Val Bromann ::: Blog ::: My life in words and pictures.

how to turn 31.

Posted by Val on January 27th, 2012 at 4:35 am | Permalink | 1 Comment » |

This is how I normally look on my birthday…
Chicago is cold. I wear sweaters on my birthday.

I’m pretty sure that I’ve never in my life turned a new age without being bundled in a sweater of some sort, usually accompanied by a down coat, gloves, a knit hat, a scarf. Chicago is cold in January.

So, when I knew I’d be traveling this year on my birthday I had only one goal in mind: to be in a bathing suit. Vang Vieng seemed like as perfect place as any to spend the day. Especially considering that I’m verging on the age where I’m too old to do that shit anymore.

When I woke up that morning Gus was, thankfully, alive. I really was worried that he’d had a concussion and would end up dead or in a coma. Not that I really know what falling asleep with a concussion does but I’ve seen enough movies to know that you’re not supposed to do it. He was pretty much worse for the wear though, so he stayed in bed leaving me on my own.

Luckily, when you’re in a backpackers mecca you are so rarely actually alone.

I had lunch with Guti, an Israeli I’d met the night before. We watched an episode of friends, ate chicken, waited for his bus. And then I latched onto a few people from my hostel and off we went to the river.

I spent the day drinking whiskey buckets, kissing random boys (I lost count but I’m pretty sure my days total was somewhere between 15 and 20…), rocking beer pong, getting a lap dance (see video: I swear I don’t remember it lasting that long…or making out with him quite so much…), getting spray painted, dancing, partying, meeting new friends, having an awesome time…

I told him to write “kiss me it’s my birthday.” Then my friend read back to me what he wrote…

It was his birthday too!

And later, back at the hostel, as I fell asleep debating over dinner, I woke up to Ami, another Israeli, and a whole group of people, singing Happy Birthday, bringing cake balls lit with Hanukkah candles.

And later, I forced myself out to Q Bar, to talk with random travelers, to dance with random people, to eat more cake lit by more candles brought from a English man I just met…

I was tired. And drunk. And forced myself to stay out until just past midnight before going back, crashing in my hostel.

It was the first birthday I’d ever had away from home, away from wherever it was I was living in Illinois (be it Chicago, the burbs, or Chambana). It was my first birthday without a winter coat. And it was my first birthday surrounded by strangers.

It could have been a lonely day, but everyone went so far to make sure I was having fun, to make sure that everything was special. And its days like that that truly make you realize how amazing this world is. How amazing the people of this world are.

View all photos from my birthday party in Vang Vieng, Laos!

how to turn 31. | 1 Comment » |

and here we go again.

Posted by Val on January 26th, 2012 at 3:31 am | Permalink | 2 Comments » |

Day 7.
You can’t go home again.

I arrived back in Vang Vieng sometime the next afternoon. The hostel I was staying at before had nothing free, but the guy offered to let me stay in a bed with Andy… (seriously, what does this say about me???) I was tempted to take him up on the offer but considering I didn’t think Andy even knew I was back I didn’t want to say yes without consulting so I got a room next door.

And then, I waited. Finally sometime later that afternoon people started trickling back from tubing. The reactions were pretty priceless as none of them knew I was coming back (despite the fact that I had actually originally said I’d be coming back eventually). They were all pretty shocked to see me. And were all pretty worn out and, by then, getting ready to leave Vang Vieng themselves. But I was getting my second wind.

We went out that night to Bucket bar where we missed free buckets by a minute. And then we went to Rock Bar, where Andy and I played the worst game of pool ever (seriously, the table was so bar we had to give up before we finished) and Nick controlled the music.

It was an odd night. Because everything felt the same, but different. Like in three days away so much had changed, like it wasn’t quite the same. I don’t know how to describe it.

And I felt like I made a mistake in leaving. And I started to wonder if being away from new friends for 3 days made everything seem so different how would it feel to return home after a year?

I ended up meeting a Brit and a Dutch guy at Smile Bar, and we talked until everyone else I knew had left. The Brit, Simon, walked me home. No, actually, I walked him home, where he tried to bring me up to his room, citing the fact that he didn’t like to “sleep alone.” But I declined, and walked myself back, sat outside for a bit stealing wifi from the hostel, sharing a crepe with an Irish guy, petting an adorable black dog who slept next to me as I typed.

Day 8.
Guinness Book of Things.

