A Day in the Life of a Ban

It's six in the morning and the winter sky is still shaking off its last shadows. However, the houses are lit and the villagers are having breakfast, usually hawpia, a simple noodle soup that's dressed-up by adding greens, pork rinds, perfectly-round meatballs and a myriad of sauces and other ingredients. Most Lao like it "pet" (spicy). By seven the quiet streets have morphed into a video game of transportation vehicles traveling everywhere. Driving here is not for the faint of heart. Large trucks rule, followed by smaller trucks, vans, cars, tuk tuks, and bicycles. Scooters fill-in every open space, often going both ways on both sides of the road. Scooters coming out of alleyways assume they have the right of way and assuming seems to make it so. It's an amazing dance of the barely possible.

It is trash day and there are baskets of every description put out to be emptied. Some are plastic, but most are scarcely held together by their weave. Out in front of the guesthouse, Isuzu trucks worked all evening the night before, dumping dirt, sand and gravel into the road pocked by heavy September rains, then stayed around to supervise its smoothing. (Note to Author: Work on being less judgmental.) Traffic is now humming, grinding and chirping along. Even so, those who don't have to be out yet will wait until at least eight-thirty to avoid rush hour traffic. Most don't have that option as time is money and there is none of either to waste.

At nine, the animals, those who work at night when it is cooler, and those who have leisure emerge in search of goods and services. The shops have been open since eight and school is now in session until noon, when students go home for a one-hour lunch break then return until three or so. Cows wander the footpaths, dogs, cats and chickens are everywhere, some disoriented roosters are still crowing. The ban goat family may appear anywhere at anytime, and often do, sometimes on their best behavior and sometimes not. There seems to be a new brood of chicks every day.

Today it appears a fancy restaurant is opening on the main street in town. There are tables with cloth tablecloths, chairs and a colorful large arbor supplied by some florist in the area. Tomorrow it will become apparent this is the grand opening of a new lumberyard. There are several mom-and-pop Home Depots and Lowe's Lao-style on the main street. There is much construction, so they each seem to be doing well. Each one displays its stainless steel sinks, its powder blue squat toilets for the hong nam (bathroom), its latest models in roofing tiles. Each one is separated from the others by a cellphone establishment, a pharmacy, a small grocery and a seasonal shop now selling shiny golden items for the That Luang Festival in downtown Vientiane.

The lottery ticket sellers have set up shop everywhere. Their favorite spot seems to be in front of the wat. They put out their card tables and folding chairs and give a whole new twist to the passage about the moneychangers and the temple. Vehicles stop, purchase tickets through the passenger windows, then are on their way.

Tuk tuk drivers are drumming up business for their next trip to Talat Sao (Morning Market). As soon as each vehicle fills with eight to ten passengers, off it goes. Street vendors are everywhere; some pushing wide wooden wheelbarrows to display their wares, others on scooters or bikes with sidecars, selling everything from grilled bananas to brooms. Neighborhood open-air restaurants are making lunch by ten and barber shops and beauty salons open throughout the day and stay open into the evening.

The only thing missing in the ban is a bank. More than ninety percent of the residents have no need for such an establishment. Car dealerships, on the other hand, do a fairly steady business, thanks in part to the fact they also sell scooters. Hyundai and Toyota have dealerships that would fit right into any city anywhere. Toyota even has its front lawn cut to display its name and logo. Be that as it may, the most popular make for tuk tuks is Yada.

At three, traffic which has calmed somewhat during midday starts to pick up again. By four every street is lively, especially in front of the major ban market. Talat Sao is a desirable destination, but it is in central Vientiane and most cannot be bothered or take the time. Many cars, tuk tuks and trucks simply leave their engines running on the side of the road while they run in to get fruit, vegetables or laundry soap. The congestion doesn't end until seven, when the heat of the day is finally waning and shops have generally closed. Most villagers shower after work, eat dinner between seven and nine, watch a bit of TV, then turn in so they can do it all over again tomorrow.

Thanks for NOT Smoking, Among Other Things

It's probably an unfortunate stereotype that haunts me, of everything Asian appearing mired in an industrial or cigarette haze, but it's been a pleasant surprise to find there is a Lao ban on smoking indoors. It also seems that many don't smoke, even outdoors. It may be the expense that helps keep the habit in check, but the government makes sure its people are aware of the health hazards as well.

The Country also advocates breastfeeding for at least the first year of a baby's life. Because cultural values are in total agreement, Lao babies are healthy, well-nourished and get off to a good start.

Village chiefs are informed periodically that their bans need an "Everyone loves a clean Laos" sprucing up. My Lao hairdresser said there are ninety-five families in our ban, so someone knows who and where everyone is when this project comes around. Juice and milk boxes are rampant here, along with plastic bags and straws. Even though plastic bottles are recycled, there is plenty of trash to go around. Often there are villagers on a Sunday afternoon studiously picking up rubbish along the roadside. From the very old to the very young, everyone pitches in.

Updates

Surgery and Healing: Po's wife's surgery went well. Apparently, it was an amazing combination of laparoscopy, lasers and a plastic bag. She is on the mend and Po left last night to be with her. Thanks so much for your thoughts and prayers.

Lawnmowers: The goat family was away for a bit, but they were back mowing the expansive front lawns at the wat (temple) in this ban (village) last week. It appeared they did a spotty job, because the cows were out the following day cleaning up after them.

Chicks: Down at the end of the block from the guesthouse there's a black mother hen and her darling gray, white and black speckled chicks. She parades around her domain, the chicks scurrying planets revolving around her.

