Apparrently I missed this because I was in Thailand, but I am completely in love with Rodrigo y Gabriela's fiesty and vibrant music! Check them out on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-lvMQCmUVv8

And even better is their story, which you can listen to here on NPR: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6412458

Allow me to rant for just one more minute. Certainly this will not be the last of my complaints against the American female urge to glorify herself through the wedding ceremony – it was a positive feast for my sarcastic appetite, but out of respect to mainly my new family I refrained from writing about the horrors that I saw during the planning of my wedding.

One such horror, however, was a certain wedding website that I visited while I was living in Thailand, sweating in a crowded internet café, trying to figure out how to plan an event from thousands of miles away. Because weddings are distasteful to me, I had the distinct feeling that I was selling off a bit of my soul by registering for said wedding website, but I had no choice. They wouldn’t let me scout out locations and dress designs without an account.

Throughout the course of my engagement they pestered me with “50% off bridesmaid gifts!” and pre-“your big day pampering tips” for local spas and salons. I took it all in stride – I had provided them with my occasionally checked spam email address in anticipation of their not-so-underhanded tactics. I even looked at their tacky products once for a laugh: “Bride to Be” T-shirts and pink flasks. How original!

The wedding day came and went and we zipped off to our honeymoon - despite the fact that my overly-zealous new husband bought me a ticket with the wrong last name since I didn’t change it in the 12 hours between our ceremony and the flight out of town. When I returned from my honeymoon there was an email waiting for me in my spam account: babyshop.com (name is fictional). I was furious. I wrote them a letter:

Please stop insulting me with this crap. Just because I got married doesn’t

mean I am going to start reproducing like a 19-year old from the mid-West.

My wedding is over. I didn't order any of your chintzy bridesmaid gifts,
now leave me alone.

Sorry, I know the reference to the mid-West was incorrect and rude. It was a stretch. At 5 p.m. on a Saturday, waiting for The Spouse to return from work, I was short on analogies.

From one adventure to another. I have discovered that being “lost on earth” is just as easy when you get married as when you travel to humid countries with no traffic laws. Today is Saturday the 24th of March, my one month wedding anniversary. I did my wifely duty this morning and put in a load of laundry, then dragged my bored self over to the mall to paw at over-priced clothing while Jordan works…let me restate that this is Saturday…thanks Jordan’s job! I satisfied myself with buying him two shirts that are in colors I know he will hate. I am formulating a way to try and convince him that Kelly green will look fabulous on him!

Conceptually I don’t like being married. Jordan referred to me once as his wife a few weeks ago and I lashed out. I still tell people that he is my boyfriend. I don’t want to change my name. I tried to convince him to dye his hair blue after the wedding (refused), bought him super-trendy jeans so he will look younger (made me take them back), decided to change my name to Muffy so that it would spice up his bland last name (laughed at me). Despite my insistence that it is purely ironic, he has become surly since I started referring to him as “Snookie”. It’s ironic for pete’s sake!

I heard from Kham Chuen yesterday. Two of the OPC girls have been accepted to secondary school and he needs 5000 baht per girl per year. I also heard from Julia, our Austrian volunteer. She will be revisiting OPC in a few months and asked me if I would be interested in joining her. I have decided to give it some serious thought and then broach the subject with The Spouse.

I don’t know why I even started writing anymore since no one is interested in the adventures of a young, freaked out wife. I wonder if being married means I can’t volunteer at organizations anymore…

Yesterday evening I had my final dinner with the kids. Jon and some of the older children and I prepared food at the OPC office. We sang songs and peeled garlic together as the sun set. I closed my eyes and listened to the wind rustling the almost-ready rice and the kids quiet chatter and laughter and thought about everything that has happened to me at OPC. I do not know if I have changed, and I am not sure if I "made a difference" as many people ask me, now my trip is almost complete. I feel that things deterioriated towards the end of thie five and a half months, and I can't help but wish that they had ended differently.

We all ate Kham Chuen's delicious cooking together. I was unable to eat much of it because I am ill right now, but I enjoyed watching the kids go back with their tin plates for seconds, thirds, fourths...

After the kids left Jon and I got on the motorbike and drove to one of the wats in town. Three OPC sdtudents were dancing in a celebration. The wat was flooded with bright lights, people were milling about everywhere, and two stages were set up - one with loud rock karaoke, and another with traditional song and dance recitals. I could see Mokam, Puttaraksa, and Myaou peeking atme from behind the bright pink curtain, laughing and waving. When they began dancing I started to get emotional, and I am not sure why. They finished, changed, and then grabbed our hands and dragged Jon and I off to the mandala maze in the center of the wat. We chased each other around in the mandala for what seemed like hous, and then bought bubble tea.

