer to buy rather than rent, and given my druthers, I’d like to see that thing I bought appreciate in value.  Or at least hold steady.  And so it landed heavily on my ears when Rebecca declared her need for a bike.

“Find me a bike today.  Check out that sport shop on the way to the hospital.  I like the looks of the ones with the basket in front, and the fake leather hand grips.  Make sure it has a bell.”  OK.  So I’d done a bit of sleuthing, and knew the bike she described to be a piece of shit.  And way over-priced.  But I also knew the only other choice to be a pink high-handlebar number with a mythical unicorn emblazoned on the chain guard.

“How about we rent you one?  Could work out to be a bit cheaper…”  This has become a pretty serious tourist town, and as such, there are no ends of bike and scooter rentals catering to the masses.  Just about every guesthouse has them lined up out front, and the prices are not bad—two to three dollars a day.  The quality is also a tad higher than that of the bike for purchase, though I dare say they’re rather poorly maintained.  

Mind, I know where Rebecca stands on this matter, in that she is not a cheap bastard (like me.)  Truth told, she’s rather generous.  “I want to donate it to the hospital when we leave.  They could use it.”

(Dammit, girl! How we ever gonna get anywhere in this world if we’re forever giving it all away?)

I’m not much for the game of chess, but know enough to see my king had just been worked into a tight bind.  There’s logic and reason, and then there’s compassion and heart.  Spend a couple days in the children’s hospital of Luang Prabang, and the latter makes the former seem rather small.  I didn’t argue the point, and picked her up the bike of her choice yesterday.  It’s sitting in the courtyard of our guesthouse as I write this post.  

There’s more.  Having purchased Rebecca’s bike, I figured I’d use my new-found mobility to scour the town for anything remotely close to a shop with quality bikes, which meant heading for the center of tourist town.  

Soon enough, I located a shop dedicated to taking people on rides around Luang Prabang.  Things get pretty rough road-wise just beyond the town limits, so this place—Tiger Trail Tours—stocks fairly modern mountain bikes built to industry standards.  Twenty-nine inch wheels, disk brakes, front suspension.  The dude behind the counter was just closing up, but suggested I might get a deal on a long-term rental, though no way would the owner agree to sell one of his cash cows.  I grabbed a Specialized Rockhopper parked near the shop door, gave him my driver’s license and 50,000 kip (approx. six dollars) and was on my way.  He had another employee lead the mountain bike next to his motor scooter and follow me as I rode Rebecca’s piece of shit through the congestion of rush hour Luang Prabang and, finally, our guesthouse. Time to check out the new ride.

This is not a crazy big town, with a population of roughly 431,000. The countries’ capital, Vientiane, only sports roughly 783,000 souls.  All of Laos doesn’t quite top seven million, according to world population review. So I already have a feel for things, and thought I’d see how long it takes to ride to the hospital—roughly four kilometers from our guesthouse. Not to brag or anything, but I still got it.  Held my own against the locals on scooters and tuk tuks.  The old third-world eyes-in-the-back-of-my-head still seem to work, I guess.  

There’s an open air waiting area just outside the hospital check-in desk.  Behind that is a smaller, more private area where families can sleep, cook, and generally lean on each other while waiting on the fate of their sick child.  Many come from far reaches of the country for the free help the hospital provides, and can easily wait all day before things free up enough to get checked in.  

The waiting area has fans whirring overhead, a big flat screen TV for educational films, sinks with soap, and a row of squat toilets and showers.  There’s also a water cooler with a five gallon jug of clean water to drink and a community cup. As I was washing my face and hands in one of the sinks, I was aware of an odd chirping sound and sensed people crowding in behind me.  

I pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and when I put my glasses back on saw in the mirror a bright red clown wig and nose.  When I turned around, there was the whole clown, spouting mile-a-minute, bird-like gibberish and giving me a curious look.  

I considered for a minute before declaring, “Nothing like a clown nose to take the bite out of a hot day.  You speak English?”  She nodded toward a little boy, maybe six or seven years old, in a wheelchair with one of his legs and arms bandaged.  In his good hand was a small plastic noise-maker which he now shook violently while moving his lips to match the chirping sound the noisemaker made— sounding alot like the clown.  They made quite the team.  His smile split his face.  

I smiled, too. He did it again. I laughed.  Repeat.  And, as sometimes happens, the whole thing started to get really funny.  I noticed all the other people sitting around were smiling and laughing at our little exchange. It dawned on me, too, that there was no elegant way to stop the laughing.  One doesn’t cut short a little kid’s joy—especially a little kid who is covered in bandages and who, despite that unfortunate fact, showed no inclination to stop our little game. And so it turned into a proper laugh-fest orgy for the whole waiting area, which was just the thing on a hot and dusty Monday afternoon.  

All of which is to say: hats off to the clown.  I didn’t get her name, but she did share that she speaks French when not speaking gibberish and making the kids laugh.  