That Luang: There is another major festival in Vientiane along the lines of the mega-celebration at the Mekong earlier this month. It goes for a week, culminating November 2. With the SEA (Southeast Asia) Games, a mini-Olympics for the ten countries in the region scheduled to begin here December 9, Laos has had quite the full dance card this year. The country is in the process of sprucing up and is especially hopeful the Games will prove an economic boon.

Linen Update: I have yet another hot pink ensemble on my bed. It is a snowflake pattern with the snowflakes made up of tiny blossoms in multiple shades of pink. It looks like it was intended to be geometric, but didn't turn out to be predictably so. Paired with the royal blue World Cup facsimile flags and soccer balls coverlet, who cares. Lucky me.

The Class

We have settled in with one another now. Middles are nice. The beginning can be a real adjustment and the end is always layered, but mid-semester has familiarity plus the joyous surprises that always come along in a multi-age class. The youngest students are eight years old. (Just ask them. They'll tell you. They are bright.) The oldest is fifty-five years old. He is bright, too, but not as willing to risk as the younger ones. Understandable. We are a core of fifteen students with fifteen satellite students who drift in and out depending upon their life circumstances. The young ones come early. They are often at the Center by three; the class doesn't start until five. The Uno fanatics, especially, like to get a few card games under their belts before class begins. The older ones have other responsibilities and show up some time during the first hour of class. We have covered and continue to review greetings, every day activities, time (using our paper plate clocks with toothpicks to keep the hands in place), directions, descriptions, days of the week and months of the year, colors, the alphabet, basic words, numbers and body parts. Next week we will move to food and make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We will also attempt to have some fun with the foreign concept of Halloween. My favorite memory, so far, is that of the youngest student (the son) in the lap of the oldest student (his father), making J/K/L booklets together. It was so sweet and intimate, I felt looking at them was an intrusion.

Napkins

My sainted Mother had a napkin fetish. The entire extended family and all our best friends knew about it. The kitchen had a stack of cheap Zee napkins which you were to use and a stack of napkins, one or two each, from everywhere, which you were to admire. "You writing a letter to Aunt Betty? Make sure you tuck in the napkins we saved for her from the Hard Rock in Hong Kong...There's a spot on one? Perfect. She'll love it." She was the only person I knew who reused paper towels. She was the only person I knew who could make a single paper plate last for a month. She would love the Lao ethic which regards less paper usage as being for the greater good...Except in the case of napkins. Only the better establishments have them (after all, what's the back of your hand for?!), and they're in a circular container with a hole in the top. They pull out of a roll from the middle like toilet paper in reverse. My favorite are hot pink. They have no perforations so they tear in a jagged fashion and they're single ply so they're not very sturdy or absorbent. Lao folk use them, when they're available, for any and every wipe job you might imagine in a restaurant setting. Then they toss them on the floor under their table. Aunt Betty definitely would not approve.

Nam

Nam, water, is increasingly precious here in Vientiane as well as around the globe. In spite of the devastating floods in Laos' northern provinces, its capital has had a very dry monsoon season. The reefs in the Mekong River have turned into islands. Unlike Southern California, there is no mention of rationing, but the heat and dust here are constant reminders of the necessity of water. Unfortunately, I forgot to put my water bottle in its spot on my backpack before I took off for the Center today. Sweating as usual when I arrived, I looked forward to a few sips. Oops. I went next door to patronize local interests and buy a bottle. The lovely shopkeeper came out from behind the counter with a plastic bag of ice and asked me which kind of bottled soft drink I wanted her to pour into it. There was a straw perched and ready in the bag so I could sip. I smiled, chose Pepsi, paid the 3000k, and used the chilled bag to cool my sweaty forehead.

Funerals, Fans and My Left Foot

The Lao Buddhist/Animism funeral is an Asian version of the Irish wake. The main purpose of the week following a loved one's death is to free the spirit so it can fly to Nirvana where every wish is granted. Spirits which are not freed can haunt your home, your sleep, your life. To avoid such a fate, monks in the wat (temple) are paid alms to say continuous prayers for safe passage. Small to mid-sized trucks are commandeered to serve as parade vehicles. Their flatbeds are covered with fancy spirit-like houses in which all the windows and doors are open and decorated with flowers and leaves much like floats, then sent around town with joyous music piped from them. Bodies are cremated to further encourage the freeing of the spirit. Food offerings are made. (Po tells me the Hmong--among Laos' 49 ethnicities--don't believe in cremation, so the above doesn't go for everyone, but certainly it's the pomp and circumstance of rites of passage.)

Whoever invented the electric fan didn't get enough credit. I have renewed appreciation for the wonderful devices. When the little family was sharing office space in the Center last week, they co-opted the floor fan which usually sits next to the computer. They've moved on and the fan is back, to serve in serendipitous harmony with the oscillating ceiling fan. The classroom we use has concrete walls which collect the heat all day. The room has one little closed window. By the time class begins at five, we have thrown the window open and cranked up the two wall fans and all is habitable. Last week, we used alphabet manipulatives which demanded we turn off the fans so the letters didn't fly all over the place. By the time we put them away in their bag, we were relieved to be able to turn the fans on again. The ceiling fan in my room at the guesthouse is a veritable jukebox. When I first arrived, it played endless choruses of "Skip to My Lou." Last week it switched to, "I've got a mule, her name is Sal, fifteen miles on the Erie Canal"--uptempo. This week, it's become, "I've got a home in Gloryland that (clap!) outshines the sun!"

As for my left foot, thanks for your concerns. It's fine. I have been reunited with my jumprope which is a beautiful thing, especially for my psyche!