Embarassing Tony story #2

This story begins at the General of the Lao army's sons wedding.

That sounds pretty sweet, but really, it wasn't anything special. It was probably as  close as you can come to an American wedding reception in Laos.  It was in a big fancy dining hall with a ton of old people, the food was all slightly cold, poor attempts at Western favorites like spaghetti, and really, we had no business being there. I don't mean to sound like a dick--it just wasn't what I wanted to be doing in a foreign country. We were only there at Tony's aunt's behest.

The upside was each table was given a full bottle of Johhny Walker Black label and we were sitting with a bunch of 14 year old girls.  Notice how good of a setup that was for a pedophile joke. But no, I won't do it. I can control myself. I CAN STOP ANY TIME!!!

We had to wake up at 6am the next morning to go to Bangkok, but we all kept having "just one more glass" and that was quickly forgotten.  We actually ended up having a fairly good time once we were drunk enough to dance in front of 300 Asian people.

See? I can humiliate myself too.

That's some fine traditional Lao dancing right there. It involves walking in a circle really, really slowly and waving your hands around. It sounds simple but we were all terrible at it. Oh well, time for another glass of Johnny Walker!

The problem was "one more glass" eventually turned into "one more bottle." The band started playing some upbeat stuff and the dancing got pretty rowdy. I recall trying to teach some Asian people The Robot. And Tony was putting down a healthy amount of Johnny Walker.

Let me take a moment to discuss the four phases of inebriation for Tony, since he's going to do some stupid stuff here soon, and again later in the trip, and again later, and pretty much any time he gets drunk.  It took me awhile to notice, but he always follows the same predictable drunk trajectory. Let's look closer.

Stage One: Sober and Aggressively Drinking.

This is Tony's shortest stage.  During this time Tony will drink twice as fast as anyone else and do things like chug Thai Whiskey Buckets. Any attempt to tell him to slow down produces the response "Are you kidding me," or "Come on! We're in Asia!"

Stage Two:  He's Not Drunk

After six or so rapidly consumed drinks, Tony becomes invincible. During this stage he "Just wants to dance" or "Is going to go ride his motorbike around the city." Persuading him of anything becomes difficult. His defense to any argument becomes "I'm not even drunk."

Stage Three:  He's Not Drunk with a side of Ask Him Any Question.

The most dangerous stage. Tony has continued to drink steadily into the 8-10 drink range.  He is now more insistent then ever that he should ride his motorbike, go to an expensive club half way across the city, or buy a bunch of shots. Money means nothing to him. He will attempt to go off on his own. He will continue to insist that he's not drunk, and to prove it he requests you "Ask him any question." This stage can last indefinitely, until:

Stage Four: He's Drunk

Tony admits he's fucked up. This happens with remarkable suddenness.  During this stage Tony will eat disgusting amounts of food and then pass out.

By the time this wedding deal was done Tony decided he wanted to go to a nightclub. Tony's mom was understandably concerned, espeically since we had to be up at 6 and it was now midnight.

"No, it's fine. I'm not drunk." He told her.

WARNING. WARNING. WARNING.

Tony's cousin assured her he'd take care of us. I opted to ride in the back of his pickup with Tony, who in a rare moment of rationality told me to not let him drink anymore.

He ended up drinking more.


That ride is one of my better memories. A warm, euphoric whiskey buzz coursed through me and the fresh night air whipped at my hair as Vientiane breezed by. At stoplights groups of beautiful young Asian girls on mopeds would gawk and laugh at me, the out-of-place white kid in the back of a pickup. I'd attempt to exchange a few words to their great amusement, and then we'd smile, wave, and be off cruising through the city again.

The club we went to was a different one but more of the same. The finest in Western pop music and Asian people doing  funny reserved hand dances. This time I knew what to expect and was having a blast being a dancing fool, but Tony stole the show.

