Pathumphone songthaew

I was recently reading back over some old blog entries and managed to confirm my suspicion that I very rarely get round to actually talking about Laos.  Every month I start off with brilliant ideas and noble intentions to write about some aspect of the culture but when I sit down to write, I get easily distracted by whatever throwaway thought happens to be occupying me that day.  I have pages and pages of the beginnings of serious blog entries but I tend to get no further than the second or third paragraph before opening up a new document to start discussing the relative merits of ‘Mama Cup’ versus ‘Oh Ricey!’ instant noodles.  My recent ode to a motorcycle is a particular low point and as I come to the end of my placement, I really feel I should try and record some of my thoughts about Laos.

And yet, the only thing I keep coming back to is who a Lao equivalent to the man on the Clapham omnibus might be.  In Australia you have the man on the Bondi tram and in Hong Kong it’s apparently the man on the Shaukiwan tram.  I have vivid, slightly xenophobic and no doubt wildly inaccurate images of what both these chaps might look like but I’m really struggling with a Lao image. 

Now this brings me to the very nub of my problem, I’ve become fixated on creating a humorous mental image rather than discussing the different components of Lao society that might make up an idealised ‘everyman’.  It’s also interesting that the man on the Clapham omnibus is a legal construct and this could be the start of a discussion about legal protection and representation in Laos but it’s not and the vision of Lao people wearing bowler hats keeps popping back into my mind. 

Too busy working to play

I’ve been thinking about the same subject for more than a week now and I’ve managed to come up with a few likely subjects.  I’m hoping that jotting them down here will help dislodge the thought from my mind and I can get on with some proper work. 

No. 1: The man on the corner of the petanque court.  I have almost immediately discounted this one, mainly because there is no indication of mode of travel, although I suppose the point is that you can see people surrounding petanque courts all over Laos at any time of the day, not going anywhere at all; just focussed on the game.  The courts seem particularly busy at around 4.30pm or knocking off time but lots of government offices come equipped with one and you can generally find someone who’s up for a game, regardless of the time.  We don’t have one at my office but my first thought when I found a sleeping woman on the floor of my lab this lunchtime was ‘careful, don’t wake her’, so you get the idea.

Some rice and some machinery

No. 2: The farmer on the trailer of a tok tok.  This is included on the basis that most folk are still involved in farming in one way or another.  Actually, lots of people claim to be farmers when I’ve seen no actual evidence of them ever doing any farm work but perhaps they do it secretly when I’m not looking.  They’re probably not that different from the city types at home, who claim to be farmers when they mean they invested their money in land because it’s a pretty good sink for large tranches of investment.  Well, not quite like that, a bit less conceited perhaps but I have something of a chip on my shoulder about people claiming to be farmers when they’re not.  Some folk here have other jobs but are clearly hedging their bets and get labourers to manage family land.  Others work ridiculously hard at keeping down a full time job and also try some subsistence production on the side and I have no beef with either group.  For example, the rice farmer I most recently worked with is an engineer at the rice mill by day but also manages just over a hectare in his home village, meaning his management decisions are largely driven by his time availability.  It’s got me wondering whether I couldn’t do something similar at home, with some low input activities.    

On the other hand, some faux farmers drive me mad, like the chap I had a strange encounter with at a preparatory training course before coming to Laos.  We were asked to group ourselves on the basis of career.  I duly stood with people who had claimed a link to agriculture but it transpired the closest person to me worked in IT.

‘Eh, you said you were in agriculture.’

‘Um, well I did this organic farm exchange thing and picked grapes in France.’

‘Oh, so you went on holiday?’

I didn’t say that last bit but you can see how easily I get distracted by trifles.  I really love trifle.  I will be asking my Mum to make me one when I get home in just over a month.  When we were small, she used to make a thing called ‘surprise pudding’ which was essentially layered cake and custard with huge quantities of stale booze (my parents don’t really drink and can easily keep a bottle of sherry until it comes back into fashion) and hundreds of thousands on top of whipped cream, bleeding their e-numbers slowly across the pristine, white surface.  It was incredible and delicious but I’m still not sure what the surprise was supposed to be.

Moving on, how about…

No. 3: The government employee on the Mun ferry.  These references are all quite South specific, which is a bit of a flaw but there’s probably an equivalent further up the Mekong and Clapham could just as well be replaced with Didsbury.

Mounlapamok is a district with fairly poor road connections, so during the wet season in particular, it is advisable to get there by crossing the river on the diesel belching and somewhat infrequent, car ferry that covers the crossing.  This normally gets filled with government workers of all hues either in Hilux trucks or on motorcycles and a surprising number of people do seem to be attached to government offices in one way or another.

Right, I think I might have hit on an answer.

Heading home from market

No. 4: The woman on the Pathumphone songthaew. 

