The King And Us

We are back in sleepy Vientiane after twenty-one days in Thailand and quite happy to be home. We had a great trip, no doubt, but there’s more to life than snorkeling and lounging on the beach, right?

Jen and I traveled by plane, bus, taxi, motorcycle taxi, van, car-ferry, speedboat, ferryboat, and most memorably, “longtail” boat. By the end of our trip, we had clambered on and off so many of these skinny, wobbly wooden boats that I elected to eschew an all-day boat tour on our last day in Krabi Province. Although it was by speedboat this time, I was pretty much “boated out” and chose to give my battered back a rest. Undeterred, Jen went by herself and visited the island (Ko Phi Phi Leh) where they filmed The Beach.

We spent a couple of more nights in big, bad Bangkok on the way back to Laos, principally to stock up on some consumer items not available in Vientiane. Bangkok is not exactly my cup of tea, I must confess. It is reminiscent of a tropical Mexico City: huge, hot, crowded, chaotic, and cursed by traffic that is, well, unbelievable. On our first journey to this metropolis, we were silly enough to arrive on the King’s birthday (for this gaffe, I take full responsibility). The taxi ride to our hotel was mercifully aborted after three hours of torturous gridlock when we finally just bailed on our arm-waving, teeth-sucking taxi driver into a massive throng of pink-shirted celebrators and hauled our bags the last couple of miles through the hot, sweaty, nighttime chaos. Talk about a tough traveling day!

A word about the aforementioned King Bhumibol (Rama IX) of Thailand . . . he is a superhero to his people and they love him with a fervor that is both overwhelming and, to us, endearing. His birthday (Dec. 5) is the biggest Thai holiday of the year and millions pour into the streets to celebrate. He has been King for sixty-four years and, at age 82, is now in precarious health. We discovered that he is a botanist, a sailor, a musician, a boat- designer, a photographer, an animal lover and much more. His image is everywhere in Thailand: on the wall of every home and business, on gigantic billboards and elaborate roadside displays celebrating his life and times. He is a sensitive looking man with thick, squarish eyeglasses that he has worn his whole life (we, of course, saw pictures of every phase of the King’s existence) and is a direct descendent of the character played by Yul Brynner in The King And I. I honestly think that what I will remember most about my trip to Thailand is the Thai people’s devotion to their King. When we finally arrived, disheveled and exhausted, at our hotel on the night of his birthday celebration, I wearily remarked to the girl behind the counter, “Wow, everyone really loves the King!”

Beaming, she answered sweetly, “I love, too!”

Island Fever, Sea Gypsies, John Denver, and other tales

Still on vacation in Southern Thailand . . . . and as all great things must come to an end, so did our stay in Lanta. Annie's generosity will not be forgotten . . . ah the toast and coffee waiting on our patio table each morning, the hot tea when I was sick, the fresh fruit delivered to our bungalow in the afternoons, the trip around the island, the prawn meals she cooked for us, the sarong she gifted to Joe, and the earrings she gave me. It made our stay in Koh Lanta so special - I even sketched "bungalow number 3" to keep the magical image in our minds...

The morning of our departure, we woke early to catch a boat to the first of our "independent" island tour destinations: Koh Ngai (pronounced Kong-ai or Kong-hai). The hour-long trip was pleasant, and as we approached the island known for it's narrow beach and thick jungle interior, small long-tail boats started picking up people from our bigger speed boat and shuttling them off to their respective resorts. Then, suddenly we started going around the island (away from the pristine beach) to float for a while for some on-board snorkelers. Hey where was our long-tail? In about 10 minutes our boat arrived with two rugged looking sea dudes. We made our way into the boat with luggage and set off out into the ocean again . . . hijacked? No, but it crossed my mind. After a splashy ride, we made it to the "Paradise" bungalows . . . on a tiny beach all its own. No apparent access to the other resorts or beaches. Although it was very picturesque, island fever got the best of us quickly and we planned our escape the next day (without a lot of consulting with the owner and subsequent phone calls in order to make boat connections). There was a lovely reef near the shore, and we were able to spend the day snorkelling a bit and picking up some sun. The next day, we were off to Koh Mook.

Koh Mook is known for being an island of fisherman and rubber plantations. Upon arrival, we took a motorcyle taxi across the island, passing thick forest and groves of rubber trees, to get to our bungalow. Although right on the beach, the bungalow we found was in the midst of a funky sea-gypsy fishing village. The people are very dark in this part of Thailand with a heavy Malay ethnic influence. Many are Muslim in addition to the Buddhist contingent you would expect. However, most sea-gypsies, known as chao-leh, live on the islands in the Andaman Sea and don't ascribe to either religion. They descend from Indonesian seafaring peoples and worship nature. The kids in the village never missed a chance to say "hellooooooooo" while having sack races among the chickens, goats, cats, and beach dogs; the adults smiled when they weren't taking their afternoon siestas. At the far end of the fishing beach, the sand started to get whiter and the beach-clutter thinned out. A fancy resort had claimed the best part of the beach keeping it clean and roping off a swimming area (see Joe's arty photo). I was able to see lots of starfish - one of them was huge! That night, our bungalow proprietor, and his spirits-loving bartender friend, barbequed fresh fish on the beach. For a nominal fee of about $3 each Joe and I dined like kings on roasted squash, green papaya salad, and whole fresh fish.We sat right on the water's edge. Not fancy, but delicious, cheap and full of local color. Not to mention, John Denver is worshipped here - so the evening included phonetic approximations of hits like "Thank god I'm a country boy" sung between sips of Thai rum.

After our two-island hop, we were ready for some mainland action. So after a night in Koh Mook, we headed for the city of Trang - a place few people stay, but many go through in transit. We had only planned to stay here for a day or two, but due to an unexpected setback due to Joe tweaking his back, we have now been here four nights. Not a bad place to recover, if you ask me. Trang is very friendly, hot, full of colorful day and night markets, and most of all not touristy at all. It's a great place to get away from the "backpackers" that fill the islands. Prices are very cheap, and the food is great. Coffee, maybe due to the Malay/Muslim influence, is a big part of life here, and you can find cafes serving strong fresh brew in little clear glasses any time of day. Every shop seems to have a song bird in a bamboo cage out front - the little guys actually chirp beautifully even in the midday sun. I saw a postcard with what looked like a "singing competition" held here every year. So, Trang has been good to us . . . a street market is amassing under our hotel window right now. We'd better get out and enjoy it as tomorrow we may be ready to head out to the coast again.

"This Lanta's my land..."

There is one thing lovely Laos does not have. Beaches. So we set off on holiday to the alluring beaches and islands of southern Thailand. Our initial travel day from Vientiane to Bangkok was, as they say, una pesadilla (I’ll save that story for elsewhere). But, after a couple of pleasant days in Bangkok, we flew down to Krabi Province, picked up the minivan, and a couple of hours and car ferries later, arrived on Ko Lanta, a good sized island in the Andaman Sea.

