Oh, what a lovely lovely day. Adam, wherever you are, bless your heart for insisting I stop at Vang Vieng. Although it’s totally overrun with backpackers, they can’t do a thing to dent the sheer gorgeousness of this place. All of this is made even better by the fact that the bed I slept in last night and the shower I had this morning are without doubt the best since home. I’d tell you all the name of the guest house, but I’ve forgotten it again.

The drive from Luang Prabang was spectacular, albeit bumpy – all those hills and mountains I saw from the Mekong were our terrain. And about 4 hours into the 6 hour drive, these different-shaped, almost jagged, rocky heights began to appear on the horizon. I thought how lovely it would be to get a better look at them, sit in their shadow, watch the sun set behind them. Imagine my surprise, then, when I wandered down to the river’s edge here in Vang Vieng after checking into my guest house, and found myself standing squarely at their foot. I spent the day on a little peninsula/island in the middle of the river, lying in a hammock and reading, jumping in the water to cool off now and then. Idyllic doesn’t even begin to describe it.

I feel like so much has happened since last I posted that I shouldn’t even bother trying to set it all down, but I feel compelled to share the highlights: a spectacular 3-course french meal at L’Elephant in Luang Prabang, with good French wine, eaten in perfect colonial liesure and luxury; sunset from Mt. Phousi; the best homemade yogurt – well, I’ll spare the rest of the superlative statement. It’s been a great few days. Let’s just leave it at that.

Next on the agenda: tonight, try to find my friends who arrived this afternoon. Tomorrow, kayaking and innertubing, partly in caves. Monday: kayaking and riding to Vientiane. Whee!

Oh yes, and my back is feeling much better, thanks.

Whew! 7 bus hours and 15 slow boat hours later, here I am in Luang Prabang, Lao. The bus from Chang Mai to Chang Khong was largely uneventful, so I’ll spare you. That entire 24 hours, in fact, was only notable because of the vicious attack of something-or-other that I came down with at the guest house in Chang Khong. Sometime about halfway through my first and only beer, about 3 sips into my (very good) soup, I started to feel really odd. A few minutes later, I realized my head was roasting and my hands and feet were freezing. Five minutes after that, I apologized to my dinner companions and went to my room. It took 2 hours and 3 blankets for me to get warm, and I laid there in bed mentally going over every single thing that might have been wrong with me, from a reaction to Malarone (my antimalarial pills, which I’d started the previous day) or my mosquito repellent, to malaria or dengue fever to food poisoning to having been drugged by the Aussie on the bus. The next morning, and ever since, I’ve felt perfectly fine (although a bit tired) and have carried on taking the malarone and using the repellent with absolutely no ill effects. I suppose it was bound to happen at one time or another – the inexplicable 24 hour illness. I assure you all that I am well now, and intend to carry on eating and drinking and exploring as usual.

Now. About the slow boat.

Things slow boat travel is not:

Romantic and cozy. If you’re looking for comfortable, relaxing, kick-back and dig it travel, this is probably not what you’re on the market for. The boats are crammed full of people (mostly farang), and the seats (which basically amount to just wood benches along the sides) are, well, they’re narrow wooden benches. You get the picture. We won’t even discuss the toilet.

Boring. This morning, while pulling into our second stop of the day, we ran into a mountain. Yes, you heard me. The Mekong is lined on both sides by rainforest, which sometimes rises so steeply out of the water that you can’t imagine how the locals get down to the boats at all. This was one of those spots. We turned and began to move toward shore, as usual. But normally, when approaching shore, the motor cuts out before we actually hit the bank. This time, not so much. There was some confused shouting and much looking around among the passengers, and then we just rammed right into the thing. The prow scooped out a great big dollop of mud. It took the crew about 15 minutes, with what appeared to be nothing more than hammers and twine, to get us moving again. No further mishaps befell us. However. Our friend Cristoph, who had been moved to a different, cargo-laden boat this morning before leaving Pakbeng (our night stopover – we’ll get to that in a minute) tells us that his boat ran out of petrol at one point and just drifted along the river for several hours. He arrived roughly 2 hours after we did.

