diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'published')
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2006-01-17-king-carrot-flowers.txt | 77 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2006-02-24-cant-get-there-here.txt | 69 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2019-10-16_back-to-raysville.txt | 25 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2019-10-23_elberton-county-fair.txt | 65 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2019-11-06_halloween.txt | 38 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2019-11-13_land.txt | 41 |
6 files changed, 270 insertions, 45 deletions
diff --git a/published/2006-01-17-king-carrot-flowers.txt b/published/2006-01-17-king-carrot-flowers.txt index 30f3816..9bf053b 100644 --- a/published/2006-01-17-king-carrot-flowers.txt +++ b/published/2006-01-17-king-carrot-flowers.txt @@ -1,34 +1,69 @@ ---- -template: single -point: 19.315031381446268,98.84262083585028 -location: Doi Inthanan National Park,Chang Mai,Thailand -image: 2008/doiinthanonnp.jpg -desc: An early morning motorbike ride in search of the Lady Slipper Orchid in Doi Inthanan National Park, just outside of Chang Mai Thailand -dek: The light outside the windows was still a pre-dawn inky blue when the freezing cold water hit my back. A cold shower at six thirty in the morning is infinitely more powerful, albeit not at long lasting, as a cup of coffee. After dropping my body temperature a few degrees and having no towel to dry off with, just a dirty shirt and ceaseless ceiling fan, a cup of tea seemed like a good idea so I stopped in at the restaurant downstairs and, after a cup of hot water with some Jasmine leaves swirling at the bottom of it, I climbed on my rental motorbike and set out for Doi Inthanan National Park. -pub_date: 2006-01-17T18:53:17 -slug: king-carrot-flowers -title: The King of Carrot Flowers ---- +The light outside was still the inky blue of pre-dawn when the freezing cold water hit my back. A cold shower at six-thirty in the morning is infinitely more powerful than a cup of coffee -- especially when you have no towel to dry off with. -<span class="drop">T</span>he light outside the windows was still a pre-dawn inky blue when the freezing cold water hit my back. A cold shower at six thirty in the morning is infinitely more powerful, albeit not at long lasting, as a cup of coffee. After dropping my body temperature a few degrees and having no towel to dry off with, just a dirty shirt and ceaseless ceiling fan, a cup of tea seemed like a good idea so I stopped in at the restaurant downstairs and, after a cup of hot water with some Jasmine leaves swirling at the bottom of it, I climbed on my rental motorbike and set out for Doi Inthanan National Park. +After dropping my body temperature a few degrees drying off under the ceiling fan, a cup of tea seemed like a good idea so I stopped in at the restaurant downstairs and, after a cup of hot water with some Jasmine leaves swirling at the bottom of it, climbed on my crappy rental scooter and set out for Doi Inthanan National Park. -Normally such early morning antics are not part of my travel routine but it had already been made clear to me that if I hoped to make the 200 km journey to the highest point in Thailand in a single day, I had better start moving early. I rode out of Chiang Mai with painfully clenched fists and teeth that chattered uncontrollably at times, but the freedom of having my own transportation paled any discomforts the cold brought about. I had forgotten what freedom a vehicle of one's own can provide and I had never known the freedom that a motorbike provides. A motorbike, whether it be a clumsy scooter like mine or a more powerful, faster motorcycle, is to driving a car as body surfing is to using a board, without the board or the car there is in both case a kind intimacy with ones environment, the pavement, the curbs and lines of paint, the wind and the whip of passing cars and trucks, the grass growing in the cracks whizzing past below your feet, all of these things and a million other details you don't have the time to absorb become a symphony of movement not unlike the breaking of a wave or the rolling of distant thunder, a singular sensation which absorbs and is absorbed by your body whole and instantaneously and yet seems to stretch on forever. -<img src="[[base_url]]/2006/doifirstwaterfall.jpg" width="240" height="180" class="postpic" alt="Waterfall Doi Inthanan National Park Thailand" />After a 60 or so kilometer ride on the main highway south of Chiang Mai I turned off onto the national park road and began to ascend through the dry grassy chaparral foothills and into the forest proper. My first stop was a small but peaceful waterfall. In fact nearly all my stops on the way to the summit were waterfalls except for one Karin village where I had lunch. +<img src="images/2006/Thailand-_Chiang_Mai_Doi_Inthanon_NP1_10_06_51.jpg" id="image-2119" class="picwide" /> + +I'm not normally much of a morning person, but I know if I wanted to ride the 200 km journey to the highest point in Thailand in a single day I had to start early. + +I rode out of Chiang Mai in the early morning chill. You don't think of Thailand as cold, but it can be plenty cold up here in the mountains. I rode with fists clenched and teeth chattering uncontrollably, but the freedom of having my own transportation paled any discomforts the cold brought about. + +I had forgotten what freedom a vehicle of one's own can provide and I had never known the freedom that a motorbike provides. A motorbike, whether it be a clumsy scooter like mine or a more powerful, faster motorcycle, is to driving a car as body surfing is to using a board. + +Without the surfboard or the car there is a greater intimacy with the environment. The pavement, the curbs and lines of paint, the wind and the whip of passing cars and trucks, the grass growing in the cracks whizzing past below your feet, all of these things and a million other details you don't have the time to absorb become a symphony of movement not unlike the breaking of a wave, a singular sensation which absorbs and is absorbed by your body whole instantaneously and yet seems to stretch on forever. + +<hr /> + +After a 60 or so kilometer ride on the main highway south of Chiang Mai I turned off onto the national park road and began to ascend through the dry grassy chaparral foothills and into the forest proper. My first stop was a small but peaceful waterfall. In fact nearly all my stops on the way to the summit were waterfalls except for one Karin village where I had lunch. + +<img src="images/2006/Thailand-_Chiang_Mai_Doi_Inthanon_NP1_10_06_21.jpg" id="image-2120" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/Thailand-_Chiang_Mai_Doi_Inthanon_NP1_10_06_22.jpg" id="image-2121" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2006/Thailand-_Chiang_Mai_Doi_Inthanon_NP1_10_06_06_OAYj1zV.jpg" id="image-2118" class="picwide" /> My chief reason for coming to the park was the lady slipper orchid. There are many kinds of lady slipper orchids, which as you might imagine has a flower