Tony was dancing like he'd just mainlined ecstasy.  He took his dress shirt off and was still pouring sweat just wearing a wife-beater. All of us, including Tony's cousin, just looked at each other like WTF did he snort? He would repeatedly bump into this pissed-off dude behind him, turn around and say sorry, then go right back to dancing and bump into him again 30 seconds later. Tony's cousin eventually went to talk to the guy, presumably to apologize profusely.

Also on my eye was an interesting girl behind Tony shaking her ass everywhere. At one point she clearly winked at me, licked her lips, and made the "come hither" motion with her finger. However, I just smiled and shook my head.

Instead, I tapped Tony on the shoulder and pointed to the girl.  I saw his drunken brain whirring, trying to plot his approach. She smiled at him. He sidled right over and started grinding all up on her.  I mean, they were really going at it.

HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA

This girl was very clearly a kathoey. Translation: she wasn't a she. Tall, lean and muscular, huge fake tits, a prominent jawbone and a hint of an adam's apple... it was completely obvious that she was a tranny. He seriously had no idea until we told him later, and he spent a good few hours in denial.

So recap: night out #2, Tony dances with a transsexual.

Side note: this is unbelievably common in Asia. Thailand is most well known for it, where kathoeys are considered a "third gender." A lot of drunk foreigners are stupid like Tony and simply not perceptive, but even when you're careful you can be surprised. You just need to keep an eye out for the genuine hot chicks.

Woah.

Daaaaamn girl

Yeah, those are dudes.

Sometimes, you really just can't tell. It's best not to let it bother you. Just keep in mind that life is full of surprises, and sometimes that surprise is a penis.

Going Out

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

One of the things you notice when you travel is that getting drunk and acting like an idiot is universal. I'm pretty sure it's encoded in the male DNA. No matter where you go, nightlife is essentially the same. Everyone gets really drunk, you dance like idiots, someone falls, everyone laughs, blah blah blah. It's the same everywhere. Except maybe Arab countries, but they have hashish to make up for it.

I've  been consistently surprised at just how much people from other countries can drink.  The winner in this contest is probably the Irish, who are just fucking crazy, but there are a lot of surprising contestants for the runner-up spots.

Scandinavians, for example, are some little known crazy mother-fuckers. This is a true story that I won't go into, but I basically got out drank by some Finnish highschool girls in Helsinki. I wouldn't discount anyone from the Baltic States or old Soviet satellite countries either.  When I was in Estonia I was told that during the Cold War beer was in terribly short supply and so all they had was vodka.  The national average during that period was almost a liter of pure vodka a day. HOLY SHIT. And we haven't even discussed the Germans yet.

My only point being alcohol is ubiquitous. Which makes sense, because everyone has to get laid somehow.

The local poison

Beer-wise, pretty much all they drink in Laos is Beerlao. It comes in 2/3 liter bottles, 5% alcohol, about 80 cents to a dollar pretty much anywhere you go, even most nightclubs. They drink it with ice.  I thought it was very smooth and drinkable, but then again I'm a college kid who drinks Natty Light.  If you're not a beer snob, you'll like it fine.

Liquor wise, they have a strange fondness for Johnny Walker. Your other option is the cheap (and dangerous) local stuff.  We sampled some Lao Lao, or rice whiskey, which Anthony Bourdain rightly described as "Jet Fuel." It wasn't any worse then 151, which isn't saying much.  Also popular in places that cater to foreigners are "Buckets", which are like they sound, buckets filled with cheap whiskey and some mixers. Enjoy the hangover.

Okay, story time.

On our second night in Laos one of Tony's cousins took us out to a club. In the grand tradition of college students everywhere, we got drunk. Really drunk. Tony's cousin kept ordering the buy 6 beerlaos, get 2 free deal at the restaurant, which is the equivalent of ordering rounds of 16 beers at a time. This is before we even got to the club.

The club we went to was very modern, crazy lights, etc. Normally I hate clubs because the drinks are absurdly overpriced and the music is cranked to Jet Engine decibel levels. But the drinks at this place were cheap (not that we needed them) and it was a completely foreign country, so I'd be an asshole to not have fun.

