Chapter 1

Golden Triangle

Alex is seen visiting museums, temples, and other institutions catering to the mind and spirit, such as bars, with consistently reduced frequency. After three months of silence, we’ve caught up with him in the charming southwestern Chinese city of Lijiang — a city so delightfully well preserved that the ancient section is actually expanding. He prefers not to discuss details of a typical day, tenting instead to answer with incomprehensible overly idealistic nonsense that certainly won’t do in these urgent and decidedly practical times. When asked, for example, how he affords the luxury of travel, particularly with the world in such turmoil, he answered, “How can one afford not to?”

Asked to elaborate, he responded: “The intoxication achieved during immersion in the presence of intense elemental phenomena manifest within or prior to the shared experience of those who have journeyed far as well as those whose roots are deeply planted within the same, is precisely why it is more enjoyable to observe, rather than participate among, camera-shackled tourists photographing, not the object of there ignorance, but other photo-junkies. However the intended bliss is found in that which is commonly but not premeditatively ignored. Exercising this realization simultaneously saves heaps of cash.” We thought perhaps he was robbing other tourists, but there is no evidence to substantiate this theory, as of yet. What we have gathered from his rambling is that he seems to delight in geological extremes and local culture.

While traveling, Alex seems to accept most anything others are willing to feed him, whether yak butter tea, fried bumble bees, tree bark or fungus, fish eyes, or tobacco flavored crack ( tibetancrack ), to name a few recent additions to his diet. His only significant contribution to the developing world seems to be the introduction of the crepe.

As the attention span for a specific environment often greatly exceeds that for the local staple diet, he eventually manages to find himself in a kitchen cooking his own food, under the guise of cultural exchange. After eating, for example, fried fish, riverweed, and glutinous rice for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Alex soon becomes compelled to defy the standard laws of culinary physics on the fourteenth day following a new moon. Limited to rice flour, immediately fresh eggs, intensely sweetened condensed milk, boiled river water, coconut milk, sweet curry, in an iron wok, over an open fire, one can, with practice, produce the crispiest, most perfectly supple and delicious flat cakes east of Champs-Elysees.

In the same village where the above, only slightly exaggerated story takes place (a comparable crepe has been known, on occasion, to find itself on a plate in Geneve, Suisse), Alex claims to have learned to fish with bare hands, tickle and mount buffalo, convince banana leaves to conform to the shape of flowers, harvest pineapple mountainside, extract the tangy poison from an ant’s butt, make dyes from river rocks, fearfully and unsuccessfully hunt snakes, and pack an entire village into a single boat without the traditional western inconvenience of displacing an equal mass of water.

Chapter 2

Ramblings on Language

Practical skills such as these differ from region to region. However, one can consistently learn the local vernacular without much concern for mastery and thus one can be sure to share constant amusement with all around. For best results, a few words, and the ability to laugh at ones self should be perfected in advance. It is good to learn, ‘hello’, ‘thanks’, and ‘where is the toilet’, in as many languages as possible.

Phrasebooks can be helpful. Once you find the toilet, you can safely make use of the pages pertaining to the words, ‘How?’ and ‘Why?’. Because of the detail committed to these words, you are guaranteed enough toilet paper for even the worst tropical conditions. These two words do not exist in east-Asian languages and stretches have been made to facilitate a westerner’s overly developed fascination with facts. Often overlooked by editors is the required translation for ‘never mind’ and ‘no problem’, often the same word.

Note that the phrases, ‘why not?’ and ‘how much?’ have crept into the vocabularies of individuals living in areas frequented by tourists.

With appropriate hand-waving, excessive smiling, and sufficient patience and determination, it is possible to communicate anything in the musical Thai language. The trick, however, is getting a Thai to understand. As with all Asians, they will more likely agree with everything a foreigner says than be so impolite as to mention incomprehension. And while even Alex has experienced instances of dialog, it would not be correct to assume Thai an easy language.