that resembled a lady's slipper, but the particular variety found here is only found here and nowhere else in the world (in the wild anyway). -I don't know why I have become obsessed with orchids, but every since sitting at Jim Thompson's house staring at the that orchid, I have been studying up on them and wanting to see more of them. The previous day I rode the motorbike up to the Mae Sa Valley where there were a number of orchid farms and a very large botanical garden. It was at the Queen Sikrit Botanical Garden that I first read of the Lady Slipper Orchid that resides solely in Doi Inthanan National Park, and the specificity of such an ecological niche fascinated me. While wandering slowly through various greenhouses full of the same purple and orange and yellow orchids I had seen in Bangkok and elsewhere, I began to wonder why it was that some are right here, right everywhere, while others can require searches that lead to the far ends of the earth whether that be deep in the jungles of Thailand or the keys of Florida. What precisely is that drives evolution in such narrow back alleys that it can produce a plant on one mountain or one corner of a swamp and no other? Do all the pieces ultimately fit that tightly, and if they do then what does it mean when it turns out that the piece does not fit? What if the mountain changes, the icy northern glaciers begin to grow, the temperature drops and the orchid finds itself alone, stranded atop a mountain it never intended to climb? +Ever since spending time with the orchids at Jim Thompson's house, I have been studying up on them and wanting to see more. The previous day I rode the motorbike up to the Mae Sa Valley where there were a number of orchid farms and a very large botanical garden. + +<div class="cluster"> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2006/Mae_Sa_Valley1_9_06_17_cm8HYOo.jpg" id="image-2129" class="cluster pic66" /> +<img src="images/2006/Mae_Sa_Valley1_9_06_35.jpg" id="image-2130" class="cluster pic66" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2006/Mae_Sa_Valley1_9_06_41.jpg" id="image-2131" class="cluster picwide" /> +<img src="images/2006/Mae_Sa_Valley1_9_06_49.jpg" id="image-2132" class="cluster picwide" /> +</div> + +It was at the Queen Sikrit Botanical Garden that I first read of the Lady Slipper Orchid that resides solely in Doi Inthanan National Park, and the specificity of such an ecological niche fascinated me. + +While wandering slowly through various greenhouses full of the same purple and orange and yellow orchids I had seen in Bangkok and elsewhere, I began to wonder why it was that some are right here, right everywhere, while other orchids require searches that lead to the far ends of the earth whether that be deep in the jungles of Thailand or the keys of Florida. + +What precisely is that drives evolution into such narrow back alleys that it can produce a plant on one mountain or one corner of a swamp and no other? Do all the pieces ultimately fit that tightly? If they do then what does it mean when it turns out that the piece does not fit? What if the mountain changes, the icy northern glaciers begin to grow, the temperature drops and the orchid finds itself alone, stranded atop a mountain it never intended to climb? + +The basic orchid flower is composed of three sepals which make up the outer whorl, the part we generally think of as the flower. Within this structure there are three additional petals which form an inner whorl. With in this is a tongue or lip-like platform for pollinators. The lady slipper belongs the family Pathiopedilum, in which the two lower sepals of the flower become fused together and the lip, instead of being flat, takes the form of a slipper. + +<hr /> + +From the first waterfall where I lingered maybe an hour studying the water polished rocks along the shore of the river above the falls, I continued upward pausing at the Wachiratan waterfall. The Wachiratan falls were larger and engulfed in a misty shroud of white with rainbows arcing out through the spray, moving and receding as I walked around, changing my angle from the sun. + +To escape from the chill of the spray I wandered down the riverbed among oaks and cashew trees with Tamarind trees reaching high into the sky and massive impenetrable stands of bamboo dark and foreboding in the growing afternoon shadows of the forest floor. -The basic orchid flower is composed of three sepals which make up the outer whorl, that region which we would generally think of as the flower, but then within this, if one studies the structure closer, that are three additional petals which form an inner whorl. The "medial" petal, which I have come to think of as the axis around which the rest of the petals turn, that lateral line which must be split, if only in the imagination, to arrival at the bilateral structure which I have previously written of, is usually modified and enlarged forming a tongue or lip-like platform for pollinators. The lady slipper belongs the family Pathiopedilum, in which the two lower sepals of the flower become fused together and the lip, instead of being flat, takes the form of a slipper. -<img src="[[base_url]]/2006/doirock.jpg" width="227" height="170" class="postpicright" alt="Polished Rock Doi Inthanan National Park, Thailand" />From the first waterfall where I lingered maybe an hour studying the water polished rocks along the shore of the river above the falls, I continued upward pausing at the Wachiratan waterfall. The Wachiratan falls were larger and generated a misty shroud of white around there base with rainbows arcing out through the white spray moving and receding as I walked about changing my angle from the sun. To escape from the chill of the spray I wandered down the riverbed among oaks and cashew trees with Tamarind trees reaching high into the sky and massive impenetrable stands of bamboo dark and foreboding in the growing afternoon shadows of the forest floor. +I had the rather optimistic idea that perhaps I could find a Lady Slipper Orchid clinging to a tree or sprouting out of a rock, but with a flower that rare, one does not just stumble across it. Somewhere along the way I discovered the road also led to the highest point in Thailand as well. -I had the rather optimistic idea that perhaps I could find a Lady Slipper Orchid just clinging to a tree or sprouting out of a rock, but with a flower that rare, one does not just stumble across it. I tried without success to figure out why I even cared, there are after all billion and billions of flowers in the world, why did I care for this one? Perhaps the fascination in some way comes from the simple word slipper; it would not be the first time I had gone out of my way simply because of a well-chosen word. "Slipper" has a number of childhood connotations but perhaps the most obvious is Cinderella. And this connection is perhaps not entirely accidental since as we all know there was only one Cinderella, only one slipper, and so here, only one flower, only one mountain. +Near the summit I paused to let some trucks pass and then waited a while not wanting to ride in the