Ballet

The chief cook and bottle washer and general jill-of-all-trades at my favorite feu (noodle) place in the neighborhood is a sight to behold. She's not much over five feet, hair in a medium length ponytail, cute, with a wonderful smile and perpetually in an apron. But put her into her domain, that little rectangle that encompasses her workspace, and she turns into an artist. Once in awhile she'll leave her confines for the Coke cooler (which, of course, contains everything except Coke), but generally she works her magic in a spot most of us would consider claustrophobic. Some noodles here, some veggies, bean curd, meatballs and onions to flavor the broth, oh, and don't forget to tend to that kao bpat (fried rice)! It's like an intricate ballet, every move purposeful yet graceful in its pragmatism. She smiles at the passersby. You want that order to go? Certainly! Hot soup ladled into a plastic bag, extra ingredients beside it, add the Lao spoons and you're on your way. She's mesmerizing. Everyone's delicacy is ready, as ordered, in a moment, even if you wish it might take a bit longer.

Wherefore Art Thou, Big Pharma?

It took until yesterday to realize I have yet to see a drug commercial of any kind anywhere in Laos, even on TV. There are lots of spots for airlines and high tech companies, but nothing for upset stomach, inability to sleep or the dreaded ED. Come to think of it, there are far fewer commercials in Laos than in the US, and most of them last a minute. Ah, those were the days!

Tidbits:

Po's secretary and her sister are home from the hospital. Po is better as well. The secretary's mother is still in hospital and Po's wife is to have liver surgery on the twenty-first out of country, so please keep them in your thoughts and prayers.

Seventy percent of Lao roads are unpaved. That's part of why traveling on them is so interesting.

Linen update: Today's sheets are burnt red and yellow with white runners with burnt red pinstripes on them and a plumeria (dok champa) pattern on the rest. The blue coverlet is tastefully covered in white daisies.

Footpaths, Scooters and Tuk Tuks

By now you know my next favorite thing in Laos after the people are the modes of transportation. Since I was told, in effect, not to jump rope for awhile, I'm doing some walking every day. If you're lucky, there's a footpath through the grass or dirt berms alongside the road. Shopkeepers are eager to ply their wares, so their shops are creeping ever closer to the streets to lure their customers inside and get a corner on their competitors. This means generally no footpaths on the main drags, but the side streets often have them. As with the rest of Laos, they are colorful--mostly because of who and what uses them. Often I run into school kids who are unlucky or not old enough to have scooters; the elderly (I ruefully realize that includes me) use them quite a bit, too. Young adults will use them occasionally, throwing their two or three words of English my way to get my attention. I smile and keep on walking. I thought I was approaching dogs last week, but it turned out to be goats. We accommodated one another. Yesterday I was walking back from my favorite restaurant to the guesthouse, minding my own business and oblivious to the world with my head down so I could watch my step, when I came face to face with a cow. I think she was startled, too, but decided to blink first and took to the road. I was grateful.

Scooters are always a trip. I love taking them, because the heaviness of the heat which often surrounds us here melts away and a breeze magically appears when you're on one. The best part by far, though, are the families. Couples are fun, but the other day a couple turned into a family when a little boy popped out of his father's camouflage jacket like a joey from a pouch; mom oblivious on the back, probably glad for a break. My favorite so far was the mother driving, her little girl sandwiched between herself and the grandmother, who had a baby in a sling on her chest.

Tuk tuks are endlessly fascinating. I managed my first price negotiation on one today when the driver said, "Hoi sii pan kip," (104,000k) for the trip I had requested. I must have looked as flabbergasted as I felt. A fellow driver stepped in as if to say, "What he meant was..." and I ended up traveling for hok pan kip (60,000k). Much better. We went past the Festival grounds which were rapidly being restored to order following the crowds of the last week. Guess what the clean-up crew was doing? If you guessed sweeping--ding-ding-ding-ding! You win! All the debris was being swept into 100 lb. (or whatever that translates into metrically) rice sacks. On the way home, as we turned into the street that fronts the guesthouse, a small tuk tuk turned onto the main drag with--you'll never guess--a huge pink pig in it! I'm talking, "Fine swine, wish he was mine, Zuckerman's famous pig!" I doubt his name was Wilbur, but he was not happy about his situation, and I was not the only one who looked twice!

