Vientiane, LAOS

 Asking where the toilets are is never sexy! This has long been a theory that (along with my Sandwich Equation) I have contemplated, and finally came to a true understanding of on the 9 hour flight to Bangkok from Sydney.

The Sandwich Equation simply states that, if a sandwich wishes to be the best it can be for the enjoyment of the feaster, it should boast 2 parts filling to 1 part bread on either side. I would have drawn a diagram for the less able-minded but I haven't got a pen or paper.

Anywho, the issue with asking where the toilets are, is that simply asking suggests that one has to use the before mentioned facilities and there are certain images that should not be put in the mind of someone you fancy. And by someone I mean the butch Thai flight attendant who flashed me a dazzling smile while trying to figure out if my snoring father wanted "tea or coffee?".

However, the whole issue of asking where the toilets are on a plane seems sizably stupid. The Roxanne red engaged sign for the loos is always glaring at you like a portrait from the renaissance, following your every move.

My wearing of the ex-school jersey did not help the situation, especially as it proclaiming rather loudly on my back that I was OPTIMUSPRIME. I’d never felt self conscious about it in Manly when my other half had matched me with her own jersey inscription...

but in Bangkok… well, I’m not gonna say I didn’t get some strange looks.

So, now it's my fourth day of ridding around on the back of a rickety motorbike in Vientiane (abbreviated to VTE, Laos' capital city). I still have no idea where I most of the time but I have been introduced to Philip the Pommy Bastard and Lily the Lady-boy who are apparently going to show me around.

Yesterday afternoon Noi (my father, Keiran's, wife) took me "grocery shopping". In Laos this means entering a vast corrugated iron tent populated by wooden benches piled high with produce. The sterile Woolworth’s environment I'm used to was a world away from this festival of food. 

My first sight on entering this shopping slum was mounds of raw meat sweating in the heat and ready to buy, but not before half a dozen other people had copped a feel.

The smell was pretty overpowering, like walking past a butcher, situated in the middle of a sunny orchid whose unpicked fruit lay rotting and rancid among the leaf litter. The proprietors (or more correctly proprietresses) of these reputable establishments perched themselves behind their wares, holding sticks with plastic bags tied to the end. These served as fly swats. I had a sort of nam-like flash back to year 11 art and the douche baggy paintings of George Gittoes. It may not have been a war zone but it certainly surprised my middle class, Australian sensibilities.

 As I moved through the market with my Laos possy (Noi, her younger sister and the cleaner/cook, Nook) I managed to make friends with some of the locals. Or more correctly, I grinned stupidly at them until they smiled uncertainly back. Then I had the cheek to mime-ask if I could take their photo. This method worked every time, though I may be over spruiking my social skills as at no point were we speaking the same language. I did get a free beer though.
I “asked” this woman at a fruit stand if I could take her photo and she nodded.

I showed her my handy work afterwards and she grinned sheepishly back at me, my own cheery smile still plastered firmly on a self-conscious face. She then proceeded to natter at Noi in rapid Laos.

Fruit Lady (in Laos): “She can drink beer?”

Noi (to Me): “She wants to know if you can drink beer.”

Me: “Well yeah, of course I can.” I answered not realising this was my acceptance of a glass of Beer Laos, the local brew. 

I took the beer, hands shaking slightly, wondering if this was some sort of trick. If a random lady gave me free beer while grocery shopping in Sydney my mind’s automatic alarm would start screaming: “DATE RAPE! SHE’S GONNA DRUG YOU AND DRAG YOU DOWN AN ALLEY AND HAVE HER WAY WITH YOU! RUN BITCH, RUN!” 

 However, I was in Laos.

Me: “Will it be really rude if I don’t drink this?”

Noi: “Yes.”

So that’s the story of how I ended up drinking a cold one with the locals at 3.30 in the afternoon on my second day in Vientiane. I also saw a woman using a bike pump to fill plucked ducks with air so they looked fatter… in front of her customers. Noi explained all this to me as if she were describing how one should brush their teeth to best avoid plaque. 

I have more adventures ahead that I'll be sure to document harshly on this little shrine to my own awesomeness, so stay tuned dummies! Apologies for the change in quality of some of the photos... I only just figured how to reduce their file size for the interweb. Also, I never have access to the internet for a very long amounts of time so some posts may be pretty shoddily edited.