trail of exhaust they left behind. I sat on the bike staring at a pinkish leafed tree which stood out against the otherwise green hillsides. Behind the pink tree an afternoon thunder cloud drifted slowly by. -Near the summit I paused to let some trucks pass and then waited a while not wanting to ride in the trail of exhaust they left behind. I sat on the bike staring at a pinkish leafed tree which stood out against the otherwise green hillsides. Behind the pink tree an afternoon thunder cloud drifted slowly by. The appeal I realized of Cinderella is the singularity of her existence. Just as this tree caught my eye because of its rarity, so to Cinderella captures our imagination because she is markedly different, rare we might say. And I understand the prince's obsession for once one has seen the rarist of flowers, the rest no longer hold sway. <img src="[[base_url]]/2006/doipinktree.jpg" width="159" height="240" class="postpic" alt="Pink Tree Doi Inthanan National Park, Thailand" />We, like the prince, will move heaven and earth to find that which is rare and we cling to it, not unlike an orchid clings to a rock, once we have found it. And if we lose the rare things we seek it is not simply a brokenheartedness that follows, but a dissolution of life itself, as if, were the Lady Slipper to go extinct, what would be lost is not the personal, the plant, the flower, but the universal, the idea of the plant, the idea of the flower. +At the summit I rested for a while beside a sign that read "The Highest Point in Thailand," which was clearly not the highest point in Thailand. To get to that required a five minute walk up from the parking area to the summit of the hill. -At the summit I rested for a while beside a sign that read "The Highest Point in Thailand," which I did not realize was the case, and perhaps not without some irony, was clearly not the highest point in Thailand, which required a five minute walk up from the parking area to the summit of the hill. At the summit after guzzling a bottle of ice-cold water and studying the map for a while I headed back down to a checkpoint I had passed on the way up. This checkpoint according to my information had one of the rare lady slipper orchids growing on the back of the soldiers quarters which the rangers would be happy to show you, if you stopped to ask. +<div class="cluster"> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2019/Thailand-_Chiang_Mai_Doi_Inthanon_NP1_10_06_42.jpg" id="image-2124" class="cluster pic66" /> +<img src="images/2006/Thailand-_Chiang_Mai_Doi_Inthanon_NP1_10_06_47.jpg" id="image-2127" class="cluster pic66" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2019/Thailand-_Chiang_Mai_Doi_Inthanon_NP1_10_06_39_9rPH8G7.jpg" id="image-2123" class="cluster picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/Thailand-_Chiang_Mai_Doi_Inthanon_NP1_10_06_45.jpg" id="image-2125" class="cluster picwide" /> +</div> -It took only ten minutes of motorless gliding down the hill to reach the checkpoint where I inquired after the orchid. Unfortunately it turned out that the plant in question had died. With little time left before sunset I was forced to give up the search for the lady slipper orchid. I sat for a minute on the steps outside thinking what a different tale if Cinderella had never been found, if the prince simply wandered about forever clutching a glass slipper, never finding a foot that fit, until old and with a long beard perhaps, he wandered out of the Kingdom stopping perhaps at a checkpoint not unlike this one, not unlike the one Lao Tzu is said to have stopped at, where the guards said, please, could you write down what you know? To which the prince might well have answered simply, "I will never understand…" +At the summit after guzzling a bottle of ice-cold water and studying the map for a while I headed back down to a checkpoint I had passed on the way up. This checkpoint according to my information had one of the rare lady slipper orchids growing on the back of the soldiers quarters which the rangers would be happy to show you, if you stopped to ask. +It took only ten minutes of motorless gliding down the hill to reach the checkpoint. I inquired after the orchid, but it turned out that the plant in question had died. With little time left before sunset I was forced to give up the search for a lady slipper orchid and head home. diff --git a/published/2006-02-24-cant-get-there-here.txt b/published/2006-02-24-cant-get-there-here.txt index 8aea666..19a2a3a 100644 --- a/published/2006-02-24-cant-get-there-here.txt +++ b/published/2006-02-24-cant-get-there-here.txt @@ -1,38 +1,59 @@ ---- -template: single -point: 14.806085524831946,106.83689115944449 -location: Attapeu,Attapeu,Lao (PDR) -image: 2008/attapeulight.jpg -desc: The most magical light in Laos lives on the Bolevan Plateau, an amazing, wonderful place, and not the least because no one else is here. -dek: The most magical light in Laos lives on the Bolevan Plateau. For some reason not many tourists seem to make it out to the Bolevan Plateau, in spite of the fact that the roads are quite good, transport runs regularly, the villages peaceful, even sleepy, little hamlets. In short, the Bolevan Plateau is wonderful, and not the least in part because no one else is there. -pub_date: 2006-02-24T20:00:03 -slug: cant-get-there-here -title: Can&#8217;t Get There From Here ---- +The most magical light in Laos lives on the Bolevan Plateau. Not many tourists make it out to the Bolevan Plateau. I'm not sure why. The roads are good, transport runs regularly. The villages out here are peacefully quiet. You might even call them sleepy little hamlets if you were a travel guide writer. -<span class="drop">T</span>he most magical light in Laos lives on the Bolevan Plateau. For some reason not many tourists seem to make it out to the Bolevan Plateau, in spite of the fact that the roads are quite good, transport runs regularly, the villages peaceful, relaxed, even sleepy, little hamlets, a rarely used word that fits exactly what I mean. +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_33.jpg" id="image-2162" class="picwide" /> -All in all the Bolevan Plateau is wonderful, and not the least in part because no one else is there. <img src="[[base_url]]/2006/attapeucanoe.jpg" width="250" height="176" class="postpic" alt="Sekong River, Attapeu, Laos" />In eight days of traveling we saw maybe ten tourists. The curious thing about it was that those we did meet seemed to for some reason think that we must know what we were doing and where we were going, which is comical to us since nothing could be further from the truth. Nevertheless, as luck would have it, often the first question someone asked would be the one thing we did know and so perhaps for that reason we came off as semi-knowledgeable. We met a very nice British couple our last night in Sekong, Jules and Ben, which for Francois Truffaut fans such as myself, was eerily close to **Jules et Jim** so I took an immediate liking to them. We ended up running into Jules and Ben again on the bus to Attapeu and shared a tuk-tuk to the guesthouse, which was actually