Burma

Not nearly long enough.

Ghost Town

We’d driven miles and miles, winding upward through the Laos mountains. In short distances took a long time because the serpentine roads turned and curved like a roller coaster. I drifted in and out of sleep, waking dazed and disoriented only to remember again where exactly I was after seeing the stretch of green on either side of me.
The first time I fell asleep hugging my chest to my legs, aware of the Laos men sandwiching me and the physical distance required between genders in their culture. I woke from this position and moved to stretch my legs. A biting pain paralyzed my movement and I waited, counting the seconds until the blood returned to the normal cycle.
Slowly the feeling came back, sinking down to my toes like the fog settling around me. Every few miles the outline of a thatch-roofed home appeared through the grey mist. Roadside villages with figures passing along, faces often sheilded beneath connical hats.
We pulled into a small village, stopping to buy fruit and drinks. Sean and I noticed almost similataneously the faces of the townspeople.
“These women are beautiful,” we both said to each other, pointing out one person or other.
Even the women selling herbs and flowers, older and more weathered, had a quality about them that caught the eye. High cheekbones, smooth skin, and large eyes all of which resounded despite their plastic ponchos and layered clothes.
The air was thick and hung low to the ground creating the affect of a steam room without the heat. One woman wrapped produce while her child rested on a fabric sling against her back. I approached with my camera in hand and they each looked up at me with questioning eyes before they soon disregarded me again and continued with their work.
I took one or two images then I crossed to the other side of the street, stepping beneath tin roofs to see what items being sold. Merchandise was similar to every other markert we’d visited, fresh food, handmade purses, and small nicknacks. I passed by a young girl who sat next to a steaming pot. She lifted the lid when I came close and revealed a dozen or so ears of corn, a staple in the diet of the Hmong people. I took a few pictures then stood to move on when a female wearing an oversized cap caught my eye. The bill was so large that she almost went unnoticed. I pointed at my camera and looked at her imploringly, I wanted to politely ask her if I could take a picture, but didn’t remember the words. Instead I signed something that seemed to get my message across. She shook her head, cautiously, but affirmatively and I brought the viewfinder to my eye. I snapped one frame, but she was looking from side to side self-consciously checking to see who was watching. I waited for a second or two then continued. I worked quick, taking a few more. “Nam Lie,” (pretty) I said to her and she burst into a fit of laughter, opening her mouth and turning her head to the side in amusement. I took my last shot then y’d to her, repeating “Khup Chi,” as I walked away.

Lunch with the Head of the Village

We met with the Head of Na Sum Village in Laos. He is pictured on the right side. For the occasion they slaughtered a pig and made us pork salad and soup. We drank Orange Soda and Pepsi out of bottles with straws. The water tasted smoky and I was concerned at first until Paradon explained that they boil the water with herbs as a nourishing refreshment.
This man sat in the back kitchen while the others remained at the table. I am not sure why.
The pork salad was mixed in a large metal bowl with cilantro and onions as garnishings,

Luck Ceremony in Na Sum Village

We were on our way toward the land that Rustic Pathways would be developing in the coming years. Uncultivated jungle just beyond the pineapple and rice fields outside of Na Sum Village in Laos. We were reaching the outskirts of the town when I heard chanting and singing coming from a house west of me twenty meters. At first I thought it may have been a radio or even a television, rare in such a rural area, but not unheard of. On the way back from our hike I realized it wasn't. "Sean," I said in a low tone as sounds grew louder, "Do you hear that?"
"Yeah. What is it?"
"I'm not sure, but I heard it on the way out too. I think it might be some sort of ritual."
"Let's ask Paradon. Maybe we can watch."
Paradon, a twenty-one year old Hmong who was guiding us through Laos, explained that it was in fact a blessing ceremony for a family who were experiencing some sort of problem. He explained that certain Hmong people, often Animist, will go through this procession in hopes of a positive change usually regarding health.
"You can watch, " he said to us.
He led us forward, through the gate and toward the house. I'd been looking for the front door when something caught my eye near the back. A goat, tied and bleeding lay on a wooden plank with two men on either side of it. There was a small slit in it's throat out of which a steady stream of blood flowed into an bowl held beneath by one of the men. The other man proceeded to grip the animals head and in three or four quick blows finished the first step of the sacrifice.
Next, they took the bowl of blood, set it aside and focused on the dismantled head of the goat. A long pole lay on the ground with a wooden box attached to the top and other animal heads. They attached the goats head to this then, like raising a flag, straightened the pole, securing it into the ground with padded dirt at the base.
Behind this another man braided and curled long pieces of dried leaves together to form a chain that he then secured to the door of the family's home.
I approached cautiously, but Paradon assured me that my presence was alright. I remained at the door, peering inside to see a family spread out across a single room with a step ladder made of wood in the center. A man who appeared to be in his early forties smoked out of a long hollowed out pipe--deep inhales that sent full, billowing fumes into the small room. His eyes appeared unfocused, or at least unfazed by me and my camera. He looked directly into the lens then continued without concern.
Beyond him was a man standing on the floor bracing another man who side-stepped back and forth on a bench chanting, singing, and stomping all at once. His head was covered with some sort of cloth and he appeared to be in an intense state that took no note of the happenings surrounding him. The rest of the family were hardly visible within the shadows. I could make out their eyes, which held my gaze by their expressions. What I thought I saw was anxiety and maybe slight desperation.
I took five or six pictures then I back out, thanking who I could and leaving the ceremony humbled and honored to have witnessed it.
On the way back to the village Paradon explained that the portion of the ceremony we watched would last two hours, during which people could come and visit. Afterwards the family was to remain isolated from the rest of the village for one full day.