From the moment we walked in I just could not stop laughing.  It was completely surreal because this place was PACKED with the young, hip Vientiane crowd.  In general I noticed Asians are pretty reserved dancers-- they tend to keep their personal space and mostly just move their hands around.  The funny part was that all of the music was the same pop-club shit you'd hear in America.  Lady Gaga. Rihanna. Etc. The visual of all the Asian people doing their little reserved hand dances to all these familiar songs had me cracking up.  I didn't think I could get any happier...

Until they started playing hardcore Gangsta Rap. I don't know what song it was but I believe the lyrics went something like:

NIGGA AIN'T GOT SHIT, NIGGA AIN'T GOT SHIT. FUCK YOU NIGGA YOU AIN'T GOT SHIT

I looked around at all the happy, placid Lao people doing their little hand dances to NIGGA AIN'T GOT SHIT and I completely fucking lost it.  I could Not. Stop. Laughing. Just thinking about it makes me all warm and tingly inside. The only way I could possibly have a better memory is if they played "SHOTS."

Meanwhile, Tony was so drunk that he was attempting to order a bottle of Johnny Walker and was getting denied, and Ressa was having a "conversation" with an Asian dude. And by conversation I mean he was shouting the same English words over and over under the apparent assumption that talking loudly bridges the language barrier.

At a certain point Tony's cousin wisely decided we should probably leave, at which point it became my job to extract Ressa from his riveting conversation.

It was during this process that I exchanged a friendly smile and Sabaidee (hello) with Ressa's new Lao friend.  He responded to my hello by playfully grabbing my nipples. Well then. Every culture is different I suppose.

"I'm Kwei," he said.

"I'm Nate," I replied.

"Nonono," he shook his head, "I'm gway"

"Gway?" I tried to pronounce it.

Two things happened at once: one I, realized what he was saying. Two, he squeezed my penis.

"Oh, you're GAY."

That would not be the last time I came in contact with a "friendly" gay asian on the trip.

Back in the tuc-tuc, Ressa and Tony were on the verge of passing out. But first, I had some interrogation to do.

"Dude, Ressa, you know that guy you were talking to for an hour was gay right?"

"Yeah, he kept grabbing my dick."

HAHAHAHAHA.  Who talks to a gay guy for an hour as he repeatedly grabs your dick? Ressa does. Fill in your own jokes here.

Our plan to sneak in without Tony's parents noticing was complete failure. They were both awake waiting for us. Tony's mom was very worried about her sons condition, and Tony's dad laughed for about 5 straight minutes.

"Man, look at him! Why he drink so much! Ha Ha Ha! Now he feel like shit in morning. Ha Ha Ha!"

God I love Tony's Dad.

With his parents watching, Tony ran out of the tuc-tuc, took off his hat, and puked in it.

Ressa, meanwhile, argued with me that he didn't need to go inside, he could "sleep in the vehicle."  Then Tony's mom came over and he argued the same with her.  Eventually we got him out. He promptly walked over to the bushes and puked.

The fun wasn't quite over yet though. Tony went straight into the house, got completely naked, turned the shower on, and promptly passed out in the tub. I could wake him up so I knew he wasn't going to die, but I couldn't get him to get out of the shower for the life of me.

David and I decided this was the next best alternative.

My work was clearly done, so I went downstairs and ate some grasshoppers with Tony's cousin.

The final kicker came sometime later in the night when I woke up to see a buttnaked Tony stumbling out of the bathroom... with his parents helping him walk.  Stop and think for a moment.   Can you think of a more embarrassing situation?  Getting dragged out of a bath-tub, naked, by your parents.

Yeah.

Overall, not bad for our second night in Laos, eh?

Eating Dog

Meat turned out a little dry

This was the better of the two.

Well, not much to say here.  They were pretty good, a little bland, I wish they came with french fries.

JK!!! No I didn't eat those cute puppies, who the fuck do you think I am? Those were pet dogs running around the drug mansion. Note the distinction: PETS. Many people (re: my parents) make the border-line racist assumption that in Laos you  live in constant fear that someone's going to steal your dog and make a picnic out of it. They don't eat people's PETS (at least not until they die naturally...)

