drunk blogging

i probably shouldn't be doing this, but i am. i'm not really drunk. i'd like to call it comfortably numb.

i've been motorcyling south through vietnam along a series of valleies--connected by winding mountain passes--in the western side of the country. let me describe what i've seen: my view is framed by the road (at my feet) and the cloudy, misty sky above. below this, relatively small karst have transformed into puncturing high mountain peaks. at eye level, rice and corn fields stretch far into the distance. every inch of land is in a state of cultivation. even the polluted sides of railroad tracks are accompanied by small plots of vegetables.

i've realized my ride is not a scooter. it's a motorcyle. and i've induced that conclusion from the fact that when bugs hit the visor of my helmet they don't bounce off--they make an unpleasent splat.

on the road, i dodge resting dogs and shit piles deposited from water buffalos. occassionaly i come across small towns consisting of one-story concrete buildings with ceramic or thatched roofs. when painted, they're of a pastel color: mostly green, yellow, purple, orange, pink and sometimes even blue. most people bother only to paint the front of the building (perhaps expecting neighbors soon?) and others paint all four sides. on the road i'm accompanied by bicyclists carrying a huge bundle of corn or sugar cane so that, from behind, all you can see is the pointy top of their conical-shaped hats. later in the day, when farmers and students return to their homes, i navigate through small crowds of children and cows.

i'm not really sure where i am. of the three maps i have of vietnam only one displays the roads i take in this region. and that one map appears to be designed by a person who illustrated the map from approximated memory. towns appear in the wrong place and rivers cross the road at the wrong location. on the road, even the mile markers fail to mark the mile. they sit like blank tombstones, and i wonder when anyone will paint any useful information upon them.

so i arrived "here". wherever "that" is. i lodged up in the nearest khack san (hotel) and brought my bike across the street to a (xe may) motorcycle repair shop to have my foot rests tightened and a new rear tire installed. hungry, i then ventured over to the nearest restaurant. as i entered i noticed two columns of short and narrow wooden tables accompanied by short wooden benches on both sides. four fans were mounted to the (pastel) blue, concrete walls above. men crowded the first two rows of benches and when i began to sit down on a third row, four men motioned me toward them. one man extended a small tea cup (imagine the smallest cup possible) toward me. i accepted it and swallowed its contents. yuck. rice alcohol. they motioned me to join them at the end of their table (and what was i supposed to do?) so i saddled up next to them in a cream-colored plastic chair.

the men were reasonably dressed, wearing collared shirts and clean pants. two wore white baseball caps. we consumed meat so fatty i chewed and chewed and chewed but eventually gave up and swallowed. we dipped thin rice crackers speckled with black seeds (broken off from a pancake shape-sized giant cracker) into a tangy, dirty purple sauce. i watched the other men wrap the meat in a fuzzy leaf (one side purple, the other green), add a dry cucumber equivalent vegetable and a raw clove of garlic--and eat the bundle together. i imitated the collection. more shots of rice alcohol. more shots of rice alcohol. more shots of rice alcohol. need i say: more shots of rice alcohol? it seems everyone drinks together at the instigation of one person. good night.