Luxurious. I’ve already mentioned about the seats and the crowds, but probably the most fun was the stopover. You see, the Mekong is a dangerous river at best, and navigating it at night would be tantamount to suicide – if the enormous whirlpools don’t get you, the rocks popping out here, there and everywhere certainly will. So, around sunset last night, we pulled in at Pakbeng, a little market town that, I’m willing to bet, has grown up out of the needs of river traffic on this route. We decided to stay at what had been heralded the ‘best guest house in town’. The rooms were indeed very clean, the mosquito nets had no unpatched holes, there was even an outlet to charge things – until the power cut out at midnight, that is. We were pretty impressed. At night, though, the adventure began. Loreto (see below) knocked on the wall between our rooms – it must have been 2:00 in the morning. “Louisa! Do you have a lighter? I can’t see anything and I think there’s something big in here!” I listened. I’d been hearing faint scrabbling noises all night and assumed the standard mix of lizards and suchlike things that you see in these towns at night. But she was right, it did sound like something bigger. “I read about these really big lizards,” she whispered. I told her I highly doubted we had Komodo Dragons in our rooms, and eventually managed to convince her to go back to sleep – I couldn’t have found my lighter in the dark, anyway. The next morning we talked to the other guests in the house, and one of them had managed to get a bead on the culprit with a flashlight. It was a big rat, going after the food in people’s packs. I silently thanked my camper’s instincts – I hadn’t had any food at all in my room – although I could have sworn I spotted something jumping off my night table when I woke up, and whatever it was took an antiseptic towelette with it.

Things slow boat travel is:

Slow. They are not kidding. The trip from Hung Xai to Luang Prabang is roughly 300 km and we managed it in just under 14 hours.

Visually Stunning. I didn’t realize that this much unspoilt, undisturbed beauty still existed in the world. Every once in a while we’d go by a little village, some huts on stilts, maybe a buffalo or two. Most of the time, the country that rolled by was gorgeous rainforest – enormous nubbly green lush hills, with snippets of clouds clinging to the highest points. Rock formations – slate and limestone – occasionally rose up out of the water, some almost 500 yards long. The river itself must be well over a mile wide at its wider points, and was never narrower than 600 yards. It was truly, breathtakingly, amazingly gorgeous.

Exciting. Did I mention about driving into the mountain? And Christoph, the lucky bastard, said that while they were going by the exact same spot where that happened, he saw an elephant hauling timber from a log boat on the river up to the village. Can you imagine?

Tranquil I did a lot of reading. I napped. I listened to entire albums for the first time since I left home. We chatted, and then we kept to ourselves. It was lovely.

Fun! I’ve been mentioning all these people for a reason – I met up with a group of 4 people traveling together (who had themselves met up earlier on in their travels and decided to join forces) and a fellow lone female. They are fabulous and fun, and actually 4 of us are sharing a room tonight (a big, beautiful room, mind you, and only us 2 girls have to share a bed, and that only because we lost a coin toss) – they are Tim (writer, UK, on the road since about August, will not be home for 2 years), Cherrie (probably spelling it wrong, UK, used to do marketing, wants to become a nutritionist, on the road until sometime next summer), Axel (German, he and Cherrie are together, studying to be a Doctor), Christoph (also German, travelling with Axel except for when he broke his arm in China and had to fly home for a few weeks), and Loreto (Chilean, PhD. student and journalist, living in Paris around the corner from the flat where I stayed that last time I was there). So now you’ve got the cast of characters. I’m sure we’ll all part ways in anothr few days, but it’s nice to hang with a group for a little bit – makes me miss the gang at home a little less…

And there you have it. My last several days, in a nutshell. And how is Lao? Well, aside from the beautiful part, the people are really friendly, and it’s much more different from Thailand (at first glance, at least) than I had expected. For one thing, it’s much quieter here. Traffic moves at a saner pace, when there’s any traffic at all. There’s not this enormous pressure to do, see, FASTER! that I felt in Bangkok particularly. Also, Luang Prabang, from what little we saw before the sun went down tonight, is going to be interesting. There’s all this crumbling French colonial architecture right up against traditional homes – intermingled with the do it yourself style (thatched or tin roofs, wood walls, on stilts) so popular in Thailand and here. I’ll have more time to explore it tomorrow, and then the Waterfalls the day after that.

Oh! one more thing: I cannot receive SMS here, so don’t try (and I’m sorry if you got no response from messages already sent). E-mail, however, I will be checking whenever I can.

