Category: laos

  • Phone for thought.


    When I first took this photo in a Laos village, I didn’t want to post it online. I felt like a pedophile, or I at least felt like I might be assisting pedophiles in doing whatever they do that makes them pedophiley. But I love this picture. It’s really what kids in Laos look like, and if that means that they don’t worry about covering their genitals, then the world should know that Laos is a place where genitals roam free and parents are more concerned with making sure their kids have their blessings tied on their wrists than the holes in their pants sewn shut (Or this could be a diaper alternative that I just don’t know about.). They live in huts of straw. They eat sticky rice for dinner. They wear shoes on occasion. They’ve never heard of computers. They grow their own food. They nap with water buffalo. Life is so easy.

    —————————

    This week I’ve been faced with a lot of technology. Not only do I have this whole iPhone thing to figure out, I’ve been tweeting. Fuck. I don’t want to do it, but it’s something “they” say I have to do if I want to get blog traffic and be a famous writer and leave advertising for good. So I’m doing it. I’m telling all my ‘followers’ how many times I sneeze per day, and then I’m turning to my phone to tell me when to menstruate, what Martha’s been cooking recently, and how I can get to a macrobiotic restaurant in the valley where my friends await me with a bottle of sulfite-free wine. I wear heels. I have a green-friendly car. I own stock. I shop organic. I just ordered curtains from UrbanOutfitters.com. Life is so easy.

    My question is… What if I’d been born in Laos?

    I’m so lucky.

    Or am I?

  • The Mekong is long.


    I’m talkin’ long. I wonder if there are record books and fame for the fish who have made it from one side to the other.

    She begins all the way up in Tibet. And flows in every which direction until she hits the sea after Vietnam. She’s murky and, at first, seemed to me rather unappealing. But then I bumped into her in the strangest of places. She was like that neighbor you avoid in the supermarket, popping up in the Vietnam aisle, the Cambodia aisle and even the Laos aisle. By the time I arrived in Thailand, I had grown to expect her. And even enjoy her company.

    After so much time with the Mekong, I realized how many people depend on her. She supports remote villages on her banks and floating within her. She is home to schools of dolphins. She is the manufacturer, highway and delivery truck for fish nets planted by men in sarongs. She is the deserted road leading to towns where the most wanted criminals can hide. She is the bath and shower for naked children, fully clothed adults, and naked water buffalo. Her banks have ignited the contemplation of many a sunset.

    Brown is the new blue.

    Naked kids screaming ‘Hellooooooo!’ in Cambodia.

    Growing up barefoot.

    Monks heading up the banks in Laos.

    My longboat that maneuvered through the pointy rocks of Laos.

    Door-to-door saleswomen.

    Hour 5 of the 10-hour journey through Cambodia.

  • monkey see. monkey weeeeeee.

    Danielle was my best friend in third grade. One of our favorite past times was dancing. Well, I would dance, mostly to ‘Cold Hearted Snake,’ and she would sit on my bed and watch. Now that I think of it, I never asked her if she wanted to watch me. I mostly made her watch me. Sorry, Danielle. Especially since now I realize that my extraordinary dancing ability was mainly in my imagination:

    click for dancing prowess

    Our other favorite past time was hanging out in our tree house, which was not really in a tree. It was more like a ground house made of purple plywood behind my garage. It had tires for chairs, carpet padding for floor, and a bookcase. In our private chalet, we shared secrets, hid from her overbearing parents, and felt sophisticated.

    I have just lived in a tree house that makes my purple oasis drown in self-doubt.

    The Gibbon Experience, on the Thai/Laos border, is a conservation effort that boasts the best tree houses in Asia or perhaps the universe. These aren’t your regular old dad-made-this-house-from-scraps-out-of-the-Menards-dumpster tree houses. In a protected jungle some 40-70 meters above the forest floor, these are the tree houses Donald Trump dreamed about. Some have penthouses three stories up! They each have bathrooms with showers that look out onto the vast crowd of trees below. They have sinks and stoves and candles for electricity. But here’s the kicker: the only way into these 8-person havens is by zip line.

    That’s right. Not only have the creators of this project fulfilled every child’s dream with a tricked-out tree house, they also distribute a select few zip line belts, recreating that exclusive clique from school and, for two nights and 160 Euros, you’re in!

    This group happened to include four Danish teenagers, a self-proclaimed alcoholic from Ireland with an Arsenal tattoo covering his forearm, a Finnish opium smoker with a braided beard, and a self-deprecating American girl with brittle hair (that’s me!).

    During the day, we hiked through the jungle in search of animals. The group was quite loud, so the only real animals we found were leeches. They were easily spotted in our socks.

    But the flora was lush, and just when we were ready to faint from a big uphill effort, we would arrive at a zip line or a waterfall.

    The zips were simple cables tied around one tree on one side of the canyon and another tree on the other, secured with bolts. That’s it. I feared for my life each time my diaper-like harness and its simple knot and carabiner soared me over the entire forest canopy. Most of the time, we were at least 100 meters above ground, gliding at rapid speeds for 400 meters.

    I can only describe it as exhilarating. And scary. And really really fun. I was the only one who could not squelch the urge to yell, “Weeeeeeeeeee!” the entire way. Uh… I might have thrown in a few “fuuuuuck”s as well.

    We’d arrive at a posh tree house after a hard day of zipping and wait for our dinner to be whisked in by a miniature Laos man on zip line. It couldn‘t have made us feel more cool. In fact, I felt so cool that I now feel arrogant talking about it.

    The only down point was the rats. Though we nestled ourselves into opaque mosquito nets for our slumber, we could hear them everywhere. It sounded like millions, searching for food in OUR tree house a mere millimeter away from our heads, barred from eating our brains by only a thin sheet. They only stayed for an hour or so, snacked on our waste, and headed on back down the 70-meter tree.

    The point of the Gibbon Experience is to see wild gibbons and their relatives. Instead, we WERE the gibbons, swinging from tree to tree and sleeping among the rats. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

    No actual door but you can’t come in.

    Weeeeeeeeeeeee!

    I had to wear my magic socks. They make me brave. And scare away leeches. (‘Hey guys let’s move on. There is a scary chicken on these socks. Ay ay ay!’)

    My new Finnish friend. Who has Finnish friends? So cool.

    Penthouse bed. Oooh yeah.

    Waking up to leaves.

    Breakfast at 70 meters.
    Align Center

    I slowed it down for you. I swear it’s real scary.