+ Sometimes Asia stinks. They have a poor sewage system that slithers into your nostrils and stops you in your tracks. And then there are the markets full of fish. It’s always hunky dorey around the sandals and the t-shirts, but it is inevitable that you’ll pass the perishing perishables. One stench that also hides within the market is the durian. It’s a horrifyingly ugly fruit the size of a volleyball with green spikes that emit a most foul odor. And it seems to take turns with the sewage to creep up behind you and surprise without notice. I’ve heard in Thailand there are signs at hotel entrances with pictures of durian adorned with the red circle and line. Stinky.
Of course, I had to try it. I ordered it in ice cream form, as I found its pimply skin too offensive to peel myself. The first thought when I put it in my mouth was…. sugar-coated rotting flesh. But that dissolved into diaper. And then sock. And then it just grew on me. And I finished the bowl. So now I am not so offended by it. But I try to walk the other way when its stench taps my shoulder in the markets.
+ I awoke the other morning to the sound of someone’s dinner being thrust from his guts into the toilet. He was clearly suffering, plops of goo entering the toilet amidst groans and weak cries. It was 7am. He finished. Then at 7:30 the remnants of his dinner decided to join their friends. I had a feeling this place wasn’t that classy. The Youth Inn, it was called. Duh. But it was a mere nine bucks and I was trying to be thrifty. The room’s stained walls were made from corrugated cardboard, there was a pair of dirty wet underwear in the garbage, and I could stick my hand through a hole in the bathroom wall and actually pet the puker. It was then that I realized I can no longer “rough it” when it comes to hotel rooms. I just can’t. I am not a 20-year old recent college grad accustomed to dorm living. I had a fireplace, dammit! I was big time. I think sometimes my apartment might have even wafted a slight scent of mahogany. I have decided to step it up, and now my room has a shower curtain! It might mean ending my trip early, but I am worth a hand soap.
+ My first night in Laos was spent in a brothel. Whoops. It looked like a regular bar from the outside, but when I walked in with my two new Kiwi friends, several pairs of overly made-up eyes turned our way immediately. Hmm… it didn’t look right, but my new friends ordered a large beer each and sat down in the sticky red booth. After watching how the game worked, Daniel approached a girl and was quickly reprimanded by her “handler.” It cost $4 to talk to her for the hour. And much more, of course, for more. They didn’t want to pay 4 bucks. And they didn’t want to leave their beers, so we sat and stared at all the men paying for women to talk to them. There were quite a few, both locals and Westerners. Some guys even had 2 or 3 girlies. I thought about working there. I could be the exotic Westerner! I would charge double and be able to extend my trip. I’m still thinking about it, but I’m leaning towards not doing it.
+ Do flight attendants really need to remind us of the mechanics of a seatbelt every time we fly?
+ I hear the economy is bad or something? That sucks. Hey! I know a brothel that’s hiring.
+ Traveling alone means eating alone, and inevitably it means eavesdropping. It’s so bad, but I involuntarily end up listening to many conversations. And I have come to this conclusion: people are boring.
+ I am one of the few who get my jokes. People from several countries have told me I’m strange. I think they mean funny though.
+ I realized that the ‘having no sorta plan’ routine was starting to wear on me. It’s exhausting to get to a town, find a place, meet new friends, find the good place for dinner, meet the locals, and figure out the bus schedule. So, I have decided to make some definite plans. I’m considering reserving a room at a resort in Thailand that offers a 7-day detox cleansing program. The only thing stopping me are the daily self-induced enemas. If I choose to do it, I will make sure to be really descriptive when writing about that experience.