more of a luxury hotel (by Laos standards anyway). Matt, Debi and I discovered that many of the nicer hotels have rooms with a double and single bed, thus fitting three people and solving the chief dilemma of traveling with three people—who has to pay more for their own room. Splitting the nice hotel three ways brought the costs down to roughly equal what we would typically pay at a rundown guesthouse and is obviously, well, nicer. +All in all the Bolevan Plateau is wonderful, but possibly in part *because* no one else is out here. It's just you, the river, and the people who call it home. -As I've mentioned before, wandering around this area of Laos without a guide is not the safest activity in the world, but guides cost money. Luckily, with the addition of Jules and Ben (and yes I am going to keep typing their names out, because it's fun to say), the price of three motorbikes and guide became roughly the same as the two motorbikes we would have needed anyway. So we went for it especially given that the place we were interested in visiting was the epicenter of American bombing—the Ho Chi Minh Trail. +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_25.jpg" id="image-2161" class="picwide" /> -<img src="[[base_url]]/2006/hochiminhtrail.jpg" width="197" height="230" class="postpicright" alt="Villager, Ho Chi Minh Trail, Laos" />Ask your average American to describe what they think the Ho Chi Minh Trail looks like and they would likely paint you a picture bearing some resemblance to an Oliver Stone film, a thin trail snaking though the jungle, a network of tunnels and, as I used to think, they would likely say it ran through Vietnam. In fact the Ho Chi Minh "Trail" was a road, and not just one road, but a whole network of roads crisscrossing the jungle and vast majority of it ran through Laos and Cambodia, not Vietnam. +In eight days of traveling we saw maybe ten tourists. The curious thing about it was that those we did meet seemed to assume that we must know what we were doing, where we were going, where they should be going. In fact we never have any idea what we're doing, out here especially. We were usually just wandering around, probably lost. Nevertheless, as luck would have it, the first question someone asked always turned out to be the one thing we did know, which gave this illusion that we knew what we were doing. -Although we asked to be taken to the Ho Chi Minh Trail, in the morning our guide took us out to see a "tribal village", which turned out to be rather more like one woman camped out in the middle of the jungle, roasting a mouse for lunch. Not to say that we were ripped off, but it was sort of a waste of a morning. It was nice to meet her and see how the villagers live when they're out in the jungle (not very well, most having been driven out of the more fertile hill areas by the government), but it was hardly worth the effort it took to get there. +Our last night in Sekong we met a very nice British couple who knew even more than us. And we ended up running into Jules and Ben again on the bus to Attapeu so we all shared a tuk-tuk to the guesthouse, which was actually more of a luxury hotel (by our standards anyway). -The afternoon was somewhat better; we headed to Pa'am a small village at a junction on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The road getting there was a bit bumpy, especially for Matt and I. With the two of us on one motorbike we easily outweighed the rest of the group and on an aging Honda Dream with nothing much in the way of shocks (or brakes or mirrors for that matter), weight is not what you want. On the way there I made some attempts at dodging potholes and gullies (often skidding to do so), on the way back Matt drove and decided that the straight path was at least quicker, if not smoother. +This was where we discovered that many of the nicer hotels have rooms with a double and single bed, thus fitting three people and solving the chief dilemma of traveling with three people, which is that someone has to pay more for their own room. Splitting the nice hotel three ways brought the costs down to roughly equal what we would typically pay at a rundown guesthouse and it was, well, much nicer. -<img src="[[base_url]]/2006/russianmissile.jpg" width="200" height="150" class="postpic" alt="Russian SAM, Pa'am, Laos" />In case anyone had any doubts about whether or not the Russians were helping the North Vietnamese in the war, they left behind a now rusted and falling apart SAM missile and launcher (presumably the warhead has been removed, but we never got a straight answer on that one). Otherwise the Ho Chi Minh Trail was somewhat anti-climatic, more of what I like to call a checklist site, that is, see it, check it off the list and move on. +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_52.jpg" id="image-2165" class="picwide" /> -<img src="[[base_url]]/2006/attapeumarket.jpg" width="173" height="230" class="postpicright" alt="Vegetables, Market, Attapeu, Laos" />Back in Attapeu we took a stroll around the evening market and then headed down to the banks of Sekong River to watch the sunset and sip a Beer Lao. The sunset was gorgeous, reflecting off the water and lingering on the distant clouds far longer than anywhere else we've seen in Laos. We watched the fishermen casting nets and canoes plying their way up and down the river with various cargos. Up the shoreline from us a group of boys played volleyball (a very popular sport in Laos) in the fading light. +As I've mentioned before, wandering off in the bush around this area of Laos without a guide is not the safest activity in the world, unexploded ordinance an all. Attapeu is about the closest you can get to the Ho Chi Minh Trail, epicenter of American bombing for much of the Vietnam war. Every other guesthouse and restaurant in these villages wants to take you out to see whatever is left of the war. -<img src="[[base_url]]/2006/attapeuvolleyball.jpg" width="240" height="126" class="postpic" alt="Playing Volleyball, Attapeu, Laos" />If you look at a map of Laos (the one thing I haven't been good about on this site is showing maps, I'll work on that), there is a road that continues from Attapeu back around to Champasak where it joins route 13. This bit of road would make it possible to complete a loop around the Bolevan Plateau without having to retrace your steps. Unfortunately no public transport plies this road. Later in the evening after the sun had gone down and we climbed up the bank of the river to a restaurant, we ran into an Austrian man who was traveling by motorcycle (real motorcycle, not a Honda Dream) who had come over the road. He put it at roughly eighteen hours to cover one hundred kilometers and muttered something about "lots of rivers." At one point in his trip it had started to rain at which point he said he was covering about five kilometers an hour. +Guides cost a good bit of money though. War tourism isn't all that appealing to me, especially if it's expensive. This time though, with five people, we were able to work out a deal that wasn't too much more than just the price of a motorbike for one