Every morning I order three glasses of hot water, a bowl and a spoon from room service. Every morning, the same sweet boy brings it to my room, looks around, smiles, and leaves.

See, I love oatmeal for breakfast. Love it, love it, love it. So I bring instant oatmeal with me when I travel. I also am not a big caffeine drinker, so I bring herbal tea with me. And I start the day very, very happy.

Tonight I returned from dinner and decided it would be nice to have a cup of tea before bedtime. As I picked up my key, I asked the front desk clerk if I could get two glasses of hot water. He laughed, said yes, then said, “We all question. We do not know. We think, why this smiley woman always order hot water and bowl, but no food? Is she making noodles?”

…that I love Laos. I bought postcards earlier in the week, but the store was out of stamps. Today at lunch I wrote postcards — 25 in all. After dinner I stopped by a mini-mart to purchase stamps. I pulled out my stack of postcards. The clerk said, “Oh, you have so many friends!” I laughed. He then took half of the postcards and started licking stamps.

I decided to let the day emerge today. I didn’t have any set plans, I was open to anything. What transpired:

• Giving alms to monks in the morning
• Breakfast with a woman from Canada and a woman from England who I met on the street
• Exploring Wat Xieng Thong
• Being offered a boat ride on the Mekong
• Exploring temples on the other side of the river
• Given a friendship bracelet by a little girl at a temple, when I politely declined, she said, “for you, no money” and tied it to my wrist
• Exploring the “Buddha cave” — descending into utter darkness with a 10 year old as my guide
• Another boat ride on the Mekong
• Fresh grilled fish for lunch
• Meeting fellow Californians at another temple
• Hour long Laos massage
• Sunset at Wat Phu Si overlooking Luang Pragang
• Shopping at the night market
• A dinner so spicy I cried at the table
• Reading on my balcony under a cool tropical breeze

I’ve decided to fly to Luang Prabang, the ancient Laotian capital, for the weekend. I’ve tried booking several hotels on line and continue to get “sorry, we can’t complete your reservation” messages. I purchase my airplane ticket anyway. The worst that can happen is I’ll have to find a place when I get there. It’s a tourist destination; I’m bound to find a place.

I’ve chosen to eat like the locals do. It wasn’t really intentional. I was walking along the riverfront and the young boy thrust a menu into my hands. I realized I was hungry. I order shrimp fried rice and a beer. He points to makeshift stairs leading down to the river. I navigate them carefully, making my way to the low wooden platform next to the river. I slip off my shoes, walk across the platform, and sit cross legged at the low table. I look around. I am the only non-Laotian. I pull out my book and begin to read.

He brings me a glass with five large ice cubes and a BeerLao. I study the glass. I notice there is a small ant crawling around the inside edge. I gently try to nudge it out and instead it slips and falls to the bottom, drowning in a tiny puddle of melted ice. I notice that it joins six other ants with a similar fate. I ponder. Do I pour the ice cubes out and wipe the inside of the glass, getting rid of the ants? I put my hand around the large bottle of BeerLao. It’s not cold. It would definitely be better over ice. I could hold the glass in my warm hands, melting a bit more of the ice, creating more liquid which I could then pour from the glass, hoping the ants poured out as well. I swish the liquid around. It seems like the ants are staying at the bottom of the glass. I could just pour the beer and drink it. The ants really are small, would I really notice them if I drank them? I opt for this last option. I pour the beer and an inch or so of head forms. And to my amazement, the ants float to the top of the foam. I can’t believe my good fortune. I carefully dab each one with my finger and wipe it on a napkin. And then proceed to enjoy a chilled, ant-free, refreshing BeerLao along the Mekong River.

I’m sitting on the wooden deck of the restaurant Mekong Deck. I’m the only person eating alone – this is definitely a date spot. I look scross the Mekong River to Thailand. I notice a couple – he, English; she, Thai. They’re talking over dinner. She’s picking at her food, moving it around on her plate, listening to him speak. He rises to use the restroom. As soon as he is out of sight, she attacks the food with a vengeance, eating directly from the serving dishes, stuffing several pieces of meat into her mouth at once. I want to caution her – girlfriend, slow down! You’re going to choke! As on cue, she stops eating as he walks back from the bathroom, swallows, and smiles at him serenely.

This invention intrigues me. In principle, I think it shouldn’t. But it does. Each time a staff member pulls it out to use it, I feel a guilty pleasure watching them.

It’s a plastic contraption, a replica of a tennis racket. In the center of the racket is a star. The most brilliant thing is that when you turn it on, and wave it through the air, it zaps mosquitoes. Zap! Zap! Zap! You can hear the crackling throughout the building.

I feel bad for liking it so much. I remind myself that killing is bad. That we should have compassion for all creatures. And yet, it fascinates me. I love watching the staff focus on where the mosquitoes are, then gently wave the electric tennis racket through the air. If it catches a mosquito just right, there’s even a spark. It may be one of the most bizarre inventions I’ve ever seen. I’m captivated.