"You have been here for long?" Usha asked her second favorite local hippy.
"Four years," he said.
"It is easy to stay here, no? Easy to relax."
"Easy to get stuck."
"Is it too small for you?"
"No, it is just right for me."

Which in short was probably his problem.
(-Woodstock Goldilocks)

 

(-Visa Run / Red Tape Road)

John, from Glasgow, is too drunk to open his eyes and a Jewish girl turned him down.

"What we should really ask is why did they kill Baby Jesus. Ey! Why did they?" He says, getting angrier.

"Do it, John. For me. Just this once." I say.

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

 "Cry freedom."

"That's the thing that gets me," he says and shakes his head with a sigh. "The moment Mel Gibson turns out to be an alcoholic racist, everybody says he must be Scottish."

Every time they offer me something ridiculous - like a scooter ride through the monsoon rains, or to get Dad's old tennis shoes shined, or my photograph with pineapples, or souvenier nail-clippers, or free AIDS - I always almost ask them if they think I'm stupid. Truth is I don't really want to find out the answer to that.

The German, when asked how his trip to the national park was: "It was great, yah. We paid two handred baht to get there and something silly like twenty baht to get in and then a tuc-tuc driver took us to all the places for us to take photos for six handred baht each and even left us at the hotel."
The German, when asked about his hotel: "It is great, yah, we pay only something like six handred baht for a room."
The German when told 30 Euros for a tailored shirt wasn't exactly "being robbed": "Noo, in Germany I can buy shirt for cheaper in the supermarket. There is no big difference."
He was also a specialist on KFC's local specialties. Discussing between the chain's Thai curry and Vietnamese soups: "At least you know where the chicken comes from - we've had our chicken experiences; and you only pay fifty-nine baht for a big piece of chicken, like this big. Much better than KFC in Vietnam or in Laos." His girlfriend, doll-faced Franziska, asks him if he's sure. "Yah, fifty-nine baht."

"They carried the land itself - Vietnam, the place, the soil - a powdery orange-red dust that covered their boots and fatigues and faces. They carried the sky. ... And for all the ambiguities of Vietnam, all the mysteries and unknowns, there was at least the single abiding certainty that they would never be at a loss for things to carry."

- Tim O'Brien in The Things They Carried

In Vientiane, I drunk with the mafia and spent days looking for a boat that did not exist.
In Luan Prabang, I ate my fill and was blessed by monks.
In Hong Sa I went to see elephants working, which isn't quite the same as saying that I did, and ended up being adopted by a local bussinesman.
I travelled up the Mekong for four days on a succession of slow boats, some considerably slower than others. In one we smuggled goods. I had to (almost literally) flag down another. Almost at the end of the trip I thought the pilot was going to sink his boat as he tried to land.
In Pak Beng, I found a town with no cheer, a bowl of free peanuts and a fever.
In Huai Xai, I made friends I will not see again, slept with people I did not know, (I'm pretty sure) I broke my nose, and said see you soon to Laos.

It was a roller coaster week - the highs epic, the lows vertiginous, a dozen times when it slowed down I thought I'd come across a dead end, when it picked up speed I thought it would go on forever. I'm pretty pleased with myself and my little trip and it's not half-bad being back in Thailand either.