person. So we went out to see the Ho Chi Minh trail. -The next day we rented motorbikes again and set out down that road for a day trip to see what sort of villages and sights might be found along the way. At least leaving Attapeu the road wasn't too bad, but looking off at the distant cliffs and hills of the Bolevan Plateau it was easy to see how the road would likely get pretty bad. Nevertheless we had a good ride through the countryside stopping here and there to amuse the locals (we contemplated various song and dance routines, but just our existence seemed to sufficient for side-splitting entertainment, especially for children). +Ask your average American to describe what they think the Ho Chi Minh Trail looks like and they would likely paint you a picture bearing some resemblance to a cheesy Oliver Stone film, a thin trail snaking though the jungle, a network of tunnels and, as I used to think, they would likely say it ran through Vietnam. -The one regret I have about traveling in Laos is that I'm here at the peak of the dry season, as such, as I've mentioned before, most plant life is brown or leafless, sort of like what you would find in Massachusetts right about now, but hot. <img src="[[base_url]]/2006/attapeuboy.jpg" width="195" height="250" class="postpic" alt="Village Boy, outside Attapeu, Laos" />Every now and then though we run across an irrigated rice paddy and for a moment it's possible to imagine how beautiful Laos is around the end of August or beginning of September when the wet season is just ending and everything that's now brown has turned a bright, almost iridescent green. If you ever come to Laos I recommend August or September, though it will be hot and probably pretty steamy. +In fact the Ho Chi Minh "Trail" was a road, and not just one road, but a whole network of roads crisscrossing the jungle. The vast majority of it ran through Laos and Cambodia, not Vietnam. -It was nearly nightfall by the time we made it back to Attapeu. We grabbed a bite to eat at small restaurant where some Vietnamese truck drivers tried to ply us with drinks and make conversation in very rough English with the occasional Laos phrase. Walking home we decided to stop by the carnival that was in town for a few days. We wandered about the various stalls and played a few rounds of the apparently worldwide game where you throw darts at balloons. Debi and I won mints; Matt was somewhat more successful and won an orange drink of some sort. We also paid to see two obviously poorly treated monkeys ride bicycles around a centrifuge, which we at first thought might spin them around or something rather awful like that, but luckily for the monkeys their act was short and involved no spinning. <img src="[[base_url]]/2006/attapeucircus.jpg" width="220" height="165" class="postpicright" alt="Circus, Attapeu, Laos" />The spinning was left to the bigger and perhaps one it tempted to say, not as bright monkeys—humans. Using the centrifugal force about six circus performers climbed walls, sat on chairs and did other tricks for about five minutes. It made me dizzy just to watch them. My understanding of centrifuges was that they separated fluids of different densities (ah Mr. Dukes would be so proud that I remember that), but apparently, at least in Southeast Asia, it's a circus act as well. +This is Laos though, so even though we asked to be taken to the Ho Chi Minh Trail, we were first taken somewhere else. Our guide really thought we would want to see a "tribal village", which turned out to be rather more like one woman camped out in the middle of the jungle, roasting a mouse for lunch. It reminded me far too much of the [zoo-like aspects of Shilpogram](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2005/11/around-udaipur) to enjoy it. It was one of the many moments I wish I knew more Laos. -Eventually the number of people began to dwindle and not wanting to steal too much attention from the real circus acts, we headed home, feeling not a little bit guilty about contributing to the rough treatment of what looked like some truly miserable monkeys. Back in the hotel we sat up watching **Lost in Translation** on my laptop and drinking some of the wine Debi had brought from Thailand, all and all the perfect way to end a day. +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_65.jpg" id="image-2167" class="picwide" /> + +The afternoon was somewhat better; we headed to Pa'am a small village at a junction on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The road getting there was a bit bumpy, especially for Matt and I. With the two of us on one motorbike we easily outweighed the rest of the group by quite a bit. On an aging Honda Dream with nothing much in the way of shocks (or brakes or mirrors for that matter), weight is not what you want. On the way there I made some attempts at dodging potholes and gullies (often skidding to do so), on the way back Matt decided that the straight path was at least quicker, if not smoother. + +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_66.jpg" id="image-2168" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_61.jpg" id="image-2166" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_67.jpg" id="image-2169" class="picwide" /> + +In case anyone had any doubts about whether or not the Russians were helping the North Vietnamese during the Vietnam war, they left behind a SAM missile and launcher (presumably the warhead has been removed, but we never got a straight answer on that). Otherwise the Ho Chi Minh Trail was somewhat anti-climatic. It's a famous road that turns out to be, well, a road. + +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_69.jpg" id="image-2170" class="picwide" /> + +Back in Attapeu we took a stroll around the evening market and then headed down to the banks of Sekong River to watch the sunset and sip a Beer Lao. The light catches the water and seems to linger on clouds far longer than should be possible, like time is moving just a little slower than normal out here. We watched fishermen cast nets and canoes plying their way up and down the river with cargo hidden under tarps. Up the shoreline from us a group of boys played volleyball in the fading light. + +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_39.jpg" id="image-2164" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/Laos_Sekong_Attapeu_2_18-20_06_40.jpg" id="image-2163" class="picwide" /> + +If you look at a map of Laos there is a road that continues from Attapeu back around to Champasak where it rejoins route 13. This bit of road would make it possible to complete a loop around the Bolevan Plateau without having to retrace your steps. Unfortunately no public transportation plies this road. + +Later that evening, after the sun had gone down and we climbed up the bank of the river to a restaurant, we ran into an Austrian man who was traveling by motorcycle (real motorcycle, not a Honda Dream). He had just come over the road. He put it at roughly eighteen hours to cover one hundred kilometers and muttered something about "lots of rivers." He said he managed about five kilometers an hour most