hello, old friend

Itch

I felt

it bubble

Up, within.

Alien? No.

So familiar,

An old friend.

Blinders up –

drive, home, eat, wine, write

Penelope purrs.

Type, strike, write

The words flow.

Empty bowl.

The itch Scratched,

Familiar.

Hello, old friend.

Please, come again.

I rushed home to write. I don't know where the urge came from, but as I was exercising on the elliptical after work today (and thinking about dinner), I felt this feeling bubble up inside me. At first, it felt a bit like a what a sink does after the water's been shut off for a couple hours - sputtering and splirting, trying to build up enough pressure in the pipes. Then, all-a-sudden, WHOOSH! This feeling bursts forth. So, I cut my workout short and here I am, sitting at my dining room table, still a tad sweaty, intermediately forking forkfuls of reheated mac & cheese, sipping on a chilled glass of white wine and typing.

This feeling felt foreign. And, it wasn't just simply the wish to write exactly. It was more like, feeling motivated. I've grown pretty comfortable in my sort of routineish life – living in a home, working a job, dating a dude – it's been comfortable and, I must add, pretty darn rad. Those three things I listed? Not exactly something I had on a regular basis throughout my 20's. Especially not all at the same time. I think I used my post-college, mostly single years as license to run from most anything resembling the word “comfort.” I craved uncertainty, nomadism, and romantic flings. And, with that, I felt very much in a creative flow. I traveled – when I traveled, I photographed things – when I photographed things, I wrote stories. I did all these things to entertain and be entertained. I wanted to fill my days with experiences and memories. I took pictures, journaled, and blogged so as not to forget. I created.

This comfort I've felt for the last year has been a blessing in so many ways. I really have grown to enjoy knowing where I'm going to sleep at night, buying things (like living room lamps and dishtowels!!), and feeling loved, supported, and respected by a bearded cuddlebug of a man. I've felt myself becoming less of the person who does 10 day silent meditation retreats and week long juice cleanses and growing into more of the person who has a cat named Penelope, gets annoyed when dirty dishes are left in the sink, and wonders what kind of wife and mother she'll be in the not so distant future. I have to admit – never in the longest stretches of my imagination did I think I would find such comfort in the comfortable.

But, I was beginning to wonder where my motivation to create had gone. I would think about all the ideas I used to have – they'd come to me in the shower, on long bike rides, or listening to a Ted Talk. I recall scribbling down plot lines for books and new entrepreneurial business ideas and being so jazzed it would keep me up at night. I don't have many of those sleepless nights anymore.

Maybe that's a good thing? Maybe it's not? I honestly don't know. All I know, is that tonight, I had an itch. It felt strange, but it felt important too. So, I put the blinders up, and I went home, determined to stay in the zone. Very curious to know if this feeling will continue as the days and weeks progress. I hope it does. It feels good, like an old friend.

The Little Blue Booklet

For as long as I can remember, my Grandma Lee has always told me, “Watch your back.” I'd grin and promise her (with a loving eye-roll) that I would and remind her not to worry so much. “Oh Grandma,” I'd think, “The world isn't a terrible place full of terrible people trying to do terrible things. Trust me.”

On Tuesday, I wish I had heeded her advice.

I was wrapping up my fourth day of the Thakhek Loop in Laos - a motorbike circle snaking around and over limestone mountains and with caves to visit along the way. I had just visited Pha Ihn Cave and took a zillion photos of the carved, wooden Buddah statues, sparkly shrine décor, and colored, triangle cloth streamers strewn from wall to wall. I was sweaty, my butt was saddle sore, and I was only 11km from my guesthouse and final destination. It was early in the afternoon so I decided to stop at Ta Falang Lake – a recommended stopping point along the loop - to take a dip, cool down, and rinse off the sweat, grime, and dust before completing my tour.

After about a kilometer on a bumpy, dirt road, I arrived and parked my motorbike next to one of the two other motorbikes in the dirt lot on the high bank near the water. Walking down to the water's edge, I greeted a young Western couple and looked for a place in the shade to set my day-pack, making sure it was within eyesight. I heard a giant splash behind me and saw a young Laotian man, perhaps 20 years old, swim around the corner. I had seen an older Laotian man smoking a cigarette farther down and assumed they were together.

As I was about to go into the water, the young man emerged, wringing out his wet T-shirt.

“Hello! Sabaidee!” I said with a smile.

“Sabaidee!” he smiled back.

I walked carefully into the water, watching my step on the slippery rocks, but within seconds I dove in. The water was warm, which I thought was odd, seeing that the Ta Falang “Lake” was actually a river flowing in a valley between mountains. My attention was only momentarily distracted, but that was long enough.