It has been really nice the first few days, discounting Jen’s getting sick on our first night and her spending the subsequent day in bed. Scratch that. Our bungalow is beautiful and mere steps from the sea, set on a sweet two kilometer swathe of clean sand. The sea is warm and smooth, the people are nice and the weather warm and breezy.

We have met a few characters here. The proprietress of the bungalows, Annie, is awesome and has apparently taken a shine to us. Today, she took us on a tour of the island, and tonight cooked us a delicious  Thai meal featuring the fresh prawns we bought this afternoon from the Muslim fisherfolk on the other side of the island. Unbelievable. The bar on the beach is run by Pas, a local cat who somehow identifies with American Indians and has the costuming to prove it.

Last night, I sat in with some local musicians at the “Guitar Bar”, knocking out versions of tunes from Chuck Berry to Hank Williams. Good fun. We walk on the beach, and swim in the sea, and drink beer and relax. So far so good!

I want to ride my bicycle . . .

In these quiet days between our colorful trip to Luang Prabang and our upcoming journey to the islands of Southern Thailand, we have been dealing with such mundane matters as paying bills and arranging visas. We have however, had the opportunity this week to add two new members to our family here in Vientiane. Although we regularly get around town on foot or in tuk-tuks, Jen thought it might be a good idea if we had a couple of bicycles to handle those “in-between” journeys.

And so, we welcome our second-hand, two-wheeled, fraternal twins (one orange, one blue) with a spot of poetry. We have each written a haiku of welcome for our respective bikes.

Freedom from tuk-tuks,
That’s what "Rustov" means to me -
A rust-colored bike

Things have changed somehow
Is it uphill or downhill?
Boy do my legs hurt

The Luang Prabang Project

Horse, llama, camel . . . how could riding an elephant be much different? Joe and I found out earlier this week when we treated ourselves to a flat-out touristy endeavor. We spent the weekend in Luang Prabang, a city in the northern part of the country – only a 40-minute flight from Vientiane. Joe had been invited to give presentations at the university up there. Lucky for us . . . it is the number one biggest tourist draw of Laos and a UNESCO World Heritage site. The architecture is unique with traditional Lao, French, and various combinations of both styles. Although the town is not big, there are many temples and markets. The morning market had beautiful fresh fruits and vegetables along with the more unusual items: squirrel, water buffalo legs (hooves attached), live frogs, young chickens, pig heads, and dried rats (?). I also saw something I could have sworn was dried bat . . . I have yet to corroborate my hunch. There are lots of tourists, mainly European and Asian, to whom the locals respond respectfully and amicably with a smile and a “Sabaidee Baw?” (How are you?) . . . quite surprising compared to the locals in Vang Vieng (the town with the “Friends” re-runs) who have become all but completely desensitized to contact with foreigners.

The sponsors of Joe’s workshops treated us to a lovely dinner at a fancy Lao restaurant. Much of the food was akin to Vientiane’s cuisine with the exception of dried buffalo meat (a tasty sweet beef jerky-type dish) and dried river-weed with sesame seeds (looks like seaweed, but not fishy or salty). One of the most popular things to do in town is to climb the 300 stairs to the top of the hill - Mount Phousi - in the center of town. There is a temple there with awesome views, golden Buddhas, and the footprint of Buddha himself (yes, I saw it!). I made it up to the top one morning seeing only two other tourists. At sunset, it is said to be absolutely packed with camera toting visitors – I guess morning was a good choice. The highlight, however, had to be our elephant ride through the Nam Kanh River. We had hired a tuk tuk to take us out to what we thought was “the most famous” elephant rehabilitation center. Well, some copy-cat operations have sprung up – with the word “elephant” on their signs. It took us a bit of going around in dusty circles with our patient tuk-tuk man to find the “Elephant Village” formerly known as the “Elephant Park Project” in a new location.

We had wanted only to see the facility and check out the rehabilitated elephants rescued from a life of logging and abuse. All 9 female elephants were there ready to take tourists on a “ride” . . . corny we thought until we saw that the hour-long tour took the elephants through the river and back through the jungle. OK – we give! When it was our turn, the gaggle of tourists that was supposed to have turned up for the next ride was nowhere in sight. The tour turned out to be just me, Joe, our mahout (the awesome English speaking elephant wrangler/guide) and Mae Kham (the 36-year-old professional pachyderm). It was a blast and over too soon. They are so quiet yet powerful, methodical yet curious – the sign at the entrance to the park had listed 10 things to remember about elephants . . . number 10 was: Never completely trust an elephant. I have to say, after the way Mae Kham took care of us that I trust her more than I do a lot of people – but I’m still glad I had that Xtreme Sport insurance!

"Sinh" City

Question: Do you have a "sinh"?. . . (traditional skirt worn by the women in Laos, especially during religious festivals)
Answer: No, not yet, although I plan on getting one or two made for my western figure.

So . . .  I wasn’t able to participate in every event of the county’s biggest religious festival – That Luang Festival; however, we did get a good feel for the mania that drives this event, a dose of good energy coming from a lot of people packed into a relatively small place, and some great pictures.

That Luang is a “that” (pronounced taht), or stupa, at the biggest and most famous temple in Laos which is said to have a relic of Buddha - some say a hair - some say a bone. This “that” has become a symbol of the country, Luang meaning Royal or Great. It is a 10-minute walk from our house, so we were right in the middle of the madness starting weeks before the actual festival when food stalls and dart-throwing booths started blocking the sidewalks.

I asked locals to tell me about the festival – a lot of conflicting information ensued: “It officially starts on Wednesday – No the opening ceremony is on Friday – You need to go to Wat Simeuang on Saturday evening – No you need to go to another Wat then -You need to go on Sunday at 1pm to see the ceremony – No the procession starts at 3 – Tuesday is the best and final day – No Monday is the full moon so it is the best and final day – you need to see the alms giving at 10 am – No you must go to the alms giving at 5am  – At night you will see the fireworks and a candlelight procession…. In the midst of my frustration, it occurred to me that although the International Balloon Fiesta is held in Albuquerque every year, would I be able to tell a tourist when the “Special Shapes Rodeo” was . . . or on what night “Balloon Glow” is held every year!

I finally assigned “What a tourist should know about That Luang Festival” as a journal entry for my students. Sneaky, huh? I got a bit clearer rundown of information with details of the events that they themselves were going to attend. On Saturday night we stumbled upon Wat Simeung’s procession of beeswax palaces being brought into the temple. Bills of Lao and US currency were affixed to the palaces. The flowers on the palaces were made of beeswax – how they didn’t melt, I’ll never know!

Sunday was really the big photo op for me . . . around 2, the procession started from Patuxay – the big square cement structure (called the vertical runway as the cement used had been orignially paid for by US dollars to build an airport runway). A parade of dancers and “palace carriers” came through right past the café at which we were eating . . . on a bathroom run to our house we actually stumbled upon our very own neighborhood’s procession – one of my favorite shots – note the converse sneakers!