of the way, much of it in pouring rain. It made me wish, not for the first time, that I had a motorcycle of my own. + +The next day we did what we could and rented motorbikes again to see if we couldn't at least see a little of the now infamous (to us at least) road. Leaving Attapeu the road wasn't too bad, but looking off at the distant cliffs and hills of the Bolevan Plateau it was easy to see how the road would likely turn pretty awful, pretty quick. We ran out of daylight before we got that far. Nevertheless we had a good ride through the countryside stopping here and there to amuse the locals with our existence. I considered starting some sort of song and dance routine, but just showing up always seemed sufficient for side-splitting entertainment, especially for children. + +It was nearly nightfall by the time we made it back to Attapeu. We grabbed a bite to eat at small restaurant where some Vietnamese truck drivers plied us with drinks and made conversation in very rough English with the occasional Laos phrase. + +Walking home we decided to stop by the carnival that was in town for a few days. We wandered about the various stalls and threw a few rounds of darts at balloons. Debi and I won mints; Matt was somewhat more successful and won an orange drink of some sort. + +We also paid to see two obviously poorly treated monkeys ride bicycles around a centrifuge, which we at first thought might spin them around or something rather awful like that, but luckily for the monkeys their act was short and involved no spinning. + +The spinning was left to the bigger and perhaps one it tempted to say, not as bright monkeys -- humans. Using the centrifugal force about six circus performers climbed walls, sat on chairs and did other tricks for about five minutes. It made me dizzy just to watch them. + +Eventually the number of people began to dwindle and not wanting to steal too much attention from the real circus acts, we headed home, feeling not a little bit guilty about contributing to the rough treatment of what looked like some truly miserable monkeys. Back in the hotel we sat up watching *Lost in Translation* and drinking wine Debi brought from Thailand. The perfect way to end a day. diff --git a/published/2019-10-16_back-to-raysville.txt b/published/2019-10-16_back-to-raysville.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39546b1 --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2019-10-16_back-to-raysville.txt @@ -0,0 +1,25 @@ +After the better part of a month hanging around Athens, GA, we were ready for a break. Cities, even small ones like Athens, stress me out these days. Even when I'm technically miles away from them. It's not a very acute stress, not even something I notice until I leave and I catch myself sitting around the fire in the evening with my shoulders tensed tight. + +I don't know why, but I know some time further from civilization was calling. Our friends Mike and Cassidy were feeling the same. They wanted to get out on the water in some boats so we all headed down to Raysville, the very first place we stopped when this trip began nearly three years ago. + +The campground at Raysville is under used, which is to say almost no one is ever there. We arrived on a Friday and had no trouble getting a spot. It took all of about five minutes for the kids to be out the door and into the water. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-09-28_101731_raysville.jpg" id="image-2137" class="picwide" /> + +I don't think they'll ever get tired of getting in water. Doesn't matter what water really, they're out there. They'll ask to go swimming when it's near freezing temps outside. It's like just the idea of water makes things seem warmer. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-09-27_155523-20_raysville.jpg" id="image-2133" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-09-27_155523_raysville.jpg" id="image-2134" class="picwide" /> + +The Raysville campground is an old army corp of engineers campground that the corp sold to the county a few years ago. It makes me laugh every time I think about it because there are all these things that only an engineer would think of -- every site has a ground fire pit *and* a raised cooking grill, and there's a table to eat off and another by the grill for cooking. It's brilliantly well engineered. Also the sunsets are remarkable. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-09-27_170844_raysville.jpg" id="image-2135" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-09-30_180538_raysville.jpg" id="image-2138" class="picwide" /> + +The next morning the kids were back in the lake pretty much as soon as the sun was up. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-09-28_080134_raysville.jpg" id="image-2136" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-03_110909_raysville.jpg" id="image-2141" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-02_125925_raysville.jpg" id="image-2140" class="picwide" /> + +That was pretty much life for a week: wake up, go swimming, write some things, paddle around on the SUP, test out a drone, row the john boat out to the island (which the kids named poop-rock island for what the nesting Canada geese and other birds leave behind), write some more things. Then eat dinner and watch the sun light up the clouds. That's about all you need really. Water. Sun. Food. Friends. diff --git a/published/2019-10-23_elberton-county-fair.txt b/published/2019-10-23_elberton-county-fair.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..efd60ee --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2019-10-23_elberton-county-fair.txt @@ -0,0 +1,65 @@ +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_123409_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2144" class="picwide" /> + +Once, years ago, Wired ran a Christmas wish list in which they asked each of the writers what we would want if we could have anything. I, fresh off the boat from southeast Asia, said: ubiquitous fast internet. These days I nearly have that and spend a good bit of time avoiding it. + +I have a great fondness for places with no signal, but traveling with modems that connect to all three major U.S wireless carriers means those places are few and far between. Especially east the of the Mississippi. Which is why, when we pulled into to Richard B. Russell state park and discovered there was no cell service, I was caught off guard. It isn't even remote. It has a golf course. We only came because everything else was booked. + +I had work to do that afternoon so I did the only thing I could. I got in the car and drove into Elberton, which is how I discovered that the very next day was the opening of the Elberton 12-county Fair. As it says right there on the sign. That's when I remembered that travel has its own agenda, it bends you to its will as it sees fit. If there had been signal, we'd have never made it to the fair. No fair, no monkeys racing on dogs. No one wants that. So no signal, yes fair. