Bladder Hell - Neil

The air conditioner is losing the battle with the sunshine and body heat creating a glassed-in sauna for the 30 of us suffering on this 10 hour “VIP” bus ride from Luang Prabang to Vientienne. Lush panoramic views of jungle and blue skies dotted with cotton-puff clouds and waterfalls taunt those of us trapped in the convection oven. My bladder is inconsolate. The bus yaws and pitches and rolls about like a mechanical bull pitching our anatomies and jostling all the fluid in us that hasn’t already turned to sticky sweat. The harmonics of the bus set up no soothing rhythm. No comfort or pleasure that might be found on the back of a galloping horse or the cadence of a train. Instead dissonance prevails – bones are jarred, the head is rocked about, and my bladder is squashed and pressed on every inopportune bounce. The onboard bathroom, which one of the passengers now staggers towards, is only a different type of sensory torture. One man pitches down the stairs towards it as the bus lurches. On the previous 4 hour stint I myself braved that bathroom journey and stench. Standing , as men often do, I found continence had gripped me. One needs safety – a calm moment for the body to relax and let the fluids flow, and with my head banging into the 10” too-low ceiling and the bus lurching me about from side to side that calm, reflective moment never came . I lowered the toilet seat which slid off the perch as the hinges had long since rusted through. Replacing it I eventually eeked out the contents of my wary bladder, but by then my stomach was churning with nausea from riding backwards in this smelly cubical. So now I sit – inwardly peevish, outwardly stoic. Asking the childhood question “ARE WE THERE YET?” I check my watch again – surely there is only a little more to endure. Sadly only ten minutes have passed since last check. Five more hours to go.


Eplilogue: We reached the guesthouse and both of us were pleased with our clean Western style non-lurching toilet. h

Quite a trek, now packing up to move along

Here’s a quick from update as we’re soon to be in-transit here out of Muang Sing; we're busily recovering from our trek and shedding our “sorta household” we’ve collected here so as to be ready to leave Friday morning.

We had our 3-night, 2-day trek on Saturday, Sunday, Monday. A tough trek, both physically and mentally, we definitely got “off the beaten-path!”, and overall successful. Here were the highlights:

· A beautiful blessing ceremony in the little village of Ban Sai, at the corner of the Mekong River and Nam Soh River, looking west into Myanmar. The four big-men of the village including the chief—all apparently thoughtful, serious, considerate, careful, responsible, family men—each came around and tied little strings around our wrists while very respectfully chanting blessings about our good journey and good health, and then drank lots of lao lao (rice whiskey) on our behalf. The ceremony was in the home a very kind family where we slept, they were so careful and eager to make us comfortable, with many smiles, veggie food (bamboo shoot/chili soup, egg and rice nicely laid out in clean dishes on a banana-leaf-lined little bamboo table), and clean, comfy beds, and gentle massages for our exhausted bodies by beautifully dressed Tai-Lu young women from the village.

· Bathing in the smaller river, including being joined by 5-6 young boy monks; though I still haven’t mastered bathing gracefully in a sarong. Feeling clean was awesome, woulda’ done it with the whole village watching if I had to. The river was fast, cool, perfectly-sized, with lots of rocks to make for non-muddy bathing.

· Though miserable, the fact that it rained on us much of the second day was also a blessing as it kept us from getting hot as we trudged up from the Mekong thru beautiful views, rice fields (lined with cucumber vines, pumpkin vines, sesame plants, etc.)—up a 1500-meter high mountain, then back down, then back up—finally reaching Ban Eurla (an Akha village) for our second night.

· Though not necessarily pleasant, we had many observations of how challenged this village is—school building run down, teacher “not yet arrived” (empty house also waiting for him/her). What seems dirtiness to us—the village itself, the homes (at least where we stayed), the dishes, the furniture, the children. Lucky for this village, their water at least seems pretty clean from a village stream. Chief was away on business, we were hosted by his family including his very-addicted father (we think?), and kid-brother (16 years old—and one of the very few in the village who speaks Lao). Are the challenges because of Akha culture? Poverty? A dysfunctional chief’s family? Bad air from Vientianne (300 miles south), as one family believes and shared with us? Or perhaps not enough sacrificed chickens, pigs, cows, water buffalo? Or the secret war that pillaged this country 30 years ago in the USA’s seemingly-ill-advised effort to combat the Red Threat? Or the opium that has been, in some way, a focus of political and economic attention in this region for centuries? Or just “fate”? Who knows . . . regardless of causal elements, depressing.

