Trees and tuk-tuks and tolerance

Martin Luther once said:

For in the true nature of things, if we rightly consider, every green tree is far more glorious than if it were made of gold and silver.

I’m afraid I beg to differ, Mr. Luther.

As I’ve mentioned before, tuk-tuk drivers often congregate outside our front gate, where a full leafy tree provides cooling shade. They’re usually friendly, sometimes jumping up to open my gate when I approach on my bike, but more often than not, they’re just annoying. Sometimes they actually park directly in front of our gate, so we have to drive the motorbike around their tuk-tuks to get to our house. Most weekend mornings, they rise with the sun and crank their tinny pop songs. Lately they’ve been dumping trash under the tree, which would be the final straw if I knew enough Lao to have a confrontation.

In late March, the shade tree lost all its leaves and looked near death. Tony and I did a little happy dance but immediately felt guilty for rejoicing in nature’s destruction. The tuk-tuk drivers found other places to park, and we savored the peace of our foliage-free front gate. Unfortunately, we underestimated the power of tropical regeneration. Within about two weeks, the tree stood tall and proud and superfoliaceous. (I just found that fabulous word on synonym.com!)

So the drivers are back.

Mr. Kek, our favorite smiley mango-stealing driver – who likes to take detours by his own home to show passengers “Mr. Kek house! Mr. Kek dog! Mr. Kek baby!” – has even rigged up a hammock between his tuk-tuk and that temptress of a tree.
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So, Mr. Luther, I will take that gold-and-silver tree, please.

Wat ‘O’ the Week – Wat Chom Phet

If you’re looking for an enormous cricket, the no-evil monkey triplets, a nasty concrete crone with a chicken cage full of scared people, and a massive reclining Buddha, have I got a temple for you!

Wat Chom Phet, located at the southern edge of Vientiane, is not your run-of-the-mill Buddhist temple. Just a short bumpy ride off the busy Tha Deua Road, this place resonates a mystical, whimsical vibe.

I pedaled here with Tony and my friend, Catherine, early Sunday morning at the recommendation of a friend. Parking our bikes inside the temple gate, we were greeted by a strange collection of sculptures. A Lao man was lighting incense at an adjacent Buddha statue, so I asked him in Lao if he spoke English (an essential phrase to learn here!). He did, kind of.

We asked him to explain the unusual yard art.

Gigantic cricket with a man in traditional dress yanking on one huge cricket leg? Hmmm … he rambled about how the name of the village translated to “cricket” or something like that.
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Skulls with red-painted fire and large aardvark-ish animals? Well, er, maybe those came from another temple.
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Creepy looking witch with pendulous naked breasts guarding an overturned basket with three crouching captives inside? Ah, this one he could explain! The monks use this sculpture to teach that it’s easy to fall under the influence of evil people like this scary woman … or maybe not.
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At least the hear-no-evil/see-no-evil/speak-no-evil monkeys were self-explanatory.
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After chatting with us a bit more, the guy finished his prayers and drove off. We wandered around the temple grounds. The main attraction was the reclining Buddha, rumored to be 21 meters long and the biggest reclining Buddha in town. (I say “rumored” because nobody seems to know much about much at local temples.) I especially liked that Buddha rested his elbow on an elephant’s head; that was a creative touch.
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Buddha’s bed was decorated with a menagerie of animals, including more elephants, a cat, chicken, naga, turtle, ox, dog, tiger and a couple I couldn’t identify – maybe a hyena or monkey?
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There must have been some special event very early this morning. Ladies were cleaning up inside the big room, stacking trays used for eating while sitting on the floor.
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Catherine and I sat down in the shade to chat, and we were soon joined by a novice monk and an old man.
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The monk, named Som Chith, spoke some English and asked whether we had any questions about the temple. Turns out he didn’t have any answers, though. Fortunately, the old man, named Du Peng, had some institutional knowledge. He would relay long stories in Lao to our monk friend, who would then pause and think for a bit before giving us much abbreviated versions in English.

According to the guys, most of the temple was built on donated land in 1942, although the big gold stupa was older, maybe from the early 1900s. We asked about the crazy sculptures, and after a particularly long Lao explanation from Du Peng, the monk told us a traditional folktale about a character named Khatthanam. Catherine and I think the story goes like this: The evil witch captured people and ate them (hence the cage and the skulls on the BBQ). Khatthanam got word that some of his friends had been captured, so he came to their rescue. In an ending reminiscent of Hansel and Gretl, he tricked the witch by replacing the people with crickets. Gigantic crickets like the statue? We never got a clear answer to that. And, to be honest, we may have completely misunderstood the whole thing.