And yes, I ate dog.

Hey, it was a spur of the moment thing.

Tony's cousins had been teasing us about it for awhile and so we all said fuck it, why not? Asian people are right about everything else food related.

Of course the whole way there I noticed every single dog barking and my stomach felt queasy.  A sort of tense silence fell over our group as we rode in the back of the tuc-tuc. We were probably all thinking of ways to back out. Like probably all of you, I'm a huge dog lover and my first thought when I see one isn't usually "that looks pretty good."

And then we got there. It looked like a rack of ribs with a tail poking out. The butterflies left my stomach. We ordered beers and dog meat. It was darker then pork and a bit chewy.  We dipped it in a spicy brown paste. I was informed the brown paste was made from dog organs. Overall... it was pretty fucking good. Even Ressa ate it. And that was that, no big deal right?

Well, I got over it, but the rest of the world hasn't.  Try telling anyone back in states that you ate dog for the hell of it. Go ahead, try it.  They look at you like you said you molested a small blind child for the hell of it.

 I'm probably not going to convince you of anything whether I blather about "cultural relatvism", "ethocentrism", or "sociophallic psychodiarrhea." Dogs are revered here. It just seems wrong to eat them.

I understand.

But think about this.

Every time you eat a cow you are violating a Hindu taboo.  Does this bother you? Of course not.  But for Hindu's, eating a cow would be worse then eating a dog.  Shit, sometimes I eat cow every meal of the day. WOOPS!

And every time you eat pork you violate a Jewish taboo.  Let me assume that you don't give a shit. Maybe you do--but if you eat any meat at all, even chicken, you know that somewhere out there someone is really pissed at you for it. Does that particularly bother you? Probably not.

A quick side note: don't try to pull the "intelligence" or even the "cuteness" card. All I have to say is
 1. Pigs are smarter then dogs. Look it up. Doesn't seem to change much around here, huh?

2. Have you seen a lamb before?

My only point in all of this is although most of us can't stomach the idea of eating dogs, we're like, a product of society, man. It's a cultural taboo here. It isn't there. You might not "get it." You don't have to.  Just realize that every culture is different--and different doesn't mean, primitive, savage, or immoral. It means different. 

So remember that. Or else I'll eat your dog.

Lao Food

If you asked me before I left what I was most excited for, I would've answered FOOD with no hesitation

This is me Not Fucking Around

I am a believer in Anthony Bourdain's philosophy that to understand a culture is to understand its food. Remarkable things happen when you share a meal with someone, even if you can't speak a single word in common. You create a certain shared ground that's hard to establish otherwise. And if you have a translator or can piece together a few bits here and there, the conversation flows so much easier over a shared meal. Easy to make friends with food.

But let's be real--eating is also hedonism. If gluttony is a sin then I'll see you in hell, because I was stuffing my fat face NONSTOP. I've never eaten so much in my life. One of the big things you notice here is everything is FRESH.

Simple and delicious

That chicken you're eating at the restaurant? They probably killed it themselves that day, or bought it directly from the person that did. There are no supermarkets in Laos, and refrigeration is expensive. Local outdoor markets crop up everywhere with fresh meat, vegetables, fruits. Everything is made fresh to order.

Also, notice the lack of food pretension. You don't always eat with your hands in Laos, but it's perfectly acceptable to. I was initially confused over whether to use chopsticks, fork, spoon, hands, whatever... until I figured out no one really gives a shit. There is probably an ideal way to do it, but you do what works for you.

And one more thing... it's CHEAP. Order to your hearts content, it's hard to ring up a bill of more then $6 a person if you're going to the right places. A great meal is EASY to come by for $3 or $4 (obligatory beer included of course). A bowl of noodles? Probably about $2. Fruit? We're talking like 50 cents a kilo (2.2 pounds).