After a final dash through the mandala maze again we left under a brewing thunderstorm. The girls hugged me and then ran off to find their friends. I held back from crying, but it was difficult.

Katie left this morning and I am glum. It was so nice to have fluent conversation, a friend that I have known my whole life, and her sense of humor here for company. Together we traveled from the far north to the upper southern gulf, shopping mercilessly, drinking daiquiris out of glasses shaped like naked women, getting kicked out of market stalls, soaking in a mineral pool, discussing intricate topics such as the multifaceted mysteries of chocolate and our annoyance at unwanted body hair. Oh, and we went snorkeling but our masks kept leaking.

To console myself I moved into a different guest house. A sullen lady boy wearing a blue headband with a bow checked me in. now I have three days to kill in Bangkok until Jon arrives on Friday.

All of my careful planning came to naught - my visa expired and I had to leave my friend Katie in Bangkok to rush to Aranya Prathet to dash into Cambodia and back into Thailand again. Annoying because Katie is leaving Thailand tomorrow and this took two days out of the time that I could spend with her.

After a five hour bus ride I arrived in Aranya Prathet at 9 p.m. In the dusty orange light from the halogen street lamps I could see...nothing. The place was deserted and creepy. A tuk tuk driver hailed me and offered to take me to a guest house for 60 baht. I had no other options, so I climbed in, his tuk tuk roared, and he drove me a mere 300 meters, across a busy intersection, threw my backpack and I out of the car and demanded his cash. A lot of money for a short distance.

The guest house was locked, but after enough pounding on the door a small twenty-something Thai man materialized and offered me the second worst room I have ever stayed in for 200 baht a night. Immediately next to my room was a raucous karaoke bar where a fight between three women was building up gradually, and would come to a full-blown brawl at about 2 in the morning. I had to give the guest house owner my passport (it's a long story, please don't criticize) with the understanding that I would get it back form him at 8 a.m. the next day so I could leave town. My throat was swollen and sore, and a racking chesty cough rattled my lungs.

The next morning the guest house owner was nowhere to be seen. According to the Cambodian cleaning lady, he was a very bad man, and was sleeping off his hangover in room #10. I waited until 8:30, telling myself that it is not polite to rush the Thai people - they have a different concept of time than Westerners, I am a visitor to their country, I don't want to set a bad example, etc. etc. etc.. I have been very good about being patient with the Thai people, but that morning my stamina failed and I dropped back into a very American attitude. I ran over to room #10, and tapped on the door.

Nothing.

I tapped again. Nothing.

I knocked, loudly. Nothing. The disgruntled Cambodian cleaning lady peeked around the corner, clutching her mop handle with both hands. I pounded my palms against the door. Then I hauled back and started punching it until the the building shook. I also yelled some names at him, but for the sake of my poor Christian mother I won't mention them. I could hear him stirring inside, then he wrenched the door open and blinked at me from crusty, bloodshot eyes.

My passport retrieved, I jumped in a tuk tuk and we puttered towards the border. I meandered through immigration lines, down catwalks and across cesspools in my little blue sun dress, bribes of pink 100 baht notes tucked snugly inside my passport - none of them were refused. After the deed was done I jumped on the first bus back to Bangkok and ate cashew nuts and dried bananas for lunch.

Poipet, the Cambodian compliment to Aranya Prathet, is a sick contrast between arrogant and humble, wealthy and poor. Casinos as big as airplane hangers, white and sparkly in the sun, tower over dirty, sick children begging in the dusty, stinking streets. Rich Asians climb into chauffeured cars and drive past lean, sweaty young Cambodian men and women pulling wooden carts loaded with oranges, pomegranates, and other tradable goods. Just another nasty border town where the absolute best and worst in human nature stands out starkly. This is the last time I'll have to go to one of these towns, and I will not miss it.

When I returned to Bangkok I took a motorbike taxi back to my guest house. While we were tearing down the crowded streets at 80 kilometers an hour, slitting lanes and driving the wrong way down one way streets, a helmet fell from the basket of the motorbike in front of us, directly in our path. I saw the helmet bouncing towards the front wheel, and then I saw our dog that I grew up with - Kiahulani, red apples on my parents apple trees, falling and skinning my knee when I was ten, Joshua hitting me with a tennis racket when I was 15, me throwing my drink in my ex-boyfriends face when I was 22, the first time Jordan told me he loved me, and then I realized that must have been a "life flashing before your eyes" moment just as my hero of the moment, the motorbike taxi driver deftly dodged the helmet, fingered the driver who had lost it, and swore in Thai. Then he stopped the bike.

