The Team Takes A Boat Ride

Gar had some big ideas for us to head up to Loung Probong, Laos, and the Plain of Jars. These places are a few hundred miles north and east of Vientiene and way way way out of the way of our intended course. He wagged his finger on a map that would bring us straight down the mountainous dog leg of Laos. The only problem is, there are no roads there. And if there were, we'd be looking at a series of 30 hour meat locker bus rides. It's only 3 inches out of the way, Gar bellowed. Well, sort of.

We calmed him down and came up with a compromise that involved a trip 3 hours north to a massive reservior he wanted to show us. It was sort of a first date site with Song a year ago. The five of us plus Song piled in the van. We went downtown to buy our plane tickets to Vietnam. After a series of planning sessions, we decided that the most efficient route would be to fly into Hanoi and take an overnight train down the coast. You can't really get from Vientiene to Central Vietnam in any direct manner. Gar and Morgan and Song waited at the van while we went to get the tickets. When we got back it was Gar, Morgan, Song and Song's friend. There was plenty of room in the van for everyone still. We got underway at about 2:30 in the afternoon. A little late for a 3 hour day trip, but Gar was set and there was no use arguing.

We left the town and made a series of increasingly specific turns onto dirt roads. The van stopped and two more girls hopped in. Who are these people, I thought. Song called a couple other friends. White people in Laos are kind of like a night down at Foxwoods for the locals. If you're a young woman, or a woman of any age really, and you get wind of a van load of Ferongs from a galpal, you all stick together. No pressure, just hop along for the ride. Spin the roulette wheel, take down a few free drinks. Maybe win big. Maybe win a white husband. Get yourself a trip to America. If not, hey we sang and laughed and the boat ride was pleasant at sunset.

They like 'em clean cut over here and I was thankful that Morg let me off the hook. The was much hen cackle over his short hair and broad shoulders. This freed me up to work the still camera and enjoy the sun setting behind the mountains.

There are many islands in this reservoir. White people aren't suppose to walk on the islands Because God Said but our driver took us out far enough so it didnt really matter. The boat moved long and loud and slow like a wounded sea monster. We caught the light just in time and cameras were rolling and snapping in the golden light.

Song walked in the water and Gar threw rocks and skipped stones and limped around.

We cruised back to shore in the dark. Dinner was fine. We sat overlooking the dark water under fluorescent tubes. Small gekkos scampered along the ceiling and Gar ordered plates and plates of 'ruuts and trees and dogs and fleas' and we all ate well. There were more stinkrot noodles but Stephenson and I knew better this time. The women feel a burden to keep an eye on you as you eat and make sure your beer is iced and full and you have enough leaves and rice to eat. Touching at first but then, what the hell let me eat. I don't want any more rice.