I’m about to leave Chang Mai for Laos, and I’m finding it difficult, perhaps for the first time ever, to leave the guest house I’ve been in for the past 5 nights. What’s so unique about it is that not only is it run by the family but the family lives here. 3 generations, all in the same complex. And when they say you’re welcome under their roof, they really mean it – but they’re not indiscriminate. I’ve watched them turn away prospective customers because they seemed creepy or rude, I’ve heard tales of guests being asked to leave because they were up partying too late into the night and woke the family, I’ve watched them go out of their way to accommodate people who are kind and open. The fact that this is their house lends a whole different perspective to the whole venture. The upshot for those of us staying here is that you really do feel at home – I felt safe, for once, leaving my pack in my room without a padlock on the door. I felt safe and comfortable at night, and therefore slept more soundly than I have since I arrived in Thailand. And I’ve been happy and felt cared for, which is a lot considering these people didn’t know me at all just a week ago.

Probably my favorite thing about the whole family living together is the benefits reaped by the youngest generation. Numkin (which I’m probably misspelling) is a year and 8 months old, knows her ABCs in Thai and English, is played with by everyone – literally about 10 people, not including guests – and is just about the best behaved, happiest child I’ve ever seen. In almost a week, there’s not been a single tantrum. I think about how we do things back home and this seems the much healthier option. Instead of a child being raised by one or two people part-time and the TV most of the time, this little girl spends virtually no time in front of the television, but a lot of time learning and playing and meeting people from all over the world.

Will, who’s married to Dao (one of the daughters), is from Canada, and still acclimating to the Thai way of life. Sometimes it’s funny – when he goes out with the guys, Dao isn’t worried that he’ll cheat on her, she’s worried he’ll be struck by lightning.

Really, I can’t say enough good things about the past week. I’m definitely coming back to do the trekking and spend some more time – I’ve even started to learn to speak Thai, thanks to the staff (I teach them how to swear in English, they teach me how to be polite in Thai). Maybe we’ll even come here for Christmas. I hear they have a hell of a party.

And now, off to the bus station.

The good news: Chang Mai is still lovely, and I’ve made some new friends here. I’ve also learned to make curry paste from scratch, as well as a whole bunch of other tasty things. Look out, Sunday Dinner crowd! And yes, Karen, you can eat most of it. No wheat or dairy in sight!

The bad news: my back is worse. I was supposed to be trekking yesterday, today and tomorrow, but I realized sometime Wednesday that there was no way I would be able to pull it off. It’s been really rainy here – today’s the first sunny day – and I could just see myself slipping and immobilizing myself, basically ruining the trip for everyone else. So instead, I’ve been reading, sleeping, getting Thai Massage (from blind therapists today – excellent!) and drinking with some locals and some travellers. I’ve even been invited to a wedding next week here in Chang Mai – Grant, who’s Scottish, is marrying a lovely Thai woman whose name I forget. Then, they’re moving back to Aberdeen. I’m thinking about coming back for the ceremony – depends on the weather in Lao and how my back is feeling.

So the rest of the plan is basically the same – I’ll hop on a bus on Sunday morning and head up to Chang Kung, then across to Lao on Monday morning. I’ll be in Luang Prabang by Tuesday noonish, and we’ll have to play it by ear from there.

In other news, I almost completely forgot about Thanksgiving. Thanks a bunch to those who sent me email and SMS, and I hope you all ate way too much turkey for me. I think I might go and have a pizza (it’s western, at least) to celebrate today.

We’re going to the brewery on Saturday night. I’m wondering whether a splitting hangover is going to make the bus ride better or worse…..

Chang Mai is, so far, everything I had really hoped this leg of the journey would be. Nestled in the green-clad mountains of the North, the pace is much slower, the people much friendlier, and the foreigners much less, well, determined than in Bangkok. Even in the rain, it’s beautiful. The Libra Guest House is by far the nicest – and the cheapest – place I’ve stayed so far, and the staff (who live here) may be the friendliest people in history. So my Chang Mai agenda is already full: today must be a day of rest and listening to the rain fall. Tomorrow, I see the city. Thursday-Saturday, a trek through the jungles, sleeping in Hill Tribe villages, river rafting, caving and hiking through the mountains. Sunday morning I take off to Chang Kung, and from there across into Lao, beginning with a 2 day slow boat trip down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang, the ancient spiritual center of the country. Sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? Just don’t forget the mosquito repellent. And I’m awfully itchy today after my overnight train ride – I’m hoping I haven’t picked up anything icky like fleas….