· Again—bathing at the stream, this time under the bamboo aqueduct (powerful force!!). Then dry clothes (woo-hoo!!) and warming up/drying off by the cozy fire in the Naiban’s house.

· Baby dogs, baby pigs, baby cats, baby pigs, baby chickens, baby humans, exuberant children, lots of swings erected—seemingly one of the bigger past-times for kids and adults. And a way to be out of the collective mud/poop/garbage/run-off of the village. . .

· Hearing the story of the addicted man—despite his condition (which is how it seems to be viewed), he is seemingly an influential man in the village. A former soldier who was injured by a land mine with a long scar on his leg to prove it, he gets K400,000 ($50) /month, allowing him to support his habit and his large family of two wives and nine children in style in the village and also to have his opium without police interference (despite no school for his children). His two wives were among the most dignified beautiful grandmothers, with lots of smiles, laughter, tolerance for the children (including lots of pee puddles). Then having a very PAINFUL massage by the chief's bare-breasted daughter, a 20-year-old mother of two with quite a grip.

· That the mother of the sick baby trusted us enough and was able to comfortably decide to come with us even without her husband to consult with. Observing her beautiful smile for the baby, her tender care of him, and her uncomplaining perseverance as she carried the child 5 hours on foot, and held him for 5 hours in a tractor ride—including pre-chewing his rice, breast-feeding while hiking (!!), and giving him water out of the grubby-soda-bottle-turned-water-bottle cap.

· That the 16-year-old brother who also came with us survived the hike without incident despite his respiratory infection—causing difficulty breathing, lots of coughing and hawking (a farovite national past time even in normal times). Plus sore toes from his flip flops (eventually opting for barefoot and then Neil’s Teva’s—which he swam in but which protected his feet).

· Not a positive highlight, but we all were tasty to the leeches—I think only Neil and I were persistently grossed-out by them. We pulled off probably 20-30 of them from our shoes, socks, legs, feet, of which 5-6 had managed to connect to Neil (none to me). We’ve finally found the critter that likes Neil’s blood better than mine!!

· Imagining seeing the town thru the eyes of mom and brother, as we approached the Muang Sing valley at tractor-speed from high in the mountains, and increasingly saw bicycles, trucks, shops, lights, televisions in the shop fronts, and finally the very-bright-lights of the white-tiled hospital. With a television in the waiting room.

· On arrival at the hospital here in Muang Sing, quick attention by the medical team. Although a very scant exam, within an hour they’d given the baby oral antibiotics, and anti-allergenic/anti-itch/sedative, and multivitamins. And started an IV drip plus IV-push antibiotics on the boy. Our guide, Ko, pictured here in the hospital with Neil, helped us to ensure the family was well-settled. Most poignant moment was when the staff asked mom to remove the baby’s beautiful hat. I had noted that she carefully kept the baby’s head covered even the evening before in the village, so had a gut feeling that what was under the hat wasn’t good. Indeed. Lots of impressive scabs and sores on the baby’s head—leading both mother and brother to tears.

And yes, it was very good, finally around 8:30pm, to eat a large bowl of noodle/egg/tomato/peanut soup made by the lovely, gracious Chinese lady who gets that we’re vegetarian and lets us come into her kitchen and select our ingredients every time we eat there. Plus lots of cold Fanta and water. And then home to the guest house for long hot showers, clean clothes, and “our own” (well, sorta) bed.

Friday morning we’ll be taken to the bus station around 7am by some of the young people Neil’s been working with. Quite a send-off it’ll be, I think. Love to all, we’re getting a lot of it here.

Trekking in Xieng Khaeng, Lao

We trekked for 3 days and visited 6 villages in the Golden Triangle region – along the border of Burma and Lao and China – a formerly predominantly-opium-growing region.

We visited a Tai-Lu village and 5 Akha villages. The Akha are arguably the poorest ethnic group in Lao not only economically, but educationally and in health. Betal nut has rotted out the teeth of successive generations, and the villages we visited were often in poor repair, without latrines, strewn with trash, littered with children, lacking school teachers (or schools), and the walking surface made up of the ubiquitous red mud mixed with dog, water buffalo, cow, pig, and chicken poop.

The engineer in me says – “We can divert this water, and channel it so it doesn’t erode your village. We can arrange all these rocks and stones to make paths and stairs and walls that the rain won’t wash away.”

The teacher in me says – “You have a school building and older adults and some children who know the Lao language – go to the school and set up a program using your community resources rather than just hope the teacher shows up. Maybe I could be a teacher here and help transform the village.”

The cynic in me says – “The village is doomed. Give up and move out. The kids have little future. The headman is an addict. Chairman Mao was right – the country people are bumpkins who need modernization - out with the old, in with the new.”

