Crazy man and I'm lazy

Trip Start Jan 12, 2013
1
27
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Trip End Feb 27, 2013


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Flag of Lao Peoples Dem Rep  ,
Sunday, February 10, 2013

My day was lazy, but my night was a little less relaxing.  It was interrupted by a crazy man screaming outside my door and thrashing around.  Being awoken from a sound slumber by what sounds like a drug-crazed He-man outside your flimsy door is not exactly soothing.  As I lay with my heart pounding, I just hoped that dinky door push lock would hold back any fury that this monster may direct at my door.  No bolt, no chain, just the push lock.  He was yelling in a rather deranged manner and repeating "F*** You!" over and over.  I thought he fell down the stairs.  As he's out there off his head, I, of course, had to being thinking about what I would do should he actually break the door.  I realized then that I have no way to defend myself.  My plan: hide.  Hide, hide, and cower.  Even if I had a weapon...then what?  Am I going to stab someone?  After I stab someone then what?  Do I go to jail?  I don't even what to wonder what the protocol is in Laos....I'd rather not find out.  Thankfully, the man was either subdued or suffocated cause he stopped making a racket and I finally fell back asleep.

The famous lazy streets of Luang Prabang claimed another victim--me.  I managed to really do exactly nothing today.   I rented a bicycle.  Yes, I know, another bicycle, but they are rather convenient.  I pedaled around sopoforically, had a coffee, read my book, and meandered through the night market.  Oh, and noodle soup...I am going to miss that noodle soup.  So freaking good...and simple. 

I ran into my friend Gav again at a bar called Utopia.  It is probably the most interesting bar I've ever been into.  It is completely Western.  No locals.  I find it interesting that in our respective home countries, we always rag on immigrants for clustering together and doing their own traditions and behaviors and then we do the exact same thing when we are out of our home country for an extended period of time.  The familiar, comforting relics of home...wherever home is.  Anyhow, I can't describe the place to do it justice so I'll just say that it was indoor/outdoor with giant bamboo huts and cushions arranged around low tables.  There were various levels...only a few feet difference.  There were areas separated by garden paths.  Basically, it was as if the designer was making an art piece by incorporating different textures, lighting, and sounds.   We had a good time and it was nice to chat with some peoples...don't ask who was there---English girls, Aussie girls, Chilean girls?? 

Which brings me to my next observation...all day every day here with all the tourists, I constantly here every language and accent therein.  It's amazing that I can pick out an American accent like a bloodhound picks up a scent.  My head whips around as I seek to identify my compatriot.  What also really throws me off here, but not back in the States is when I hear an Asian person speak with an American/English/Australian/etc accent....I'm so used to seeing Asian people here and they almost exclusively are speaking an Asian language, not unexpectedly.   

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Comments

april on

I assume your reaction to the American accent is the same as your ability to pick up and react to a southern accent while in Washington! We miss you terribly...just sayin.

jware
jware on

You're absolutely right April. If my ears were a bit longer, I'm sure you'd see them perk up and turn toward the sounds of my familiar accents. :)

alan on

:)

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