Pathumphone is a bit suburban in that the district is far enough from Pakse to be independent but close enough to support commuters.  Each day sees lots of transit between the two areas for both work but more importantly for products to be sold in the large Pakse markets, which is how lots of folk really do make their money, whether through sale of their own or neighbours’ produce, or imported, manufactured products from Thailand.  There is a huge diversity in the group, particularly concerning wealth but I think people who travel on the songthaew, which is more or less like a bus and a cheap-ish mode of travel, probably represent the average.  Then, if you assume it’s a woman, you can also create an easier stereotype of a lady wearing a sinh, which is a convenient stand-in for the bowler hats that were bugging me earlier.

Sprained wrist

So, there we have it, after two years and in my last week of work in Laos, I finally write a blog entry about Laos, instead of which puddles I’ve stepped in, or how many times I’ve fallen over in the previous month.  It was only one rather dramatic fall, in case you’re wondering but I have a sprained wrist, broken Kindle and torn jeans to show for it.

Next month will be a compilation of entries from my Lao road trip which starts on the 2^nd March, so I think there should at least be some pretty pictures to finish things off for this blog.  

Koy hag lot jak kong koy

There is a gentle slope outside the gate of my house.  The road has a fairly loose covering and when I try to kick-start my motorcycle, I inevitably roll backwards and end up going through a strange, shuffling charade until I finally get the right balance of choke, brake and brute force to get going. 



Official Yamaha motorcycle boots

Since I’ve been living by myself, the whole operation for leaving the house has become more of a fag.  Previously, on a normal day, I used to leave the house first and was thus only responsible for opening the gate.  I could then start the bike on level ground in the garden and zoom off through the gate with nary a backward glance.  Now, I’m responsible for locking the door, opening the gate, moving my bike outside, going back to lock the gate and then hopefully puttering off without stalling and blocking the road. 

A week or two ago, in something of an early morning fug, I wheeled my bike to the slope and turned back to lock the gate.  Unfortunately, a rogue piece of masonry had nudged the side stand and the bike fell over, snapping the end of my clutch lever.  ‘Bugger’, that’s the fourth clutch lever in 18 months and the episode got me to thinking about the various ‘adventures’ I’ve had on my bike in that time. 

The bike has been loaned to me by my organisation, for which I am extremely grateful but it did arrive in a fairly shocking condition.  The first trip we went on together was wheeling across the road from the bus station to the nearest mechanic.  Incidentally, I would like to propose Laos as the country with the highest ratio of mechanics to population, which is just as well.

Anyway, I’ve spent a lot of time with Lottie¹ since we first met and as I approach the end of my placement in Laos, I thought I’d pen a farewell letter.  

Dear Charlotte,

My second home

You look different now from when we first met but luckily for you, time has been kind and the iridescent green twinkle of your new mirrors lends you a puckish air as you scoot through the traffic on your exquisitely rutted new tyres.  The thrum of your engine has softened in note with the addition of your soft and pillowy, new air filter and the liberal application of the smooth and unctuous two-stroke oil you enjoy so much.  The easy shift in gears and gentle rumble of your new chain and sprocket reminds me of unhappier times, pushing you up hills and out of ditches but that’s all behind us now.  Let’s not dwell on the past of broken clutch and brake levers and your delicate, waif like constitution when it comes to facing the toils of everyday life.  You’re more robust now and better able to face life’s challenges, whether they are greasy, slick roads or ever changing and unpredictable traffic conditions.

Of course, I have some regrets.  I should have spent more time washing you but surely a thin layer of red dust has held you together and bound you more closely to your environment?  I shouldn’t have taken you on such inhospitable terrains and forced you to carry such improbable loads but didn’t that expand both our horizons and allow you to really recharge your batteries?

I hope you can look back on our time together with kindness and joy.  The only reminder of your previous life is your crumbling, moulting grips, giving away your age like the hands of a facelift denier.  Still, you have new memories now, a dent in your fuel tank where you were shunted off a boat and all of your many, many new parts.

Let’s go on one last trip together, a final odyssey to see new places and discover new things about Laos.  After that, who knows, perhaps an exciting life awaits you with someone else or it could be back to the slow decline into component fatigue that you experienced before.  Either way, I will think of you often and thank you always for the service you’ve given, sometimes grudgingly but always finally succumbing.

Goodbye Lottie and good luck,

Susan

On a mission

I’ve written about my motorbike before and may yet write about it again but it’s been so much part of my time in Laos that I think it’s fitting to finally write to my motorbike.  From the most entertaining rides, miserable rides, downright terrifying rides and of course all the many hours spent sitting patiently at roadside mechanic stops, my motorcycle has been there.  My introduction to the great Lao fuel redistribution swindle (mechanics siphoning petrol), my expanding technical vocabulary in Lao (foam air filter, washer, chain etc) and the added kudos I immediately get for riding a ‘big’ bike (175cc but importantly it has a clutch and a lot of Lao wouldn’t be able to touch the ground if they tried to ride it) have all been made possible by having my bike.

I can’t imagine I’ll want to ride when I get back home and I’d certainly never buy a Yamaha DT but it’s been an experience.

Foot notes:

1 The name is a pun on the Lao word for motorbike.