What you kind of learn quickly, when traveling, is that there are always new friends to be made. So, the next day, I headed off to the river by myself to meet up with the new guys I had met at the bar the night before.

We spent the day drinking buckets, playing beer pong (where I actually sunk a couple), and perfecting my “Dutch Shuffle” (which is, seriously, my new favorite dance move).

That night I had a quiet night with my friends. Saying actual goodbyes one last time to some great people I’d seen throughout Vietnam and had been with since leaving there. We played a couple of rounds of pool, drank some beers, hugged goodbye.

Day 9.
Dutch shuffle.

Gus and Chris were still sticking around. They were troopers for sure. We hung out the next morning playing some pool before heading off to the river.

I went down to the river with Gus and Chris. We sipped on Mulberry mojitos (that helped the children!), played beer pong (I’m getting better!), and then chilled in a little cabana on the water.

I soon spotted my new Dutch/English/whatever friends and joined them on the dance floor…

I lost Gus and Chris somewhere along the way. But I ran into them again at the hostel and we headed out for buckets. We played a game of beer pong, and I helped distract the other team with my…female charms… And then I came in for one play in a later game I wasn’t playing. And totally sunk it. Against the team that just wanted me for their “mascot.” Which was awesome. And then they made me play with fire…

Day 10.
The one where we actually go tubing.

After ten days going “tubing” in Vang Vieng we decided to do something novel: actually rent tubes. We made it way further down the river than we had before, played some mud volleyball, did giant slides and swings (well, they did, I don’t do that shit).

We still didn’t even finish the entire river and had to take a tuktuk back with our tubes, missing the deadline and not getting back our full deposits. But it was a nice change for the day.

That night we got free buckets. And the Melbourne bartender who Gus was chatting with souped our next bucket up…until Gus dropped it all over me. But we at least got a replacement. And we danced. And some French guy kept trying to give me a “real French kiss” for my birthday.

On the way home I think I told Gus that I’d carry him. Which was a ridiculously stupid idea because I immediately dropped him.

And when we got back to the hostel, he was being, well, himself, and running around. He started talking to some others and somehow he decided to do a backflip. In the middle of the street. And landed square on his back.

Not going to lie, I was pretty fucking scared when he wasn’t moving and when we picked him up and he couldn’t stand on his own. There was a lot of debate over whether we should try to get him to a hospital. He came to though and we all agreed it didn’t look like he’d landed on his head and it didn’t seem that he’d had a concussion. So I got him into bed. And tried to keep watch…

View all photos from Vang Vieng.

and here we go again. | 2 Comments » |

a story about love.

Posted by Val on January 25th, 2012 at 3:33 am | Permalink | 4 Comments » |

I don’t normally post about my dreams. But, if you can tell, I’ve been in a bit of a weird funk lately. One that had me crying a lot more at random times, in random bars, at random episodes of Friends. One that had me thinking too much. One that shook me to my core.

And it started with a dream that I had, sometime, while I was in Vang Vieng. So, I think, to understand how I’ve been feeling lately, you have to understand this dream.

I was in a house I didn’t recognize for some sort of get together. My mom was there and so was her boyfriend. And some strangers about my age. Who I was thinking were his children. Not that I even know if he has children.

And my dad was there.

And this didn’t seem weird.

At some point I was talking to my mom in this dream and she, as usual, was really getting on my nerves. And I thought, “how am I going to manage to move back in with her when I come home.”

With her.

It was at this moment in the dream where I kind of stepped back from it and started racking my brain to think of why my parents weren’t living together. I knew they weren’t divorced so I couldn’t really figure it all out.

And then it hit me that my dad had died.

And I turned to him, crying, and ran up to him and hugged him and told him I loved him. And he told me that he loves me.

And then I woke up.

My family has never been the affectionate type. We’re close, but not ones to hug or tell each other we love them or call just to say hi. It just doesn’t happen.

My dad never said it to me. Not in my entire life that I can recall.

On the night before his surgery, when they cut out his tongue and his voicebox, I went home to visit him. I knew that it was his last chance to ever say it. And even then, there was nothing.

I didn’t say it either. It just wasn’t something we did. But I was kind of mad and sad at that moment, knowing that I would never in my life hear my dad tell me he loved me.

And so to hear him say it, for the first time ever, if only in a dream, kind of threw me. And made me cry. And sent me into a weird funk of not knowing what to believe.

a story about love. | 4 Comments » |

i think too much.

