slow boatin’ along the Mekong.

The destination is in the journey.

Not quite ready to say goodbye to Pad Thai, the baht, and Thai smiles, but knowing it was time to go, Marianna and I had to get moving and take it slow. We had heard from countless travelers about the “uncomfortable, but worth it,” journey up the Mekong River to Laos from Thailand. This boat journey was the only consensus from our fellow backpackers – it is so good, we had to do it.

After bargaining, then booking a all-inclusive Laos slow boat package from our guesthouse owner Saki/Sindy (his name was really Saki, but we thought it was Sindy for 4 days. Turns out Sindy is a long lost unrequited love. So then we called him SakiSindy, one word), we jumped on a van, waving goodbye to Chang Mai and heading towards a new journey, backpacking, moving towards another adventure.

The slow boat journey takes two days. It starts in Huay Xai, stops one night in a small village called Pak Peng, and ends in Luang Prabang, an old cycling formerly french colony of Laos. The boat – well, it’s slow. The wooden boat is outfitted with seats converted from an old car or airplane, crudely strapped onto the hard wood floor with rusting bolts. The crew was a Laos family, with their quarters at the back of the boat and a squat toilet in the rear near the engine.It is not particularly comfortable or uncomfortable, fancy or primitive, charming or ugly – it is slow.

Walking on the boat these old converted seats were filled with fellow backpackers, travelers, from all over the world, here for the journey. Here for the slow ride. Not in any particular hurry to get from one place to another, drinking in the Mekong and traveling like people should travel – slowly. Slowly in order to feel the kilometers and hours that separate places from other places.

The cast of characters strewn about these seats clothed with various colors of elephant-genie pants, big backpacks, and Lonely Planet books became our friends over the two days and one night. After all, all we had was time. Slow-moving time to soak in the Mekong lush green and one another’s stories.

There was George. A 63-year-old man from California, recently divorced and finding his new adventure. He has meditated for 20 years, works as a psychotherapist. As we floated on the brown muddy Mekong, Dennis talked about how to experience the greatest depth of the many emotions and experiences life hands you. He talked about falling in love. A person can fall in love every day, with different people, different types of love. But it can always be mad love. He had a certain sadness in his eyes, but an excitement that even as an old man he was something new, always changing. He was a man on a mission – he wanted to retire in Asia and also may or may not have been doing “research” on finding a Thai bride. We slowly floated along.

Then there were the german boys. We met them on our bus from Chang Mai. They were so, so German. Serious faces, thick accents, and jokesters. They both just finished studying and had a few months to travel. Silly boys walked down to the river during our stop over in Pak Beng and shared Beer Laos with the slow-boat drivers, coming back drunk and giddy, just in time to pay for their dinner. We spoke of their health-care and school systems (free for all), taxes, and our future plans. We lamented the inevitable end of adventure and the beginning of picking our career paths. We slowly floated along.

Bonnie was a trip. Korean tour guide Barbie, we jokingly called her. A woman from Korea who had broken every societal expectation placed on her. She wasn’t married, no kids, and did not live in Korea much of the year. She was a tour guide for young Koreans who go to Europe. She brought her tour guide persona on the journey as Bonnie shepherded us from one boat, van, restaurant and pier to another, a smile on her face the whole time. She called one of the french boys “BB” meaning, beautiful boy and laughed out loud each time he called her, in his thickly-accented way “BG,” beautiful girl. We slowly floated along.

The frenchmen were well, French. Hailing from the alps in France, these two chain smoked cigarettes and tentatively rolled newly-acquired English words on their tongues and ordered wine in a country that only drinks beer. They had spent a year traveling and the more drinks we had the more stories they told about their travels living in a van in Australia. They listened to French rock music so loudly it hurt my ears. They smiled and sat on the edge of the boat, looking out at the villages and greenery we passed. We slowly floated along.

Then there was Johnny from Portugal. He was a cartoonist by trade and had lived in Paris for 9 years. Johnny studied astrology and numbers. My number, calculated by the day of my birth is 5. He was a 5 too. We are always pushing, moving forward, changing, learning to be flexible. My life number, a 9. A giver, caring, always making time for people. Marianna’s day number is nine, her life number, 5- exact opposites, but the same numbers. “When you say good morning and someone doesn’t respond, you can’t let it hurt you,” he told Marianna and I as we listened intently over the roar of the engine. “This is who you are, you want to give, not everyone is like you. You will suffer if you expect the same from others.” Learning more about yourself and how to interact with other people, that’s why he studies numbers. I told him my stories, he gave me his insight. His deep yellow/green eyes staring intently. We slowly floated along.

Slowly floating down the Mekong our fellow passengers read, slept, talked, drank BeerLaos, leaned on one another’s shoulders for quiet naps, told stories, and listened. Listened to the sound of the boat’s engine, listened to the foreign Laos language uttered by the crew, listened the calm waves slapping against the wooden body of the boat. And we listened to one another. Traveling, making time, slowly floating along.

-Katy

Floating through Bangkok.

It was one of those light, flirtatious, floating days.

Waking up in Bangkok, day three. I emerged from our windowless small hotel room running shoes in hand, giddy with a new pair of socks I inherited from my 25 B/kilo laundry day. Two new matching pairs fo free. The hot sun on my skin pushed away the residual sleepy fog. The moment it hit my skin began to glisten with the constant sweat that is Bangkok. The beads of sweat tickled as they rolled down my back, cooling me in the city’s heat. I ran through the city streets, dodging reckless drivers and drinking in smiles from the inviting vendors and tuk tuk drivers. I slipped in between the fences of the park surrounded by intersections and intricate temples and started making laps. A police officer, reclined in a metal chair by the park entrance waved and smiled at me each time I passed, offering me water and another sweet taste of pleasant interactions with these heart-y people. Crazy blonde girl. Yes. This is a good day. Thank you Thailand for reminding me how beautiful this life can be.

