Girl Talk: Chomp on a Sock? Champasak!

Imagine sitting on the bus for what you were told to be four hours but instead turned into seven. Then imagine waking from a sound sleep at 11:30pm for "dinner" at a truck stop in the midst of a downpour. You think you are 15 minutes from your destination but in reality you still have two hours to go. At 2:00am you, two women, are abruptly awoken by the driver and hurried off the bus with each of your two backpacks to a pitch black corner of a new town and to top it off, you can't even figure out where you fall on the map in your guide book. This was our grand arrival to Pakse. One hour later, at 3:05am, we settled into our over priced yet mediocre guest house (the only one that was open past 11:00pm). Within minutes we realized the air conditioner was broken and had to call the adolescent desk attendant to come to our rescue in the sweltering heat. Moments after he left, Lisa found herself stuck in the bathroom which had no door knob. After fidgeting with the lock, Gabi again called on our adolescent savior who came the rescue with a giant butcher knife to pry open the lock. By 4:00am we were sleeping soundly...

Awaking to yet another down pour, we ate at an Indian breakfast at our guest house and headed out on our own walking tour of the city. Our first stop was the Wat Luang, adorned with colorful concrete pillars and detailed carved wooden doors and painted murals. We entered the wat as the local monks were preparing to sit down for lunch. A head monk sat in the center of the wat blessing the meal while roughly 30 thirty younger novice monks sat on benches along the periphery with looks of hunger as the food got colder and colder. As the prayer ended the downpour doubled in volume and we had no choice but to sit, with watering mouths, on bamboo mats watching the monks devour their lunch. As the finished, we stayed and chatted with a few monks ranging in ages of 21 to 30. Many of our questions regarding the monk lifestyle were answered and they were happy to practice the English they were studying. We quickly realized they were also quite happy to talk to two women as they began to ask us questions about marriage and requested to take photos with us on their cell phones which were blasting American hip hop in the temple... They explained, among other things that monks are forbidden to have girlfriends while practicing monk hood yet all planned to leave and marry quickly post graduation. At this point we found it most appropriate to leave.

We woke early the next morning to board a small wooden boat to Champasak, two hours down the Mekong River. With our speaker and ipod in tow, we played jazz for the enjoyment of fellow travelers, we hope adding to the charm. Upon arrival we checked into a riverside bungalow adorned with hammocks and a restaurant over looking the river.

Immediately we rented bikes and set out on a 10km ride to Wat Phu Champasak, one of the most important archaeological sites in Laos. Some say this structure may have been the blue print for Angkor Wat. Built in the 6th century on a hillside, this sprawling temple is a tribute to the Hindu god Shiva. Upon arrival, hungry from our long journey, we rewarded ourselves with boxed wine, laughing cow cheese and seaweed crackers. At the top of the hill, the highest puja, we sacrificed three drops of blood, in the form of boxed wine to the alter of three Hindu gods; Shiva, Vishnu, and Krishna. We fueled our white elephant (read previous blog), by following signs stating "Elephant -->". To our amusement, we encountered an enormous moss covered rock with an elephant face carved into it.

We descended the stone staircases towards our bikes, walking along an avenue lined with phallic statues symbolizing Shiva's spiritual reproduction. After a delicious lunch, and five minutes into our 10km ride home, yet another downpour ensued. Drenched we returned to our bungalow and spent the evening playing Phase 10 and Yahtzee. During dinner we met an Italian gentleman who whom we offered a glass of our boxed wine. He responded with "no thank you, I come from the region where Chianti originates". We understood that our wine was beneath him. (This followed our first attempt at 'befriendship' to a French woman whom declined our generous wine offer because she came from the region that produced Merlot.) He further explained that he worked for Prada "quality control for accessories in Hong Kong" and generously offered us a discount of 50% off clothing cutting the costs to $2,000-$3,000. We did not indulge in this generous offer, instead opting for our backpackers' attire.