Head east (not so) young man...head east.

The trip seemed to truly begin after the layover in Toronto, a familiar airport Pearson International. What wasn’t so familiar though was the direction the plane was heading shortly after our take off. We were heading east. Not the usual westward direction that I have gone so many times before.  Yes, I have in the past headed east out of Toronto but not for quite a few years and never to today’s destination:

Saint Johns Newfoundland.

The expectations are about to meet the experiences.

A quick glance at my watch told me that we would soon be arriving at the St. Johns’ Airport.  A glance out of my window told me no such thing. For the most part there was nothing to be seen outside other than the reflection of the plane’s navigational lights on the engine nacelle and the wing’s trailing edge. A heavy darkness was everywhere else.  Then I began to see the small clusters of lights on the ground. A few gathered over here, a few more over there. It was late, eleven pm local time and most of the lights below were streetlights and a few vehicles.  There were so few lights that I thought we must be some distance from the city and the airport. Yet as soon as that thought left my brain I felt the plane bank and begin to lose altitude. We were descending and to confirm my suspicions the Captain came on line and gave the obligatory “trays in the closed position and the seat backs upright” spiel.  Another look out the window and now I could see the airport below. Still no bright city lights though to indicate the whereabouts of a city. Having landed in many back waters over the years I don’t need bright city lights to make me feel comfortable but this was St. Johns, the capital of the province of Newfoundland and Labrador. 

Expectations zero. Experiences one. 

With itinerary in hand and backpack over my shoulder I headed out of the terminal to find; a cab, my lodgings, a beer and some food. Yes preferably in that order.

There outside amongst the smokers and the neon lights I inhaled my first breath of the salty Newfoundland air, very cool and none to warm.  As I hauled myself towards the curb and the waiting cabs one of the cabbies comes over and helps me with the bag. . A bit rusty and rubby would be a good way to describe them, cab and cabbie both. The cabbie, an older fellow who could have used a good shave and a new tooth or two was quick to start up the conversation as he placed my bag into the boot of his cab by asking me “where ya going to by’?”

I read to him the name and the address of the place I was to stay that night from my itinerary as I sat down next to him in his cab. Then as we drove away from the airport I heard those words from cabbies that make me shake my head; “Hmmm can’t say I know where that is…you know how to get there?”

A glance at my itinerary and another shake of my head got the cabbie to call into dispatch to ask for directions. Now the directions came right quickly but the dispatcher’s salutation left me with that sinking feeling once again. After all the lefts and rights the dispatcher’s final words were, “well at least that’s the way I think…good luck with that by’ ”

Expectations zero. Experiences two.

Then we did the customary cabbie/client questions.

Where ya from?   Vancouver.

First time here?   Yes.

Business or pleasure?   A bit of both I hope.

Looking for anything in particular?

Now when I answered this I said “Hell ya. I wish to get rid of my bag, wash my face, and then find a pub with a cold beer and some hot food.”

“No problem there by’ Hell I’ll give ya the tour…don’t ka worry aboot da meter, that doesn’t mean much to me.” And he was sincere about it not meaning too much to him as he charged only approximately half of what the meter read at the end of our time together.

Turns out stop lights and stop signs didn’t mean too much to him either. At least that’s what he told me after I mentioned to him that he had just completely ignored the second of the last two stop signs.

“Cops”, he says, “don’t much care about shit like that at this time of night…nor do I”

“Yes. But I kinda do…”

“Yep Cops got stabbins to worry ‘bout. Town’s not like it used to be. Still no one’s stealing things and that’s a good thing. People don’t steal here in Newfoundland and that’s a good thing because it lets the cops worry ‘bout the stabbins. Them stabbins aren’t a good thing. Better than those guns and shooting though…not many guns here…not many blacks or them others what with those rags on their heads…we have a few but not many…yep not too many guns here or shootings…yep a good thing.”

Wow awkward silence time. My head nodding just enough to acknowledge that I had heard him but not enough of a nod (I sincerely hope) to be mistaken for an affirmation of his ramblings. Yep here I was driving through St Johns looking like a mute Bobble head. 

Expectations zero. Experiences three.

Then thankfully we were downtown, on the waterfront. Before us stood the tallest building in St. Johns at least so said my host, “Ten full stories tall!” A more welcome distraction I have never seen. A few more colourful commentaries on the waterfront area and off to my lodgings we were bound.

After a short drive we began looking for the address on the itinerary and then there it was, a most beautiful and large Victorian styled home.  A mansion that one could imagine the town’s doctor or lawyer lived in.

Now neither I nor the driver knew if this was the right place as there was no signage other than the four numbers of the address attached to one of the large Grecian-like columns that made up the grandiose front entrance. Stepping out of the cab and walking up the front steps I notice an envelope taped to the majestic stained glass door. On the envelope was my name and inside it an electronic room key with  instructions on how to get inside and find my room.

So with the instructions, the key, my backpack and the cabbie I entered this beautiful house. The cabbie came along because as he himself said, “I just wanna come in a have a look around such a fine a place as this.”

And fine it was, a real gem hidden just outside of St Johns’ downtown area, the very downtown that held the remainder of my evening’s quest.  

A quick splash of water on my face and I was once again back in the cab headed downtown.

After the short drive I found myself standing outside, in the brisk mid-summers night air, between the Yellowbelly Pub and that rusty cab with my most interesting host. Now here I took a moment to breathe deeply, to look around. There I found myself feeling most grateful for all that this day had brought me thus far.

