The sky parted in two, one side overcast, the other a stirring mess of charcoal ominously getting closer. The winds picked up, and right away we knew we had to return our bikes or be stuck walking in what looked like a serious shower. We raced, I returned mine, and it turns out Erika had forgotten her bike lock key. She heads back and I started to jog a three block French colonial stretch of Luang Prabang. I get to the corner of our street, only 100 meters from our place, when I hear a commotion and see people running in all directions. Just half a street down you could see the rain pummeling people racing towards cover. Anyone caught for just five seconds in the open would be soaked. But wait, there’s more!
Waking up at Inle Lake a month ago, I admired the view as I made my way to Shane and Arielle for breakfast. With a nod I said, “Good morning,” and we start chatting about the previous evening as a hostess sets a cup of coffee in front of me. In Myanmar sugar doesn’t help mask the luke warm cup of dirt water, nor does the room temperature milk help. I take a sip of coffee and my brain does a double take. What? It’s been so long, I let out an, “Awww my goodness,” and Arielle, anticipating this moment, clearly not having taken her eyes off my face exclaims, “Yes! It’s real coffee right! I was waiting for you to take your first sip!” We’re both seriously happy. But wait, there’s more!