Feats of Strength!! in which our hero questions his own childlike judgement

The funny thing about southeast asia is ya never know what you're gonna get...

ah, computers may be slow, fast, plentiful or elusive, the power will cut or mercifully remain constant, or any combination.

Laos, you really gotta be here to see it, I love Laos but regret not being home for the 48 film festival, I'm so proud of Bridget and look forward to a "normal life" in Seattle with my honey. Chosen Diety willing I will still catch some of that Northwest goodness that is bestowed upon us from june to september, there is nothin so green and good far as I'm concerned.

Well as we all know, your hero and mine, that most intrepid of pilgrims, JoshieWashington is far and away the bravest most daring and handsome man on the planet. His very footsteps fashion folklore, indeed legend follows this man like a shadow, but before I launch into a lengthy narative of his latest feat of strength, which most experts believe defied the devil himself, let us have a look at the surroundings in which this tale of Might unfolds.

Luang Prabang, as beautiful as it is fun to say and the entire town a UNESCO world heritage site, has been occupied and venerated for well over a 1000 years. This is a place where the Mekong and some other river come to a confluence, mixing brown with brown. LP has 33 active and ancient monestaries, each morning hundreds of novices march the street just after dawn to collect the Alms, or offerings the lay people dutifully bring them, this is how it has been done in Luang Prabang since times unremembered. The city has the charm that only crumbling french colonialism can bring, as well a pleasant synthesis with the old growth banyon and bodi trees and the monestaries. Indeed LP is the crown jewel of Laos, which by and large is range upon range of mountains and forest.

The mighty Mekong river, known in Laos as "the Mother of all rivers" is the 10th longest river in the world. From it's source deep in the Tibetan plateau it winds 2,700 miles pouring into the sea in southern Vietnam. The Mekong is also the 10th largest river by volume as well and has for 1000's of years been a source of life and legend to the six countries it courses. The Mekong is also home to some of the largest fresh water catfish in the world, which in recent history could reach 9 feet in length, that's not to mention the giant eels and the legend of dragons that is still taken very, very seriously.

From a steep trail I sauntered down, holding my fins and shouldering a backpack containing various uneeded items. The little ferry which will take you across the massive river had just pulled up and was unloading as I kick off my flip flops and eyed my destination, the other side of the river. Aprox 1,200 feet of churning, bubbling current, mammoth catfish and diseases yet to be discovered seperated me from the tiny figures on the banks of the far shore.

The ferry man stops to watch me take my first few steps into the river. I'm perhaps 400 feet upstream from my intended destination, for the current, though seemingly placid has been chuggin along since China and even the motor boats take an arching course from shore to shore.

I began to swim.

I don't know why I wanted to swim the Mekong, why do we do anything at all? For the hell of it, braggin rights, a thrill, a challenge, to be the only person I'm likely to meet that has even considered it. I mean, it's massive. I'm a damn good swimmer, likely the best, and if it can be done, I knew that I could. Besides it was hot and I fancied a dip.

Already the current is pulling me along and a few moments into my swim I notice with alarm that I'm 30 feet down river already, on my way to Vietnam I suppose. The heads of disembarking ferry passengers all point to the fool with the flippers. I begin to swim hard, alternating the breast stroke and laying on my back and kicking for all I'm worth. The thought comes "I should have stretched, or some damn thing." The river roils and churns, the steady pull of the current is coupled with a constant upheaval in the water and as I watched the shore slip past I have instances of vertigo, not sure if I was moving in the direction of my destination at all, which was still very far away. The water bubbles up and ripples and tugs then relaxes then swirls and looks like a gently boiling pot. The back pack I'm wearing (stupid stupid stupidly wearing) is waterproofed so, once it fills with Mekong murk it stays filled and is a 30 lb weight pulling me to the bottom, I don't discover this right away, and I can't let it go, my wallets inside, not like I'm gonna need anything but a search party if I don't start making some real progress.