All of the attendees entered the temple at That Luang to give their offerengs to the monks. Everyone was so dressed up in traditional sinhs and “pantaloons” worn by some of the men. I was so energized by this part of the festival that I ended up talking Joe into coming back the next morning to “see the gathering of monks” inside. Yes, we awoke at 5am and stumbled down to the temple. I swear it was almost empty, but we decided to wait. By sun up there were thousands of devotees waiting to give their “alms” or offerings to the hundreds of monks that had come from all over the country. The alms baskets consisted of:

1. takbat bowl

2. food such as oranges, sticky rice, cookies, cake, or bananas

3. candles

4. incense

5. flowers

6. clean money

7. small bottle of water to be poured as part of the ritual

The evening of the last day, we saw the most amazing view of the full moon poised directly at the top of the stupa – quite extraordinary. I didn’t have a tripod, but I feel that the image is still incredible. People came again to give offerings. Following the religious part of the festival, the crowds peacefully moved to outdoor cafes to eat grilled foods, chicken, prawns, larvae, crickets, and more! Then they watched live what we decided to watch on our TV at home: staged dancing and singing performances in a State Fair type of venue.

The festival ended late Monday night . . . the overall most impressive thing being how peaceful thousands of people were at the festival grounds and temple. No one acted up, raised their voice, or donned a scowl. You mustn’t even ask about the trash around our neighborhood though. Hopefully, all will appear shiny and new for the SEA Games next month . . . they’d better get going!

Postscript: When I started writing this post, I didn’t have a “sinh” – therefore we didn’t go directly into the temples during the festival at all. It felt somewhat inappropriate even though we saw other foreigners doing it (some in shorts no less!). There were even “sinhs” for rent at the entrance. However, we felt better about being observers. Well, just today, one of my students said – I have something for you . . . guess what she gave me? And it actually fits!! I’m all set for the next festival – bring it on!

Social Butterflies

I can’t say our life here in Vientiane is exactly a social whirl of Hiltonian proportions, but it seems that we get out a bit more than we do back in the states. Perhaps it’s because neither one of us currently has an automobile! I think the "drive-everywhere" lifestyle we adopt in the U.S. actually depresses the frequency and quality of our social interactions there.

Aside from the fact that Jen and I both had cars that we drove in opposite directions every day, (racking up an average of a thousand miles a month each), we tended not go out much at night due to our avoidance of drinking and driving, and our paranoia about the sheer numbers of drunk drivers on the roads of our home state. Here in sleepy, friendly Vientiane, however, we have begun tapping into a modest and mellow social scene that finds us out and about (in tuk-tuks, mostly), mixing with locals and expats, in pursuit of a lovely time.

This past month was “birthday month” for Jen and me. My birthday comes first, and we decided to try the top rated French restaurant in town, Le Silapa. Foolishly, we showed up without reservations at a restaurant with four tables. Drats. We moved on to La Terrasse, which was good, but nothing special by Vientiane standards. On Jen’s birthday, we headed to our favorite dining spot, Mak Phet, but not before stopping at Sticky’s for a creampuff, a candle, and a heartfelt “Happy Birthday” to Jen from the bar crew.

Last night we went to a place called the Juke Box for a performance by a local band called Groove Factory. The brainchild of an expat (and Sticky’s denizen) named Pierre and his mates, the group is, believe it or not, a ten-piece funk/soul band that has a full horn section and plays a ton of James Brown, AWB, etc. Mind-bendingly, we were out in the jungle in an open air hut with a cement dance-floor grooving on a soul revue doing their best impersonation of Fred Wesley and the JBs. In Laos! Very nice.

Back in the daytime, the That Luang Festival, Laos’ biggest annual celebration (surpassing even October’s Mekong boat races, which was a great big party) , is going on right now, culminating tomorrow. Happily, but crowdedly, this festival takes place in our very own neighborhood and has been percolating for a couple of weeks already. Hope to be back with photos soon!

Trivial Minds

Did we mention that there is a government imposed curfew on Vientiane? Probably not, because we aren’t really night owls under usual circumstances, and having to be out of the bars and home by 11:00 is not exactly a hardship for us. The government has recently begun a crackdown on wayward taverns and dodgy noodle-houses, closing several in the run-up to the Southeast Asia Games (SEAGames), to be held in Laos for the first time in early December. Although we go out for dinner every night, we are rarely out as late as 10 PM. (Yeah, yeah, hand me my cane, sonny…whatever!)

Anyway, we usually drop into this downtown bar for a couple of beers once or twice a week before having dinner at a nearby restaurant. Sticky’s is an Aussie-run joint, and we’ve gotten pretty friendly with the Lao lads that work there. On Saturday night, we were starving, but decided to go to Sticky’s for a beer first. It seemed crowded and the owners were running around the place feverishly. It turned out to be “Quiz Night”, held every six weeks or so, and the local trivia teams were filing up the staircase to prepare for this traditional battle of wits. To make a long story short, Jen, knowing my proclivities in this area and ignoring my intense hunger, talked me into forming an ad hoc team with the Australian couple next to us at the bar. It happened that the bloke, Yogi, is a colleague of Jen’s from her work. He and his wife, Amanda, were long-time also-rans in the trivia competition, but doggedly kept after it for the love of the game (or the drinks).

We were unknowns, dark horses from the outset. The rules were simple: eight rounds of questions covering categories determined by the bar owner…and may the best team win! First, we had to choose a team name and settled on “Grey Matter”. Simple but classy. As we were drinking our first beer and limbering up our brain muscles, my world suddenly became a blur. The leg of my plastic chair had given way, hurling me to the floor (along with a beer or two). I got up, shook it off and ordered replacement drinks. Let the games begin! Suddenly, Yogi’s chair also collapsed in a veritable tsunami of suds. Blazes! Jen was soaked in beer…but more importantly, why were none of the other competitor’s chairs giving way? We knew what we were facing.

The first category was “Sport”. I instinctively knew I was going to suck at this one because my sports trivia knowledge, although extensive, doesn’t really extend to soccer, cricket, and rugby. One look at me mate, Yogi, however, put my mind at ease. Sure enough, Jen and I knew almost none of the answers, but our Aussie friends acquitted themselves well, guessing six out of eight. The competition continued through the categories: inventors, food, music, history, literature – we seemed to get stronger as the questioning went on. Jen nailed one: the title of Roald Dahl’s autobiography. Amanda pitched in: it was Anne Boleyn bore Henry VIII a child, I’m sure of it. Yogi insisted that mozzarella was made out of buffalo milk. Score! I did my thing. The longest charting Beatles single ever? Hey Jude, of course.

By the time the final category, “Cinema”, came around, the dark horse team was pulling away down the stretch. “Oliver Stone!” “Gary Oldman!” “Ginger Rogers!” We ran the table. Another team composed of Jen’s workmates (it’s a small town) had been accustomed to winning easily. They seemed to be in shock. When the final figures were tallied, “Grey Matter” was indeed victorious. Yogi and Amanda received a bunch of free minutes for their mobile phones, and Jen and I got 400,000 kip (almost fifty bucks) worth of gift certificates to Sticky’s. Awesome!