"Ok you?" He asked?

"Ok, yes", I said, with my heart pounding somewhere in my throat, which was getting more and more sore by the minute. "Ok you?" I asked.

"Very goot!" he yelled, and then we were off again.

First wedding dress fitting today, and the verdict is: for the $250 that I am paying for this dress I am most impressed. Olan the tailor is also impressed with herself, and she told me so emphatically. Now I wish I had my mother and girlfriends with me so that I could have someone to be excited with...

Tomorrow morning I am leaving for Chiang Mai to have my wedding dress fitting, buy Christmas gifts for my family, and meet my friend Katie who is flying out here to visit me. The last few days have been frantic as I have been packing up some things, cleaning, teaching my last classes, and starting a construction project at our office.

Lately the alcoholic neighbor has stepped up her aggression, and continually breaks into the office to steal food, or harasses Kham Chuen, the kids, and me while I am teaching. My friend Jon donated money and time (he will fly out here in November) to build the fence, but we cannot wait until November because she is starting to become violent. Therefore, the fence was started this week, and the cost was surprisingly more than I expected.

If anyone reading feels the need to donate some cash towards the fence project, at this point we will come up about $50 short.

There is a night market here in Mae Hong Son that will last until the end of October. It is a quiet affair, with local vendors selling things they made themselves on one street, and a prodigious food market on another street, where the Thais lazily stroll from stall to stall, swinging bags of goodies wrapped in green leaves.

This evening, as I was prowling the food market for dinner (I chose some sticky rice, chili paste, and satay) the lights flickered simultaneously, and then abruptly went out. The people in the market let out a collective "oi!" but it was good natured. All of the late night diners sitting by the lake continued to joke with each other, sip their beer, and paw at their sticky rice in the dark. Some children brough out a package of sparkler fireworks leftover from the lent festival, and soon flares of pink and blue lit the street. I tiptoed to the side of the lake and waited for the lights to come on – and chanced to look up. The stars were twinkling with vigor, and for the first time since I was a little girl I saw the murky streak of the milky way. Honestly, I am so unused to nights without light pollution that I had quite forgotten about the existence of the milky way.

Five minutes later, while I stared open mouthed at the sky and Thai people caroused around me in the dark, the lights went on, and a whoop erupted from the market. The people assumed their original positions and commenced to shuffle in their flipflops, swing their bags of leafed treats, and yell good natured insults at each other.

This may seems surprising to many of you, but the weather here is starting to feel decidedly Octoberish. The evenings and mornings are crisp and downright chilly. The afternoons are scorchingly hot. The full moon has been giving creepy shows in the late evenings, as it's smooth yellow face leers from behind the dark clouds at night and illuminates the mist that rises from the rice paddies.

This is a long post, and it is a rant.

Yesterday I distributed the gifts that my aunty Cheryl and cousins Michelle and Justin sent for the OPC children. I felt like Santa Claus. The kids were screaming with delight, squabbling, playing with such vigor that you would think someone was paying them. I walked away feeling warm and fuzzy, thinking that from now on I just want to be the person who gives handouts. Yeah, everyone wants to be that person. I am just glad I got to be it for one hour.
As I slipped and slopped through the orangy mud back to my apartment I saw the poor, pathetic shack that is the neighbor’s house. Inside two small boys were sitting quietly. In the dark room next door a man dozed, probably drunk, I thought, and in the “kitchen” an extremely pregnant young woman was putting away dishes in the dark. I made a quick decision and changed my direction.

“Sawatdee ka!” I called out.

“Ka…” the pregnant woman said nervously, and then gave a very low, very respectful wai. “Herro” she said shyly. I saw that she was indeed VERY pregnant.

I grinned and handed her a bag of cookies. “Kup koon ka, er…tank you” she said, still smiling and looking down. Although it is difficult to tell, she looked only about 23 years old. I gave a bag of cookies to each of the small boys as well. Their eyes were wide and their mouths hung open. A foreigner was talking to them! The sleeping man sat up and demanded some cookies, so I acquiesced, although I thought about saying no. I knew that this man was one of the people throwing firecrackers on my balcony a few nights earlier, and that he was usually intoxicated in the evenings. I turned to the woman again, “only four? Um…See…pu chai, pu ying?” I asked, butchering her language, holding up four fingers. “Mai chai, haa” she said, holding up five fingers. I handed her another bag of cookies. I had a garbage sack full of them. She gave another low wai, the man grinned, the two boys peeked with massive brown eyes, from around the corner.