Reading a lexicon with at least 20 vowels which can, at whim, appear above, below, left, right, or in any permutation somewhere in the vicinity of one of over 40 consonants can get a bit tricky. Pronunciation is no easier, as five tones compete with long and short vowels on every syllable. Variations occur depending on the gender of the speaker, age, status, location, and the day within the lunar calendar. These cause immense difficulties for Alex, particularly when he tries to call his American parents who live on the other side of the dateline. Fortunately, living within the confines of the united states, they speak a language called paasa farang containing an assortment of inconsistent grammatical rules to which they all happen to be familiar.

Chapter 3

River on the River

Alex’s other parents live in the northern Lao village of Muang Ngoi ( muangngoi_namou, tallyfamily ). Sai and Fun speak a dialect with at least six tones. This is a lingual bastardization of the language further bastardized by the regime which took control of the nation in spite of an unprecedented bombing campaign funded with taxes collected from ignorant citizens such as the aforementioned parents. This occurred before Alex was born. Sai wasn’t so ignorant. Shortly after his birth, he spent nine years of his childhood living in a cave, not too far from his current residence.

Sai owns a set of bungalows on the edge of Muang Ngoi, which he rents out to tourists like Alex. His youngest daughter, Tally, gives her name to the collection of raised bamboo structures overlooking the River Ngoi, which has kindly given its name to the village. Tally probably had no say in either naming decision. The mighty River Ou flows past the village, and is too proud to give its name to anything [ed. except a cave]. Sai probably had a say in naming his daughter. Fun runs the guesthouse and probably also had a say in naming her daughter.

It might be assumed that, like many hard-working Loa men of the river community, Sai can be found in his boat fishing, or having disembarked, harvesting the communal agrarian slopes, or the rice fields on flat ground. However, precisely because he is a typical hard-working Lao man, it is not exactly clear where he spends most of his time.

Fun is also a hard working Lao woman, and therefor it would not be uncommon to find her by the kitchen. However, as you may have been tricked into believing, she is not necessarily cooking. You may have forgotten that Alex had spent much of his time creating the delicacies of home for himself and other tourists at greatly inflated prices. But as he is now in China, perhaps Fun is sweating over the fire once again.

One may never know with certainty who hasn’t spawned from the womb of Fun. After all, they insist that Alex is their son. Our sources have reason to believe that this claim would be unlikely, although not impossible, as Alex seems to share the characteristically Lao male work ethic. Without hunting for genetic evidence, it is safe to say that Cao is their eldest son at eighteen. He’s quiet but certainly not shy with the ladies. Second is Bae at fourteen, who is shy, perhaps also with the ladies. Except during full moon fishing excursions, the two eldest boys are often not to be found, but the youngest son, Lae, had been around too often. Lae is a brilliant eleven-year old English speaker. Although the district capital, because Muang Ngoi has no connecting roads nor electricity, the better school is down river, where Lae will live with his grandmother four days a week starting in September.

Note: Because, like some other Asians, the Lao have a confusing habit of considering not how many years they’ve accumulated, but in which year they are. At birth, for example, a baby is in his first year. Some Lao are aware of this discrepancy and accommodate for foreigners. Because of a lack of verbal competency and a mixture of stupidity, one can assume all ages herein are incorrect by at least two years.

Na (short for Santana, otherwise meaning ricefield), when visible, seems to fascinate Alex constantly, as long as he pretends not to be watching. Beyond repeating the random English word, the nine year-old seems to be mute. It is she who extracts the poison from ants, knows all the edible berries, uses for herbs, finds various material for painting on rocks, creating folded creatures from grass, can vanish at will, and as far as is known, levitates while sleeping.

Tally, with perhaps six years, has a monopoly on all things cute. She repeats everything Alex says, and might correct his Lao when he least expects. Otherwise, she’s delightfully purposeless.

Fun’s beautiful sister, Kampang, is one of seven teachers at the district capital school. Her husband passed away recently. Clearly, she is an unlucky wife, or so the Lao believe. Consequently, she is fated to raise her four year-old son, Aie, alone. There is much family support, and the two have been absorbed into the very sticky web.

When pronounced with an incorrect tone, Aie means uncle, or potentially one of four other meanings. Further, the word koiy, can mean water buffalo, me, a member of the male anatomy, and up to three other things. When not clear from context, misdirected tones have, in most instances, left all involved perplexed before bursting in laughter. However, after one particular mistake, Alex vowed never again to speak in the first person.

