Signs Of The Times

One thing about going to Asia I always enjoy is seeing the interesting results of the increasing use of English on signage and tourist literature. Here are some favorites from this trip: "No Passing A Grass" (on the lawn at Vientiane's Patsouxai monument)..."Luang Prabang Narcotics Supression Bureau Department" (our Department of Redundancy Department winner)..."Push Button To Stop Orator" (I know we all have wished at some point that we could do that), "Whole Tailer, Retailer" (on a clothing store)...and finally my favorite, "Snakes Will Be Served" (I believe "snacks" is what they were going for).

See you next trip!

Not-Doing On The Mekong

There is a concept familiar to those who have read Carlos Castaneda's sorcery books called not-doing. Basically it involves a counter-intuitive alternative to activity which is the opposite of our usual goal or task-orientate approach. I have been practicing a bit of not-doing here in Laos. There are many tourist activities to indulge in, and here in Luang Prabag, the tourist is constantly being enticed with offers of every description. There are trips to caves and waterfalls, for example. You can go trekking to a Hmong villag, or even learn how to handle and train elephants. One is always hearing about the two-day slow boat trip up the Mekong to Houayxai, on the Thai border. But from what I had heard, they can oversell the boats and it can end up being two days of misery. That's a long time to go in sweltering heat, with no privacy and dodgy bathrooms. I gave all these things a pass and stayed with not-doing, rather than doing, as my modus operandi in LPB. Easy to do (or not-do) in the late rainy season heat and humidity. My daily routine is as follows: Rise early, get breakfast in my guest house, take a walk before it gets too hot, have lunch. Then it's time for a siesta. Wake early in the evening, take another walk, maybe have a drink somewhere and dinner. At the end of the day, a Lao-style massage ($5) where I am stretched and kneaded into a stupor and ready for sleep. A fairly satisfying schedule, and I have managed to put aside the traveler's guilt of not "seeing" or "doing" enough and just, well, "be".



It was after awakening from a particularly groggy jet lag-infused mid-day nap (you know, the kind that leaves you still tired and disoriented, as opposed to refreshed) that I walked down to the Mekong. One of the boatmen asked if I wanted to take a sunset cruise. I thought for a moment, still trying to wake up. Sure, that would be pleasant. He wanted 200,000 kip. I said I couldn't possibly pay more than 150,000 (about $18.50). He accepted a little too quickly (bargaining has never been my strong point, but there you go).

I reported to the riverside pier at the appointed time. After a seemingly interminable time watching a steamroller being loaded onto the crudest ferry I have ever seen, my boatmen (Phousi was his name) arrived with his craft. These longtail boats are rustic affairs, some more put together than others. This one was a rusty metal hulk with small wooden chairs covered in dirty pillows, bolted to inner rails. The roof consisted of irregular sheets of tin stamped with the emblem of a Bangkok box company. I was today's only passenger. No life jacket was provided. Nevertheless, the beast seemed seaworthy - if barely.

Phousi started the motor and we set out along the wide, brown river. Almost immediately the temperature dropped, a cool breeze wafted through the boat, and a strong scent of jasmine hung in the air. My mood immediately began to improve as I surrendered to the pace and rhythm of the journey. One can really see from this vantage point how the river is intertwined with people's lives. There were fishermen setting out their nets, families cavorted in the water while women washed clothes, groups of boys strutted and played as they dove in and out of the river. Further downstream, a sort of Luang Prabang Beverly Hills has been built by Laotians who have made their money out of the country. There were mansions that would not have been out of place in Napa Valley or the South of France. But mostly, it was people living exactly how they have lived along this river for hundreds of years, through French, Japanese, Thai and Chinese invasions and influence.



Phousi turned off the motor and let the craft drift with the current. The sunset was indeed spectacular (though I just missed photographing this very brief glorious moment). It was quiet, peaceful, and the scent of jasmine hung sweetly in the air. A perfect not-doing.