It’s been a while since my last post, I know. Especially since internet access runs, oh, about $1 an hour here. Anyway, my excuse is that I’ve been a little out of sorts. No, none of my rule-breaking has caught up with me – I don’t have dysentary or dengue fever or anything. I guess I’ve been having a little trouble adjusting – although not for any of the reasons I’d have expected.

When I said my goodbyes and got on the plane, I expected to get off in a place completely different from home. I expected to be challenged and insipired and exhilarated. Maybe I expected some deeper meaning to come and tap me on the shoulder, I’m not sure. But what I was not expecting is a city that is so very – well, Western. Don’t get me wrong – the architecture’s there, there are lots of Wats and only 2 churches, there are the shanties by the tracks and the food carts on the streets. But really, unless you go out of your way, you’ll see as many Westerners as Thai. And when it comes to hanging out, the city is very segregated. I suppose I was bracing for a very different experience, and it’s taken my stubborn mind this long to wrap itself around the reality.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I’ve met a couple of pretty good people and seen some really amazing things – but the overwhelming sense is that Bangkok is kind of a neutral zone, neither Western nor Asian, really, a giant airlock for those moving on into the hinterlands and a holding zone for those who just want the cheap partying and the pretty Asian women to take home. So, inspired (albeit differently) by the constant parade of auslander, I offer the following advice to my fellow travellers:

Ladies. Resist the urge to have your hair braided, extended or dreadlocked. I know lots of people do it. That doesn’t mean they look cool. Neither will you. Unless you’re Bo Derek circa 1978.

Gentlemen. It doesn’t matter how hard to try to pass it off, if you’re over 50 and paunchy, nobody – I repeat, nobody – is going to believe for one second that the lovely 18 year old at your side is hanging out with you because she genuinely enjoys your company.

Ladies. Whether you yourself happen to be Buddhist or not, Wats and temples are sacred to the people of this country. All the guide books politely suggest that you dress respectfully, as do the signs at the entry to these sites. Trust me, no matter how nice your ass is, a white thong under a skintight see-through bright green dress is not considered respectful in any country. We won’t even talk about tasteful or appealing.

Everyone. I know that it’s exhilarating to bargain for merchandise, especially since we all know that Westerners get charged different (and sometimes very different) prices than locals. However, please bear in mind that even at double the locals’ price, that pair of pants is still only costing you $5. Does $.50 either way really matter that much?

Also to Everyone, although men seem to be the more common culprits here: just because you’re ‘backpacking’ doesn’t mean you have the right to stink the place up. Showers are provided at every guest house in the area. Please, I beg of you, use them!

Finally, I realize that some of you have done a fair amount of globetrotting in recent months or years. I realize that some of you have stories, advice and suggestions to share. I appreciate this, as I’m sure do the beneficiaries of your knowledge. But please, please, I beg of you, don’t bellow about how the beer is cheaper at the place you were last week and how much of it you consumed before passing out in the gutter, or how the hookers offered to do you for free, or about how you got picked up by the police with an ounce of Thai stick in your pocket and they let you off with a warning. Seriously. You’re a boob. Face it. Go take a shower.

Whew. Now that I’ve got that off my chest, I feel much better.

In other news, I did see the Grand Palace (which included the Monestary of the Emerald Buddha) and the Temple of the Reclining Buddha (at Wat Pho) earlier this week. I must say I was floored. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much gold in one place – and the craftsmanship, the intricacy, in materials and shapes I’m not accustomed to seeing, was amazing. I’m used to carved stone and marble and stained glass, but an entire complex of solid gold and mosaic was much, much more than I’d bargained for.

That said, I’ll take the Reclining Buddha over the Emerald Buddha for the more moving experience of the day. The Emerald Buddha is surrounded by so much finery and fanfare that it seems tiny – plus, it’s placed way up high and surrounded by even more gold than anything else in the complex, which is saying something, believe me. The Reclining Buddha, on the other hand, is mammoth – something like 15 meters high and 45 long – and the room that contains it is only slightly larger than the figure, so you really feel its presence. It’s absolutely staggering. I had one of those moments I’ve been longing for, the heart-stopping, jaw-dropping awestruck kind. Cathartic. Fabulous. Can’t say enough good things about it. It even broke through my haze of malaise, a moment of clarity for which I was truly grateful.