Flying Solo

With a few exceptions, last week was not a particularly good one. Class was fine. The students were great. Then it all went quickly downhill. Po's secretary ended up in the hospital with several other members of her family. (Guilt, guilt, guilt after the Nong Khai fiasco.) Po himself was ill. I went to the French Doctors' Office with a swollen left foot, sure something was broken. The good news: No break. The bad news: Strained tendon. I was given anti-inflammatory capsules and cream and told nothing would work unless I elevated it above the level of my heart. (Good old RICE.) I throw it up the wall for a bit each night when I go to bed and that does help. When I asked the doctor if I could still jump rope for cardio, he laughed. I took that as a no. I have mosquito bites where no mosquito should be allowed to leave a calling card. The intermittent rain does encourage them. I am redoubling my DEET. (I still think they probably like the stuff, which is not fair for as much trouble and mess as it is. Yeah. Yeah. I know. Life's not fair.)

It seems whenever things takes an unsavory turn, expanding one's comfort zone is helpful. Saturday morning I ventured forth, determine to negotiate a tuk tuk journey by myself. The driver said 20,000k into Vientiane. I said the village to Vientiane, shopping, then back. He said 60,000k. I nodded. I clambered in and we were off, each with a smile. (I wasn't even very good at selling Girl Scout Cookies, so there's your benchmark.) We arrived at Nam Phou (the Water Fountain), I used the ATM and shopped for groceries, we returned. I paid. Flush with success, I decided to press my luck. It turns out there's a hair salon next door to my guesthouse. Time for a haircut. Resolute, I entered what is essentially a gussied-up garage to be greeted by an extremely thin young man with streaked hair in a bun, bike pants, an overly long black t-shirt and pink lipstick. His high school English was remarkably good. (I wish my high school Lao were the same.) He said he wanted to streak his hair my color. I was putty in his hands. He trimmed me up short for 1500k, two-fifty including tip, I foraged for feu (noodles) at my favorite spot down the block and decided to call it a day while everything was still going smoothly. Missions small, but accomplished. Good day.

The Boat Racing Festival

There is some variation on what today's holiday signifies. The Lao PDR Guide 2009 says today signifies the end of Asian lent, but calls it the Boat Racing Festival. Several of us checked out Festival Central on the Mekong in the heart (and heat!) of Vientiane yesterday and the place was indeed jumping, but not in an over-the-top Mardi Gras way; more like your midwestern county fair. We walked the long grass and gravel beltway between the street and the River. It was covered with vendors of every sort and restaurants for every taste. A couple of the kids tried the carnival games and our eight-year old threw darts, popped three balloons and won an orange soda. The rest of us took in the action with some yogurt and Lao kettle corn and lots of water. We did see a few long racing boats with large crews skim by, but never together. They looked like they were practicing for a race to come later.

My hairdresser (I actually got the nerve to get a haircut Saturday at the little place next to my guesthouse) says tonight is make-a-wish night to Buddha to speed dearly departed relatives to Nirvana, bypassing endless time as a spirit or in reincarnation. Thousands of little straw and banana leaf boats covered in flowers, candles and incense will be set forth on the Mekong as appeasement to the spirits of the River to aid in their journeys.

Last night there were candles lit around all the genie houses (homes of the "phi" or spirits who have been waylaid) and there were lots of fireworks. Offerings were made to keep the phi from being too mean or mischievous. As Animism happily combines with Buddhism here, I'm not sure which goes with which. It doesn't seem to matter, as long as your intentions are sincere.

Of cars, coolie hats and French dinners

Vientiane is the home of some of the most obscure car names I have seen. Amid the Hyundais, the Toyotas and the Mitsubishis are the eurekas (That's what I'm calling most of the brand names I've never heard of before as my Lao reading is even more dismal than my Lao speaking, unfortunately. The curlicues are gorgeous, but confounding. I will keep trying.) and the Kalaos. Kalaos, especially, are popular. They come mostly in Ford Ranger compact pick-up style. Po says they are broken down in Thailand or Korea and shipped to Laos where they are reassembled to avoid heavy taxation.

I was walking to the office to check the state of the intermittent internet when I realized it was really hot and sunny. This is not unusual, but after a week of rain and cooler temperatures as devastating Typhoon Ketsana plowed through on its way to oblivion, 31 degrees centigrade caught me without my umbrella for shade. Bingo. I found a coolie hat in one of the shops I was passing. "Ha pan kip," she said, and seventy-five cents sounded reasonable to me. She asked if I wanted a tie on my hat. I couldn't prove this verbally, but her sign language was, luckily, as excellent as her Lao and I smiled as I tucked the tie under my chin and was on my way, head and neck now protected from the penetrating rays.