The country’s charms pull me away from dark tired places, rejuvinating, reinvigorating, offering me something good, light, new. I am new here. I am nameless. No one here knows where I come from, what I have done, or what I should be doing. Feeling lost I am in the process of finding. Clean slate, discovering, adventuring, feeling light.

Back to my room, shower (Number one of three for the wet heat), off to the Grand Palace to see the famous emerald Buddha. I visited the shake lady- always go with the food ladies, superior to the food cart men – and bought a 30 Baht mango lime shake along the way. I lined up at the temple and feigned off offers for tours in English. I pushed my way through crowds of Chinese tourists to see what I could see of the pinnacle of Royal Thai luxury. Wat Phra Kaew is the former Royal Palace built at the King’s demand in the 1780s. It is laden with jewel-encrusted temples and statues of mythical creatures placed to protect the king. School children sat under shaded huts, singing traditional Buddhist lyrics, their words echoing through the crowded structures.

I was studying a gold wall when two Chinese women approached me and held out their camera. “Oh sure, I can take your picture,” I responded. They shook their head and one woman pulled me by her side while the other took a picture of me and the stranger. I giggled. The two switched places and I smiled for round two. Another group of Chinese people came over and seized the opportunity for pictures with the American. It felt silly, but I smiled at the difference. All the differences and the commonality between me and those that surround me in this foreign land. The day was still light, I giggled some more.

Before entering into the temple that houses the emerald Buddha I removed my shoes placing them among the piles of knock-offs of expensive brands. My knock-off Toms fit right in. A fake child, in a fake poor country, got a fake pair of shoes for my real purchase. Thailand is what it is, and it isn’t what it isn’t. The Buddha sat on a high pedestal, in his summer robes, and throngs of tourists kneeled below him. I too sat on my knees and bent, touching my head three times to the marble ground like those around me. It was cool in the temple.

It was light. I was enveloped by the display of reverence from people all over the world around me, whether Buddhist or not. Enveloped by the obvious and yet forgotten truth that we are all so much the same. Enveloped by the likelihood that all cultures and people – throughout history and in our time- embrace that there is something more than our immediate existence, to kneel before something, to be reverent, to pause, to acknowledge something bigger – whatever that might be and for whatever reason we might do it. The day was still light.

I rushed back to my hotel where Marianna awaited. Time to pack up and get moving to the next adventure. Our Spanish friends, Rual and Julian, came to see us off. We giggled in the lobby, joking and teasing their English, using our Spanish, and asking after plans for the future. Dizzy with the truth of our current existence- we have no plans except now. Sukothai for many days and then perhaps the next place. When to the next place? Well, when we go. When will we see you again? Next time. Definitely next time. The day was still light.

We jumped in a meter taxi, running late, as usual. “I have a feeling we will just miss it, or we will make it,” said Marianna. We giggled. Our driver, Preecha, spoke wonderful English. We jumped on the opportunity to ask him questions about our foreign country. We had been dying to ask a Thai person. How fortunate.

“Where are all the fake products made?” we enquired.

“Produced in China, sold here. The government cracked down on the producers for awhile, but they are sold everywhere. Don’t buy. They don’t work,” he responded.

“Why are there so many twinkiling lights on the streets right now?”

“The king and queen from Malaysia are visiting. It was our Queen’s birthday, so they just left the lights up,” Preecha patiently explained.

“Do you think we will make our train? It leaves in 20 minutes,” we asked.

“Maybe, I will try. Depends on traffic.”

He explained to us that some men wear one long fingernail because it is in style. The long boats have colorful ties on the bow for decoration and because that is what the King did with his boat. The people have a good king who has done more than 7,000 things for the people and has the longest reign of any monarch in history. The king was born in the United States. Ahh, so many answers, many of which we guessed, but accepted we might never really know. Now we know. Or we know what Preecha told us.

Preecha rushed us out of the taxi, pointed us to the ticket counter, and handed us his card if we need him again in Bangkok. We rushed to the counter, two tickets, tourist price, and landed at platform number ten. “Hurry, hurry” said the train people, they were serious this time. We hopped on and proceeded to our car. The train started moving. Giggling with our luck, giddy with a new experience. It must be our new Buddha pendant necklaces. I swear we have been getting more smiles. The day is still light.

So happy to not be on a miserable bus for transportation we danced and laughed, drinking in the air from the open windows and comfy seats. The train is like Thailand’s Polar Express. Instead of hot chocolate there is a variety of meats on a stick, mangos, nuts, and green foreign stringy substances. Instead of rosy-cheeked train attendants there are smiling laughing venders yelling out the names of their goods in harsh loud tones, walking up and down the train aisles. Instead of Santa Clause there is a conductor wearing what looks like a military uniform who takes our ticket and finds a wooden plank to force our sealed, stuborn window open. A man with a small beige hat stops at our seats when Marianna buys a water, he laughs, we laugh, he laughs louder, we laugh louder. No words, just laughter, smiles for no reason in particular. He feels the light too.

Hungry, I walk down to the food car. Five Thai men surround me. They know ten english words with their heads combined and I eventually and successfully order chicken stir fry in chili sauce. A woman disappears to another car and emerges 10 minutes later with a hot plate of vegetables, chicken, and rice. Arroy-ma. Delicious. They laugh at my broken, messy attempts at Thai.

Now on to Sukothai to learn about the old capital for this beautiful country. The day is light, we have nowhere to be and everywhere to go. No one knows our names. Only our smiles and our Buddha necklaces we bought on the street. The wind is on my face as we ride through the countryside. The day is flirtatious, the day is light. Onward. I can finally breathe again.

 

-Katy