Like most of Asia, you see a lot of grilled meats (chicken, beef, pork, buffalo, duck), fish (grilled or in soup), noodle soups, etc.

Honestly some of the best chicken/fish I've ever had.

Vietnamese style Pho Bo (beef noodle soup). Usually breakfast and late-night drunk food.

 Two of the things that seemed to be unique to Laos were sticky rice and spicy papaya salad. Sticky rice was eaten at pretty much every meal and is used in everything. You grab it with your hands and use it to sandwhich bits of meat, you dip it in sauces, you absorb broth with it, etc. It turns up in some surprising places.

Ice cream on a bed of sticky rice

And then there was the fruit. Oh god the fruit.

Typical fruit market---you see them everywhere.

I call these Lumpy Apple Fruits. Possibly my favorite.

Dragon Fruit

Rambutan

Spiky Butt Fruit

The Spiky Butt Fruit was interesting because no one in Tony's family had ever seen them before. We bought them in Thailand and brought them back to Laos. I call them Spiky Butt Fruits because well.... they are spiky, and inside they look like butts. And of course:

Durian, The King of Fruits.

If you're unfamiliar with the legendary Durian, let me introduce you. Durians are famous for two reasons: they are very popular in Asia, and they smell like shit. They smell bad enough that they are supposedly banned in public places, with an emphasis on supposedly. Airports, trains, wherever, I saw (or smelled) plenty of people eating Durian. The fruit itself is often described as a love-hate thing, with 95% of westerners falling on the "hate" side. Did I try it? Yes. Did it taste good? No. It tastes like a gorillas armpit.

There are a ton more weird lookin' things so if you're curious just google Southeast Asian fruits. Needless to say they are all absolutely fucking delicious and I ate them as much as possible. David and Ressa were initially huge vagina's about eating and one of their safety measures was no fresh fruit. You'd have to be a fucking idiot to follow that for long (they didn't). Take my advice--eat the fruit.

I'd consider everything mentioned so far to be pretty normal. If you can't eat this stuff then go to Europe, they have very advanced hotdog cuisine. As for me, I'll gladly try just about anything once. Eating exotic foods is at its least an adrenaline rush, at its best a discovery. Sometimes you eat something and you're just floored by how unexpectedly good it is.

Bats On a Stick

But not by these. These little bats were bought off the side of the road in bumfuck nowhere from some mountain people. Worth a try, but nothing speical. Note: the head doesn't taste very good.

Skewered Pregnant Mouse

This is probably the only thing on the entire trip that I saw and opted not to eat. You can't really see it but it's a pregnant mouse with the babies still inside. Tony's Dad's expression about sums it up.

Snack Food

One night I came home absolutely hammered from a nightclub (story forthcoming) and found these waiting in the Drug Mansion. I was shoving them in by the handful. Really really good. Or maybe I was just really really drunk.

More bugs

Bugs without herbs are actually kind of bland. They're all fried and crispy, so they pretty much taste like potato chips with legs.

And of course, there was dog.

Vientiane

Vientiane is a remarkable city. It stands in stark contrast with other big SE Asian cities like Bangkok and Saigon. No neon lights. No choking traffic. No hecklers hawking cheap trinkets. The pace of life is slow, quiet, peaceful. It doesn't feel like a big city at all.

While Bangkok and Saigon have their own charms, they are clearly East-West fusions. They've got shopping malls with the same trendy euro-fashions you'd find anywhere else in the world, McDonalds, KFC, etc.

None of that is in Laos. Vientiane just feels... Original East, like they've got their own thing going and they are sticking to it.

Part of my enjoyment was I had absolutely no fucking clue where we were going--and I didn't need to. Tony's uncle, Lum Vat, our driver and companion for five days, would just stop somewhere, shoo us out of the tuc-tuc, point in some direction... and off we'd go.  The stress of navigating in a foreign country--which I'd deal with later--was completely absent.

