Have I ever told you about these two guys standing guard in front of the temple and getting hot so they decided to put a more casual outfit instead of all these heavy breastplates and shields and stuff, and then they started to worry about getting purple spots on their legs from standing up all the time so they decided it would be better to take a seat and then since no one would know they were supposed to be guards they just started a casual conversation? Well, I might tell you some day, but for now I'll just show you this picture of two guys talking about some story involving two lazy guards and a temple.

It seems like mother Teresa is having some competition here...

Just another Irish pub in a Muslim country... (Note however that the concept most Europeans have of Muslims doesn't include humor....) (My point? Ah yes: these people know how to have fun and could easily melt the scary feelings scared little old grannies and grandpas in pampered Europe have just with their smiles and good manners!)

A familiar sight for anyone travelling alone. Empty hotelrooms, waiting to be momentarily occupied, bedsheets crumpling, washing sinks with a speck of soap on the rim and a hair in the drain, chairs gradually filling up with dirty socks, sweatstained shirts and yesterdays underwear... And allways this daylight creeping in, reminding you of the fact that out there is a strange and unfamiliar world waiting. No matter how hard you try to make yourself feel at home, as long as that window is there you are reminded by this dim light bringing with it all those new sounds and strange odours that home is a place far away...

I often wonder what I would be thinking about sitting on a bench and growing old. I mean growing old as in "beyond retirement". Will there be noisy grandchildren with plastic RayGuns in the background? A smiling and rimpled wife holding my rimpled hand while she's feeding crumples of bread to the ducks with her other hand. Or maybe it's just me. An old man, a bench, lots of clouds and lots of memories. I wouldn't mind growing old, as long as those giant clouds are there to tower over my little head filled with all this little memories to keep me in perspective. Yup, and old man and his bench, that's all it takes to grow old properly...

Kids that didn't suffer from the tidal wave...

These two minors collect plastic bottles and beercans out of the garbage from the busterminal in Luang Prabang, one of the world-heritage cities in the world. They have been doing it for years and they will continue to do so until the oblivious surpluses of glue will enter their hard lives. They don't have a clue what's going on outside of their little garbage-world, but then again, if you have to make enough money to eat and support your alcoholic father at the same time, making as much as 5 eurocents a kilo, nobody blames you for not taking part in the world's biggest donation-rush. Well, here's to all you hard working kids out there that didn't make the news! May the purse of Mrs. Sushi or the belly-pouch of Mr. Burger lay hidden under the next empty beercan, and may your nights be filled with all the dreams a kid can wish for.

Owen! Owen!! Owen!!!

I wonder what Owen has to say about that...

I realise I didn't tell you all my Lao-adventures (Including my stay in Dusttown, aka Vang-Vieng or the City of the Back-packing-Lotus-Eaters and my encounters with Rat, aka Trippin'-Overstayin'-Indian and Vegas, aka Drinkingmyselftodeath-Lao-Chick). So I figured I would just put up this little panorama for you all to get a grasp of how many untold stories we all could have back there in good ol' Lao. (Think of them as the mountains in the background there, waiting to be climbed...)

In these days of wireless communication messages fly trough the ether at the speed of thunder. No strings attached. Makes you wonder about how Blogging would be if pigeons and wires were all our ways of communicating. Not really. But it got me this picture though.