Another Glorious Training Ride

I chalked up another 50+ kilometers on my bike this morning with Team Dai. We rode out of the city center and then turned on to the smoothest paved road I’ve seen in Laos. It was built for the Southeast Asian Games (which took place in Vientiane in December) and led to one of the stadiums. Now that the games are over, big concrete blocks prevent cars from accessing the road, and work is under way to extend the road all the way to the Friendship Bridge that links Laos and Thailand across the Mekong River.

We wriggled our bikes through the barrier and enjoyed a comfy, flat, scenic, traffic-free ride for a few kilometers. Once we passed the turn-off to the stadium, though, the road turned to dirt. Still, it was relatively smooth dirt. Soon we encountered the road workers and their heavy equipment, which kicked up lots of dust, but the riding was easy and the views were spectacular. In this photo, I’m posing in front of an expansive rice paddy where a farmer was “herding” hundreds of ducks.
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Eventually, the dirt road intersected with the main artery leading past the Friendship Bridge and back into town. Although one rider argued for staying on asphalt, she was outvoted by others who wanted to pedal along the canal. I had never done the canal ride, so I just kept my mouth shut. I quickly realized why she had lobbied for the paved road. The canals were lined with farms, trees and friendly locals, but the path was a series of packed-earth craters. At one point, I shouted out, “Are we riding on the moon?”

These rides have brought so much bliss to my weekends.
Exhaustion, a sore bum, ears full of dirt, and bugs in my teeth, as well, … but mostly bliss!
Why am I doing it? See my other posts about Team Dai.

Mussels at Chok Dee

Vientiane sometimes feels like a VERY small town. News travels quickly, and I’m guessing there are about 2 degrees of separation between each expat here. So when a Belgian restaurateur started driving to Thailand each weekend to buy mussels that he serves up nine different ways with a selection of imported beers, his Mekong-side café soon became a hot spot. Tony and I tried it out Saturday night. We ordered one batch of mussels “escargot style,” which means broiled with butter, garlic and breadcrumbs, and another batch in a white wine cream sauce. Accompanied by fries, a couple Hoegaarden beers, and a lively ambience, it was a delicious departure from the usual Lao fare.
The restaurant is called Chok Dee, which means “good luck” in Lao.
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Dam Daytrip

Tony and I have spent the last week of our long winter break hanging around Vientiane. We ride our bikes in the countryside, walk around town, try new restaurants and chill out at home. One of our favorite places to relax is at our patio table under the mango tree. Unfortunately, that little oasis has been transformed into auditory hell, thanks to a construction project next door. When Tony walked over to check it out, he discovered they’re using recycled lumber and hand-planing each board one at a time. In case you’ve never heard the sound of a hand-planer, it’s comparable to fingernails on a chalkboard with the volume on max. So when we’re home, we stay inside with the doors and windows shut tight in a futile effort to drown out the nerve-shattering noise.

That’s why it was such a relief when another teaching couple, Tom and Karel, invited us for a daytrip to the Nam Ngum Reservoir, about 90 kilometers north of Vientiane. The reservoir was created in 1971 by the construction of a hydroelectric dam across the Nam Ngum River.

They picked us up in their newly overhauled car, and we headed out of town. Soon our little city was out of sight, out of mind. Farmers wearing conical woven hats stood in knee-deep water to plant clumps of rice. Water buffalo pulled plows through heavy mud. Villagers rested in the shade of thatched-roof platforms raised above the rice paddies. We stopped for lunch alongside the river, and then Tom drove up into the hills. Far away from the hand planer and the traffic of Vientiane, we sipped sodas at a peaceful guesthouse overlooking the reservoir.

Lunch on the Nam Ngum River.
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Overlooking the reservoir.
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Kooky Karaoke

When we lived in China, one of the Filipina teaching assistants sold me a karaoke system. She had heard me wishing for one, and she said, “All Filipinos have karaoke! I have two.”
It’s so fantastic and so simple. There’s a microphone and a book with thousands of song titles. You just plug the mic into the TV, flip through the book, pick a song, and punch the song code into the microphone keypad. Voila! Magic!
The music is a little tinny, the lyrics on the TV are sometimes just a wee bit wrong, and the background graphics can be strange (a bright-eyed lemur, Big Ben, a canal in the Netherlands…). But it’s still heaps of fun.
On Friday, I invited some Lao girlfriends over to play. They did not mess around.

They brought a ridiculous amount of yummy treats, and then they got down to business. Huddled over the songbook, they made a list of their choices and then took turns in the spotlight. Mai was a bit of a mic hog, but with good reason. She had a gorgeous singing voice. Actually, most of them did. I was concerned that they wouldn’t like the song selections, but they knew more of the titles than I did.

Ton had brought a boy named Phu. He didn’t speak English, and he just sat in a chair clutching a pillow and taking pictures on command for the whole evening. He was so courteous and sweet. After he drank some Pepsi, he self-consciously slipped into the kitchen to wash his glass. As usual, Tony greeted the first arrivals and then bolted.

Carbo-loading for the songfest. Ton, Not, Lae and Nang chow down on the snacks.
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Keo, Addie and Ton pick songs.
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My mic is a prop. It’s not even plugged in. That’s Keo and Nang in the back; Ton, Lae, Mai and moi in the front.
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YMCA!!!
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At one point, I noticed the songstress crowd had thinned. That’s when I realized they were using my camera and staging a fashion shoot on my Chinese daybed. Such lovely ladies!

Here, the gang sings “Every Time You Go Away” by Paul Young.