As we rode the afterglow of victory down the stairs and into the sultry nighttime streets of Vientiane, we realized: Holy shit! It’s after 11!

Shiny, Happy People . . .

OK, so we are all shiny here due to the heat and humidity . . . but the Lao seem to be especially good at seeing the bright side of everything, even calling me “Madame” (you know with a French pronunciation ma-DAM) when I’m soaked in sweat – it is charming! Which is how we find the people. They are not overly effusive or artificial, but genuine, friendly, and respectful. Not a day goes by in which something “cute” doesn’t happen.

When we first arrived, we noticed that from the tiniest baby to the oldest man, people have character. They seem full of personality when you least expect it. Let’s take a walk around the neighborhood and you’ll see what I mean.

First of all there is a lady that looks nearly a 100 that ever-so-slowly trudges up and down our alley with her walker. She is quite determined to “get out of the house” occasionally, I guess. About once a week she makes her pilgrimage up the alley to the street and back to her house. I worry about how dangerous it is as cars zip from the main street into the alley. I guess she is just an adventurer as I later saw her and her walker enduring a bumpy tuk tuk ride! When we first saw her, we said “Sabaidee”, and she stopped, studied us for a moment, and gave us a big grin.

Near the corner of our alley and the main street sits a type of shoe-repair man under an umbrella. He doesn’t have a stand per se, but a little table with a hodge-podge of old shoes that he enjoys sewing on with a big needle. He happens to have a tuk-tuk parked near his shoe table. Whenever we need a ride into town, he greets us with a warm smile and a “Sabaidee” as he quickly covers his table and shoes with a large sheet of plastic putting stones down to keep it from blowing away. He jumps into the vehicle and is ready to take us where we need to go. It never occurs to him that someone might disturb his stash of footwear. I guess people are honest here.

Just across from the shoe guy is an older gentleman who is some kind of “gate guard” in front of a big house. When we first started passing the house, we would see him sitting in a little chair under a tree, reading out loud from a little book. Literacy is very low in Laos. From what I’ve been told, even educated people don’t read much, so we found this scenario curious. One day the man noticed us passing and said in very clear English, “Where are you from?” We proceeded to have a nice conversation with him – most people speak a little English as it is the common language among Asian countries, however going beyond basic phrases to conversation is rare. This guy even mentioned politics! He said to Joe, I like that “Balack Obama – He’s a handsome guy, he’s young, he’s clean cut . . . he look like you!” And I think he really meant it.

Then the other day, as I was taking a walk, I saw two little school-boys in uniform. As I passed, they did a bit of a rubber-neck (just as bit . . . as this is the capital city and people are pretty used to seeing foreigners). I gave a smile and said (one of my familiar but useful words in Lao) “Sabaidee”. They called back to me, “Bai sai”? My mind started whirling . . . oh I knew I had heard that on my language tape . . . . oh oh . . . . what did it mean again? Oh yes! “Where are you going?” Then, again whirling, my mind searched for the answer in the archives of my brain. There it was! I said “Bai lin” (going out for fun). They looked at me, and as I was expecting laughter in reaction to my undoubtedly bad pronunciation and slow reaction time one blew me a kiss!

The people are not only polite and gregarious, but they are very calm. You never hear people raising their voices or arguing. Maybe “muan” makes people this way – it’s the concept of “fun” or “enjoyment” that is paramount in Lao culture. If your life situation is not “muan”, you must try to get out of it. Also, Buddhism has a strong influence. Daily you can see women crouched in the streets in the early morning; they wait to give offerings of food and money to the procession of monks that passes by. The monks may stop at a particular house or group of women and produce a haunting yet musical chant – a prayer? The festivals seem to draw people from miles around to enjoy themselves in a large, crowded, sweaty, yet peaceful gathering. Last Sunday, we went down to the riverside for “Boun Ok Phansa”. Thousands of people send off little boats made of banana stems and flowers. This ritual signifies the end of the rainy season and represents sending “bad luck” away. I bought my little boat for about 50 cents, lit the candle, and sent it along the river . . . although its flame blew out, it caught a good current and sped swiftly down the river . . .

That's What "Friends" Is For

Laos’ premier “adventure tourism” destination is undoubtedly Vang Vieng, a small town in Vientiane Province around 160 km (90 miles) from our home in the capital city. Located on the Nam Song River, a tributary of the Mekong, it is famous for its beautifully rugged limestone mountains, rock-climbing and fabulous caves, in addition to the many water-based activities on tap, like kayaking and, especially, floating the Nam Song on inflated inner tubes. It is this latter activity that has placed Vang Vieng squarely on the SE Asia backpacker circuit. An entire industry has been created providing “tubing” enthusiasts with everything they could possibly need after a hard day of floating/drinking in the hot sun– specifically, plenty of loud music, cheap booze/drugs, and grubby guesthouses in which to sleep it off. Jen & I just had to go see for ourselves!

Of course, we were mostly interested in getting out of town (our first trip to the countryside) and seeing some beautiful Lao scenery. Given the near-incessant heat in these parts, floating down a beautiful river sounded not half-bad, but the reputation of the whole tubing scene was off-putting enough that I just didn’t want to “go there”- at least not on our first trip. After a four hour bus ride through some beautiful country, we arrived in Vang Vieng just after dark. We snagged a nice hotel room by the river ($18) then headed into town.

At this point, I have to mention that the other thing Vang Vieng is famous for is the sheer number of cheap restaurants/ bars that play reruns of “Friends” around the clock. Although this phenomenon is debated with great frequency on traveler’s discussion boards, I refused to believe that it was as widespread as people claimed. Well…it’s true! There are probably a hundred indistinguishable dives lining the streets of town, and fully half were blasting “Friends” episodes, often to rooms devoid of patrons. We finally went past a place where a half dozen young people lolled motionlessly on platforms, staring blankly at a blaring television screen. What the hell were they on that would induce such a catatonic response? I just didn’t get it.

Anyway, we woke up early the next day and discovered our balcony had a staggering view of the craggy mountains across the river. We embarked on a long walk across a toll bridge, through an electric-green rice paddy, to the base of the nearest mountain (I hope the photos we took do some justice to the stunning beauty of the place). We resolved to take the same road to a more distant (7 km) cave/pool later in the day.

We set out after breakfast and hitched a ride in a tuk- tuk with some Canadian teens who were headed the same way. When I spoke incredulously about the stoned-out people lounging in front of “Friends”, they sheepishly admitted their own participation. “Everybody’s just so hung-over!” they explained. Hmmm. David Schwimmer’s adenoidal whine is no kind of hangover remedy, kids. Anyway, we got to the spot and sure enough there was a big swimming hole with the requisite ropes and big tree for jumping in. Jen and I climbed up the mountain to the entrance to the cave, but declined the miner’s headlamp or the guide. I guess we prefer our caves a little more spacious. The pool was, however, icy cold and we took a refreshing dip.

The following day was the Boun Ok Phansa festival (featuring longboat races) that comes at the end of the rainy season. After taking another early morning exploratory hike searching for a promised swimming hole (no luck), we watched a bit of the boat race preparation before jumping on a bus and heading home to Vientiane.