I tried to find details on (a) the temple, (b) the cricket story, and (c) the big Buddha, but as usual, I came up empty-handed. I find it very disconcerting how little of the local history and culture is documented in an accessible form. When I mentioned this to the first temple-goer, he shared my dismay. He said the government is deeply suspicious of the internet and wants to keep its secrets private. Well, they’re doing a good job.

Here are more shots from the temple:

What’s Hot? What’s Not?

Lady Gaga. Edward or Jacob? Celebrity reality shows. Farmville. The iPad. Know what else is hot?
My toiletries.

We have air-conditioning units in our dining room and bedrooms, and that’s it. Today’s temperature is 100°F, so anything not located in the dining room or bedrooms is getting broiled. Sometimes it’s nice to slather warm body butter on my feet before I go to bed, but when I start sweating straight out of the shower, I don’t really want my facial moisturizer to heat up my skin like Ben-Gay.

Just for kicks, I conducted a little experiment on our toiletries, and the results were surprising. I’m sure some brainiacs out there could explain this phenomenon, but I did not expect to see such a range of temperatures. I mean, all of these products live in the same sweltering room. Why didn’t they all have the same temperature?

Here’s the rundown (my thermometer only gives readings in Fahrenheit, so I apologize to those of you in the metric world): Our toothpaste got the hottest with a blazing temp of 97.4°F. Shaving cream stayed the coolest with a relatively chilly temp of 95.7°F.

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Feeling very clever, I took my experiment one step further, using the scientific method:
(1) Ask a Question – Is there a relationship between the tap labeled “cold” and the actual temperature of the water?
(2) Construct a Hypothesis – Turning on the “cold” tap will release cold water out of the faucet.
(3) Test the Hypothesis by Doing an Experiment – I turned on the “cold” tap and used my thermometer to measure the temperature of the water. At first, the water temperature was 90.4°F, which I believe would universally be considered not cold. After letting the water run for a bit to get the hot water out of the pipes, I measured the temperature again: 92.7°F. It actually got hotter.
(4) Draw a Conclusion – It seems there are two potential conclusions. (a) My hypothesis was wrong, and there is no cold water in Laos. (b) My hypothesis was correct, and “cold” in Laos is a relative term defined as being around 92°F.

So you know what’s NOT hot in Vientiane? Nothing.

Have I Mentioned the Fruit Shakes?

Sure, I could cross the street and buy some fresh fruit to make a frosty delicious shake. But then I would have to peel it and chop it and walk to the market next door to buy ice and get the blender out of the cupboard and later rinse out the blender and my glass … in my non-air-conditioned kitchen. Sweat is collecting on my brow at the thought.

Instead, I like to head into town to House of Fruit Shake, a little stall run by a lovely Lao woman named Nui, who will do all the work for 85 cents.
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Here’s Nui making our fruit shakes.
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Even though it’s 99F/38C here in Vientiane today, I feel quite comfy sitting on a sofa with a fan blowing in my face while I read a book and sip my lemon-and-mint shake. Today, Tony tagged along and sucked down a banana shake (he went off Diet Coke cold turkey three days ago; it hasn’t been pretty).
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Usually, I hang out here and read for awhile, occasionally pausing to chat with Nui or order another fruit shake. Tony’s not one to linger, so we cut it short today. Can you tell how much I wanted to read that book? It’s a real page-turner!
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Tropical Fruit – A Love Story

I know I talk about fruit a lot. I just can’t overstate how much I love it.

For the last couple weeks, I have been eating mangoes from the tree in my yard. There are many varieties of mangoes here in Laos; ours are pale yellow and green on the outside and bright orange on the inside. Yum. The mangoes hang very high in the tree, but when we come home from school we find that our tiny housekeeper, Daeng, has somehow managed to pick them. She wraps the mangoes in newspaper and stashes them in cupboards until they’re perfectly ripe.

