New Year's Day

I awoke on the old vinyl sofa, slightly dazed. The night before had been long and raucos, and in the end the walk home had become confused, led here, the lobbly of an unfamiliar guesthouse. I stood and patted myself down. My valuable were all accounted for; nothing hurt. Not a bad start to a day, a year. I plodded towards the door, passing the man who had offered this couch when I stopped to ask for directions. He woke and raised his head, blinked at me a few times.

"You want some money?" The words cracked in my dry throat. My host shook his head no, so I turned away, stepped out into the bright street. Across a dirt road ran a wide slow river. I was completely lost, but unconcerned. I sat at a shaded table by the river and ordered an orange juice. The sweetness brought me more fully awake.

Refreshed by the juice, I decided to reapproach reality. Two middle-aged tourists walked by. I asked them where we were. "Vientaine," the man answered in an accent I couldn't place. I was hoping for some orientation, but took some pleasure in the fact that my state inspired strangers to tell me what city I was in. My thoughts drifted to the great fat bum in the Carribean who had once asked what year it was. Presently, the tourist made himself more useful, informing me that the river in front of us was in fact the Mekong and pointing in the way of the city center.

I ambled down the river only a short way before I realized that I wasn't quite ready for the exertion of walking. I sat on a bench. Nearby, a few young guys were enjoying their New Year's holiday. I thought some company might be nice, and asked for a cigarette as a pretense. I've never been a smoker. The nicotine made my head swim, and I worried for a minute that I was being drugged. Gradually though, the dizziness passed. My new companions were not trying to roll me.

Bey was the most talkative, eager to practice his English. He offered to share the fish they were eating and seemed a bit rebuffed when I declined. I explained in Lao that I was a vegan. A minute later salad appeared, a fiery mix of carrots, cucumbers and chilis. I had little appetite, but I tucked in graciously nonetheless. Bey seemed thirsty for opinions from outside Laos. He asked about Bush, about war in Iraq, and we quickly hit the limits of our shared language. We did better when we stuck to whistling at women.

The women were plentiful that afternoon, both local and foreign. Mii, enjoying a day away from his wife, was the most vocal with his catcalls. It was all very distant and innocent though. Bey revealed that he had never had a woman. I felt a twinge of sympathy. I particularly tasty tourist sauntered by with her boyfriend. As she walked away from us, hips swaying, I said in Lao, "I want to eat," and made a biting motion in her direction. My new friends fell about themselves laughing, and I smiled, proud to have made a joke in a language I knew about forty words of.