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_123157_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2143" class="picwide" /> + +We got there early the next day just after it opened. We sprung for some wrist bands so the kids could ride whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. Then we ran into the height problem -- there were far too many rides that not everyone could get on. + +We managed though. I taught them how to stand up straight and how to walk toward the entrance with the surety of step that says, don't even think about questioning my height. And it worked with all but one ride operater. Doesn't matter where you go, there's always *that guy*. + +No matter what the situation, in the United States, there is always someone obsessed with the letter of the law, lacking the creativity to discern the spirit behind it. Or as my daughter put it with some degree of frustration and disgust "in Mexico this would *never* happen". Mostly though, we had a blast. + +<div class="cluster"> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_124250_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2145" class="cluster picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_124407_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2146" class="cluster picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_124747-1_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2147" class="cluster picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_125809_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2148" class="cluster picwide" /> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_142202_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2157" class="cluster pic66" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_142201_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2160" class="cluster pic66" /> +</span> +</div> + +What surprised me was the solidarity. The one who could ride never did if the others could not. And there was no reluctance about it, the nose was very nearly upturned. She would not hear of it even when I encouraged her to go ahead. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_130419_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2149" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_130936_elberton-county-fair_01.jpg" id="image-2150" class="picwide" /> + +I have thus far been pretty lucky with aging. It's rare that I feel my age, but things that spin or swing or whirl? Yeah, I can't do that anymore. Those spinning swings used to be my favorite as kid too. These days the Ferris wheel is about the speed I can comfortably spin. There'd have been snow cone syrup all over those spinning rides if I'd been on them. The girls loved the spinning swings though. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_131010_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2151" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_141602-4_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2154" class="picwide" /> + +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_140454_elberton-county-fair_01.jpg" id="image-2153" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_160458-1_elberton-county-fair_01.jpg" id="image-2156" class="picwide" /> + +There was a livestock section at the fair, nowhere near as serious or big as what we saw at the [Montezuma County fair back in Colorado](/jrnl/2017/07/mancos-days), but there were horses to pet at least. + +<div class="cluster"> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_142403_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2159" class="cluster pic66" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_142402_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2158" class="cluster pic66" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_131605-1_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2152" class="cluster picwide" /> +</div> + +And then there were the monkeys riding dogs. The Banana Derby. + +"Monkey jockeys" I believe was the phrase. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-12_150644-1_elberton-county-fair.jpg" id="image-2155" class="picwide" /> + +I'm not sure what it is about [small town fairs and monkeys](/jrnl/2006/02/cant-get-there-here), but I've seen them on two continents now, so I guess there's some kind of universal appeal. Personally I find it far too much like rubber necking at an accident scene, but other people seem to like it. And unlike that night in Laos I just linked to, or [the chicken chase at the fair in Colorado](/jrnl/2017/07/mancos-days), this time we have video. + +<div class="self-embed-container"> + <video poster="https://luxagraf.net/media/images/videos/2019/2019-10-18_banana-derby.jpg" controls="true" loop="false" preload="auto" id="5" class="vidautovid"> + <source src="https://luxagraf.net/media/images/videos/2019/2019-10-18_banana-derby.webm" type="video/webm"> + <source src="https://luxagraf.net/media/images/videos/2019/2019-10-18_banana-derby.mp4" type="video/mp4"> + Your browser does not support video playback via HTML5. + </video> +</div> diff --git a/published/2019-11-06_halloween.txt b/published/2019-11-06_halloween.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..316e19a --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2019-11-06_halloween.txt @@ -0,0 +1,38 @@ +Autumn has finally arrived in this part of the world. A series of fronts have been moving through, delivering crisp cold mornings one day and then damp foggy ones the next. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-30_081739_halloween.jpg" id="image-2178" class="picwide" /> + +One thing I think that's not obvious to people who don't live this way is how much more the weather becomes a part of your life. Living in an RV is effectively living outside. And living outside is living with weather. + +We do have a warm dry place to retreat to when we absolutely need it, for which we're thankful, but for the most part we stay outdoors, even when it's wet. That's what rain boots and jackets are for after all. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-01-24_024223_watson-mill.jpg" id="image-2191" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-01-24_024232_watson-mill.jpg" id="image-2192" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-30_131739_halloween.jpg" id="image-2183" class="picwide" /> + +What an amazing thing to live in the day and age of waterproof clothing. Every time I see the kids out there playing in the rain I'm thankful for warm, rubberized clothing. I don't image rain is nearly as much fun when the options are cotton, wool, or buckskin. + +<hr /> + +After a few weeks out in the country, we came back to town for Halloween. And by town I mean Watson Mill State Park, which is about 30 minutes outside Athens. We don't really get much closer than that to towns. + +In hindsight we should have stayed further away. + +There was Halloween hayride that more or less ruined Watson Mill for the week. A group that erroneously calls itself the Friends of Watson Mill, takes over the campground every year at Halloween and set up a bunch of cheesy horror movie decorations, flashing lights, and "haunted" sounds. For a few dollars they'll drag you around in a trailer full of