When I got back to my apartment I got directly on my motorbike and went to the supermarket. I bought Ovaltine for the little boys, and found some special pregnant mother formula. This evening I will deliver it along with the baby clothes that I found for cheap in the market.
Pregnant.

Young. Living in a tin shack, in the middle of a muddy construction site, and the whole time I had no idea. This woman will have her baby in the shack because there will be no money to have the child in a hospital. Her husband will deliver it, and if he doesn’t know what he is doing, she or the child could die of infection or hemorrhaging, or any number of complications.

I hate myself right now. I walk past them every single day on the path to the OPC shelter. I see the little boys playing in the street, but always assumed that they living in a house somewhere. There is so little that I can do because I am leaving soon, and they need long-term care. I will never forget her standing in the mud with no shoes, in a nightgown, round belly, and yet even in the dark, and through the mud, I could see the late term glow of motherhood on her face; the indescribable, intangible secret smile that is always underlying every facial expression on a woman who is a mother, because she chose to be.

Oh we have been given such a gift, to live in America, where our quality of life is the highest in the world. Oh I wish that every spoiled, SUV driving, Abercrombie wearing teen in America, that wonderful, awful country, could come here and see my neighbors, in their corrugated tin shack.

I couldnt sleep last night for thinking about it.

Ten Mexicans sleeping in a room the size of a walk in closet, a single, druggie mother and her fetal alcohol syndrome child living in a squalid apartment somewhere…all of this happens in America, and like the Thai people living in Mae Hong Son, in my apartment building, we chose to ignore it. The Mexican situation in America is identical to the Burmese situation in Thailand.

This morning I saw her as I walked out my front door to go to the office. She was wearing a wide brimmed straw hat, Wellington boots, and a flannel shirt buttoned over her belly. She was using a shovel to dig in the ground at the construction site where she and her husband work. Next to her another worker, a young man, lay on the grass talking to her, but she ignored him, raised her hoe high above her head, and continued to chop at the rocky ground.

Last night was too dangerous to drive, so I was unable to visit SaZing. The poor little guy is usually all by himself during the day, and I felt terrible. When I was driving past the airport earlier today some security guards, tipping back bottles of Thai whiskey, threw an M80 type of firecracker at my motorbike as I drove past and laughed as I screamed and sped off. I decided to stay inside for the rest of the evening.

BOOM!

At 3 a.m. I woke up to an enormous BOOM and then a crash outside my door. I was terrified. It sounded like someone blew my front door right off its hinges. In the dark of my apartment, I thought the building had been bombed. Then another BOOM! I hid under my covers and shook - I had no idea what was going on. Then all around my building more explosions – from the front of the building, from the back, from across the street... I realized they were fireworks, but most of them were exploding on my balcony. The neighbor girl, a feisty 27 year old, came flying out her door, swearing and started yelling at the drunk young men who were throwing the firecrackers on balcony (which is shared). They started throwing the firecrackers at her. She screamed and ran downstairs in a rage, picked up several large rocks, ran back up to the balcony, and started pelting the men with the rocks. I could hear the large stones hitting flesh, and dirt and motorbikes below. They threw more firecrackers at her, which kept missing and hitting my door instead. Inside, I was crouched on the ground of my apartment, quickly packing a bag and changing into some clothes for a quick escape out the back door. Tempers rose, the police were called, there was a fight...I fell asleep half on my bed, half off of it, fully clothed, arms wrapped around my bag. When I walked out of the house this morning there was exploded ordinance all over the balcony, and a pile of sizeable rocks, but no one else was in sight.

This morning I dropped my friend Katharina off at the airport - she is leaving Thailand. Katharina and I hardly met each other before she had to leave, but we became good friends. The two of us used to type furiously in the same internet cafe for the last four months and steal curious glances at each other, and both assumed the other was just a tourist. BY the time I got up the courage to say hello to her she had only a month left ion Mae Hong Son, but we went out often, talked until late in the evenings, and I am sorry to see her go. I went home and ate chocolate because I was so depressed at her leaving.

Last night a father and son came to the OPC shelter and brought a guitar for the children. Then they played their own instruments (guitar and harmonica) until the sun set and Kham Chuen lit small white candles (we have no electricity at the shelter). It was so nice to sit with the kids and hear live music that isn't Thai! The mood was a bit spoiled when the other volunteers came bearing a big battery powered fluorescent light, which drown out the calm ambiance of the candles, but it was a delightful evening anyhow, and several of the children learned some basic chords on the guitar - which they were then allowed to keep after the visitors left.