Lum Vat deserves some mention because he sticks out from the rest of Tony's family.  Tony's mom comes from a family of 14 bros and sisters. A few live in the U.S, a few in Canada, and the rest in Laos.  All of them seem to be part of the Lao Upper Class, or at least doing well. They are apartment landlords, property owners, high-ranking government officials (one aunt was the Minister of Education), one was a police-officer, etc. And Lum Vat drives a Tuc-Tuc for tourists. I'm not trying to be condescending in any way--just noting the difference. It's not a high-paying job. As I'd later find out, there is a bit more to this story. I'll tell ya later. Or SMELL ya later. HAH.

Aww yeah, I figured out how to write captions. Left to right: Tony, Me, Lum Vat, Stupid Ressa, David.

Also, Lum Vat is a complete badass. Just look at him. Not pictured is the tattoo of a dragon on his arm.  He also has one extremely long finger nail on each pinky--fuck if I know why, probably to pick his nose. Or kill people.  Again, a bit different then Tony's fatter, richer uncles (who were also awesome).

So we went around and saw all the usual touristy Buddhist temples, which was enjoyable but not worth your time. Once you've seen one you've seen them all. But I have to say, Buddhist art is fucking sweet.

LOOK AT THAT! Is this the concept art for Alien or a religious symbol? RADICAL!

Which brings me to my favorite place: Buddha park. Now, If there is one thing tourists love, it's statues they can take pictures of themselves in front of. And that's all Buddha park is. So you'd expect it to be crowded right? WRONG. I saw like three people there. There are parts of Laos that are VERY touristy, but Vientiane is not one of them, which is half of why it's so great. Also, it only costs 25 cents to get in.

See? Deserted.

I want all the doors in my house to look like this.

 I wonder how many people have died climbing this?

World's biggest Buddha, meet Worlds Coolest Dude

My spirit animal

Look closely. His shoes are made of sharks.

Seriously, how cool are Buddhists? It's like they discovered LSD 2000 years before us. You know why kids don't go to church anymore? Because there aren't any dragons, or people wearing shoes made of sharks. Also, the pictures suck. Oh look, it's Jesus dying again. Haven't seen that one before.

Anyway, where was I? 

All this religious talk is making me bored. Let's talk about something important for a change.

I'm speaking, of course, about FOOD.

Arrival

Vientiane, Laos. The capital city. The airport is small, maybe five gates total. They don't fly a lot here.

Before we enter there is the slight problem of getting 840 pounds of luggage in.  Actually more. The 840 pounds is just Tony's parent's.

But there are no difficulties--not with Tony's aunt, who happens to be the manager of the airport. The luggage is quickly ushered through without any unnecessary formalities like searching it. The $30 Tony's mom slips the security officer probably helps with that.

Outside, we are met by at least 20 smiling, laughing, chattering Asian people, from little kids to old fogies. Tony's extended family. Hugs are exchanged and such, you know the deal. And then we are off....

In these badass wheels. A cross between a mini-van and a golf cart, the Tuc-Tuc is the equivalent of a taxi in Laos. We had the privilege of one of Tony's uncles being our personal driver.  Once you get over minor things like the occasional whiff of gasoline fumes and possible brain damage, it's quite an enjoyable way to travel.

Ahhhhh, that glorious period of culture-shock. I experienced the same thing in Europe (Cafes! Uncircumsized penises! The men all look like homosexuals, but THEY"RE NOT!). It's always just the first few days--after awhile you adjust to the new norm--but until then you're like a kid in a candyshop. Or as I say, a pedophile in a playground. Everything is new and exciting and fresh.

 Buildings! Old women riding motorbikes with masks on! OMG!

 Five minutes out of the city. COWS! CROSSING THE STREET?!!?

  MORE COWS!? PREPOSTEROUS!

And the rather unique Lao construction method.

There was also the frequent wild dog fearlessly crossing the street in the heart of the city.... the chickens running around outside of restaurants... The constant stream of motorbikes carrying Grandmas, families with babies, young professional women in heels...


And then ten minutes out of the city, tucked off some unnamed dirt road, we arrived at our accommodation.