When I looked back to shore, maybe 20 feet from where I tread water, the young man was gone – and so was my day-pack.

When I yelled, “F*ck! They stole my bag!!” I caught the attention of the young couple I had greeted earlier. I ran up to the parking area, but the two men had already disappeared on their motorbike. Two dark-skinned, dark haired Laotian men on a red motorbike with a black wire basket. Unfortunately, a description which identifies about 99% of the Laotian men I've seen and about 70% of the motorbikes.

As I stood there dripping, in total and complete shock, Christian jumped on his bike and motioned me to hop on. “Left or right?” he asked. Right, towards the main road? I was taking a shot in the dark.

At the main road, I tried to communicate as quickly and clearly as possible to a group of locals that I had just been robbed. It was a game of 'Gestures' that wasn't fun in the slightest. “My backpack,” I motioned, “My camera, iPhone, iPod, money.” The sun-baked gravel was burning my bare feet, and despite feeling frantic, I was also very aware of the fact that I was standing in a village in only my bikini – a giant no-no in the conservative Laotian culture.

One of the men got on his cell phone and made a call. Whether he was calling for help, to notify a nearby village, or just ringing a buddy to tell him there was a crazy, practically naked, foreign mime-woman in his yard, I couldn't be sure. I returned to Christian and his motorbike feeling completely defeated. “Oh my God...it's all gone.”

As we drove back to the swimming place, I discovered a bag of cold medication I had purchased earlier that week on the ground. Next was my paper map of the loop. Then, my headlamp, smashed. They discarded what they deemed worthless and took the rest. A small trail of things as a final, “F*ck you, you f*cking tourist!”

When I got off the motorbike, I was shaking. My clothes and shoes were still on the rocks where I had left them, so I got dressed. Christian and Keira had a cell phone I used to call my motorbike rental place – the motorbike key was in my pack. Mr. Ku answered and said someone would be there in 20-30 minutes.

“Well, it's a good thing motorbike rental places make you leave your passport as a deposit. At least they didn't steal that,” Keira soothed.

Oh God, my passport…I left a different ID with the rental place instead, I remembered. “No, they have my passport too,” I said.

“F*ck,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said.

Christian and Keira insisted on waiting with me until the rental guy arrived with the spare key. Pierre, another backpacker traveling the loop, arrived and we filled him in on what had happened. About ten minutes later, three Laotian men pulled in and jumped off their motorbikes. They were dressed in ragged, dirty clothes – and two of them were carrying giant rifles – from one of the rifles, a pink teddy bear hung, swaying with the man's movements.

The only one without a gun pointed at the four of us and at the bikes and started yelling things in Lao. It dawned on me that the local guy I spoke to must have called the village police. It didn't help that the only things I knew how to say in Lao were “Hello!” and “Thank you very much!”

Thankfully, Mr. Ku's mechanic, Mick, turned up with the spare key and a rather decent grasp of the English language. We gave a description as best we could, and I reported all of the items that had been stolen:

Nikon D3100 Camera with 18-55mm Lens

Nikon 55mm Lens

iPhone 4

iPod

$190 dollars in Laotian currency (I had just gone to the ATM that very morning.)

Passport

Visa Credit & Debit Card

Drivers License

Old Navy Flipflops

Knockoff RayBan Sunglasses

It was a thieves jackpot. And, I wasn't watching my back.

Between Christian, Keira, and Pierre, I left Ta Falang Lake with 500,000 kip – the equivalent of about $60 USD – which they insisted I take (seeing as I would have no way to take out cash without a credit or debit card) and telling me simply to pay it forward. I had held it together up to that point, but as I hugged them each goodbye, I nearly cried.

~ ~ ~

It's incredible how important a small, blue booklet is.

In the four days since I was robbed, I have been to the police station in Thakhek three times (Lao efficiency at it's finest) in order to get a single-sided piece of paper with an official stamp and signature stating that I reported my passport (and other valuables) stolen. This is the piece of paper I must take with me when I travel 8 hours north to Vientiane, Lao's capital city, to then go to the Laos Immigration Department to get a “certificate of loss” (which can take 1-2 business days). Then, I must visit the US Embassy (on the other side of the city) to pick up my new passport which is currently en route from Bangkok. Then, I must take both the “certificate of loss” (it was STOLEN NOT LOST!!!) and my brand-spanking new passport allllll the way across the city (again) to the Lao Consular Department at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Dumbledore??...Am I being punked???) where I can (finally!) request a replacement visa entry stamp...only to be required to leave the country pretty much straight away since my visa expires on May 20^th.