The anthropologist in me says – “The pride of the women in their stunning headdresses, the ability of the people to live from the land, the language and ancient ways make our world richer.”
The traveller in me says – “Been there, seen that, glad to be moving on.”

The philanthropist in me says – “I can save this baby’s life for somewhere between $5 and $100. Why am I traveling if I could use the money to help 1000 other babies? What is the right balance between “heart” and “head” giving? Triple my money to Operation Smile. Give to Health Frontiers. Ask other people I know to give.”

The coward in me says – “It is too hard, too complex, too entrenched to tackle. You don’t speak the language. You aren’t rich. You don’t know the nuances. It should really be one of their own to step up.”

So how should we live. Unaware? Guiltily? Generously? Simply?

The human in me said – “Bring the sick baby back to the hospital. If she was your baby you would unquestionably.”

Yvette and I brought back a family with us to the hospital. 9 hours of travel from her village. The baby’s hand and ear and head were encrusted with bloody scabs. The parents had asked if we could help. They spoke of bad air coming from the big city and making them sick. The father left early in the morning to sacrifice a chicken. The mother decided eventually to come with us, even though she couldn’t confer with him.

The advocate in me says to you – “Get involved – beyond girl-scouts and PTA and church. Become doctors, learn languages, become ambassadors for a more equitable planet and use your skills and $$ and time to make it so.”

Chickens Crossing, Playing Chicken and Pondering Why

Today chickens are crossing the road - playing chicken with my bicycle, and I am left to ponder why. Despite the roosters many crows claiming it was all about them, my observations suggest otherwise that just as often Ms. Chicken is crossing away from one rooster and there just happens to be another on the other side thinking it was attraction that brought her rather than avoidance.

In addition to our thoughts on Chickens Yvette and I penned a few lines over the last few days. Yvette thinks I should ask the question, not "Why did the chicken cross the road?" but How.... This after two chickens came flying across (gracefully as only chickens can be) our path on our way home from a waterfall that we sought out and found today...

Night

by Neil
Our bicycles parked, we stand on the blacktop under the Laotian sky – the Asian sky – the Earth Sky
The Big Dipper is here, an old friend far from home
The contrast of the sky magnified - brighter AND darker
Moon, stars and lightning coexist
The clouds wisp about the moon like a closer swirl of the Milky Way
The lightning adds drama at the fringes on the low clouds over the surrounding hills
A tractor putters by with a handheld flashlight for a headlight
The light swivels to our faces, surprised by Americans in the blackness, in the starlight, in the lightning, in the cicada song and the croaks of night

Web of Travelers
By Yvette
Polish, Finnish, Chinese, Japanese, French, Korean, American
Or combinations of these, each made up of where they’ve been
Joined by this thing called travel, a role, a pigeon box to be put in,
(What are you doing here? Ah, you’re tourists.)
Evoking Marco Polo, Gulliver, Canterbury, Mecca.
People identified as “that French couple,” or “those Finnish guys,”
If something happened to them, might I be one to speak to their families?
“We saw them last in the back of a tuk tuk on the way to . . .”
Wanderlust, restlessness, grunginess, discovery, brief connections, disconnection.

Scram Bled Eggs and Other Pleasures of the Road and the Dark Side of Familiarity

by Neil

Satisfaction
The rainbows kissing the rice fields, butterflies dancing on the air currents, broods of chicks and ducks exploring the scratches of in the dirt and rivulets in the dikes, smiling babies, silver clad headdresses, wise weathered faces, the tidy compound by the river – surrounded by grass and tended by a grandmother with a young one on her hip, created wind by the bicycles speed, diligent students with an eagerness for more, Coldplay and U2 and Rufus played on the tinny speakers of our lugged laptop, eggplant jhao, mangos and sticky rice, bananas, fans, showers, smiles, glimpses of culture, saffron robes, expansive moody skies

Dissatisfaction

Trash thrown from the bus –the shop – the house - everywhere, hawking and spitting, cow and dog shit, dental work gone amiss and without, the rubber trees, the squalid toilets, ants, the hack job of pruning trees, the administrators dirt bowling while their buildings crumble, the males standing around smoking while the women work, the aimless teenagers cruising about, and the amateur-hour plumbing jobs, the diesel spewing tractors and trucks, the one same unimaginative menu in every restaurant, the indignity of beggars and hangers-on at the market, the apathy of many, the beer industry, suffering and addiction, cruelty of boys – boxing ears, jabbing each other in the butt, pushing and shoving to get their way