I should turn around. No way. I'm moving down stream at an alarming rate, my legs begin to tire. Am I in the middle?

No. Vertigo again and a little panic, I feel very much alone, there is no sound but the churn of the river and my heaving breath. I hit a pocket of current that wrenches me forward until I swim through it, I gag on some water and turn on my back, the pack gleefully sagging below me. Another thought; "This, dear Joshua, is EXACTLY what your wife, mother, family and friends mean when they say 'be careful'. They are referring to situations precisley of this nature, and here you are, so far from careful it is not funny at all."

This is it, the middle, I feel another punch of panic knowing that I have crossed The Point of No Return, where it is further to turn around than to continue. I'm winded. I don't know how long I have been going for all I'm worth, but the little shore where the boat pulls up and the fishermen gather to drink and gamble, where I had planned to emerge triumphant is sweeping past me right now, I'm only a little more than half way there.

gogogogogogogogo

tired, not pacing myself just blasting my legs. The shore I swim to is now not inhabited and the jungle eases past. I swim.

Hey Dustin, remember in Costa Rica when we were jumping into the torrents of the coral tide pools while a storm raged on the angry sea. Remember the thrill and the moments of helplessness, the fight to get back to something solid. This was much, much worse, or in the comfort of retrospect, better.

Ok, Joshie pants, you are way down stream and you're runnin out of steam. maybe 150ft from the shore, delirious I see a curving ripple up ahead that is a sign of strong currents that will bring me back towards the middle, and if I reach it I won't have it in me to fight. I go for it, in a physical sense that I have never known.

Heart thudding, a good 1/4 mile past the ferry landing the last 15 feet I feebly kick and come to set my flippered feet not on land but a tangle of thorny branches. Only then do I realize my back pack has dutifully filled itself with water. I scratch my shaky legs on the bramble and finally stand. The vegitation is thick and hateful, spilling from the banks of the jungle right into the river. Trudging painfully forward, I'm alive but I landed in Mordor.

20 or so minutes later I am welcomed as a hero by a crouching, scraggle toothed bunch of drunkards and gamblers posing as fishermen. They raise a cheer, delighted at my adventures, never once thinking to help me as they watched the struggle drift past their poker game. Children run down and beam, chattering to each other and calling more, looking at me in awe.

You guessed it, rice whiskey. They raised a glass to the fool-hearted and we sucked down several swallows of the potent brew. The only one not impressed was a tank topped mafioso wannabe, throwing his weight around and leering at me. Widdle baby scared to swim the Mekong? Not so tough now, huh? He was clearly the Alpha. Are you going to swim back, they asked in gestures, Hell No! I said in gestures. I hopped into the next ferry and to my astonishment the tank-topped ringleader yelled down to the boat man to charge me double fare, typical for foriegners. The Boatman look sheepish, and the order was repeated. Boat man turns to me, his eyes are ashamed and says "10 kip"

5 kip.

"ah, 10 kip" Mr. Tanktop watches and so does the crowd. I stand in the boat, and yell up to the lousy bastard

" I just swam the Mekong! What did you do today?!?" I beat my chest and sweep my hand indicating the river behind me.

I grumble of agreement broke out into a mutiny of praise and shouts. He swam the Mekong for Buddhas sake! Leave the man be, he's a damned hero! Yeah, he's no ordinary tourist... and so on, of course I can only infer what was said but Mr. TankTop sits down and yells for a fresh hand to be dealt, not looking at me or anybody.

The next day I take the ferry across with a mountain bike to explore the trails and backroads. I step off the boat, take my offering of rice whiskey and a young man falls into stride beside me.

"I saw you swim the river yesterday. Were you not afraid of the Dragons?"

"Well, I didn't know about the Dragons until I got to the other side. I'd be a damned fool to tempt the Dragons, 'course I'm scared of them!"

He was glad to hear it, and walked with me for a long time.