Hi Gram,
I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I don’t always write out my letters to you on the day they happen. Sometimes I’m just enjoying myself, living in the moment, from the time I wake until I go to sleep. I start to write it out, then nod off and wake up a few times before I just jot down some notes to remind myself before I fall asleep again. I also sometimes look back and wish I’d taken more pictures but also glad that I was enjoying myself and not thinking about the camera. The notes and pictures prompt my memory when it comes time to fill in some of the detail, although some of the detail is probably pulled from my dreams or attempts by my brain to fill in the gaps. Just like everything else in life, it’s all a blend of my best efforts. Here’s the thing, though. When I sit down to catch up, weed through the pictures, edit the grammar and spelling, and post it to the web, I sometimes expect to have a fully written letter that I just have to polish up. Instead, I am greeted with a set of bullet point notes that I then have to flesh out and decide what I meant by some of the cryptic, half-asleep scribbles. Today is one of those days where I’m looking back a few days later and trying to spackle over the cracks.

Okay, enough of the peeled back curtains. “This morning”, I woke with my alarm, excited and anxious about swapping countries today. Nattiya was still groggy, so I headed out on my walk with my headphones and podcasts loaded up. I chose a different route through the peaceful morning, placing some tall buildings between myself and the rising sun to keep it out of my eyes. I passed a few schools with parents dropping off the little ones, the whole family balanced on the scooter and dodging traffic. The seven year old standing on the seat wedged between mom and dad, hands in the air, while her younger siblings stood on the floor between dad’s legs with the baby swaddled in mom’s arm – this would be a viral shaming video in the US, prompting DCFS to investigate. Here, it’s just the way things are. I have never seen an accident in the few months and different countries I’ve visited, though. While I’m sure there have been accidents and tragedies, I think it also builds character and caution as they learn this from birth. Without the guardrails of life, you pay a little more attention to staying in your lane. I’m not saying the guardrails are wrong, I’m just saying there’s a benefit to having some people in the world who live without them.

After passing one of these schools, maybe prompted by something I heard on a podcast, I thought of my folks and gave them a call. My mom is more likely to talk on the phone while dad is more business-like. “Hey, how have you been? Where are you these days? I’m glad you’re having a good time. Anything else new? Okay, I’m going to let you go. Here’s mom.” For that reason, I call mom, we talk for a while, then I catch up with dad at the end of the call. It reminds me of when I used to call you and Grampa when I was younger. You and I would talk for a while about all the details and stories, then you would put Grampa on. He would talk for a minute or two, then end every call with “okay, well I don’t want to cost you a lot of long distance, so I’ll let you go.” I would tell him that we don’t pay for long distance calls anymore, but he would just say “okay. Well someone has to be paying for it. Here’s Gram.” At the time, I wasn’t sure if he just couldn’t wrap his brain around the idea of calls being free or wanted to get off the phone. As I get older, I realize it’s more likely that he was happy to hear from me, but didn’t enjoy being on the phone. In person with both men, we’ll talk for a long time but on the phone, three minutes are more than enough to signal that we’re thinking about each other. Mom and I had a nice talk. I told her stories from the temples and history that I’d learned, told her some of my travel plans, heard some family details, and told each other that we were looking forward to visiting in a few weeks.

After our call, I finished my podcast then Nattiya and I walked over for another delicious breakfast. With our flight leaving at 5pm, the hotel agreed to let us check out late. We spent the next few hours packing our bags, getting some things done on the computer, and recharging our internal batteries. Ben, our driver from the airport and zoo, was scheduled to take us to the airport but was running late. He messaged to let me know that he’d be twenty minutes late, but his brother was at the hotel if we didn’t want to wait. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, so we opted to go with the brother who was here now. He was quite talkative, telling me his life story, struggles with getting his kids educated, why he’s grateful for his driving job, how much a motor scooter costs here, and so many more details. I don’t think he was actually Ben’s brother from the same parents but I’ve learned that words like “brother”, “sister” refer to both siblings and friends here, and many other words or phrases don’t really translate directly. At the airport, I thanked and tipped him when he dropped us in front of the departures doors, then we headed inside for the dance of security.

Once again, my stuff was rifled through, I clumsily got scanned over and over until they were convinced that I didn’t have metal or weapons on my person, and we emerged out the other side successfully whole. We were once again a couple hours early, but with this airport being so new, the one lounge that was open didn’t accept any of my lounge passes. They assured me that they would accept it after Jan 1, but for now, we were out of luck. Across the hall we found a food court with one restaurant open so far, and enjoyed a nice little snack of Chinese fast food. At the gate, we learned that the flight was delayed with very loud announcements in many languages, none of which were Thai or Lao which Nattiya would have understood. The plane did arrive, though, and after a quick flight we landed in Luang Prabang.

Here, Nattiya had all of the advantages. She was in her home country now, so all the signs, announcements, and conversations with workers were in her language. She breezed right through customs then waited patiently while I stood in the VOA (Visa On Arrival) line and went through the dance of questions, paperwork, and money. Once we were reunited, we walked up to a SIM dealer to get internet on my phone. Through an awkward aggravating conversation with too many participants and opinions, I ended up with a 90GB data plan on my phone for the price of the 15GB plan. We then crossed over to the taxi stand where another awkward conversation left us with a shared minivan to our hotel after dropping off a few backpackers. I was not my best shining example at this point in the evening and just wanted a clean comfortable bed to collapse into.

It therefore makes sense that our hotel had no idea who we were or had any record of our reservation. It turns out that the hotel manager was in the hospital and had taken the front desk’s computer with her. After a call to my credit card company where I’d made the reservation, the hotel knew who we were. We learned that the room we’d reserved was out of commission with a plumbing problem, so they offered to put us in a hotel a couple blocks away for the night. I asked if we could just stay at this other hotel for the whole time instead of moving again in the morning, to which they agreed. Just a note from the future – they came in the morning and told us that we’d have to move to a different room, so that didn’t work out haha. They showed us to the room, which felt folksy and nice, and after unpacking what we’d need for the night, we passed out.