And that’s that, and more than enough for now, I’d say. Monday evening, I’m off to Chiang Mai, and from there to Laos. And now, I’m off to the Banana Leaf for a beer and some curry…. yum!

I haven’t written anything in a few days, mostly because I’ve been trying to verbalize my thoughts for myself. I’ve done a good deal of sightseeing, been here almost a week, and I feel – well, odd. There are so many Westerners here that if it weren’t for the heat and the street vendors I could be almost anywhere. Add to that the absolutely constant movement, and it’s like being in New York or London or the city of your choice, in the touristy part of town, permanently.

This omnipresent tourism has an interesting, and somewhat disturbing, impact on my experience. I walk through my days in a haze, somehow subconsciously aware that the pace here dictates I keep moving, look at the temple for a minute, then keep walking. Don’t stop, sit down, even stand in one place for too long or you’ll be accosted by touts. The traffic, the milling throngs, everything points me toward speed, efficiency. The sheer number of tourists almost mandates an us-or-them mentality – it’s not that people are unfriendly, it’s just that there are too many of us to really pay attention to. What have you seen today? Have time for more? Move on to the next Wat – it’s right next door, 100 more golden buddhas and 1000 more tourists and lots of Thai people who don’t expect you to be pleasant or respectful and therefore deal with you brusquely, if at all. I guess that experience by the tracks was even more unusual than I thought.

I don’t know what it is, really, that’s bothering me most. I don’t seem to be able to relax, find a place to be quiet and think. There’s too much noise, too much traffic, too many people and yet nobody to talk to. Everyone seems to fall into 2 categories: tourists travelling in packs, in search of the next cheap Chang, or solo travellers stopping through as briefly as possible on the way to somewhere else. Maybe I should take a hint from the latter and move on sooner rather than later. I’m beginning to feel lonely, and in a city this big, with this many people in it, that’s just not right.

To continue in the vein of losing the most irritating possible things, this time it’s my soap. Along with my soap dish. Left in the shower yesterday morning. Grr!

And another successfully broken rule:

No local dairy. Presumably because they don’t pasteurize. Nevertheless, I’ve had homemade yoghurt on two separate occasions now, and fresh milk every morning in my coffee, and have suffered no adverse effects.

(update) No fresh fruit that you didn’t peel yourself. I defy anyone to peel a pineapple as quickly and efficiently as these people with the little carts of deliciousness. Plus, it looks good and tastes even better.

On today’s agenda: the Grand Palace, Wat Pho. Maybe a nice Thai Massage. I’ll keep you posted.

[author’s note: this entry was corrupted and its original db entry lost. below are listed the comments originally posted on this entry.]

stephen

riley@ring17.com

and remember some advice from our friend joe..
if a elephant approaches, do not ponder whether or not the elephant is God, or if you are God, or if God should get out of the way of God. Listen to the driver on top of God yelling at you to get out of the way.

stephen

riley@ring17.com

well, love! seems the list of items im bringing builds by the day! as long as you dont lose, say, an elephant, it’ll be ok. i bet you’re just jonesin’ for a hamburger and tater tots a la eric, eh? or maybe you’re just eating some incredible tom yom soup and laughing. shit.

OK, so everybody’s got a different idea of what the right precautions are to avoid general gastrointestinal distress around here. I am proud to say that I have chosen to disregard many of these snippets of advice, with (as yet) no adverse effects. Specifically, they say DON’T:

Drink anything with ice cubes. Clearly, they don’t realize how hot it is here, or that the original recipe for Red Bull exists here and nowhere else. I’ve had about 4 Red Bulls with ice cubes, not to mention several iced coffees (both with chipped and cubed ice). Yummy, refreshing, and totally fine.

Eat at street carts. Best Pad Thai I’ve ever had.

Drink fresh squeezed juice. How they get juice that sweet and yummy out of those teensy weensy little oranges is totally beyond me, but mmmmmmm, it’s so delicious.

More debunking of gastronomical restrictions ahead, I promise. Right now, it’s time for a beer!

Fortified by a breakfast of banana pancakes (which are just as good as everyone says) and a lunch of street-cooked pad thai, I just might be able to work through my lack of sleep to get this out on the wire.