Without doubt, Vang Vieng is stunningly beautiful. The backpacker scene, however, is “not my bag, man”, as Austin Powers might say. It is geared toward young partiers from around the world who come to get wasted amidst beautiful scenery, scenery I’m not sure they appreciate fully (there were incapacitated “Friends” victims on display all day and night). Perhaps an explanation can be found on the “special menu” offered at many backpacker haunts (see photo). Notice the last item: “O[pium] tea” for a measly twelve dollars!

Why I Don't Cook Much Anymore

As of today, we have been in Vientiane for a month. In that time, we have yet to cook a meal for ourselves. Actually, a couple of days ago, I scrambled some eggs to try out our new French-made frying pan (we eschewed the cheaper, lead-infused Chinese one) that I felt compelled to buy. Other than that, we have eaten every lunch/dinner in some local restaurant (breakfast - coffee and fresh fruit - we eat at home). The reasons are two-fold. One, shopping for local foodstuffs seems a bit labor intensive, and our kitchen, with its two-burner hotplate and lack of counter space, is not conducive to culinary extravaganza. Two, the restaurants here are ridiculously cheap and the food is fantastic.

Our first ten days in town we mostly wandered around Central Vientiane looking for places to eat. We had fresh fish on the banks of the Mekong (whipped up by a lady we dubbed the “Galloping Gourmet”), sampled local Lao cuisine with its Thai, Vietnamese and Chinese influences, enjoyed lovely salads w/ fresh lettuce, tomato and cucumber, and delved into the simple pleasures of kao niao, or sticky rice, the staple of every good Lao meal. We couldn’t help but notice immediately that everything was cheap, and everything was delicious.

How cheap? It is difficult to spend more than five bucks on lunch for two or more than ten bucks on dinner. The most expensive thing either of us has ever ordered in any restaurant is less than six dollars. The large Beer Lao, enough for two nice frosty mugs, is a little over a dollar. We haven’t tried any of the highly regarded French restaurants in town yet (although we both have birthdays coming up!), but they too are supposed to be absurdly inexpensive for the quality of the cuisine.

How delicious? I told Jen today as we were completing our lunch of red coconut curry chicken w/ fresh basil and pork and spring onion omelet (served with soup & rice, of course), washed down by icy fresh lemonade, “I’ve forgotten my previous life as an eater”. As I paid the bill of $4.80, I realized that I was just exaggerating a little. One place, a restaurant called Mak Phet (Red Pepper), has provided me with probably the most extraordinary flavor experience ever. My taste buds may never recover! BTW, it is staffed by really sweet ex-street kids, who are trained to be cooks and waiters (see slide show). It is just one of many places we have had fabulous Lao food.

Now that we live out in the neighborhoods, we have a rotation of 5 or 6 local places where we eat. All are within a six minute walk of our house. The cheapest, a lunch place called Nang Vong, sells a lunch special (three home-cooked items, plus rice, soup and plenty of cold drinking water) for $1.20. Ridiculous! The most expensive, Kop Kap, features a whole fresh fish, smothered in garlic, red pepper and fresh herbs, for $4.40. Absolutely out of this world (if you like that sort of thing), it is the most expensive item on the menu!

The Lao take their food seriously, consistently producing high quality dishes for relatively little cost. That being said, there are countless street food vendors, literally on every corner, churning out steaming plates of god-knows-what at a fraction of what we are paying. This is where most of the locals eat. I guess we are still conditioning ourselves for the inevitable foray into the “grilled frog on a stick” or “deep fried insects” that represents a true exploration of Lao cuisine. [Photos courtesy of J.M. Herrin]

The Soi Dogs

You’ve hear of Alley Cats and Slum Dogs, but here we have “Soi” Dogs. A “soi” is an alley or little road . . . and a dog (no metaphor here) is a real four-legged yelping, barking, pooing, peeing, growling, mating, howling furry “man’s best friend”.

Let me back up a bit. There are on-the-inside dogs which have collars full bellies and yards. They live on-the-inside of the gates; they have owners. Then you have the on-the-outside dogs . . . strays, if you will. They run in packs and live on-the-outside of the gates that surround the homes enclosing the on-the-inside dogs. They run up and down the neighborhood alleys doing what dogs do – they are the Soi Dogs. They seem to like our little street best, hanging out to instigate all kinds of howling matches (and I mean full-on midnight choruses of seemingly 100’s of dogs!) and dog fights that the on-the-inside dogs can’t wait to get involved in. You see . . . the ‘on-the-inside’ life is kind of boring compared to the Soi Dogs’ . . . it’s kind of like a banking nerd longing to be a motorcycle bad boy.

It’s a bit crazy when the “worlds collide”. Mostly noisy . . . but when the on-the-inside dogs get a chance to escape (you can tell as they are wearing a collar or have a piece of lead rope hanging from their neck), they frolic with the Soi dogs, regardless of the throngs of puppies the inter-mating produces (no spaying or neutering here) or the bloody gashes the inter-fighting causes. There’s one little guy (see photo) that lives next door, I call him “Shorty”. Every time the Soi dogs come by he runs out of his yard to sniff them and invariably ends up getting bitten on the face spending the next 10 minutes rubbing it in the dirt writhing in joyous dog pain.

As the grass is always greener, the Soi dogs like to pretend that they live in real houses. One neighbor keeps his gate open and the Soi dogs let themselves in and hang on his porch. Regularly, they file out into the alley to cause trouble – dump over a trash basket, get into a fight, or follow a monk back to the temple . . . . aha this is the secret of their survival.

I have a theory that the monks feed them, and that is how their kind thrive! As we pass our neighborhood temple on morning walks, we see many more Soi dogs grinning at us from their protected position inside the temple entry way. They never really bother people – just terrorize with their noise, poo, and garbage rummaging. Some of them are more stoic and poised in their Soi status – see photo of the dark grey one with a beard we’ve named “Tolkien”. However, there are others like “Owen Meany” with a damaged leg and permanent limp . . . all he ever does is growl viciously with teeth bared at all other dogs, Soi or otherwise. None of them pay any attention to humans . . . the most you’ll ever hear directed at you is some kind of puffing half-bark coming from the females who may have puppies somewhere. I guess people are not mean to them as they don’t seem to be afraid of us . . . is that a good thing?

I Went All the Way to Vientiane, and All I Got Was This Lao T-Shirt!

Yes, it’s taken us a while to get our second installment together and posted here. Our excuse: we’ve been really busy! Jen and I have been in Laos for a fortnight (a coupla weeks, you Yanks) and have been engaged in many important activities, most of them undertaken in debilitating heat and humidity. This is the first country where I’ve been forced to use my umbrella for protection from the sun…and it’s not even the hottest part of the year (can’t wait for April). Yikes!