A week ago I needed to talk with Po and said I'd treat him to a meal in exchange for a consultation. He could even drive. (He drives like my Dad, so those of you who knew and loved my Dad know my putting myself in his car was an act of faith.) We ended up in central Vientiane, where the foreigners live and hang out and I nervously checked my kip supply as he dropped me at a French restaurant and looked for a place to park. I needn't have worried. After a lovely meal of pasta pesto with basil sauce and nuts for each of us, I was out 60,000k ($7 US). I was going to leave the change from the bill as a tip. Po explained that was far too much and asked, "What do you have?" I said, "I have everything," meaning I had a smattering of Lao kip in every denomination (about $20 worth). He looked at me oddly, then got my meaning and told me what was appropriate. It was only later I realized the scope of my statement and just how true it was.

Note: I have not been able to access yahoo for awhile, so if you've mailed me or if I owe you a note, please know how much I appreciate you. I'm hoping it's just a matter of good things coming to those who wait. Your comments, written and not, are manna to my soul.

Week 5: Nong Khai Adventure

Some weeks the stories just tumble over themselves begging to be told. Like the cow on the road, not exactly standing smack dab in the middle, but definitely in what at least would be the right hand lane. Calmly chewing her cud as tuk tuks (open air taxis, most often colorful motorcycles get-ups with parallel-lengthwise bench seating attached to them and a metal roof over the top with vinyl sheeting which rolls down in case of heavy rain), trucks, cars and multiple scooters maneuvered around her. It could have been called death by selected suicide, but she knew the Lao "live and let live" ethic would prevail and she would survive to stand and leave gifts in the road again. That and the Hyundai tour bus parked in the front yard of a small house between shops on the main drag. But that's for another day.

A trip over the Friendship Bridge to Thailand had been arranged for some time. Po's secretary, my trusty some-English tour guide, was not feeling well but said she was still game. I thought maybe fresh air would do her some good.

She showed up wearing her cute pale green surgical mask with the off-center orange flower. That should have been my first clue. She quickly arranged for us to travel by tuk tuk to Talat Sao (Morning Market). So far, so good. We picked up passengers along the route who were also headed for the Talat. When we got there, we transfered to a Nong Khai bus. At this point I felt the secretary's forehead. She was really warm. I got a bottle of cold water and she rubbed it over her face. Somewhat rejuvenated, we waited for the full bus to leave and another to load. The ladies with the large bright blue cooler were a trip; they tried to cram into the full bus but wisely decided that was not to be and waited for ours instead. The full bus finally pulled out and the next bus pulled up. We sat in the back and the bus quickly filled. Fifteen minutes after we were full, people outside were still clucking that they could get on if everyone would just get a bit more cozy. It was humid and in the mid-80's, but the agreeable contingent obliged and another ten people clambered on. Finally the bus driver climbed into his seat for the third time and decided the density was such that we could profitably depart. It was a milk run with many stops, but a half-hour later, we reached Friendship Bridge. The secretary was a bit cooler and made her way to the Bridge bank with me in tow so we could could exchange kip for baht (Thai currency). We went through customs, bought Bridge tickets so we could cross, traversed the mighty Mekong, got off the bus, then into a regular taxi.

Thai drivers drive as the Brits do, on the right side of the road. We looked for a paisanee (post office) so I could mail a letter, then backtracked to Tesco (the Asian equivalent of Wal-Mart). After buying a couple things, we purchased coupons so we could use them for lunch in the food court. The secretary had perked up enough to have some appetite, so we both enjoyed noodles and some sort of banana shakes, then rode the tuk tuk back to the Bridge. Bridge tickets back to the Lao side, Lao immigration, and yet another tuk tuk. Another hot forehead and now she was really looking peaked. I thought the tuk tuk would be faster than the bus. Sometimes it pays not to think. Our tuk tuk driver hustled until he filled every nook and cranny plus the roof with paying customers and their bounty. Twenty minutes later we were on our way, again dropping people off periodically. When we finally got back to Talat Sao, we scrounged for the first driver interested in taking us home. Secretary on her last legs, we must have picked the slowest tuk tuk in Vientiane; it was on its last legs, too. It sounded like there were pachinko balls in the gas tank and everything shook. The driver kept shifting gears as though that would help, to no avail. Six hours after we'd left, sick secretary was finally delivered to a place she could rest and I scurried off to class.