Besides the significant cost in time from this whole debacle, I've determined that my small day-pack and all it's contents total about $1,700 USD. While I keep being reminded (by both myself and others) that “it's only money and all material things can be replaced” (yeah, yeah, yeah…), it's still a punch to the gut and a knock to the bank account. I've never been one to spend money frivolously and always think twice (well, thrice – well, multiply that times ten…) when making a purchase, big or small. It's a big reason why I am able to afford to travel as much as I do.

But, even more heart-wrenching than the cost in time and in money, is the fact that I lost three weeks of photos (which I am still kicking myself for not backing up). This included the spectacular hot air balloon ride I went on in Vang Vieng, Laos. But, I'll have those colorful mental snapshots stored away in my mind until I'm old and gray!

There has certainly been a lot in the past four days that could contribute to a rather poor outlook on traveling abroad – people stealing shit, belching police officers, THE GOD-FORSAKEN 100+ DEGREE WEATHER!!!

Yet, today I find myself so grateful. Emotionally, my time in Southeast Asia for the first three months was a pretty rough roller-coaster ride. It took me a significant amount of time to acclimate (and I'm STILL acclimating more and more every single day). There is so much about the Southeast Asian culture that I found and continue to find extremely jarring as a Western traveler – scooters beeping incessantly in the chaos of Vietnam traffic...Cambodian wedding blessings being blared from loudspeakers during all hours of the day...corrupt police officers in Thailand...Laotian Tuk-Tuk drivers selling tourists marijuana and edibles at 2 o'clock in the morning...the exorbitant amount of trash left to scatter in the wind...the stray dogs with swollen nipples and matted fur sniffing for food scraps...and peeing in a squat toilet (of which I STILL have not entirely mastered), drip drying (cause why would there be any toilet paper?) and “washing” your hands in water (cause soap is really just overrated).

So, why in the world am I grateful? Because while I experienced the heartless side of humanity four days ago, I've been on the receiving end of the beautiful, sparkling, and heart-full side of humanity too. I've been shown such kindness from the staff at Thakhek Travellodge where I've been “stuck” without a passport or cash. We're jumping rope together, doing yoga together, and playing guitar together. I've received countless messages from family and friends asking me how I'm doing and offering to help in anyway they can. (In the event that you have a US passport with the name “Anna Lucas” and a photo of a smoking hot American brunette please expedite it my way!) I won't pretend that this situation has been easy. In all honestly, it's been a downright pain in the arse (and it ain't over yet). But, I thank God for all the good it's brought my way. And, I'm going to continuing trying to focus my attention in that direction and keep moving forward.

As a fellow backpacker sang to me on the day shit hit the fan, “Always look on the bright side of life! Do do, do do, do do, do do!”

Banana Cake or Bust

Whether you approve or not, it's impossible not to put your faith and trust in strangers while traveling. Some backpackers probably do it more than others. I am likely one of those such backpackers.

When I arrive in Hue, I toppled off my bus, disoriented (it is always like this when arriving in a new city) and still sick. A Vietnamese guy found me, asked if I already had a place to stay, proceeded to tell me that he had just opened a new hostel one month ago, it was nice, had hot showers, was $5/night and included breakfast, and would I like him to take me there on his motorbike?

Yes. Yes, I would very much.

Within minutes we had arrived, and I was checked in to a bottom bunk bed, in a room, on a quiet street in Hue (pronounced “Way” with an “H”), a city known for the decaying and crumbling Citadel, a World Heritage Site and old capital of the Nguyen emperors. After a rest and lunch, I decided, I would find the Citadel – sniffles and all.

- - -

Well, plans never go as planned. Having just sat down and ordered my lunch, I watched another woman, about my age, walk in, sit down, and order her lunch. As no one seemed to be joining her, I walked over to introduce myself and see if she'd care for some company.

Eight hours later, I was hugging Jenny goodbye having had a ridiculously enriching conversation and feeling wholly content with the fact that we had detoured from our original plan to tour the Citadel together and instead went in search of banana cake.

Most days, my friends, banana cake and cool people definitely top ancient palaces and royal tombs.

- - -

The following day, I did make it to the Citadel to explore the Forbidden Purple City within the Imperial Enclosure. During the days of the emperor, this area was super duper exclusive to basically him, the royal concubines, and eunuchs. These days, the place is sprawling with tourists and the “walls come crumbling down” - and yet, discovering the beauty, design, and spectacular architecture amidst the gardens and ornate buildings is certainly part of the old city's ancient charm.