We spent our first ten days in the lovely Hotel Khamvongsa, which is right in the center of Vientiane’s “scene”, near the Mekong River. Most of our time was spent wandering from café to restaurant, from bar to “minimart” - anywhere that air conditioning was installed and running on high. Luckily, the coffee, fresh fruit shakes, local cuisine and Beer Lao are shockingly delicious. (A dedicated entry on food and drink will follow soon). Actually, while living at the hotel, we started getting up at 6:00 AM and walking for an hour before the sun became a fireball. It is relatively cool at that hour, but we still returned dripping with sweat.

Our “official” status in Laos was, unfortunately, still in flux when we arrived, and we had to participate in a series of diplomatic meetings with various local functionaries to try and iron out the wrinkles in our visa and work situations. We sat, smiled, and sipped tea a lot. Oh, and collected a lot of business cards. Allegedly, our long-term visas and identification cards are now in the works and should come thru in the next week or two. Fingers crossed.

On the non-official front, although living in the Hotel Khamvongsa was pretty sweet, house-hunting was high on our agenda. We hit it hard for three days on our first weekend in Vientiane, driving around with our real estate agent/bartender, the inimitable Wong (see photo). We looked at a dozen or more places in our price range, from one bedroom apartments to four bedroom houses. We actually ended up choosing the place we looked at first, which also happened to be the cheapest. Our pad is a brand-new, townhouse style apartment in a complex of four. Two stories, it has two upstairs bedrooms, two bathrooms and tile throughout. It wasn’t furnished, so we had to meet with the owner to negotiate the furnishings. She is a doctor at the local hospital and speaks very good English, luckily for us. Nice lady. We agreed to pay her an extra 50 bucks a month if she bought a bunch of stuff we wanted. Consequently, we have a new washing machine, fridge, small range, microwave, kingsize bed, nice wardrobes, etc. Most importantly, we have new A/C units in every room. AHHHH…We’ve been living here for six days and have been busy buying small items for the house each day, trudging about town in the heat. Actually, for long hauls, we have been riding in the modified motorcycle thingies known as tuk-tuks (see photo).

Anyway, we’re happy to be in our new place. Our neighborhood is maybe 3 kilometres out from the center of town. We live on a small, partially paved street, near an immense, beautiful Buddhist temple (Wat Sisangvone). We have identified a handful of good restaurants within five minutes walk, and we continue to eat very well and very cheaply. I finally go to work at the university next week (so the rumor goes) and am anxious to get back in the classroom. (Photos courtesy of J.M. Herrin).

Lao, PDR (please don't rush!)

As you may know . . . the PDR actually stands for "People's Democratic Republic". As an Amercian friend explained, here the Lao people joke that it really means "Please Don't Rush" to combat a habit westerners have, especially in business matters. So, although we don't have long-term visas yet, nor does Joe have permission to work at his university yet, nor can we get a bank account yet, we are here in Laos and loving our new country.

"Wats" and what I've termed "wads" are very prevalent and a couple of the first things I noticed here. On almost every corner there is a glorious buddhist temple of some kind . . . amazing considering that this is a relatively poor and communist country. Lots of monks in their signature orange are roaming around town, some with quite fashionable eye-glasses. Oh, by the way, the Lao word for "temple" is "wat". Another characteristic that stands out are the wads of electrical wires that gather at every intersection just above eye level between power lines. They are quite complicated looking . . . but seem to work. Last night we saw a street vendor who actually hooked up their TV antennae to a "wad" of wires so the kids could watch TV while mom and dad cooked.

Our first impressions of the capital city, Vientiane (vee-ahng-CHAN), is very positive. Compared to Jakarta, Indonesia, where we lived for 13 months back in the mid-90's, it is much smaller and less polluted. The people keep it clean, all things considered, and drive very slowly. Many use motorcycles, so there aren't even many cars. Public transportation mostly consists of "tuk-tuks", a cart with room for 6 squished passengers merged with a motorcyle. We haven't done that yet, but have chosen to walk the streets to get oriented, very slow walking, of course. It is, indeed, hot and humid, and we've already experienced two full-on downpours. It is the tail-end of the rainy season . . . and they say that the best season is nearly upon us.

The food is great and fresh - last night we went to a restaurant that served "gourmet-style" food made by "street-kids". The restaurant is actually a cooking school, a non-profit organization that takes kids off the street and trains them to cook and wait tables. They were so cute and spoke such good English! The food was magnificent, and we dined (two big beers included) for about $13.

For now, we are staying in a guesthouse and checking out properties with agents. Hopefully, we'll find the right place soon. But, of course, one has to remember: Please don't rush . . .

What Is Hip?

We're coming to the end of our four weeks in Georgia, so I guess it's time for a few random observations on this country and its inhabitants:

Men and women wear a lot of black (it's June, remember), and seem surprised when you point it out to them, as if they've never thought about it.

People eat a lot of bread and cheese, often ordering bread and cheese along with khachapuri, which is made from bread and cheese. It's all delicious, BTW.

People smoke a lot and when they're not smoking, they're chewing sunflower seeds. Adult males also seem to eat a lot of ice cream products in public.

Unlike everywhere else I've been in Eastern Europe, women here do not dye their hair red/purple or blonde very often. Natural coloring seems to be in, and when they do go for a dye-job, they opt for black. Women also wear stockings with jeans an awful lot.

Men don't wear neckties.

"Supermodelitis", that prevalent affliction in Ukraine, doesn't seem to exist here.

It seems as if all Georgian children learn traditional Georgian dancing. Having observed young Georgian dancers, boys and girls, I can only say "Bravo!"

A very common sight is grandpas out in the streets shepherding babies and toddlers. I've never seen this phenomenon anywhere else. It's damn cute.

Georgian men and boys kiss each other on the cheek in greeting. You also see boys walking arm in arm quite frequently.

There seems to be a distinct lack of trendiness, or "hipness" factor among Georgians. Very few trendy clothes, wacky haircuts, tattoos, face piercings, hip-hop regalia, heavy metal teenagers, punks...all the fashions so common in just about every country I've ever been to, seem to be absent here.

I read on the internet that Georgian drivers are the world's worst. Although I don't have enough data to back up that claim, Georgian drivers are the worst I've ever seen - just uniformly awful, reckless driving. As a foreign visitor walking around Tbilisi, heed my warning: You will meet your maker in a crosswalk - with a green light!

Georgian pedestrians are thrillseekers too. From ages eight to eighty, they walk straight into speeding traffic, casually winding their way across 4 or 5 lanes of hurtling cars, counting on God, I assume, to protect them. Yikes! It's really scary.

Georgians are really great hosts. They are very human, very hospitable, and a pleasure to be with. They laugh a lot (especially the women) and treat foreigners really well. We have had uniformly great experiences with the Georgian people, who seem to enjoy life, regardless of tough times, and have a deep cultural commitment to treating guests really well.

The food here is really fresh and good. The aforementioned bread and cheeses, khachapuri, tomato and cucumber salad, eggplant and mushrooms in various styles, lobio (bean stew) w/ fresh greens, skewered grilled meat - these are the staples that we have eaten everywhere, and everywhere they have been delicious. Georgian wine is good and plentiful (I'm recovering from my first hangover in several years - courtesy of several pitchers of young Georgian wine consumed at a bacchanalian feast) and Georgian beer is cheap and tasty...