I bent down and stuck my head back into the cab to pay, thank the cabbie and ask one last thing. I asked for a receipt. Business and all you know.

This is how he gruffly replied, “I don’t do that!” and that’s when I see in his outstretched hand and the two blank taxi receipts. I thank him and take the receipts as he mutters to himself “If you want it you fill it out.”

Expectations zero. Experiences...the only way to go.

Ms Fern

The first time I met Ms Fern I fell in love. It was the day before my trip down the Mekong river. Ms Fern was to become my ticket agent and guide across the river into Lao.
The first thing Ms Fern did was ask me for my passport, declaration cards and money. It was that simple. This encounter took place on the front counter of my hotel lobby.  As Ms Fern filled out the immigration and declaration cards in a penmanship that was impeccable I might add, I watched the desk clerk. He was tall for a Thai and large across the shoulders. That combined the deep voice and the Adams Apple left one with no doubt, that underneath that dress was a willy, wanker, rod or Johnston. Call it what you will it was there. Lady-boys an interesting part of this culture.
Once all the paperwork was completed Ms Fern gave me my passport, updated declaration cards and tickets for tomorrow's slow boat down the river.
She kept the money.
As she stood, Ms Fern turned, looked me straight in the eye and said, "eight thirty be here for tuk tuk ride to immigration". Turning once more Ms Fern spun around and walked out of the hotel lobby.
Such presence, such grace.
I was left with nothing to do for the rest of the day and night.
After much consideration I decided on locating some food and drink. In hindsight this was a good decision.
Walking around that night I was struck with a rather nostalgic feeling. That; Hey I'm in a small town, feeling. I guess it's the same the world over. Dusty streets. Cats and dogs everywhere. Uneven sidewalks were there are sidewalks. Stores with for lease signs on the front door. All business is shut down now that the sun has set. Only the small "convenience" stores are still open. Really these stores are nothing more than a room at the front of someone's home. A room that is open to the street and which is usually filled floor to ceiling with all sorts of wares. Most of what is sold is various smokes, beers, whiskys, cough medicines and instant noodles.
An old woman sitting on a small stool watching a small TV is there to take your money. If you want something in the store you simply reach in and grab what you want, show it to the lady and she will then grab an oversized calculator punch some numbers into it. She will then look at the numbers nod her head and  then show it to you. That is the price. 
The price for me was 90 baht. Not bad, a little less than 3 dollars for 3 cans of beer and some gum. I now had my supplies for tomorrow's adventure perhaps this would be a good time to call it a night.

from the roof of my hotel 

That's Lao over there.

Viva la difference

It is 7am in Chiangkhong. Chiangkhong is a small sleepy farming town with one small coffee shop. 

The shop is located only about 150m from my hotel but on this day a heavy fog makes the walk seem so much longer. As  I walked pass the closed and shuttered shops I felt a sense of mystery envelope me.  This day was the beginning of something new, something big.  Something was waiting for me outside of that fog and I didn't know what.

I needed to clear the fog inside my head and to do that I needed coffee.

Stepping into the lovely coffee shop I was greeted with the customary Sa wat dee ka by the shop’s owner.  I in turn replied with Sa wat  dee krap.  The pleasantries over I ordered my coffee and I did so using my limited Thai. Coffee Americano lon mai sai nom mai sai lam tan krap.  Coffee hot no milk no sugar.  As is usually the case my words were greeted with a  wonderful smile and some helpful hints on pronunciation. 

With coffee in hand I head outside to sit in a very comfortable looking swinging bamboo chair. As I sipped my coffee the fog began to slowly dissipate, both inside my head and the world around me.  With nothing better to do I decided on another coffee and was enjoying the morning quiet when a group of four women came towards the shop for their morning coffee. With smiles all around and a slight nod of our heads  the women passed me and entered the shop.

I turned to watch the beautiful backsides of these women as they entered the shop and I continued to watch them as they spoke amongst themselves trying to decide what to order.

The first to order stood up to the counter and completely ignored the customary Sa wat dee ka and immediately began to babble.

With her head tilted up to look at the menu board she said “Ya Ya I want a coffee. Perked not instant I don’t like that instant coffee. I also want some milk with my coffee not coffee mate cause that stuff is bad for you. Real milk, skim if you have it but 2% will do if that is all you’ve got. Oh and I want some sort of bun not a donut but something more like a croissant. What have you got like that? You got anything like that?”

The more the woman spoke the less I heard. The less she interested me. My gaze shifted to the shop owner and as I looked into her eyes I could, for a brief moment, see what she was thinking and I completely agreed with her.

Her eyes said, “Lady what in the world are you talking about? Why in the world would you think I speak English? You do realize that we are in rural northern Thailand don’t you? Oh you poor foolish lady.”

Our eyes then met and they spoke to each other.

She said, “Did catch all that?”.
“Yes, sorry I don’t know what to say.” And I shrugged my shoulders.

To which she replied, “Ah mai bhen rai no worries” and smiled that lovely smile.

We said more without speaking than the woman, who had now finished ordering, had.

As I turned my chair to once again face outside. I noticed now that in front of me the fog had lifted and then behind me I heard the Thai woman say.

“Americano lon?”

I smiled.
Perhaps the fog inside was lifting also.