Our mangoes dangle close to the front gate, taunting the tuk-tuk drivers who park in the shade there. Once Tony caught our favorite tuk-tuk driver, Mr. Kek, sneaking in to steal one! Yesterday, I had crossed the street to buy an iced coffee from my beloved street vendor, Saeng, when Mr. Kek stopped me to ask if he could have a mango. Happily slurping on my coffee, I felt a little compassion was in order. “Bo-pen-yang,” I told him. No problem. I opened the gate and let him in. He immediately shimmied up the mango tree (in flip flops) and then precariously inched out onto a limb to grab a piece of fruit. Back on the ground, he showed me the mango had a bit of sap on it. “Baw dii,” he said. No good. I think he just wanted me to feel relieved that he took a defective mango, when in reality, it looked pretty darn perfect to me.

Another source of mango-ey deliciousness here in Vientiane can be found at Kung’s Cafe, a quirky little restaurant tucked in a back alley, where you can get a pancake made from sticky rice with chunks of ripe mango inside and drizzled with honey. But that’s a story for another day.

This morning, I walked across the street to the fruit vendors and bought a honkin’ big papaya, a bunch of sweet bananas, a kilo of mangosteens and a few imported apples (for Tony, who doesn’t like tropical fruit – freak!), all for about $5. It was so pretty, I had to take a picture.
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Bali Folly

As a travel planner, I have really slacked off this year. Usually I start thinking about potential trips way ahead of time, track down the cheapest flights, read scads of hotel reviews, act on tips from friends, and otherwise ensure a most awesome adventure for Tony and me. Since moving to Vientiane, I have felt too busy/tired/confused/broke to put much effort in to travel planning.

As our April break was approaching, we heard this mantra again and again: Get the hell out of Laos! The Pii Mai holiday (Lao New Year) has many beautiful and spiritual traditions, so I hated to miss it. However, the practice of dousing everyone with water sounded annoying enough to send us both into an emotional tailspin. Apparently, the lovely water blessing has deteriorated into a full-blown citywide water fight, complete with buckets, water cannons, water balloons and other paraphernalia. The rate of vehicular accidents also skyrockets during this week, which seems predictable when (a) most vehicles on the road are motorbikes, and (b) it’s not easy to get your bike back under control after taking a bucket of water in the face.

Thailand was celebrating the same festival (they call it Songkran), and the “Red Shirts” were building momentum with their civil disobedience, so I ruled out a Thai beach vacation. In fact, I ruled out all flights routed through Bangkok, not out of fear but out of awareness that if my holiday were cut short by demonstrations at the airport, I would be truly pissed.

After many inner confrontations between Pragmatic Me (who argues we should be pinching every penny to pay for our Michigan lakehouse renovations) and Spoiled Me (who insists we DESERVE a bit of pampering because we work SO hard!) – I decided to book a trip to Bali. (Pragmatic Me never had a chance…) Feeling the usual spring burnout common among teachers, I chose to check in to a hotel and stay there. No exhaustive bopping around the island. A few quick internet searches and – bam! – we had tickets and a hotel. Here’s how it played out.

Saturday – On the Road Again
Flew to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, and spent the night at a hotel close to the airport. Air Asia had changed our flights at the last minute, necessitating an overnight en route to Bali. Doh!

Sunday – Scoping Out the ‘Hood
Arrived at our stunning oasis, Rumah Bali Bed and Breakfast, near Nusa Dua on the southeast coast. The hotel is part of a little empire launched by a Swiss entrepreneur and his Balinese wife. To illustrate my previous point that I hadn’t done much research for this trip, I chose Rumah Bali based only on a few reviews that raved about the breakfast. We were happy to find that everything about Rumah Bali – including the breakfast – was perfect.

Here are some shots from the hotel grounds.

That’s our bungalow behind Tony. We had the whole top floor. Loved it!
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Just across the street, high-end swanky hotels lined the beach overlooking the Lombok Strait. We walked through the lobby of the Peninsula Hotel to get to the Tanjung Benoa beach. It was pretty disappointing. There was lots of flotsam and jetsam floating on the surface of the very shallow water, and the sand was coarse and full of sea debris. Walking along a path that links the hoity-toity resorts, we thanked our lucky stars that we hadn’t shelled out the big bucks to stay at one of them. We happily crossed back to our idyllic bungalow and hopped in the pool.