If the ceremony went well, the family would experience a chance of luck within the year.

Seeing Udan Tani

A neighbor raises roosters for cock fighting.  
A group of females laugh together.
A boy takes aim during a game of marbles while other children watch nearby.
The same boy measures his last toss.  (I'm still learning the rules of this game.)

Motorcycle diaries in Thailand

Hi everyone,

Just wanted to drop a quick line to let you know that I've arrived in Thailand. We are staying at a rice paddy resortlike place where everyone is incredibly friendly. It is on the outskirts of a small village, the name of which I still can't quite reminder (or spell). But, when I say village, I literally mean primitive village. The local grocery store is a market made of lean-tos', tin roofs, and dirt floors. You can buy anything from pig hooves to crickets (which I tried). The town is a mix of shanty shakes to homes with beautiful tiling and typical color screen TVs. It is a small village. You can cross it in twenty minutes or so.

I'm here with three other guys right now, the rest of the team will come shortly. So it's Sean, who I went to school with, Jason, an ex-marine with a taste for travel, and Andrew, a 29-year-old photographer who lives half the year in Asia. He's been coming to Thailand and the surrounding countries since he was 19.

Andrew speaks fluent Thai, which I consider a blessing, especially last night when we got stranded in the next village over after his new motorcycle broke down. He bought the 1970's kawasaki for $160 American dollars (the bot is 32 to 1 here). Andrew had just introduced me to the market (he was the one who offered the crickets, which of course I couldn't refuse) and we decided to ride out of town a little since the sun was starting to set over the countryside. We were halfway to the next village when the bike starting to sputter. We pulled to the side and immediately a half a dozen teenagers came over to prod and pull on the wires and buttons. Finally one of them brought over a couple glass bottles full of gas and adjusted a knob on top. That seemed to do the trick and we were back on our way.

Unfortunately only a little further down the road the engine died again. We opted to turn it around this time and tried to sweet talk our transportation to work again. With no luck, we were directed down the road to a repair shop and "convenient store." Andrew graciously left the bike in the worn and tan hands of the mechanic. We took a seat next to one of the women who'd been waving us over. They offered us water (bottled of course) and a glass of the notorious rice whisky. Andrew joked with the locals while I put on my new camo all stars, which I'd bought for $4. The sun sunk lower until nothing was left to illuminate the metal and rubber of Andrew's bike. The mechanic brought out a single tungsten light the shown across the bike and cast long shadows over the smiling Thai faces.

Beside me a young boy scooted back and forth in a cardboard box, which brought back memories of Katie and I when we were younger. Across from me a table was surrounded by young checkers players who'd periodically looked over their shoulder and giggled. It was a night where I wished I had brought my camera, but was also thankful I didn't. Some moments you just need to enjoy.

Turned out the bike needed an extra part so the mechanic, with a 1000 bot deposit, loaned us his and off we rode back toward town. We shoved some chicken curry into our bellies and walked back toward our rooms where we crashed at 8:30 pm. Two days of traveling along with the rice whisky induced a deep sleep that I didn't wake from till 5:30 am the next morning. The perfect time to watch the sun rise.

There is so much more I could write already, but I know my messages came get a bit long.

In summary, it's been a great experience so far. The way over was insane--flew from Chicago to LA to Tokyo to Singapore to Bangkok to one of smaller domestic city (the one I'm at now). In total, five planes. I'm pretty excited about the next couple of months. I think it should be a great trip. So far my stomach has put up with what I've offered it. I pray that will last.

Think they'll have this type of hair style in South Asia?