Caesar and Caligula told me it was a creepy place. Completely over-the-top. In your face. A bit weird. They were outside and inside. All over the walls, in the toilets and by the sink. BEARS. Not real bears of course. I am talking about the Bear Hug café, the place that became our bunkhouse for the day.
I happened to love the bear hug café. There were indeed bears everywhere, but I didn’t mind that. Far more important was the fact that the place did me a good breakfast. Fried eggs and sausage – the best sausage I’ve had in Asia yet – and pancakes. Pancakes in the shape of bears.
I read The Master and the Magarita on my kindle and sipped my latte – which had the face of a bear imprinted onto its froth. But eventually I went for a walk alone in the heat. Walking up and down the busy high street, I debated in my head whether or not to break from the Romans. Of course, no matter what I’m breaking with them eventually, but it was supposed to be two months down the line. Not two weeks. In a matter of days we will make our first border crossing and arrive in the land of Laos. The Romans don’t want to spend more than a week there, with one night only in the capital – Vientiane. They’re running scared from the big cities. But Vientiane is a place that has been prodding my curiosity for some time, and I am NOT content to rush past it as if it’s just another “shit-hole” to be avoided. I’m not, I tell you.
The four of us sat in our dorm in the very unappetising Bodega (anti)social hostel. Caligula and I were sitting up in Caligula’s bunk, while Tiberius and Caesar were sitting up in my bunk. We were playing cards. Bullshit to be precise. The others called bullshit a lot. I never called bullshit. I didn’t feel adept enough at the game and don’t like taking risks. But very soon I may have to take a huge risk. I may truly have to break with the Romans. This style of travel is totally unsuitable for me. I’m being dragged along head first. Most of the time it’s easy to sink your concerns beneath endless bottles of beer, and there’s no denying that drinking is fun. But tonight paled in comparison to two nights ago when we sat on the roof of the Moat House, joking, laughing and reminiscing. I played cards and told myself I was having fun. But really? I should have called bullshit on myself.
