A case of the Mondays.

Like the Brawny Man says, “Sometimes the day just looks at you funny.” Today (and I have no idea if it’s a Monday or not) was one of those days.

Despite the rain, cold, and general miserable state of the weather, A and I were interested in checking out the waterfalls on Bolaven Plateau, about 90 km outside of Pakse, Laos. We booked a day tour that, in addition to the falls, included a visit to a tea plantation, a coffee plantation, a school, and a couple of ethnic minority villages.

I won’t go into the details of the myriad things that went wrong, but just give you the highlights:

1. The weather. Ok, I already mentioned that one, but it bears repeating. It sucked. The rain turned everything into a soupy mess. At one point, I had to take my flip-flops off for fear of losing them in a muddy, feces-filled bog. I now probably have worms.

2. The coffee plantation. We each received a free cup of coffee made from the beans picked there. It was like rocket fuel. And since Ashley doesn’t like coffee, I drank both hers and mine. And then was horribly sick for the rest of the day. I had the shakes, the sweats, and a wretched headache. I thought I might have the shits, too, but no such luck. Just an upset stomach without the payoff.

3. The school. I have no idea why they took us there. We were completely disruptive in an already chaotic environment. I don’t know how these kids learn anything. Half the classes were missing teachers, and the students were running around like rabid animals. There was screaming, fighting, playing, singing—just about everything other than learning. And then we showed up taking photos of it all. I felt weird and creepy about the whole thing. It was just wrong.

4. The ethnic villages. Again, I have no idea why they took us there. It wasn’t as though there was any sort of cultural exchange. Nobody was making anything or selling anything. We basically just walked around gawking at people living in abject poverty like we were on human safari. The worst part was at the last village where the kids (who should have been in school) were hanging out under a house on stilts, playing marbles, and smoking gigantic bongs. We’re talking eight-year-olds. With bongs. While their parents were sitting five feet away playing cards. Our guide told us that kids start smoking as young as three. What the ef.

In addition to feeling physically sick, the whole thing just left me feeling emotionally ill as well. I wanted to cry at the sadness of it all. I wanted to hug my mother and thank her for not letting me smoke a bong as a child. I wanted to be in an environment that wasn’t completely covered in a horrible mixture of human and animal refuse. I wanted a break from being attached by swarms of insects.

Tomorrow has got to be better.


R.I.P. Auntie Gladys. And all my love to Uncle Jim.