generally, we all like to think that we are good people. right? we like to think that if we saw a wee old woman trip in the street, we would rush to her aid and help her right her cane and we certainly wouldn't laugh. of course we aren't mildly envious of the blessed gene pool inherited by shiloh jolie-pitt and those newborn twins. we like to think that we are non-judgmental and gracious, smiling in the face of other people's good fortune, never jealous. screw schadenfreude, we are good people. and when you've been reading the blogging exploits of a canadian or two, climbing great walls and riding elephants and seeing unspeakable beauty unfold before them each day, you've never had a moment of ill-will or green-eyed envy, right? right?
envy this.
we're in vang vieng in norther laos. we arrived on tuesday and scampered across the scenic footbridge to the western banks of the nam song river and checked into rustic maylyn guesthouse. unloaded our bags in the adorable bungalow (that cost $6 a night!) and retired in the garden for a fruit shake while hundreds of butterflies nestled in the flowering shrubs and a box of newborn puppies chirped behind the barn door. behind us, the sun set behind the misty landscape of dramatic limestone karst. anne geddes? was she here? were we to be wrapped in cheesecloth and photographed as pumpkins? because it certainly felt like it. too perfect, right? right.
last night, as we made our way home from swinging in hammocks and sipping beer laos at the island bar, it started to drizzle. as we bunkered down for the night, the rain picked up a bit; we could hear the determined patter on our banana leaf roof. then, sometime in the middle of the night, noah and his twin sets of animals must have set sail on the ark, because by morning the flood had come.
we lay in bed this morning, planning for a fun day of tubing down the river, stopping at riverside bars to swing off flying foxes, maybe having a mulberry mojito or two. ah, how foolish we were. we stepped out of the door of our bungalow and chris said, "uh, brian..." in a worrying tone, "we're missing our bottom step." and it was quite true: the nearby river had swollen up with the unrelenting rain and decided to take it on the road. all the way to us, swallowing the bottom of our stairs in the process. we waded through murky waters to breakfast, water lapping around our shins, rain still coming down. after brekky we arrived back at the room to discover that we had been negligent enough to lose not one, but now two stairs to the raging river. the water was knee-high and angrier than alec baldwin on the phone to his daughter. it was, perhaps, time to seek drier pastures.
it is still raining here in vang vieng. the city has put up its umbrella and gone inside to watch endless episodes of friends. chris and i have moved across the river to a considerably drier hotel room, though the front drive is still under a good two feet of water. we have not, needless to say, been able to go tubing today. that, and i lost my damn flashlight.
now remember: you are a good person. this does not provide you with the mildest of pleasure, nor do you think that we deserve it after raving about the fantastic beauty that is southeast asia. you are not smug, nor are you self-satisfied. right? right?
chris, obviously thrilled.
chris and i have done a lot of things together in the three years since we met. we have been for high tea at the woolsley in london, england and for three dollar tacos on bloor street. we have watched seanna mckenna break hearts at stratford and tyra banks "put it in the eyes" on america's next top model. we have laughed and cried and played boggle. chris has taught me that a schedule doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing and conversely, chris has discovered that things can work out, even without said schedule. chris taught me how to tell if a barbeque tank still has propane in it. i taught him how to fold his underwear properly. in short, we've done a lot together.
but we had never been to the jungle together. we had never sat atop elephants and strode through the bush to a cascading waterfall. we had not, in the past three years, tip-toed into ancient thai caves filled with thousands of screeching bats. we had never quite had the opportunity to balance on bamboo rafts and try to stay dry as we tumbled downriver through frothing rapids. these are things we had not done. until now.
earlier this week we spent three fantastic days in the northern hills of thailand, the home of the karen hilltribe people. we hiked past lush rice paddies, the earth pregnant with the rain of the wet season. we scrambled up muddy ascents, griping our bamboo walking sticks with all of our might. we unrolled our sleeping bags on the bare floors of the huts where we spent the night, sleeping on the floor, looking up at the ceiling made of banana leaves, wondering why we, the collective we, ever decided that this wasn't enough. we met tribespeople clad in clothes woven with vibrant colour, people who spoke no words we could understand, our communication reduced to smiles, gestures, and the overwhelming realization that we want to get to know each other. why? because aside from the headwrap, we're not really all that different.
our time in the jungle was amazing. we would look up and have to stop to fully take in the beauty of where we were. we sat huddled out of the rain one night and learned thai folk songs and sang into the inky black night. it was an experience unlike anything else.
chris and i only hope that we will continue to do things together for many years to come. and when we look back on the things we have already done, we can now count the jungles of thailand among the ranks of clotted cream and tyra banks.
when i was in grade three my class did a unit on china. this was with my very favourite elementry school teacher, ms. marie tait, and she led us through a fascinating discovery of this far away land. we made chinese passports out of red construction paper and had to get them stamped in the hallway before coming into class each morning. we made noodles with peanut sauce in the staff room kitchen. we gasped when we heard about an emporer who had his soldiers entombed- still breathing!- along with him. and we learned about the great wall.
the great wall of china is one of those places, one of those things, that everyone knows about. maybe you saw it in 'mulan'. maybe you dream of going there. maybe you know that it is the only man-made structure visible from space (though that, in fact, is false. guess you learn something new every day). whatever you know, you know something. chris and i both knew dribs and drabs about this giant fence, but like most phenomenons and wonders of the world, you simply can't prepare yourself for what is coming. we thought we knew, but really, how could we? after a bleary-eyed 5:00am wake up, a three hour, knuckle-whitening minibus ride, two police checkpoints (replete with machine guns and shifty eyes), and one driver who spoke perhaps less english than we spoke mandarin, we arrived at the drop-off point for our trek along the simatai great wall. chris, ever the optimist, was certain that it was all a scam and that we wouldn't actually get to set foot on the wall. fortunately, we did. and fortunately isn't a strong enough word.
there have been moments in my travels when i have been brought close to tears by the sheer wonderment of what i am experiencing. the stars on fraser island. standing under jim jim falls. and standing on the great wall of china, turning to the west and seeing the crumbling stone of a centuries-old wall snaking its way over lush green hills, the low-hanging mist laying like a blanket over the horizon. the wall is old- it smells old, it feels old, it is dilapidated in places and terrifyingly exposed in others. we thought we would be going for a leisurly stroll along a raised footpath. instead we were scrambling up incredibly steep ascents, wobbling on whisper-thin ledges, slipping on the well-worn steps. sweating. exhausted. scared, perhaps, in some moments at least. but exhilarated. joyful. overwhlemed by the scope, the magnitude of what we were, if only for a moment, a part of. we were on the great wall of china for pete's sake. and we loved it.
our time in beijing was an experience to say the least. there were parts of it that threatened to sometimes tip the see-saw towards unpleasant- the unrelenting smog, the eternal noise of the snarling traffic, getting lost on the way to tian'anmen square, bean curd - but then we went to the great wall. and then everything was, well, great.
chris, obviously thrilled. 