I wish we would have had more time to see some more of the regions of Georgia. There is a lot of beauty and diversity packed into this one small country. We have really enjoyed ourselves in Georgia!

The Gori Details

The most famous son of Georgia is undoubtedly Iosif Jugashvili, known to the world by his pseudonym: Stalin. He was born and raised in a town an hour outside of Tbilisi with the prophetic name of Gori. We decided to head back to the provinces for our final (unfortunately) look at Georgia outside the capital city.

We found a shared taxi to Gori for the discount price of three bucks apiece. Jen and I sat in the back, while the guy in the front was a very drunken and friendly man named Valera. He stank to high heaven and was quite the Chatty Cathy, rambling on incessantly, challenging Jen's slurred-Russian decoding skills. I made the mistake of trying out my only Georgian phrase, which translates as: "would it be possible to get two beers?" Valera took me literally and, at a highway rest stop, bought me a bottle of beer (with a mineral water and candy bar for Jen...sweet guy).

Gori, at first glance, looked very dead and crumbling away on a Saturday afternoon. Our hotel (again, the "best in town") was deserted except for an old man at the desk that reminded me of Bela Lugosi. At first he pretended not to speak English, but later he surprised us with several well-turned phrases that we suspected he practiced for hours prior to seeing us again. We strolled around town for a couple of hours, saw the giant Stalin statue, found a beautiful church, ran into some cute kids, peeked at the market, then had a nice Georgian meal at the place next to our hotel. We had a busy day planned for Sunday.

There is a huge old medieval fortress on top of a steep hill in the center of Gori that dominates the town. We got up early on Sunday and walked to the top of the hill. The views from the top were nothing short of amazing. The snow-capped Caucasus range seemed close enough to touch. We were alone up there save for two armed guards, a little boy and his grandpa, and a blind dog. At one point, the guard gave his rifle to the five-year old for some picture-taking. Jen, photojournalist, was right on it. Yikes! Sorry, I forgot to mention that Gori was at the center of Russian military action against Georgia in last summer's brief war. Russian troops occupied the town for days, and several people were killed. I couldn't help but think that the little kid was going to grow up ready to fight the Russians, who live just over the mountains.

We got to the Stalin Museum just as it opened. Stalin's birthplace is a brick and wood cabin on the grounds, preserved just as it was in 1879. Apparently the Soviets tore down the entire slummy neighborhood around the cabin in the 1930's and built the elaborate shrine that now houses the museum. Olga, our English-speaking guide, gave us the rapid, canned presentation, leading us from room to room showing us pictures and artifacts from the great man's life. She didn't appreciate questions very much. We saw his desk from the Kremlin, his favorite pipes, his death-mask (not that thrilling), and outside in the yard, his private train-car that he tooled around the Soviet Union in (see photo of me in Stalin's reading chair).

Olga recommended that her policemen buddies drive us to our next destination, the ancient cave-city of Uplistsikhe just outside of town. We could have taken a taxi for the same price, but why not ride with the cops? Uplistsikhe was fabulous, but we only had an hour to explore - not nearly enough. A series of cave temples dedicated to the sun goddess, the complex dates to the 6th century, B.C., although it has been occupied by many different groups through the years, and its most obvious feature today is a beautiful 10th century church high atop the rock. We scrambled around for a while taking photographs, but too soon it was time to leave Uplistsikhe and make our way back to Gori, and from there back to Tbilisi.

That's How the Tbilisi Crumbles

Tbilisi is an unusual city. I like it. Like every city of the former Soviet Union and its satellites that I have visited, there are dreary concrete public buildings, ugly housing blocks, and absurd, defunct fountains/cement trashcans/rusting fences, etc. However, Tbilisi is not defined by these mid-20th century relics of questionable taste. Tbilisi is an old city, a city with as many ties to the East as to the West, and it shows.

Our neighborhood, Saburtalo, is a 20th century creation, and not particularly scenic, despite its reputation as a “good” neighborhood. We take hour-long walks in the ‘hood every morning, so we have seen just about every street in these parts. Although there are some leafy streets and a park or two, it’s mostly a commercial area with generally uninspiring architecture. There are, however, some fabulous areas in the older parts of the city where the true style of Tbilisi is on display.

Tbilisi runs mainly north and south along the both sides of the Mtkvari River. The main part of the city centers on Rustaveli Ave, which has a lot of 19th century architecture – grand buildings like the opera house – as well as the Parliament building currently “under siege” by opposition protesters. Further downriver, the Old Town is the most atmospheric part of the city, and wandering around here is quite enjoyable. Tbilisi has very little new construction and what it does have seems to have been abandoned in the middle of the job. There are dozens of building projects scattered around town with no visible work being done. I have speculated that maybe financing dried up due to last year’s war. Who knows.

Tbilisi is an old city, and most of it can best be described as “crumbly”. A good part of the city has seen better days and seems on the verge of collapse. It actually adds to the charm in certain neighborhoods. We visited some friends in an old neighborhood where many of the streets had been closed to vehicular traffic for fear that the buildings would just topple into the street. Despite looking like it’s falling apart in many sections, the city is attractive, with wonderful views of the river, the surrounding hills, the fortress high above Old Town, and many beautiful churches.

Ready for Kakheti

Being first and foremost adventurous types, we decided to make a weekend foray into the provinces. Since Georgia is such a small country, we didn't have to go far to get to a distinct region of eastern Georgia. This country is known for its wine (its number one export), and Kakheti is Georgia's wine-growing region. We decided to head for Kakheti's biggest town, Telavi, located maybe 100 kilometers northeast of Tbilisi.

Our trusty Lonely Planet guide gave us the lowdown on transportation. We took a taxi across town to the Isani metro station where the "shared-taxis" for Telavi congregate. Jen and I got mobbed immediately by desperate taxistas, hungry for our business. Our city cabdriver, a classy old gent, negotiated a deal for us and soon we were on our way to Telavi in a Mercedes taxi with two other passengers - a quiet college student who spoke some English and some guy in the front seat with a serious cigarette addiction (he smoked one every ten minutes for two hours straight).

Our driver drove like a bat out of hell (more on Georgian drivers in a future post). Believe me, its best not to pay attention to what the driver is doing. Luckily, the scenery got progressively nicer as we got further from Tbilisi. Eventually, the snow-capped Caucasus mountains came into view and soon we were pulling in to Telavi. Our driver took us straight to our hotel, the Rcheuli Marani, the best hotel (and restaurant, supposedly) in town. It was actually pretty nice, and our room was decent for $48 (breakfast for two included). We were about a ten minute walk from the center, so after we dumped our bags, we strolled into town.

On our way into town we saw our first Georgian Stalin monument (see photo). I guess Stalin is out of fashion in Tbilisi. Telavi seems like a pretty poor regional town. There isn't much in the way of new construction, and flashy "modern" stuff is simply not to be found. The center, as it were, is kind of run down except for a huge, completely incongruous fountain in the square in front of the castle. Oh yeah, they do have a really cool castle, right in the center of town, and the castle is kept in fine condition - very impressive. King Erekle II was born and died (in the same room) here in the 18th century. The castle (and Telavi for that matter) is on a hill overlooking a beautiful valley with the mighty Caucasus range beyond. The views from the castle were stunning.