 Later, while riding back to the guesthouse, I considered her effort for the act of generosity and courage it is.  Sometimes something silly is the best thing there is, and odd as it sounds, silly takes courage and strength.  As does giving.  Playing it safe and making a profit, or following the rules and doing one’s duty, are surely important building blocks of a secure social order.  Cheap bastards build empires, I guess.  But clowns…clowns build castles. And sometimes, those castles float up among the clouds in the sky. 

A New Adventure

                                            The Nam Khan River at twilight

From Rebecca-

We're off on a new adventure in Southwest Asia. We came here via a very circuitous route. Marquette>Traverse City>Fowlerville>Detroit>New Orleans>Cozumel, Mexico>Harvest Caye, Belize>New Orleans>Chicago>Tokyo>Bangkok (Whew!) and finally to Luang Prabang, Laos where we'll be for the next 6 weeks. 
I'll be working at the Lao Friends Hospital for Children. Mike will be wandering around the town and country- musing and making friends. Also possibly doing some volunteer teaching of English with the medical staff. 
We've been a little remiss in getting this blog up and running so for our first entry (and as a means of experimenting to make sure the darn thing works) I'll share an email that Mike sent to Quinn yesterday. (She was in South Africa with Josh.)  More to follow...


Hey Quinn. 
Yes, we’re in Laos.  It’s five-thirty in the morning here, which (I think) makes it very late night there.  I fell asleep at nine and woke just a few minutes ago—eight hours!  I’m sitting in the small, open-air common area of our guest house, having a cup of tea and listening to the roosters do their thing.  This is a lovely place. We came in low over steep, green hills and a muddy brown river.  Of course, we’ve been to Luang Prabang before, but I suppose the truth of a place has something to do with the emergence of the matrix between the beholder and that which they are experiencing.   Not that I’m going to get all Bhuddist on you or anything, but while I recognize the place, am familiar with the streets and businesses—even stopped in to say hello to the fellow who runs the guesthouse we stayed in when last here—there is something very different about my perception of the place this time.  In a good way.  
Last night we went out in search of a meal.  There was a little family-run place just a couple blocks from the guesthouse, where mom and the kids put out bowls and bowls of greens and noodles and different meats and some things too that I’m not at all sure what they were.  Customers are given a bowl and a pair of tongs and encouraged to fill it from the samples, which the girls then took and mixed up into a big salad with various sauces and spices and peanuts and sesame.  Really really good.  But, you know, kind of rustic.  There was a place to sit in an enclosed area behind their stall, and a cooler with cold beer.  One of the girls spoke English, and so she worked us through the deal.  We had a nice salad and some grilled beef with sticky rice, plus a couple big bottles of cold Beer Lao.  As we were eating, the place slowly filled with young parents, kids, and couples.  Just off the eating area was a charcoal fire and grill, where one of the girls was turning meat, and the whole place held the smell of smoke and sizzling fat. When the bill came, I did the math and realized our whole meal and drinks cost just under five dollars.  Needless to say, it’s my new favorite place!  Anyway, while we were eating, I could see a stream of folks walking past.  Our guesthouse is kind of off the beaten path, but there were some tourists who looked at the place like one might look at an exotic animal at the zoo.  Our last time here we were kind of nearing the end of a six month run in India, Southeast Asia, etc., and I suppose I was a bit worn down.  Finding the place lovely, but not feeling the love for the crush of humanity crowding the streets—of who I am one, of course!  Anyway, as I watched the people wading past, there was a bit of a shift from my usual tendency to group and catalogue: Dirty hippie, Euro trash, Chinese group following along, comfortable old white people (my people!)  I’ll note, too, how the usual tendency absolutely renders these souls not so much as individuals with unique and varied stories, but as impediment and obstacle—something around which I must navigate, or behind which I must wait before I get the things I want.  All of which very easily leads to tension and anger.  (Or road rage, which probably feels damn good when it’s being spent, but is no way for a civilized race to move forward!)  
Now, it might be the beer, or the excellent food, but something in me registered these souls for the individuality they carry.  I noticed their shoes, and wondered how they felt, or what that woman in the white dress thought when she slipped hers on before heading out for the evening. Did her husband comment on them?  The close-cropped hair on the side of a young man’s head, giving way to a mop of styled tangles up top.  Square glasses, a full sleeve tattoo, and  an almost painfully articulated expression of intellect and sophistication. What's he afraid of? An old dude with a cane (when did he find that he needed this, and is it something for which he feels shame, anger, a hopeful/distinguished air?)  Each part of the parade blended with, and became a part of the exotic temples, the monks, the palm trees, the cool French architecture, coffee, and baguettes.  
The hope and effort, of course, is in finding a way to sustain the child-like acceptance and wonder.  It’s almost always like this when one lands in a new place, be it New York, South Africa, or Luang Prabang.  And as it fades, so too does the quality of life.  Which, ultimately, is all we have.
OK.  I have been writing and drinking tea for an hour.  There is a faint light of day coming into the sky, and I want some french bread and coffee. Time to walk.  I think you are flying home today.  
Safe travels.  
I love you, Dad.