Posted by Val on January 24th, 2012 at 12:09 pm | Permalink | 5 Comments » |

I thought I needed to get away.
I thought I needed to stop sleeping with someone 10 years younger than me.
I thought I needed to travel on my own again.
I thought I needed to keep going with my plan.
I thought I needed to do something more “cultural” or some shit like that.
I thought I needed to be responsible.

What I started to realize, though, as I so often do, is that I think too much.

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. Luang Prabang wasn’t really living up the expectations I had in my head. I had originally thought I could spend a week there just doing nothing but after one day I was getting antsy.

I’d already exhausted everything to do in town. The weather was too crappy for the waterfall. My arthritic foot was telling me that my original plan to do a trek was a stupid one.

So I just wandered, ducked into a restaurant to use wifi while it rained, explored the wet night market.

I didn’t really want to be there anymore. But I really didn’t know where I wanted to be.

It’s an odd feeling knowing that you could just pick up and go anywhere in the world that you want but at the same time not be able to think of one place you want to be.

In truth, part of me wanted to go back in time three days and not leave Vang Vieng at all. To just stay with my friends. To not follow through on leaving.

In truth, part of me wanted to drop everything and go back to Vietnam to see Jacob. Who wanted me to come. But I’m still listening to that voice everyone has put in my head that I shouldn’t change my plans for a guy.

I just knew though that I didn’t really want to be there right then.

I had this vague idea that I wanted to go “home.” But not home home like Chicago or the US. Just home. Somewhere that was familiar. Somewhere that I had people I cared about. Something that I’d finally been feeling and walked away from.

And so, with no other option in my head, I booked my ticket back…

i think too much. | 5 Comments » |

…and doing another

Posted by Val on January 23rd, 2012 at 11:45 am | Permalink | 4 Comments » |

In retrospect: showing a guy the condom that you keep in your purse and telling him that you have your own room may send a strong signal.

Like that he should ask if he should come upstairs before he even kisses you. And that when you stupidly let him, he has a condom on within 5 minutes despite you telling him not to bother.

And so you roll over and tell him to leave.

I had come to Luang Prabang to detox from the heavy drinking and boys I’d been having for the last week in Vang Vieng, and, really, the last month in Asia.

I needed me time, time to think. I really had every intention of retiring to my room for the night to watch whatever movie was playing on HBO.

And then I ran into my friend Lloyd.

We ended up drinking my afternoon away, chatting at a bar overlooking the main road. Soon we were joined by a couple of Canadian men, one of whom was celebrating his fifty-somethingeth birthday.

Later that night we moved on to Utopia, closing it out, and then went to the bowling alley. Because the bowling alley was the only place open until 2am.

The bowling alley was packed with backpackers with no where else to go. And so my group had to play in teams. Which made the game unbearably long because everyone kept forgetting when it was their turn and everyone kept accidentally bowling for someone else. Because everyone was drunk. So drunk that the birthday man flipped over the entire table of everyones beers onto himself. He kept saying, “it’s not the first time I’ve been covered in beer.”

One of the guys was wearing a purse he’d bought and started describing all the random stuff you can fit in it. I told him that, other than “heroin,” I had everything he said in my purse. My bowling partner asked, “a condom?” And so, yes, I showed it to him.

My bowling partner and I took a tuktuk back somewhere around two in the morning, something that’s hard to do when you really have no idea where your guesthouse is. But we found it.

He walked me to my door and then asked if I wanted him to come upstairs or leave. I felt like it was rather abrupt for someone who hadn’t tried to make any moves. And then he kissed me.

And I wanted to make out with him. Just a little. Just kiss for a bit.

It may not seem like it but I’m actually very picky about who I sleep with. I don’t go to bed with just anyone.

But I said OK that he could come upstairs. And I just wanted to make out. But way too soon afterwards he was getting out a condom, despite me saying no. And kept trying to have sex with me, despite me saying no. So I pushed him away and told him to leave.

I locked the door behind him and started reassessing my need to reassess. I came to Luang Prabang to get away from drinking and boys but found them anyways. And I was there drinking in places not nearly as fun and kissing boys I didn’t like nearly as much as the ones I left behind…

…and doing another | 4 Comments » |

how to turn 31.

and here we go again.

Day 7. You can’t go home again.

Day 8. Guinness Book of Things.

Day 9. Dutch shuffle.

Day 10. The one where we actually go tubing.