The Famous Bangkok Tuk-Tuk Scam

The tuk-tuk is the ubiquitous Bangkok mode of transport, like a taxi, but you can negotiate the price with the driver before hopping in. The basic concept was adapted years ago from a three-wheeled Japanese delivery vehicle. It has handle bars rather than a steering wheel, and a motorcycle engine, the sound of which is responsible for its name. Behind the driver is sort of an open cart with a canopy and upholstered seat. Because of its small size, the tuk-tuk driver can navigate the murderous Bangkok traffic more easily than a conventional taxi. Tuk-tuks are all over Southeast Asia, and each country comes with its own particular variation. In Laos, for example, it's a cruder affair, basically a cart attached to a motorcycle.

As I was only using Bangkok as my gateway in and out of Laos and had not planned to spend much time there, I had not done my usual thorough research, so fell “victim” to one of the tourist scams I normally pride myself on avoiding. (I put “victim” in quotes as I escaped with my money and most of my dignity intact).



I set out one afternoon looking for Chinatown. Having gotten lost in an area of town that seemed to specialize in tires and used transmissions, and having not eaten since morning, I was beginning to get frustrated. Ah, what’s this? A friendly face to aid the distressed farang tourist. He asked where I was going and if I had a map. Why, yes I did! (I later learned that you should run for the hills if someone asks if you have a map, as that is a dead tip off of a scam to come.) I explained that I was looking for Chinatown and he examined my map with a look of concern. Yes, Chinatown is that way, but it’s closed until 6 PM (it was 4). This was rather puzzling to me, as Chinatown is a huge commercial district and I could not imagine it being closed. (Whenever they say something is “closed”, it’s another sure fire tip-off. Anywhere you actually want to go will somehow be “closed”). Instead, why don’t I take a tuk-tuk to the “lucky Buddha” and after that the driver will take me to Chinatown in time for it to “open”. This would only cost 40 baht “for everything” (about $1.50). And look, there happens to be a tuk-tuk driver right here! So, despite some initial misgivings, I got aboard and braved the Bangkok traffic as a helpless passenger.

As I had fixed my sites on a sumptuous Chinatown meal, I hoped this lucky Buddha business would be over quickly. I removed my shoes and as respectably as possible went up the temple steps to the Buddha. The caretaker struck up a conversation. He had a sister in Seattle. What a coincidence! I was encouraged to light some incense sticks and offer a prayer for good luck. Not being the superstitious type, I think I prayed to be delivered as soon as possible to a Chinese restaurant.

I thanked the caretaker (oddly there was no sales pressure of any kind from this guy, I didn’t even pay an admittance fee) and got back in the waiting tuk-tuk. “Now Chinatown”, I said. My driver demurred and muttered something about Chinatown still being closed, and that we should go to an “export shop” instead (“No buy. Just look!”). As we were already in the thick Bangkok traffic headed…somewhere, and I had trouble understanding him over the din of sound, I took this in before responding. “Export shop?”, he said, hopefully. “No. Chinatown”, I replied as firmly as possible. He appeared to be momentarily frustrated, then spat out a few sentences of which all I could understand was “gas coupon”, “export shop first”, and of course, “Chinatown closed.” I held my ground. He glumly drove me a few minutes longer and then stopped and distractedly pointed a block away. “Chinatown there”, he said without enthusiasm, “how much you pay?”. I gave him the promised 40 baht and walked toward the entrance to Bangkok’s bustling Chinatown district, (which was quite decidedly not closed) considering myself lucky that the cost of my little tourist adventure was a mere 40 baht and a long detour.



So here’s how it works: These drivers get commissions from local retailers - gem shops and tailors being the main businesses – for bringing in unsuspecting tourists, who are then heavily pressured into purchasing what are usually overpriced mediocre goods. A coupon for fuel for the tuk-tuk driver is another form the commission takes. We Westerners consider this a scam, due to the deception and sales pressure involved (in fact the closest experience to this I have had at home is being trapped by salesmen in an automobile showroom). However in much of Asia this is simply an effective and quite legitimate marketing method. The odd thing (as I found out when I tried to get back to my hotel later that day) is that these same tuk-tuk drivers who are involved in orchestrating these complex scams, can be utterly useless when asked to function as actual taxis drivers, which is what they are supposed to be. I showed my map to two different drivers who proceeded to either not comprehend it where I wanted to go, or worse, to get lost, at which one must decide whether to abandon ship and find another tuk-tuk driver!

Tomorrow: Onward to Laos