For lunch, we wandered down an alley and found a little “warung,” a hole-in-the-wall café that served up simple Balinese food and catered to the locals. Tony’s meal looked like a chicken had been attacked with a weed whacker, but he said it was tasty, and he’s quite adept at removing all bits of meat from the bones. My “nasi goreng” (spicy fried rice with chicken) and stir-fried garlicky veggies were so delicious that I opted for warung food over restaurant fare most days.

Back at Rumah Bali, we wandered around the grounds. One large area is set up as a traditional Balinese market restaurant – Pasar Malam – with several small thatched-roof pavilions filled with heavy teakwood tables and chairs. On this day, workers were setting up an extensive sound system, which didn’t bode well. As we discovered later, some company was holding a special event at this venue and would blast dance tunes till nearly midnight. Tossing and turning in bed that night, I couldn’t help but admire their playlist – it could’ve come straight off my iPod. Fortunately, this was the only party during our stay.

Monday – Breakfast and Beaches
Early to bed, early to rise. We had breakfast delivered to our balcony around 7 a.m., and it was spectacular! Delicious French-pressed coffee, pastries still warm from the oven, fried eggs and crispy bacon, freshly squeezed mango juice, and a gorgeous collection of fruit. The fruit bowl included the standard melon and banana, but also starfruit, jackfruit, lychee and two mystery fruits that I’d never had before. One had thick hard yellow skin and a grey gelatinous middle with little seeds. It tasted sugary sweet, but the texture was reminiscent of a raw oyster and triggered my gag reflex. The other newbie to my fruit repertoire had a brown leathery skin. The flesh was white-ish and hard with a marble-sized smooth pit. It tasted like a dry sweet pear. Thumbs down on Mystery Fruit #1, which I have since identified as marquisa passion fruit and learned it is usually enjoyed in juice form. Thumbs up on Mystery Fruit #2, which I discovered is aptly named snakeskin fruit.

Breakfast on the balcony.
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Today we rented a motorbike with big plans to explore the area. We rode to Nusa Dua, another string of ritzy beachfront resorts nestled in a perfectly manicured neighborhood. We walked along the flagstone path and checked out all the decadent hotels, where not a grain of sand was out of place. We even saw workers raking and burying seagrass that had washed up on the shore. (I freely admit that my criticism may be slightly tinged with jealousy.) At the end of the path, we encountered a woven bamboo wall, so we walked around it and discovered the “real” beach – just sand, water and locals selling snacks. As much as I wanted to swim in the sea, I was discouraged by the posters warning of sea urchins, the lack of waves, and the omnipresent junk bobbing on the water. Again, we zipped back to Rumah Bali and jumped in the pool. We definitely didn’t get our money’s worth out of the motorbike!

Nusa Dua beach.
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Tuesday – Bathroom Meditations
We had planned to go scuba diving, but I woke up with a bad case of Bali belly, so we postponed our scuba outing. I spent the whole day in the room, only occasionally venturing to the balcony for a few minutes at a time. I couldn’t even muster the strength to take a dip in the pool. Tony tried to get to Kuta, the backpacker Mecca of Bali, but he ended up back at Nusa Dua at a shopping area called Bali Collection. I don’t really know what else he did; I was too sick to care. About the only thing that made me happy today was the fact that our bungalow did not have an open-air outdoor bathroom like some of the others.

Wednesday – Tonny Cooks up a Storm
Another morning of feeling icky! My tummy was fine, but I felt like I had a mild flu or a bad cold. I had enough energy to lounge by the pool and wander around Rumah Bali a bit; mostly I watched TV and read Vanity Fair. I kept trying to convince myself that my body was crying out for rest, but I’m not very good at resting. Tony joked that my illnesses were slowing me down just enough to be at his pace. Ha, ha.

Tony spent the day at the Bumbu Bali cooking school (where they gave him a nametag labeled “Tonny”). It took place in a kitchen in the hotel’s Pasar Malam area. Heinz von Holzen, a reknowned chef, cookbook author, and founder of the Bumbu Bali restaurant, was the teacher. I dragged myself down to the kitchen to shoot a few pictures.

The cooking class kitchen.
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Tony mixes the meat and spices. Oh, wait, that’s not Tony.
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There he is with his lovely satay on a stick of lemongrass. He learned how to pinch the satay to make it look like a temple, which keeps it from falling apart on the grill.
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A few more shots from cooking class.