The Columbian Drug Lord Mansion.

Tony's parents built this a few years back as a vacation home. They are supposedly both "pharmacists", which I find to be a rather convenient alibi. By U.S standards it was incredibly cheap to build--don't quote me but  ballpark 180 grand. Considering those pillars are solid marble, etc, I don't know what it would cost in the states, but it's somewhere around "a shitload."

What a fucking paradise. Coconut and mango trees spring up in the yard . Butterflies flit around aimlessly. And the view ain't half bad either.

I met most of Tony's family that day. About a dozen of us sat outside drinking beer in a little hut.

Tony speaks Lao reasonably well and acted as a translator.  We bridged many cultural divides. I received many compliments on my nose (which looks like a beak) and my luscious white skin, which they compared to Micheal Jackson's. I felt very welcomed and special. Being a minority isn't so bad, I don't see what everyone is always complaining about.                                                                

Meanwhile, that 840 pounds of luggage I mentioned? It was quickly being divided up among Tony's relatives.  Most of it was clothes--American bluejeans, shoes, whatever. You can get incredibly cheap name brands (Northface, Lacoste, etc) in SE Asia because they are made there and frequently "misplaced" by factory employees and sold on the street. But anything American made is very expensive (subject to large import taxes) and thus a status symbol.

Interestingly, this applies to Cheetos and Coke as well, which Tony's parents also brought a shitload of. There is little international shipping infrastructure in Laos so anything made outside of SE Asia is automatically expensive

So we settled in and took naps and took pictures blah blah blah--let's get to the good stuff. Vientiane City.

Preadventure briefing

I've been avoiding writing this for a few reasons.  One, I'm not sure what tone to take. Who is my audience? Will they get where I'm coming from?. Should I really write about watching girls shoot ping pong balls out of their vaginas with the off-chance of my mom reading this?

I've decided yes, yes I should. And I should write about prostitutes, eating dog, diarrhea, smoothies, crying at the war museum, and whatever else strikes me as interesting, profound, or funny. I should write about whatever the fuck I want. Because this is my trip down memory lane, dammit, and if you don't like it, poop on you! So there.

That being said, writing without an audience in mind is just jerking off, and trust me, you won't get any pleasure from watching me jerk off. At least my neighbors don't. So if you are willing to spend a few minutes reading my diarrhea of the fingers, then know this: I'll do my best to make it quick, fun, and above all, honest. Capiche?

A quick debriefing: during this trip I traveled primarily with three friends who I've known since highschool and earlier. They are:

Ressa. Ressa is 21 but he looks like Justin Bieber. He likes typical White People things like Polo Shirts, the Stock Market, Ohio State Football, and Macaroni and Cheese. He has a learning disability in reading, which I insist makes him legally retarded, and is the least artistically inclined person I have ever met. I will be making fun of him approximately 30,000 times in this blog. Admittedly, he's good at math and logical shit and has a paid internship this fall at NASA building self-propelling moon-drills. Ooooooooh, big deal, I'm soooooo impressed. I could build moon drills. I just don't won't to because they're stupid.

David. David is a 7 foot black pastry chef who I met in juvy. JK, he's another lanky white kid studying engineering. Luckily he's not as much of a dweeb as Ressa.

And Tony. Tony's the important one, the one who planted his southeast asian seed in my mind long ago (skull-fucking pun) Tony is a first generation half Lao, half Vietnamese boi with family and connections in Asia. He likes fast cars, motorcycles, and competition, so basically he's an extra out of Tokyo Drift. You'll get to know Tony plenty because he has so many embarassing stories ahead.

We were accompanied (in Laos at least) by Tony's parents and 15 year old sister. PARRRRTYYYY. In reality we pretty much did our own thing most of the time, so it turned out okay. In fact, Tony's parents, being locals, were responsible for many of my best memories in Asia, and were incredibly generous and kind-hearted towards me for no reason other then I've been doing dumb shit with Tony for a few years. So I extend a profound thanks to them.

Enough blathering. Let's go to Laos.