Laziness, Laos and Indiana Jones
Dave says:
Call it blasé, call it naive. Perhaps it’s experience but more likely I’m just lazy. Which ever way you look at it, being an hour outside Luang Prabang and only now picking up the trusty Lonely Planet is possibly a little insane. But then traveling all this distance for a two week vacation is equally so. Sarah, dear Sarah, who just a few short years ago, didn’t even own a passport has organized this whole trip with efficiency and an esprit d’corps that comes only with experience. And now I have nothing left to do but cram the country as presented to me in the culture, history, environment and food& drink section of the ever present travelers bible. I am not ashamed to admit that it’s that last section I study the hardest; the others, I am ashamed to admit, make me sound more knowledgable than I truly am for the benefit of these digital correspondences back home.
Speaking of which, I apologize in advance if I’m blasé/naive/lazy or just out of practice in this regard too. It’s been many months since I last busted out the travel writing chops but I’m sure, any second now, my long perambulations, pretentious use of arcane vocabulary and overuse of the humble comma will re-emerge into the style you know, love or barely tolerate.
I digress (of course I do). My tardiness in the guide book reading department is compounded by the sheer amount of missed opportunity I’ve had in the last 32 hours. Door to door, four flights across a good portion of the globe – 32 hours in transit. I feel like an astronaut. Around the clock I have dined on the finest individually portioned facsimile of gourmet food my ticket class deserves and then performed my ablutions in a three foot square plastic Boeing porta-potty. I maybe getting too old for this. Ironically, I’ve just finished my last airplane meal on this leg and it was surprisingly good. US airlines have seriously lost the plot because the meal I just enjoyed on a two hour flight in a propeller driven airplane to one of poorest countries in world was so much better than the complimentary bag of pretzels you get on a seven hour flight on a 757 across the richest country in the world. Shame on them and shame on us for putting up with their capitalistic approach to something as basic as a halfway decent meal whilst they insist on continuing the aires of high standards of service.
Oh, right. The facts not the hyperbole. I’m sorry. Seattle to San Fran : 1.5 hours / 4 hour layover. San Fran to Hong Kong: 14 hours / 2 hour layover. Hong Kong to Bangkok: 2.5 hours / 2 hour layover then finally, and not a moment too soon, on to Luang Prabang in just under 2 hours but really, at this point it’s all rather irrelevant and somewhat ridiculous. I would argue that the prospect of such a journey is worse than the actuality but my ass really hurts so I know that’s not the truth. I’m not entirely sure how Cathay Pacific can legally get away with the plastic seats they’ve installed in their 747s. The cushion was micro-thin and the seat reclined by sliding forward rather than the backrest raking backwards. This allows them to condense even more traveler per square foot. Now, at the risk of stereotyping, most the passengers were Chinese and they can do that village squat thing for ages – maybe it was fine for them but my skinny white occidental ass needs to be pushin’ a little more cushin’ if you know what I’m saying.
Hong Kong is the gateway to the east and especially the airport. Witness the Asians with their matching Burberry luggage and woolen scarves (it’s seventy five degrees outside) and amuse yourself with the westeners heading into Asia in all their newly purchased adventure clothed glory. It’s the modern equivalent of pith helmets and safari suits and sends the imperialistic message that western technology can overcome eastern traditions or climate (both assumptions are incorrect). My favorites however are westeners heading home, released from shackles of gore-tex and bedecked in their touristy, tie died hemp freedom. Me? Well I’m wearing the same beat-up and faded travel clothes I wore everyday for two years. They been laundered against rocks and repaired with big stitches of mismatched cotton. I love them and when I put them on I feel like Indiana Jones pulling on that leather jacket and donning the famous hat – another adventure has begun.
I love it. I love it all. Wouldn’t you?