Also impressive (to me anyways) was the market. Packed with traders and shoppers, the fruit and vegetables were some of the most beautiful I have seen anywhere. I found myself wishing I had a kitchen handy - the tomatoes, garlic, onions, mushrooms, greens and farm fresh cheeses looked mouthwatering. We wandered around for a while, then had a simple lunch of tomato, cucumber, bread, cheese, and mineral water.

After lunch, we decided to hop on a marshrutka (mini-bus) and travel 20 kilometers to Alaverdi, the regions most famous church complex. We met a young girl on the bus who spoke English. She informed us she was from Tusheti, the high, mountainous region directly to the north of Kakheti, and had been in Telavi visiting the dentist. We drove through a beautiful vineyard- strewn valley and suddenly, there was a huge edifice right on the side of the road: Alaverdi. There were several tour buses on the scene and large groups of Georgian tourists. We went inside the complex where Jen had to wrap a "skirt" around herself before we entered the church (she also had to wear her jacket on her head as a scarf). Alaverdi is a massive 11th century church, but very bare inside. There were lots of stern looking monks on the premises - one yelled at me to put away my camera while Jen snapped a few shots. The countryside and views around the church were incredibly beautiful - I don't think the photos do the place justice.

Anyway, we hopped the same marshrutka on its return journey to Telavi and were soon back in our hotel. We had decided to have a somewhat (for us) elaborate dinner to celebrate me finishing school this month. We had several Georgian specialties: eggplant w/ spicy walnut paste, mushrooms cooked w/greens, khinkali (meat dumplings), and roast pork w/ potatoes, in addition to delicious cheeses, bread, and some kind of homemade wine. It was quite good. After we retired for the evening, we were treated to a wild hours-long thunderstorm that had the rivers running high and the roads covered in mud and rocks the next morning when we returned to Tbilisi.

The Sheep From the Goats

Gudauri is Georgia’s preeminent skiing destination. It was also the site of the South Caucasus English Teacher’s Conference this past weekend where Jen was one of the main speakers/presenters. The conference was sponsored by the U.S. Embassy and organized by the regional English language officer (RELO), Thomas, who is stationed in our old stomping grounds, Kyiv, Ukraine. Thomas, along with our Ukrainian friend, Alyonna, came to Georgia for the conference.

The embassy van picked us up on Friday morning for the 2 hour trip up the Georgian Military Highway to Gudauri. There were thirteen of us crammed into the van (everyone with suitcases, of course) for the journey to the 3-day conference. The scenery en route was beautiful, following the Aragvi Rriver into the Caucasus Mountains. Once in the mountains, the van had to stop several times for herds of sheep and goats (along with the occasional donkey or dog) meandering across the road. Finally, we arrived in Gudauri, set amongst the stunning peaks, still covered in deep snow. The hotel was pretty flash (in a reformed Soviet way) and we happily settled into our room, which had spectacular views from the balcony.

The conference was enjoyable, especially since I had no official duties (they had wanted me to present, but I had no time to prepare anything) besides attending presentations and eating at the buffet three times a day. Jen was a star, of course, giving the plenary on Saturday (“Breaking Bad Habits without Breaking Spirits”), followed by a well-received workshop on presentation skills. The attendees were teachers from Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, many of whom had never been out of their own countries, even though these three small nations are geographically intertwined. Armenia and Azerbaijan fought a brutal war in the 90s, and part of the goal of the conference was to get teachers from those countries to work together. I found most of the participants to be delightful.

There were also some Americans present, including several English Language Fellows (ELFs) from the region (Georgia, Azerbaijan, Ukraine, and Moldova were represented). Mary Martin, a nice woman from Iowa, is currently holding down Jen’s former Senior ELF position in Ukraine, so we exchanged a few tales with her. We went to a lot of presentations, met a lot of nice people, ate a lot of good food, slept well, and took some good photos. Sunday afternoon, it was back in the van for the trip back to Tbilisi. On the way we stopped at the ancient fortress/church at Ananuri, which was very, very impressive.

Tbilisi or Not Tbilsi

We arrived in Tbilisi, capital of the Republic of Georgia, best known for producing famed 20th century tyrant Joseph Stalin and last summer’s unlikely war, in which Russia, their former master, showed them who the region's real power is. The fallout from that conflict continues now with anti-government protestors, who accuse Bush/Cheney darling President Sakashvili of mismanagement and authoritarianism, setting up shop in the center of the city, camping out with no end in sight. We strolled through the protest area soon after our arrival and saw nothing but a few dozen senior citizens chewing on sunflower seeds. The rebels must have been at lunch.

We are ensconced in a Soviet-era apartment building in a “nice” neighborhood, Saburtalo. The fourth floor (no elevator) pad is spacious and fairly comfortable, although not renovated and far from fancy (the kitchen has induced me to swear off cooking for the duration of our stay). There is a nice grocery store directly across the street, however, and Jen’s work is a short 3 block walk away. We’ve sussed out a couple of good restaurants in the area, established our early morning walking paths, and hooked up internet in the apartment, so it’s all good.

Our trip from Albuquerque to Tbilisi was uneventful. The embassy driver, Shota, picked us up at the airport and delivered us to our apartment, where Lali and her son, George, were waiting for us. Jen’s Russian came in handy right away as between us we know maybe 3 words of Georgian. Our first impressions of the locals were positive. People here are pretty friendly, but not effusive. Everyone tends to wear black and despite warm weather - I have yet to see a pair of shorts on man, woman, or child. Considering the political situation, we had some concern about speaking Russian to the locals. It turns out that just about everyone speaks Russian and doesn’t hesitate to do so. Jen’s Russian studies are paying off big time.

On our first full day in Tbilisi, we met the university rector, Mamuka, for a promised “walking tour”. Well, it turned out to be an extensive driving tour of some of Georgia’s most famous churches. Mamuka’s teenaged son, George, who looked vaguely Beatle-y, did the driving. We first drove to Jvari, high on a hill overlooking the confluence of the rivers Mtkvari and Aragvi. The 5th century church was beautiful. The medieval Georgian architecture is very distinctive. We then drove down the hill to Mtskheta, the spiritual center of Georgian culture, and visited the Svetitskhoveli cathedral complex there. Afterward, we visited the Samtavro Church, now the site of a nunnery. Now starving, Mamuka treated us to a big Georgian lunch featuring such staples as lobio (thick bean soup w/ aromatic greens), khachapuri (kind of a cheese pie), mtsvadi (shish kebab), cheese and bread. Delicious. Exhausted, we returned to Tbilisi and crashed out. After waking up hungry, we discovered our favorite neighborhood restaurant, Teremok, which has an outdoor terrace, allowing us to eat relatively smoke free. Teremok has since become our regular haunt for lunch and dinner.