Marmalade Daydreams

DISCLAIMER: This post was written when I had spent less than 24 hours in the city. I inadviseably use the word sleepy (a favorite of the villainous Lonely Planet writer Joe Cummings) twice in the same paragraph. And, while I do not dispute my initial claim, that the depth of Vientienne's slumber far exceeds that of any other Asian capital (for who could possibly compete, except maybe one of the smaller former Soviet republics?), let it be known that last night, in the span of one block, I was offered two different smokable narcotics and was approached by two different prostitutes, which brings up an aside -- why is it that in every Asian city, after you turn down one vendor or service (whether a tuk-tuk ride or sex for pay), another person, offering exactly the same thing, who undoubtedly heard you reject the prior offer, approaches? It's just unconscionable. END DISCLAIMER.

Vientienne must be Asia's sleepiest capital city. Four years ago, when I was in the south of Laos, I though that Pakxe and Savannakhet, though relatively large cities for this sparsely populated nation (a population smaller than New York's outer boroughs dispersed in a country about the size of Britain), were just sleepy provincial capitals and that the north, with the country's most developed urban centers, must be more bustling. Hey, to err is human.

Not that I'm complaining. After a couple of late nights in Bangkok (reunited with my buddy "Jack" from last year, danced at a hip-hop club until, well, the break of dawn), and the most sleepless sleeper train I've ever experienced (how can even the trains here be so bouncy? don't the tracks have to be fairly flat?), I was flat out exhausted yesterday. After checking into a cheap guesthouse and wandering around a few of the temples which saturate the city center by the Mekong, I read in my guidebook that there was a vipassana meditation class, open to the public, every Saturday afternoon at a forested temple on the edge of the city.

Just as I decided that was would be my destination for the day, the skies opened -- no, not the Rapture... The downpour of monsoon rains. As my last experience being in a pagoda druing a monsoon (two days ago, during a two-hour massage on a poolside rooftop) was extremely relaxing, I figured the rain should not deter me from the path of mindfulness, and caught a tuk-tuk. It was the right decision: wandering through the rainy forest's red muddy paths, beautifully contrasting the dark broadleafed undergrowth and the emerald canopy above, I was directed by smiling laypeople and a toothless nun, wrapped in white, to a sweet pavilion where an two saffron-robed monks led about forty of us, mostly international, but some locals, in sitting and walking meditation amidst the sounds of falling rain and birdsong. Shanti shanti.

I was up early, as I'd passed out shortly after sundown, and decided to go check out the banks of the muddy Mekong, half a block from my guesthouse -- as I rounded the corner at about 6:30 am, expecting total silence but the buzzing of insect wings and the shrill cry of morning birds, I was amazed. Was that Cyndi Lauper blaring? Not just Cyndi Lauper, but some house remix thereof? Indeed, the most happening scene in the city seems to be the Sunday morning aerobics class in an open-air riverfront warehouse-like pavilion. At least 50 Laotians of all ages, mostly women, were out in their spandex, sweating to the eighties. I had to laugh. Further upriver I came across some more traditional chigong practitioners, but they didn't look like they were having nearly as much fun.

So, I'm very happy, having just had some excellent jok, rice porridge sassed up with some chicken sauteed in garlic, scallions, little crunchy things that the cook assured me were not shrimp, and big old chunks of what I assume were beef liver. Sitting in the food court of the morning market, just starting up, the tarp-covered space filled with the delectable savory aroma of grilled meats highlighted by the herbal overtones of lemongrass, coriander, and mint in the noodle soups, I was very happy to eat my noodle soup while completing the first puzzle in my book of crosswords. That's the way I want to start every day. However, it seems like that, outside of the riverside aerobics and the market, this town is dead. Maybe I'll rent a bike and go down to see the enormous Buddhas said to be doing whatever it is that giant Buddhas do (recline? ward off spirits?) outside of town. Later I'll try to upload some pictures. But maybe I'll take a nap first, you know, to fit in.