This morning as I drove to the internet cafe some drunk Thai men and children (yes, children, this was at 9:45 a.m., by the way) threw a handful of lighted firecrackers at my motorbike and laughed as I screached and skid off the slick road. I maintained my composure, but I didn't smile, didn't look at them, just started my motorbike and drove off. This morning was the point where I decided that I am officially sick of Asia and I am ready to go back to a country where I can yell at someone who throws firecrackers at my motorbike in my own language.

I visited SaZing in the hospital yesterday. He was playing hide and seek with no one in particular in his room, wearing a face mask. Although I couldn't see his face, I could tell that he is feeling much better...either that or the doctors have him on some pretty strong medication. In either case, his black almond eyes were sparkling , he giggled, played, ran around his room, and even talked! My aunty Cheryl sent a box of toys and cookies to me and I will deliver a bright yellow Big Bird and a bag of animal cookies to him today.

I leave Luang Prabang in an hour for Chiang Mai, where I will visit the hospital to have some bloodwork done and then continue to Mae Hong Son. The last several days in this town have been difficult and great. I met some fantastic people, relaxed, and ate bread and butter. I also worried constantly about SaZing, missed Jordan, and felt guilty about said bread and butter.

On the whole, Laos is not as friendly as Thailand, and I am happy to leave this graceful city of con artists and cold shoulders for the friendly smiles and low-pressure atmosphere of Thailand again. Even as I rode my bike around at 5:30 a.m. this morning (some stoners were busy having a smoking-jam session outside my room at 4 a.m. and I decided to just leave), women were running after me in the street demanding that I buy goods from them, and yelling curses at me when I told them to back off.

I booked the first flight out of Luang Prabang that I could find because I want to see SaZing as soon as possible, however said flight leaves on Friday and I find myself trapped in this little hamlet for another day. I distracted myself by taking photos on top of Phousi mountain at sunset...

Day 2 in Luang Prabang: This place is amazing. The uncomfortable boat ride, sleazy stay in Pak Beng, were worth it. The city is filled with crumbling, elegant colonial buildings, with charming spots of chipped mortar and peeling paint, old vines growing around shuttered windows, graceful pillars, and endearingly slippery cobbled streets. In this town, atmosphere and presentation are important, and I am realizing how much I have missed that while in Thailand. The street cafes have nice lighting, tablecloths, and use actual china plates, where in Thailand any street cafe that I go to is usually a florescent-lit warehouse style shop with flimsy tables and several mangy dogs begging for food.

I rented a little red long handled bicycle with a basket and bell and peddled languidly around the city. The pace is slow here. People sit and eat croissant, sip thick Lao coffee and people watch. It is a nice respite after the flood-chaos of work and the stress of trying to renew a visa after the coup.

However, it is time to go home. I just received word that SaZing has tested positive for TB. I am getting on the first boat (leaves tomorrow at 8) and heading back to Mae Hong Son as soon as possible.

I arrived in Luang Prabang last night after two days of the most horrible and uncomfortable travel I have had in Asia. The slow boat on the Mekong river is charming for a few hours on the firs day, but the novelty wears off quickly. The presence of three Israeli soldiers who consistently harassed every female on the boat and treated the Laos people like serfs didn't help, nor did the accomodations in Pak Beng - never stay at the Bonmee Guest House in Pak Beng. The overpriced rooms are moldy, infested with rats, things were stolen, and the staff is sleazy.

After a full day of traveling in one of the most irritating bus rides I have taken so far in Thailand I am now in the border town of Chiang Khong, right on the banks of the mighty, muddy Mekong river.

Chiang Khong is in the Chiang Rai province - an incredibly beautiful province that definately gives the Mae Hong Son province some competition for awe-inspiring scenes, although Chiang Rai is very calming and pastoral looking, where Mae Hong Son is mountainous and wild. I didn't get to see as much of the scenery as I would like because I was busy glaring at the bus driver while he first attempted to eat a bowl of noodle soup while driving on the highway (he spilled about three quarters of it down his shirt and into his lap and then gave up. After that he changed the SIM card in his cell phone twice while driving through curvy mountain roads. I stared at him with enough malice to make my father proud, and eventually he put the phone down and concentrated on the road for the rest of the trip.

So now I am stuck in purgatory on the banks of the Mekong river. The hostel (Nam Khong Guest House) that I have been placed in is the most disgusting that I have stayed in so far, there are two Israelis in here yelling loudly into their webcams, and a deaf man just asked if I want to share a room with him in Laos. I'll be really glad to get away from the rest of the tourists and strike out on my own.