Thursday – Lice and Crabs
Waterworld, a local scuba outfit, picked us up at 8 a.m. and took us to the beach. We joined a British guy, Colin, and his 14-year-old son, Jack. Still feeling stuffy, I opted to snorkel in lieu of diving. After the three guys were fitted for wetsuits and equipment, we boarded a small boat for the hour-long ride to Nusa Penida Island in the Lombok Strait. Just offshore, the boys climbed into their gear and dropped backwards off the boat with the divemaster.

I had my own snorkeling guide, so we jumped in and took off. At first I was disappointed not to be diving, but I was soon distracted by all the colorful sea life so close to the surface. In fact, the scenery tricked my body into thinking I really WAS diving. Occasionally my snorkel would fill with water and after trying to blow it out, I automatically reached for my regulator. Of course, I didn’t have a regulator, so I quickly snapped back to reality and rolled my head to the side to suck in some air. I floated over all shapes, sizes and colors of coral teeming with little fish. Huge brightly colored and even striped starfish clung to the coral. I only saw one big fish (maybe a yard/meter long), and it was just chillin’ on the sandy floor surrounded by a swirl of smaller fishy admirers. The highlight was a sea turtle that popped out from under some coral and swam away.

Back on the boat, Tony and Colin consulted their dive tables and realized that the divemaster had kept them underwater too long. The divemaster told them, “No problem!” but the guys insisted on keeping the second dive short. Colin was particularly peeved as he was trying to teach safe diving habits to his son.

During the break, I noticed tiny blue bits all over Tony’s neck. I picked one off and said, “I think these are bugs.” He looked at it and said it was just lint from the wet suit. With a blue bit on the end of my finger, I stretched out my arm and brought it back in, trying to find the perfect spot where my aging eyes could focus on it. Finally, I held it out to young Jack. “What do you think it is?” I asked. He concurred with Tony. The more I examined the blue bits, the more I swore I saw little legs. Finally, I held out my finger to the divemaster. “Do you know what this is?” I asked.
“Oh, yes! It is a …” Grasping for the English word, he said, “It’s like …” and then he scratched his head with exaggerated urgency.
“Lice?” I said.
“Yes! Sea lice!” he said with obvious relief.
So there’s no end to my amusement as I tell everyone that Tony picked up lice at the bottom of the sea.

Heading back to shore, I spotted a tiny crab in the bottom of the boat. I was afraid someone would step on him, so I tried to scoop him up with a dive mask, but he kept escaping. He scurried back and forth across my foot for much of the ride, prompting Tony to guffaw, “I may have picked up lice, but you got crabs!” Hardy har har.

When we got back to the diveshop, we were given some cold egg sandwiches and the news that their credit card machine was broken. The lady said, “The machine no work, so you give us money.” I had to laugh! Oh, right, it just so happens I have $200 in my bikini bottoms! I had told them upfront that we were paying with a credit card. They had a little freak, but Balinese people are so polite that it didn’t get nasty. Ultimately, our wonderful hotel added the scuba charges to our bill and then reimbursed the dive company.

Friday – A Taste of Ubud
For years I had heard about Ubud, the center of Balinese arts and culture, nestled in the rice terraces of the mountains. Elizabeth Gilbert wrote about this town in Eat, Pray, Love. My parents visited in the 90s and did their part to keep the local artisans in business. Many friends have traveled to Ubud and come home with wonderful stories. But did I listen to them? Nooooo. I listened to the ONE friend who said, “Ubud used to be so fantastic, but now it’s overrun with tourists. I would skip it if I were you.”

We didn’t skip it altogether, but we made it a day trip. One of the Rumah Bali workers hooked us up with his friend, a driver, who took us to see the rice terraces and then dropped us in Ubud for about 4 hours. We felt like the Griswolds at the Grand Canyon: “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. OK, what’s next.” We didn’t have time to linger and fully appreciate it.

We jumped out of the car for a short visit to some rice terraces.
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Ubud, it turns out, is STILL fantastic! We wandered the shady back alleys, browsed in unique artsy shops, poked around the market, stopped for a quick lunch, and kicked ourselves for not spending more time here. Despite the throngs of tourists, the town seems to have maintained its roots in spirituality and culture. I picked up a little guide to Ubud at the tourism office, which only fueled my regret. There’s so much going on in this town: dance performances, yoga, art exhibits, cultural workshops, live music, and so much more!

