MY POLITICAL CAREER IS DEAD

Day 14, April 4^th

In the last 12 hours I have been mounted by a Laos boy, forced to shower with my mom and sleep with my dad.

After an intense morning we had a lazy day planned before moving on down south.  I had read about a…wait for it…waaaiiit for it…massage…I know, huge surprise…that is given at one of the wats in Vientiane.  I assumed it was the usual Thai/Laos stretching kind of massage.  What made this one noteworthy was that you also got to enjoy an herbal sauna.  I have done this kind of set up before in Koh Samui, Thailand and it was pretty amazing.  However, there was nothing that could be said to get dad to do this one.  And, I couldn’t even finish the word ‘massage’ before mom was on board.

The entrance.

Every element of the experience from the very beginning pointed to BAD IDEA…BIG MISTAKE.  Yet, we, I forged ahead.

As soon as we arrived, we should have turned around.  The place was straight out of a horror film.  We could barely read the sign.  Initially we couldn’t even see anyone.  Finally, some voice yells out ‘massage’.  I guess we are at the right place.  A couple of kids appear out of nowhere and lazily herd us up the stairs of this open-air house.  This is uncomfortable. 

Mom, ever the optimist keeps talking about how fun this is going to be.  She asks dad one more time if he is sure he doesn’t want to get a massage here, “you never know, it just might be the best massage you ever have!”  I can’t use the accurate words to describe the expression on his face, but he sufficiently communicated that he was content sitting this one out.

The kids don’t seem to know exactly what they are doing.  After some confused looks, a bit of yelling and mumbling of the word ’massage’, I think we are all on the same page.  Mom and I receive our sarongs and are directed to the ‘changing room’ (read: barely closed off, open-air room full of bugs and smoke.)

Initially, we should have started off with the herbal sauna to warm and relax the muscles and open the pores.  However, it was going to take them an hour to prepare the sauna because they weren’t expecting…umm…clients.  I’ll get to the sauna later.

The sign.

After changing, I head over to the massage area.  Great!  The beds are all lined up side-by-side, close.  There goes rule #1, I don’t want to be laying down half naked next my parents.  Wait a minute, who is doing this massage?  I only see a girl and a boy here.  Rule #2, I don’t want a dude giving me a massage, is in serious jeopardy.  Right then the Laos boy points to the massage bed and says, “Ok, mister, you lay down now.”  CRAP!!  Dad flashes a wide Cheshire Cat grin and his camera emerges from his pocket.  Not only is this going to be a horrible experience, it is also going to be documented.

I lay down and try to keep the sarong tight, very tight.  The boy starts at my feet and works his way up.  My toes.  My heels.  My calves.  My hamstrings.  My HELLOOO!!!!  Click…dad’s camera snaps a photo.  Now there is a picture of this kid leaning into me and putting all of his weight on me with his hands planted firmly on my ham-halves.  I believe he is even smiling for the picture.

NO, you will never see that picture.

And, we repeat.  Toes.  Heels.  Calves.  Hamstrings.  Why is he lingering?!?  Camera click!!  This sucks.

Now mom lays down.  “How is it, Kevin?  It looks so relaxing.”  Leave me alone.  Don’t talk to me.

The place.

A few more repetitions really ‘working’ the muscles in my legs and rear and the boy moves on.  I spend the next hour or so on high alert and constantly tugging on the sarong and tightening it.  The sarong did not want to cooperate, but I managed to keep all ‘hands and feet’ inside the rollercoaster at all times.

I’m pretty confident this kid has had zero training to do this.  At least zero professional schooling.  Which is potentially dangerous when you consider the part of the massage where he popped my neck and back.  I just want to be done with this.

Finally, a tap on the shoulder and I hear, “OK, mister, finish massage.”

Mom wraps up her massage and now it is time for the sauna.  They lead us to the closed off room with steam, or is that smoke, coming out of it.  We sit down and try to relax.  But this sauna has some serious design flaws.  It is basically a pan of water with herbs in it set on top of a burning fire all placed under a hole in the room.  Sure, there is steam.  But I am inhaling mostly smoke.  How fitting. 

I barely last a few minutes in there and I am done.  Mom and I emerge from the sauna drenched in sweat and smoke.  Time to shower and get out of here.

We stand outside of the sauna and wait to be directed.  Nothing.  I ask the girl about the shower and she is confused.  Rinse off?  She still has no idea.  Finally, she leads us down the stairs, through a small path and to the…you gotta be kidding.  The ‘shower’ is an open barrel full of water with a small bucket to pour water over yourself.

  

The room.

I’m the youngest of three kids.  I have two older sisters.  I was raised in a house of women.  Mom worried that being surrounded by women all of the time would make me a “sissy.”  Her word, not mine.  So, to combat that inevitable outcome she would wrestle with me when I was young.  Her theory, it would toughen me up.  It would make me a real man.  Now, some 30-odd years later she and I are standing together in a small forest, wrapped in sarongs and ladling water over ourselves to wash off our herbal saunas.

With her hopes and dreams of raising me to be a ‘real man’ and my dignity and self-respect all completely shot to hell, we head back to the hotel to get ready for the bus.

To save time on traveling, we have tickets to catch the sleeper bus down south to Pakse.  It is a 10-hour trip and to do it at night when we would be sleeping anyway saves us an entire day.

The tuk-tuk to pick us up and take us to the bus station is late.  An hour and a half late.  Patton is out on the street pacing.  Checking with the front desk.  More pacing.  I’m not worried.  We have tickets, they won’t leave without us.  The tuk-tuk finally arrives and it is loaded.  We are literally crawling on people and they are holding our bags.  Cramped is an understatement, but it is what it is.

The sleeper bus is something we have never seen before.  It is basically a series of bunk beds that are made to fit two small people on both sides of the bus. 

Mom and dad’s tickets put them in the same bed, bottom bunk towards the front of the bus.  My ticket is top bunk and towards the back and it is looking like I will have it all to myself.  So, there is a chance I might actually get some sleep.

Then confusion sets in.  A young Laos boy, who is apparently in charge of bed assignments, starts asking for and looking at tickets.  He finds particular interest in mine, mom’s and dad’s tickets and takes all three of them.  Then he starts gesturing for dad to get out of bed and come get in my bed with me.  We try to get clarification, but he doesn’t understand a word of English and there is no one to help.  I try to point at mom and dad and bang my two index fingers together to explain they are married.  A Frenchman who road in on the same tuk-tuk with us offers his assistance and tries to communicate that they are husband and wife. 

No, we will not be spooning.

Nothing is slowing this kid down.  He is now more emphatic that dad moves and any gesture by us to the contrary is waved off.  Mom’s new bedmate is a Laos woman.  Apparently, her ticket put her in the bunk with me and she either refused to share the bed with me or culture and gender rules prohibited it.  Either way, mom is now sharing a bed with a woman she can’t communicate with.  Dad and I will spend the next 10 hours trying not to touch each other and get a little sleep in the process.  Immediately, we lay back to back.  Thankfully we have separate blankets.

Like I said, mounted by a Laos boy, showered with mom and now sleeping with dad.  I hate politics anyway.

Wrestlingly yours,

The Sissy

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