Slippy Days

As luck would have it, I found the most adorable restaurant and hostel in Son Trach village which had just opened the very day I arrived! I booked three nights at “A Vietnam Corner” and for my first meal I ordered the most wonderfully described meal on the menu - “A bowl of love.” It only made sense seeing as the owner, Henry, was so sweet and put every ounce of love he could muster into his food creations and his business.

As unluck would have it, I was getting sick. The weather in Phong Nha turned cool and rainy. Against my better judgment, I hopped back on “Silver Bullet” for Day 2 and returned to the national park to visit the Botanical Gardens. In the drizzle, I chose the longer three hour trek (not heeding the advice of the women at the entrance who warned “It's very slippy today!”), hiked through the jungle, got slightly lost, and finished with slick climb up a beautiful waterfall. Because of the weather, I didn't run into a single person on the trail. I paused, often, to listen to the gentle rain pitter-patter on the leaves and hear the birds call to one another. After several nights of sharing a dorm room with 6+ people, I treasure hours like this.

The dreary and cold weather combined with being sick forced me to turn the majority of my third day in Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park into a rest day. I found myself a cozy spot at Bamboo Cafe and alternatively sipped hot “eggie coffees” (coffee with condensed milk and a sweet, whipped meringue topping) and cold fruit smoothies (ahhh, so good for a sore throat!) for several hours.

Since it was also my last evening in Phong Nha (I was eager to head south towards warmth!), I sat down for dinner at Henry's restaurant to order another “bowl of love.” I sat close to the only other table of diners at the restaurant – this may have had something to do with the fact that they happened to be three very handsome, very athletic looking gentlemen. Not wanting to interrupt (but really, definitely wanting to interrupt…) I was chuffed when one of the men turned around and struck up a conversation. I learned soon enough that the three of them were professional stunt men for the King Kong movie that was being filmed. As for the attractive black man that asked me my name? He was Samuel L. Jackson's stunt double.

Sore throat be damned, I hung out with the stunt crew, film crew and a handful of actors for a few hours that night, chatting around the bonfire and drinking a few beers. But, I had to catch another bus at 4:30AM the next morning, so I said adieu around 11:30PM. It wasn't until a few days later that I learned from another backpacker that Mr. Samuel L. Jackson himself turned up at midnight.

Underground Paradise

My overnight bus arrived in Son Trach village at 4:30 in the morning when the streets were still quiet and the sun had yet to rise. Two of my fellow bus riders and I hung around a closed hostel reception desk for a couple hours, only to learn when they opened at 7:00AM that the majority of the hostel beds and hotel rooms in Son Trach had been booked out months in advance. A giant crew from Los Angeles had practically taken over this small village in order to shoot a new King Kong movie in the nearby Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park. Whatdya know, Hollywood was in town! Along with their movie star, Mr. Samuel L. Jackson.

Not one to waste time in a new town, I found a place to store my backpack and made fast friends with another American and two Dutch travelers. The four of us decided to rent motorbikes for the day and cruise around the 60km national park loop. I was given a beat up, dull gray scooter which I immediately dubbed, “Silver Bullet.” As this was my first time riding a scooter – EVER – I was given a two minute lesson, a helmet (it's against the law to ride a motorbike without one), and sent on my way with instructions to “just ask my friends” if I needed any additional assistance. I got the knack of it straight away, and shook my head in wonder after I realized that afternoon that the rental place didn't require us to sign any waivers, leave any form of identification, or even prove if we had a valid driver's license. The motorbikes were ours – all for a whopping 120,000 dong per day per person – the equivalent of about five bucks.

It took no time at all to be convinced that exploring the Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park by scooter was the best way to go. As we drove, the jungle covered mountains began to spring up on both sides, and the closer we got to the park entrance, the taller they loomed. It's funny – the national park is actually known for their giant caves, which we planned to visit, but the beauty that surrounded us as we sped along on our motorbikes felt as though we were in an Avatar movie. Lush and green and smelling of wet earth. On the back of “Silver Bullet,” I simply beamed.

With several caves to visit, we picked Paradise Cave, one of the longest dry caves in the world, which was only recently opened to the public in 2011 after having been discovered by a local hunter/jungle expert several years prior. With such a tiny opening in which to enter the cave, it was an immediate shock to walk into an enormous, cathedral-like space that could comfortably fit twenty airplanes. Scattered throughout were giant stalagmites and stalactites that glowed a soft yellow from strategically placed high-powered lights. I was having trouble remembering how to differentiate the two “stalas” when an older British woman came to my rescue - “Stalac-TIT-es. Tit's sag. So, they're the one's the come from the top. You'll never forget the difference again!” No, I don't believe I will!