At a temple outside the local market, people were leaving little packets of offerings and incense.
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The market was a jumble of jewelry, clothing, home decor, handicrafts, sundries and fresh produce. This was a basket shop.
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Cool art was tucked in every corner of Ubud. This was the view out the window at our lunch spot.
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Our lazy week at Rumah Bali was dreamy, but I left Bali craving a dose of Ubud. I’ll be back!

Friday night, we treated ourselves with dinner at Bumbu Bali, the restaurant started by Tony’s cooking teacher. Designed to feel like a Balinese home, the restaurant is really a collection of open-air rooms. The entrance is right next to the kitchen, so when we walked in, all the cooks shouted out, “Hello! Welcome!” The hostess stuck a frangiapani flower behind our ears and walked us to our table. Flowers dangled from the thatch ceilings, and water flowed in little rivulets through the restaurant. A Balinese band sat on the floor and played soothing tunes while young girls performed traditional dances. We ordered a sampler menu with heaps of appetizers, delicious main courses and sweet gooey desserts.

This is Nefi, who also worked at the cooking school and remembered “Mr. Tonny.”
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Loving the atmosphere (and prawn chips with spicy chili sauce).
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Dee-lish!
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A cook fans the coals with a bamboo mat.
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Bad photo, but cool rice steamers.
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More shots from the restaurant.

Saturday – Home Again, Eventually
Stupid Air Asia and its stupid flight schedule. We left Rumah Bali at 3:45 a.m. for our flight to Kuala Lumpur, where we then sat for six hours until our flight to Vientiane.

Parting Thoughts
Travelers to Southeast Asia seem to fall in to two camps: (A) Love Thailand/hate Bali. (B) Love Bali/hate Thailand. When we tried to decide which group to join, we realized there were things we loved and hated about both places. Actually, we don’t really hate anything about either place … except maybe the traffic. Keeping in mind that we have visited Thailand more times than I can count and Bali only once, we agreed that:
• Thailand has nicer beaches.
• Bali seems less jaded by the influx of tourism. However, we never visited Kuta, which might have skewed the results.
• The people in both places are absolutely lovely and gracious.
• The food in both places is spectacular. (I prefer Thai food by a slim margin. Tony prefers Balinese, but I think he’s just feeling very informed about Balinese cuisine after his awesome cooking class.)
• We need to do more research! So it seems more visits to Thailand and Bali are in order.

Sok dee pii mai!

Pii Mai (Lao New Year) is next week, and Vientiane is getting ready. Today our school held an assembly to mark the occasion.

I had noticed Hawaiian luau-style shirts for sale all over town lately, and I just figured they were hot with the tourists. Fortunately, my Lao colleagues set me straight: Flowers play a major role in celebrating Pii Mai (pronounced Pee My), so floral tops are de rigeur.

While running some errands on my bike, I stopped at a roadside stand and bought one for about $3.50. The guy looked me over and recommended an XL, but I grabbed a bright orange man’s style in a size large. Later, Tony bought one for himself, but his blue-and-white shirt was a size medium. It was even too small for me! Why, oh why, won’t men try on clothes before buying them? But I digress … At school today, he traded with my friend, Whetu, whose shirt was too big, so he and I both ended up in orange as though we’d planned it.
How cute are we?
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The floral shirts definitely brightened up the school today. I especially loved the little boys who wore matching flowery shorts.

Our assembly included explanations and dramatizations of the Pii Mai traditions, music, a demonstration of water blessings and finally a big circle dance (although the clueless falang turned it into more of a dreamy mosh pit).

Afterwards, classes met on the lawn, where students blessed their teachers and asked for forgiveness. Isn’t that a fantastic tradition? Children dipped a small cup into a large silver bowl to scoop out some water and flower petals. They poured a little water on their teacher’s hands or neck and said, “Sok dee pii mai!” (Happy New Year!) and offered other good wishes. The teacher then used his or her wet hands to sprinkle some water back on the student. Because I’m not a grade-level teacher, I didn’t have a designated spot, but many of my students called me over to receive their blessing. It was really beautiful. I expected the children to get wild and silly with the water, but they were shockingly respectful.