hay pulled behind a tiny, diesel-belching tractor. + +It should be an innocuous, possibly even fun, thing. But it's not. The people doing it manage to make it, at best, annoying, more often infuriating. We've never camped around a more dour, humorless, and downright rude group of people as the Friends of Watson Mill. They also completely trashed the place. We've never seen the campground as big of a mess as these people left it. + +But we didn't know any of that was happening when we made our reservation. We just wanted the kids to get a chance to spend Halloween with friends and Watson Mill seemed like the best place to stay while we did that. Thankfully, other than when we walked around the campground, we were mostly able to ignore the haunted hayride decorations. + +The kids are at the perfect age for Halloween: old enough to think getting candy is the best thing ever, young enough to not worry about anything else. This year I made the mistake of introducing them to the theme song from the original Ghostbusters movie. Weeks later, we're still listening to it on a daily basis. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-31_172054_halloween_7Rqdfad.jpg" id="image-2185" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-31_171739_halloween.jpg" id="image-2179" class="picwide" /> + +This Halloween the kids had to work more than usual for their candy. We ended up in a neighborhood where the houses were spread out on giant lots. Sometimes it was nearly a quarter mile from doorbell to doorbell, all which must of course be run at full speed. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-31_172005_halloween_6As0zoi.jpg" id="image-2182" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-31_172349_halloween.jpg" id="image-2186" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-10-31_174155_halloween.jpg" id="image-2188" class="picwide" /> + +On the bright side, by the end of the night, everyone was exhausted. The hayride had packed it in the day before, so we came home to blissfully quiet, empty woods. And despite all the candy consumed on the way home, all the running won in the end. Everyone went out like a light. diff --git a/published/2019-11-13_land.txt b/published/2019-11-13_land.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..620588f --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2019-11-13_land.txt @@ -0,0 +1,41 @@ +Out here the land is always present in you. The smell of wet leaves in your nose after a rain. The glittery glare of stream water in the noonday sun in your eye. The sharp crack of a twig breaking under foot. The grit of fresh soil under your nails. The silence of snow pressing in on your ears. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-11-10_144152_watson-mill-playground.jpg" id="image-2198" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-11-10_144651_watson-mill-playground.jpg" id="image-2199" class="picwide" /> + +The land is everywhere around you, in you. You come out here and you find it again. Right where it always was. + +Land reciprocates. The deeper you go, the more it reaches out to you, into you. The more you become part of the land, the world, the more it becomes part of you. It's a simple truth I suspect good gardeners, farmers, anyone still living in the land knows well. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-11-10_145642_watson-mill-playground.jpg" id="image-2200" class="picwide" /> + +The land is how we locate ourselves, our past, our present, how we measure the scale of ourselves in the world. We lose touch without the landscape to remind us. The land operates on a different scale. Some of the trees near me right now were seedlings during the civil war. The rocks record forgotten dreams of yesterday's creatures. The land turns us all back into land eventually. + +Let the land define your scale and your sense of the world enlarges. The way you see yourself within the world changes. Not in a reasoned, philosophical sense, but in a lived, experienced sense. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-12-08_163404_misc-in-camp.jpg" id="image-2202" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-11-10_165633_misc-in-camp.jpg" id="image-2201" class="picwide" /> + +It envelopes you slowly and subtly. At first you hardly notice. But then you notice things. You begin to sense the rhythms of the land. Your body soon knows when the sun rises. The hour of the day becomes less a number, more a quality of light. You notice the phase of the moon, where it is in the sky, when it rises, when it sets. Soon you know without thinking which way is east. + +None of these are things I set out to learn. They are simply things I have come to know. Extra dimensions of experience that were always there, but in the background. They are not the background of the story though, they are the story. + +I wish I could claim that this all dawned on me, or came to me in some profound way, but it did not. It was gradual. So gradual I can't even go back and trace the path of thoughts that led me here, or even find an origin. It arrived so slowly and subtly it felt as if it were something I had always known. So obvious in hindsight it's now impossible to imagine a time when I did not think this way. And I don't think twice about any of it, until I brush up against those for whom these things are not so much a part of daily life. + +<img src="images/2019/2019-01-09_221219_athens.jpg" id="image-2197" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-01-09_214851_athens.jpg" id="image-2195" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-01-09_214952_athens.jpg" id="image-2196" class="picwide" /> + +I try to keep it in check around others. It feels like censoring myself, like I am holding back key elements of the story by leaving out all these details, but I also think it's the polite thing to do. I do not like to impose my world on anyone. It is okay to do here, you came here of your own free will. You can easily leave here of you own free will and I will never know. But I do not usually speak of these things in person. + +Still, I would be lying if I said I am the same person who drove out of Athens three years ago. And I'm not sure that the experiences that lie between then and now are the reason. The more time I spend thinking on it, the more I think it is not me at all. It is this land. It is this world, what is left of it, that reached out and grabbed me in ways I was not expecting. + +<div class="cluster"> +<img src="images/2019/2019-01-20_231822_fuji-test.jpg" id="image-2205" class="cluster picwide" /> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2019/2019-12-09_225232_land.jpg" id="image-2203" class="cluster pic66" /> +<img src="images/2019/2019-12-09_221219_land.jpg" id="image-2204" class="cluster pic66" /> +</span> +</div> + +As I told someone the other day, it's all good and well to go out in the woods, but one day you'll realize you're not talking to the trees, you're listening to them. And once that door swings open, there is no closing it. Once you see the world this way you cannot unsee it. It stays with you, it is part of you. |