I had an extraordinary set of experiences yesterday. I wandered up to another neighborhood to check out a guest house that had come highly recommended, only to find it almost identical to the one where I am staying, slightly more expensive and much further out of the way. As I left, I ran into a fellow American who was walking in the same direction. His name is David. After a few blocks, I thought it only fair to point out that it being Sunday, the Indian embassy (his destination) would not likely be open. So he decided to come with me to the zoo. Which was also closed. And so the adventure began.

Part 1

For lack of a better idea, and for my part with the general hope of catching some of the Gay Pride festivities in Lumpini Park, we kept walking east across the city, chatting about travel, politics, education, music distribution and whatever else came to mind. Our vague destination was Siam Square, the Times Square of Bangkok, where arctically air conditioned bars and cafes beckoned. Maybe it’s the oppressive heat, but the city is a lot larger than it seems, and walking it is a daunting prospect, even for a die-hard like me. Overheating already as we neared the train tracks leading south towards the square, we saw what initially looked like a market had sprung up alongside. Deciding to check it out (it looked shaded, at least), we soon discovered that it was not a market at all, but a neighborhood. Kids ground dried chilies in enormous mortar and pestles, standing in the doorways of the tiny shacks that lined the way. Women washed laundry in aluminum tubs, dogs and cats and their progeny scampered about. The way was narrow, we were weaving through throngs of residents who smiled and greeted us as we passed by. Nobody asked us for money. At one point, we made a turn that would have led us to a dead end. A man stopped us and corrected our direction, saving us probably quite a long retracing of steps. We followed a group of neighborhood residents across a rail bridge, walking on the wood slats between the rails, looking through at the Khlong beneath. On the other side of the bridge, the pedestrian traffic thinned and we eventually cut back through a maze of Sois and out into the trafficked world. Not long after we were in Siam Square, sticking to our leather chairs and drinking Red Bull and tea.

It didn’t strike me until much later how extraordinary this experience was. We must have walked at least half a mile, probably further, through this makeshift town, past some of the poorest people in the city, and not once did I feel the least bit threatened. Nobody glared, nobody shunned us. A few – mostly children – looked at us with curiosity, but most everyone treated us to a smile. Nobody asked us for money. Nobody tried to sell us anything. Directions were volunteered and were accurate. Where else would this happen? I remember my experiences in Jamaica, where walking a half mile along the road between my guest house and my friend’s was an adventure in fear and diplomacy. I think about my office in the Chicago Loop, where every morning in the two blocks between the bus stop and the door I would be asked for money by no less than eight different people. These people here were clearly poor, but they didn’t expect us to do anything about it. They saw us neither as threat nor opportunity, rather just passing curiosities, unusual visitors. To say it was refreshing is an understatement. To say it was moving may be trite but it’s true. It’s a memory that won’t soon leave me.

Part 2

On the way back to Banglamphu in the river taxi, we noticed that the banks of the Chao Praya river – land which in most western countries would be considered prime real estate – were largely lined with shanties of a different variety, more like floating shacks, some with the docks as their porches and all with the river as their garden. Laundry was hanging out to dry, pink towels and flowered dresses. I thought, the houses by the river should be big and bright. Breezes are best down here, next door to the Oriental and the Sheraton where the wealthy cool their heels in a world well beyond our means. But here are shanties, cobbled together, inches from collapse – and yet bedecked with richness of flowers. By the taxi stop, a pretty blue house, windows all flung wide, children swimming in front. One would almost think, “don’t they know they’re poor?” But that’s not a fair question. Our poor is not theirs, and to judge them by it is to do them wrong.

Between the houses by the river and the shanties by the tracks, I think I’m beginning to understand something important about the way of life here. What we consider wealth – fast cars, lots of money, expensive whatever it is you like – isn’t as important here – at least not to the people I saw yesterday. Sure, everyone wants a piece of the tourist action. Sure, every tout and orange juice vendor on the street will try to sell you what they’ve got. But I’ve only had 2 people ask me for handouts, and I’m in prime begging territory most of the time. The other side of life here is wealthy in community, in family, in a society that works together so that all can live as well as possible. They may not be rich, but they’re not hungry either, or angry or afraid. They’re smiling.

So who’s poor now?