A few shots from the assembly:

Out on the grass, we all participated in the water blessings.
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Kindy kids

Here are some details about the Pii Mai holiday lifted from Wikipedia. According to our Lao staff, this is pretty accurate:

Water is used for washing homes, Buddha images, monks, and soaking friends and passers-by. Students first respectfully pour water on their elders, then monks for blessings of long life and peace, and last of all they throw water each other. The water is perfumed with flowers or natural perfumes. The idea of watering came from the legend of King Kabinlaphom, whose seven daughters kept his severed head in a cave. The daughters would visit their father’s head every year and perform a ritual to bring happiness and good weather.

Sand is brought to the temple grounds and is made into stupas or mounds, then decorated before being given to the monks as a way of making merit. There are two ways to make the sand stupas. One way is to go to the beach, and the other way is to bring sand to the wat, or pagoda. Sand stupas are decorated with flags, flowers, white lines, and splashed with perfumed water. Sand stupas symbolize the mountain, Phoukao Kailat, where King Kabinlaphom’s head was kept by his seven daughters.

Another way to make merit at this time is to set animals free. The Lao believe that even animals need to be free. The most commonly freed animals are tortoises, fish, crabs, birds, eels, and other small animals.

Flowers are gathered to decorate Buddha images. In the afternoons people collect fresh flowers. Senior monks take the younger monks to a garden filled with flowers, where they pick flowers and bring back to the wat to wash. People who didn’t participate in the flower picking bring baskets to wash the flowers so the flowers can shine with the Buddha statues.

There is an annual beauty pageant in Luang Prabang to crown Miss Bpee Mai Lao (Miss Lao New Year). There are many beauty pageants in Laos, but Luang Prabang – the old capital – is widely known for its Nangsoukhane pageant. There are seven contestants, each one symbolizing one of King Kabinlaphom’s seven daughters.

During Lao New Year, there are many spectacles including traditional Lao music, mor-lam, and ram-wong (circle dancing). During the daytime almost everybody is at the temple worshipping, hoping to have a healthier and happier life in the new year. During the evening, people of all ages go to the wat for entertainment.

Earth Hour in Vientiane

Earth Hour Logo

Earth Hour came to Vientiane for the first time on Saturday, March 27. Our little city was the 92nd one to join the movement, which aims to raise awareness about climate change by promoting one hour without electricity. It wasn’t as dramatic as the footage of Sydney or Shanghai, where global landmarks and big sections of the city suddenly went dark. Still, the event attracted an enthusiastic crowd to the Patuxai Monument, where a stage featured speeches and entertainment under electricity-sucking spotlights. After the countdown, the lights turned off in the vicinity around the monument, and even the stage lights dimmed a bit.

Apparently Laos had wanted to make participation compulsory, but Vientiane’s patchwork power grid precluded the flipping of a switch to cut off all the electricity. Another quirky note: The rest of the world celebrated Earth Hour at 8:30 p.m., but Vientiane decided to do it at 7:00.

Our internet’s been quite unreliable recently (maybe Laos figured out how to impose compulsory limits on THAT…), so I’m a bit late posting this. I finally got it on YouTube this week. Here’s the Vientiane countdown from four.

Bureaucracy and blessings

Getting government approval to operate a business in Laos apparently takes quite a bit of time and savvy finagling. My friend Catherine, an Aussie teacher at VIS, learned that firsthand when she rented space for an art gallery. Hoping to spotlight the work of local artists, she set up her living space upstairs and did some minor remodeling downstairs to create two display areas flooded with natural light.

When her official paperwork finally came through, Catherine shared the news with her landlord, Mr. Boulein, who immediately began planning a baci ceremony. Pronounced “bah-see,” the ceremony is held frequently in Lao communities to commemorate a special event, honor important people, cure sicknesses and celebrate just about anything.

Catherine had hoped to hold the baci on Tuesday, when a friend would be visiting from Australia, but Mr. Boulein explained that April 5 was an auspicious day and therefore the baci couldn’t wait.

As guests arrived at the i:cat gallery, Mr. Boulein’s mother (hereafter called Grandma) assessed our attire and pinned on colorful silk sashes. I enjoyed mingling and chatting with the well-wishers, an eclectic group of people from myriad countries and all walks of life. Catherine was surprised to find that some of her Lao friends actually knew each other and were conspiring to keep tabs on her.

