ANY BREAK IS A GOOD BREAK

There is something about that extra day tacked onto a weekend, be it a Monday or a Friday, which turns a getaway into a mini vacation. Of course three day weekends are a state of mind. One "three day weekend" trip my boyfriend John and I took to Vegas started on Memorial Day Monday and ended on a Wednesday. We tend to take breaks just before or just after big holidays - you get better rates, better service and a lot fewer crowds. That trip we skipped our usual easy bargain booking for midweek Luxor (always clean, excellent bathrooms) and made a blind Hotwire bid on a Vegas Strip 5 star hotel and ended up in mind-boggling Venetian for an unheard of price - under $100 a night including service fees. Lots of California people fly to Vegas, Tahoe or San Francisco, but we seem to end up driving to our breaks, partly because dog kennel we use is right off 10 freeway and often on way, partly because getting on road means vacation has already started. When you add up getting to airport early, parking, waiting to board, being inspected, then collecting baggage at other end, you are practically at same number of travel hours. And on plane, we don't get to eat one of John's patented toasted sandwiches. Somehow, way he makes sandwich means I actually eat mayonnaise, a substance I usually detest. Driving against traffic (everyone else was heading back from weekend away and oh what a stream of headlights we saw crawling along) we were hypnotized by flashing lights of an outlet mall/casino combo at border - Stateline, Nevada - and stopped in. Great bargains for men's wear, not so great for women's wear - but we didn't do a thorough search.

On that Vegas trip, we dragged our battered garment bag, with a freshly broken strap, across lush marble-floored lobby, looking like refugees. We entered our suite-like room - with its canopy bed, step down tv lounge and huge marble bathroom (two sinks, a shower and a huge tub), pulled out nice champagne we'd brought along in our cooler, pulled out our travel champagne glasses (if they break we don't care) and put on plush robes Venetian provides. A cable movie and champagne shook dust off road trip. The next couple of days in Vegas sometimes means spa for me, for sure sports bar for John, and our search for stranger slot machines to play. The "Ripley's Believe It Or Not" slots actually reward you for answering trivia questions. Vegas is not really about thinking, but times we've played game we've gotten a few interested onlookers impressed with our ability to pull facts out of our brains. We toyed with idea of hanging around machines having a cocktail and helping other players answer their bonus questions but decided against it. Along strip, Barbary Coast has maintained its original kitsch, sandwiched between lush hotels who doubtless are sporadically trying to buy them out. The tables there are friendly and attract a mixed crowd of fairly low stakes players. Like, a lot of hotels, dealers display where they are from on their name tag. A tall, blond Czechoslovakian dealer at Barbary Coast took John's blackjack stake away with breathless speed and efficiency. Was she paid by how many cards she dealt? She was so fast that dealer at next table actually seemed mad at her for ruining everyone's fun. His attitude was "This is Barbary Coast, we don't do that here". Good thing sports book paid off for John phenomenally.

TrekShare.com - Crashing a wedding in Laos - Part 1

  Any reasonable person would think it slightly off-color to crash a wedding.  When that wedding happens to be in Laos who is to say if it’s inappropriate or not?  Whom am I kidding?  I was well aware of potential drawbacks of dropping in on an event that I was clearly not invited. It wouldn’t be first time leering eyes would be cast upon me as I casually pressed my way up to buffet table. Let’s regress for a minute.  Some people might not know what word "crash" means in first sentence.  For those of you who have been sheltered from large community centers/bowling alleys for duration of your lives I can understand.  It’s been my experience that a bowling alley in same venue as a wedding reception brings out largest proportion of uninvited guests or what we like to call "wedding crashers." That certainly wasn’t case here.  No bowling alleys in Laos!  In particular no bowling alley that doubles as a reception hall.  This of course is not a researched fact, but I’m willing to bet anyone 100,000 kip that in two weeks you couldn’t find any sign of leisure sport of drunk.  Lawn bowling doesn’t count.  For all I know lawn bowling or "bocce ball" is their national sport eclipsed only by badminton and a game of hands-free volleyball played with a wicker ball.  The name eludes me almost as much as skill needed to play sport. The truth is I was hungry.  A traditional Lao massage administered by blind women in late afternoon completely wiped me out and I had just woken at 11PM from a 4-hour nap. If you’re still reading this you might wonder how does one get "wiped out" from a massage.  Aren’t these things supposed to be relaxing?  Yeah and no.  Primarily NO in my case.  It appears that muscles from my toes to my thighs don’t like to be physically manipulated away from bone as massage suggests.  For a mere 30,000 Kip or $3 US – an hour massage from a skilled therapist seems like a great deal.  That is if sometime in that hour you don’t burst all blood vessels in your face from wincing so hard.  If my therapist hadn’t been blind I’m pretty sure she would have thought she was killing me.  I would have felt like a puss so I broke out yoga breathing and prayed not to succumb to hyperventilation.  Regardless, it was now 11PM and if I didn’t move from my guesthouse quickly there would be little chance of finding any late night eatery in Luang Prabang. Places tend to close after electricity cuts at 9PM. Things looked bleak upon leaving guesthouse.  There didn’t appear to be any lights, tuk tuk drivers or for that matter people in site.  There was, however, a clear path of music being generated from beyond cement building horizon. Sounded like a party.  Parties oftentimes have food.  So off we went.  At this stage of story I introduce you to my friend Paul who spent most of duration of night within earshot of me.  It became clear to me as we rounded first corner that music was definitely coming from this street.  It was time to move beyond my usual sloth like pace caused by extreme heat and humidity.  I could see a few motor scooters in distance coming and going. As we got closer it became evident that this was real deal.  People were hopping on their Chinese mananufactured motor scooters in suits with beautiful Laotian women draped over backs.  They sit sidesaddle because their silk skirts or "sins" wraps tightly down to their ankles.  A quick decision was needed as we approached entry gate. Just walk in slowly and pretend I’m not with poorly dressed vagabond to my side.  This wouldn’t work.  We entered gate, saw about 20 people sitting at tables and another 30 or so under a wooden canopy dancing to live music.  I noticed there weren’t any people doing drunken "hook-up" stager that are so prevalent at weddings in states.  The vibe was comfortable, respectful and fully devoid of my wedding experiences.  I made a b-line for 15-foot buffet table.  It was definitely path of least resistance.  It was obvious that everyone had finished eating at least 2 hours prior and table was in process of being taken down.  Seemed fairly logical that I grab a spring roll and dowse it in some spicy papaya sauce before it becomes a leftover. Before I could even put first bite in my mouth a pair of women rounded table and handed us all utensils we needed.  "Kop Chi Li Li" or thank you spewed from mouth about 100 times in next 3 minutes.  They either liked way I pronounced phrase or had giant hearts because their smiles stretched from ear to ear. The buffet had what appeared to most of staples of Laos diet.  There was a type of yellow chicken curry, some