Wednesday, November 24, 2010
I miss them.
Luckily, left are Jill, London/Paris/Antigua (not a bad life), who is 48 but looks ten years younger and who took home a cute 30 year old Brazilian the night before last. And of course Alex, from California--or is it Chicago--who lived for six months in a cave.
Yesterday I walked across the bamboo bridge to have lunch at the shady restaurant on the other side of the Nam Khan. There's a toll to cross--2000 kip, about 20 cents--and as I paid my toll, the tollmaster's slightly inebriated friend complimented my Lao and started chatting. Then he pressed his plastic cup of Lao Lao into my hand. "Drink, drink," he said. I drank, he smiled and drank, and I walked across the rickety bridge fortified. Today, as I sat at a low wooden table on the main street, waiting for my papaya salad to be pounded into shape, the papaya salad girl's friend sat across from me, drinking Beer Lao with ice. He handed me a half-full glass, from which I sipped gratefully (it was hot today). I handed it back to him half full. "No, no," he said, pushing it back to me. I swallowed the rest. This is drinking, Lao style. I like it; I missed it.