The referred pictures are all from Alex’s second visit to Muang Ngoi. The previous visit, with Tom, had been during the Lao New Year. Alex had been completely inebriated for at least ten days straight, of which no more than three reveal themselves in his memory. He had been unable to send any pictures of the festivities due to his tendency to use his camera as an ineffective flotation device. He vaguely recalls emailing some stories to his friends, particularly one regarding a well-fed leach found centrally located in the lower abdominal region.

Chapter 4

Solitary Confinement

To recover from all the debauchery, he took up residence at a Thai monastery for two months. The event is shrouded in mystery, but Alex has agreed to finally reveal a few things. He says, meditation was a wonderful experience, and recommends it to all cats, clever dogs, and most humans (except those he is particularly fond of). He believes vipassana is particularly suited for peaceful and intelligent creatures such as dolphins and sunflowers, but he’s not sure exactly how they’d manage to sit.

He intended to stay for only ten days, and adds (perhaps jokingly) that it was a nun ( bodhisatvettes, left ) who twisted his elbows to his shoulder blades until he agreed to complete the 26 day course. The subsequent days where taken on completely voluntarily after a few days of self-inflicted brainwashing.

Alex has further revealed that the end of the 26 days culminated in isolation without sleep for four days. This, he claims, was not clearly laid out before he agreed to 26 days. “That #*$@% nun would have had to stick my big toe in my nostril. But blessed are the idiots, cuz the experience was trippy!” Alex has provided us with snap-shots after each night (1,2,3) . He hints that perhaps he did sleep a little during Determination, but insists they were mere winks. He further admits that he broke no fewer than half of the eight vows and precepts, but refuses to reveal exactly which ones.

Chapter 5

The Escape

After escaping to Laos for a period of readjustment, he ran away over the Chinese border into Yunnan Province , still in a daze, having barely spoken to anyone. He deeply regrets having emailed a few individuals during this time of conventional reality reacquaintance. He spent some time among throngs of Chinese tourists, in dramatically cute, if not artificial, cities. He also visited many (according to the local literature) very important and historical temples, and holy lakes, mountains, and ticket dispensing personnel.

It wasn’t until he hiked through Tiger Leaping Gorge that he relaxed a bit of his cynicism. While the hike could have been sprinted in one day, he managed to fall through a wormhole. At Approximately 5:03:47 in the evening, Beijing time (or sometime just before the sun set below the infinitely tall mountains), the fabric of time (and space for good measure) ripped open and sucked Alex into the depths of inexplicable beauty. Alex went through eight camera batteries, but has little evidence, he claims, due to his location above or among the clouds. Perhaps he means to say that the batteries failed at high altitude or the images did not come out so well, but he refused to comment further. “Bummer! It was like, so darn cool. But as all conditioned phenomena are impermanent, man, this too came to an end. I was like, shot through the hole back into China, but I thought, like that’s pretty cool too, dig. I don’t know how long I was out there in. Maybe aliens abducted me. Word. It’s august,
right?” During this time he had a vision causing him to travel toward the paradoxically named “Autonomous Zone of Tibet”.

Alex went up to Zhongdian, intending to make a quick U-turn back to Lijiang where our reporters patiently waited for this interview. He says an anthropologist and her fluffy dog named Sparky distracted him from his painfully busy travelling schedule to discuss everything and nothing at all. He was introduced to fantastically friendly Tibetans, some of whom, because they lived close to the land, were magicians. Among other tricks, they managed to turn previously putrid (Lijiang) yak butter tea into decadent melted ice-cream. He learned the art of edible barley sculpting (results varying). He’ll have more to say on the subject upon development of a few photos.

When asked what he expects to do next, he declined to answer. However, after rummaging through his belongings, it has been determined that details on Sichuan, Tibet, and a few scraps on Yunnan are the only remnants of his second-hand pirated guidebook. We do know that it is illegal for foreigners to travel along the Tibetan border into Sichuan. At least we can rule that route out.