Grandma pins a sash on me.
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Soon Grandma ushered us in to the air-conditioned gallery room for the baci, where we sat on woven mats. She encouraged us to scoot close to the pah-khwan centerpiece – a large silver vase with a massive arrangement of marigolds and braided white strings. A collection of offerings surrounded the vase, including a roasted chicken, a plate of eggs, bags of potato chips, a basket of sticky rice, cans of soda, and thin beeswax candles.

The spiritual leader and the pah-khwan.
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Each of us sitting next to the pah-khwan grabbed a white string tied to the centerpiece and clasped the other end between our prayerful hands. I felt fingertips on my shoulder and realized that everyone in the room was connected to each other – and thus the sacred pah-khwan – by touch. The spiritual leader then chanted long rapid monotone prayers, which were loosely translated by the lady on my left, Jackie, owner of another international school here in Vientiane. In a nutshell, he was praying for Catherine’s good luck, prosperity and overall happiness. At a couple junctures, he said something that elicited a few yelps from the crowd, which apparently were calls for the spirits to pay attention to his prayers.

Finally, we pulled the braided strings off the pah-khwan to offer individual blessings: Using the frayed end of the string, you first brush bad energy out through someone’s fingers on the top side of the hand. Then you turn the hand over and offer a number of blessings while brushing positive energy in over the palm and wrist. After all possible wishes have been offered, you tie the string around your partner’s wrist, giving the tight knot a final twist and rub for extra luck.

A highlight of the experience was when Grandma put the plate of chicken in Catherine’s hands, and the spiritual leader proceeded to do the string blessing with deep reverence and sincerity.
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One young lady, Daeng (whose family owns my favorite breakfast place in Vientiane – Kung’s Café), was tying a string on my wrist when she started to offer up the omniscient prayer for me to have a kid. “Tell those spirits NO babies!” I said. She laughed and went along with it.

Daeng brought this beautiful basket of fruit.
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With the Lao New Year holiday – Pii Mai – just around the corner, traditional water blessings followed the baci. We paraded outside, where Grandma had a silver bowl filled with water and flower petals. One by one, we crouched down for her to pour a bit over our hands.

I can see why Lao people treasure the baci ceremony. In her six years in Laos, Catherine has cultivated many friendships, and this brought us together with a common purpose. By the time we gathered outside for pizza and drinks, the ceremony had generated a palpable vibe of support and optimism for Catherine and her new enterprise.

Pretty, Sheila, Catherine and me. Pretty’s husband, Tommy, is a professional photographer, so I hope to get copies of his pics on here soon.
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International UXO/Mine Awareness Day

Today is Easter, a day for Christians to focus on promises fulfilled and hope for the future. Here in Laos, we spent the morning focusing on the same concepts but in a different context: International UXO/Mine Awareness Day.

In the capital city of the most heavily bombed country on earth, Tony and I joined the crowd at the Patuxai Monument early this morning, dressed in our Team Dai “Ban Cluster Bombs” jerseys. Several organizations had set up informational displays about UXO (unexploded ordnance) and the efforts to rehabilitate bomb victims and educate communities at risk. Hundreds of people showed up to march in support of banning cluster munitions, so we paraded about 5K from the monument to the Presidential Palace and back.

According to the United Nations:

Throughout the Second Indochina War (1964 to 1973), more than 580,000 bombing missions (every 8 minutes, 24 hours a day, for 9 years) and wide-ranging ground battles dropped over 2 million tons of ordnance on Lao PDR. Additionally, over 260 million cluster munitions were used, of which an estimated 80 million remain live as a result of high failure rates. Today UXO litters vast areas of the country; approximately 25 percent of 10,000 villages are contaminated.

Tony and I cannot believe that we never learned about this in school. We feel fortunate to live here and witness first-hand the selfless work under way to excavate the bombs, reach out to bomb victims, and educate communities to prevent further casualties. These organizations from all over the world are living the message of Easter: promise and hope.

A quick speech. Every red dot on that map represents a load of bombs that were dropped there.
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Release some balloons (no need to address the environmental impact of that at this moment …)
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And off we go for the UXO/Mine Awareness March.
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We walked with friends Alison and Todd, teachers at VIS, and their kids Sam and Kira.
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We cheated a bit and crossed the median just short of the Presidential Palace.
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A sign at the monument. I just never get tired of quirky translations.
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Adventures in Teaching and Travel