I slowly wandered the 1.5km wooden boardwalk through Paradise Cave (the entire cave is a whopping 31km long!) looking waaay up and all around at the incredible variety of limestone formations that had been created over millions and millions of years. A small river carved out this monstrous cave and rain water that trickled through the soft limestone of the mountain just dripped over, and over, and over, and over, and over (well, you get the picture), eventually creating stalagmites and stalactites as tall as a two story house and as wide as a king sized bed. One millimeter is formed every year – just ONE MILLIMETER. If that's not the definition of artistic patience and commitment, I don't know what is. Paradise Cave in Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park was the first time that I felt truly at peace in Vietnam. The clean, cool, quiet of the cave had a deliciously calming effect. And, after what felt like one hour in the cave, I emerged – and discovered I'd been inside for three.

Observations

I've made a few observations during my time in Vietnam thus far:

1.) ALWAYS bring toilet paper and soap to the bathroom. It seems these rather common (or so I thought) bathroom staples are often insufficient or missing altogether…

2.) You are looked at with the same quizzical expression for not eating meat in Vietnam as you are for not eating meat in Wisconsin.

3.) Northern Vietnam in late February/early March does NOT feel like summer. At all.

4.) If you want to feel like a celebrity, ride on the back of a motorbike through a minority village when the kids get off school. You'll get more hellos, smiles, and high fives than you know how to handle.

5.) There are adorable, stray puppies everywhere. Don't become attached. You will want to bring one (or five) home with you.

6.) The Vietnamese tourists might wave you over with a camera in their hands. They don't want you to take their picture. They want to take a picture with you. So, practice your “peace” fingers.

Hazy Hype of Hanoi

I'm on an overnight bus from Hanoi, Vietnam to Phong Nha National Park. We should be there in about 10 hours. While the term “sleeper bus” indicates the potential to actually sleep at some point, it's not as easy as it sounds. The “bed” is just a tad wider than my bum. My feet are cramped in the cubby below the nearly horizontal “bed” of the Dutch lady in front of me while my knees bend to accommodate the day pack between my open legs. Vietnamese tourism advertises, “Save money on accommodation! Sleep on overnight bus!!” I'm not convinced.

The 20-something year old British girl at the front of the bus just whipped out a packet of pills from her rucksack. Probably Valium. It's become the norm here for tourists to sedate themselves on the long bus rides. I haven't hopped on the bandwagon...yet. But, I do have a travel-sized bottle of Baileys that I brought all the way from Wisconsin for a special occasion! Now seems a good a time as any.

Salute!

Despite my mild discomfort, this does give me some time to reflect on my first few days of international travel. I'm just so thankful they let me on the airplane! I received my visa approval letter via email as I approached the check-in desk at the San Francisco airport...talk about leaving things to the very last minute! But, after 24 hours of flying and layover-ing, I arrived in Hanoi and successfully made it past customs. Hallelujah!

My car waited for me upon arrival. I know that sounds fancy (and I had a fleeting celebrity moment when I saw my name written on a piece of paper with my very own driver to whisk me away to my six bed dorm room at the Central Hanoi Backpackers Hostel). Only $15 to avoid negotiating with potentially corrupt taxi drivers who wait like piranhas to overcharge jet-lagged foreigners.

I sat in the mini-van, wide eyed and wide earred, to the sights and sounds of this new city. The traffic alone is a feast for the senses. Horns blare and beep every second – not out of anger, but purely to say, “Hi there! I'm here! I'm coming up behind you! WATCH IT BUDDY!!” And, the scooters! A school of thousands swim the narrow streets. They weave and zoom between cars and people and buses – the traffic rules seem obsolete. It's nothing short of astonishing to see all the goods the Vietnamese balance on their scooters – enormous stacks of fresh eggs; dead pigs; baskets of produce; young children – often SEVERAL young children. The list goes on and on. When a young Vietnamese fellow offered to lend me his motorbike (he had two) so I could drive around the city for a few hours, I politely declined. I'd much prefer to live, thank you very much.

On my first full day in Hanoi, I resigned myself to navigating the sea of motorbikes and people on foot, intent on getting my bearings and shaking off my own jet-lag. I have an entire month in this country – no need to rush things. I visited the Temple of Literature and captured the cool stone creatures on the wall. While walking the streets I was forced to eat a “free” doughnut from a friendly, beaming Vietnamese woman only to receive a major pouty face when I refused to buy the doughnut filled plastic bag that she hung on my pinky finger. While the Hanoi is certainly exciting and vibrant, it's also loud, brash, and overwhelming. And, my heart and head yearned for quieter, more natural surroundings.