Christmas bonus

I’ve been thinking about Christmas.  It’s inevitable, geese everywhere are plumping up a treat and John Lewis is reducing a nation to tears.  Incidentally, Marks and Spencer are burning their Christmas bridges with me, I can’t be doing with those smooth skinned, warbling youngsters, it brings out my inner Scrooge.  Instead, I enjoy a slightly bleak looking suburban setting, with a dad wearing heavy rimmed specs and a child in sensible flannel pyjamas.  I grew up in a house like that, my dad wears heavy rimmed specs, and I still wear sensible flannel pyjamas (yes, my sartorial flair does extend to the bedroom).  That is Christmas to me, except the snow.  Why do we always buy in to the Christmas snow myth?  We all know that it doesn’t really snow in the home counties at Christmas. 

John Lewis Christmas Advert

Angela - I loved her until she withered and died

Welsh dresser, bookcases filled with books at untidy angles, pebble dashing, decorations on the banister and a special Christmas table cloth, it’s all familiar.  The only inauthentic note I can find in the JL advert is that when it finally gets to Christmas, the young lad wakes up at about 10 to 8.  Bollocks!  I still wake up at 6am on Christmas day, except for on one memorable occasion when I woke up to find not only a biscuit crumbled in my hand but half a soggy biscuit still in my mouth after one too many Christmas wassails the night before.  I am still incredulous when the stocking arrives on my bed or door handle without me noticing (probably the Christmas wassails again) and the second worst thing my mum did last year was to decide we didn’t really need Christmas crackers.  In short, I love Christmas and the entire cynical grumble inducing paraphernalia that goes with it.  

All my thoughts of Christmas are of home.

I think the celebration of Christmas is my strongest cultural tie.  I don’t quite believe it really exists outside of northern Europe.  I know objectively that it does but I can’t quite reconcile the fact with my image of what constitutes Christmas.  I’m happy with the concept of a German Christmas; lord knows marzipan from Lubeck is a good thing.  I’m content with a Swedish Christmas; heaven help us but a tomte is a delightful addition.  I’m over the moon about a Polish Christmas, though you need a heavenly host to help you source a suitable carp.  I just can’t quite imagine an Aussie Christmas or a Chinese Christmas, or a Mexican Christmas, or indeed a Christmas anywhere that’s hot. 

Despite my heavy handed use of religious imagery in the previous paragraph, I don’t think a religious link is important.  I would go so far as to drag in other religious festivals to the wintery celebration mix, like Diwali, Hanukah etc but I wouldn’t go so far as to rename the period ‘Winterval’.   For me, Christmas is about family and community and warmth and joy and celebration.  Though I love carols from Kings and you might even find me at mass on Christmas Eve, I was only ever a sheep in the nativity and have been known to forcibly change the key of a happy band of carollers with my shoddy attempts to hold a tune. 

I am over 8,000 miles from home.

Some places in Laos have Christmas decorations up in August.  I quite like that you can see a fake fir tree in the courtyard of a Vientiane hotel on any given date but that does mean that the trappings are completely dissociated from the event.

This Christmas, I’m lucky enough that my great friend, who I’ve known for 16 years, will be coming to stay.  We’re going to one of the National Protected Areas to spend time in a swanky eco-lodge, ride elephants, visit archaeological sites and have lovely massages.  It should be a fantastic few days but I don’t think it’ll be very Christmassy.  More like a distraction from the fact that we’ll both be far from home and away from the rest of our kith and kin....and mince pies, and Raymond Briggs animations.

Oddly, my biggest concern is what happens if I really enjoy it?  Will Christmas be ruined forever?  Will a lingering ambivalence about roasted meats set root?  Will I join the treacherous band of malcontents who regularly decamp to warmer climes for Christmas?

I really hope not.

You may think I’m a sentimental bloody fool and you’d probably be right but I think Christmas is pretty special among a shrinking group of big festivals.  My maypole dancing is definitely not up to scratch any more and I've never rolled a cheese.  

Sozzled Christmas nap

So there we are, I’m an advertiser’s dream but I don’t really care.  As Kermit the frog once said, ‘god bless us every one’ and as Kay Harker once said ‘if you push it to the left, you can go swift’.

Disclaimer: the cultural references in this blog are even more esoteric than usual as it’s essentially written as a giant and overly long Christmas card to my family, who I love and miss.  They really should get rid of the goose fat from 3 years ago though.  Merry Christmas! 

  

Nam tuam

This month I was due to go on a long scheduled trip to Hong Kong for a friend’s wedding.  Following my previous arduous trips via Bangkok, I decided to treat myself and fly the majority of the way.  The route would take me on a comparatively short three hour bus journey from Pakse over the border to Ubon in Thailand.  From there, I would fly on to Bangkok and directly from Bangkok Suvarnabhumi airport to Hong Kong.  I diligently checked prices and times and avoided the extra charge pitfalls of the Air Asia online booking system.  Feeling pretty confident that I had finally cracked the secret of the best way to get to Bangkok, I was left with two major problems in the run up to the trip.

1.  I didn’t have a passport. 

Stamps galore

This breaks the first and most sacred rule of international travel and it’s one I’ve run up against in the past.  As a fresh faced 22 year old my first international work trip should have been to Israel but alas, on the morning of the flight, I casually flipped open my passport to discover it had run out 3 months previously.  Several hurried phone calls later and it was all cancelled but I’m still sore about my mistake 5 years on.  Not as sore as my colleagues who managed to make the trip and were stopped at the border for some extra checks but sore none the less.  I like to think that providence stepped in on that occasion but I've probably run that  particular well of favours dry by now.

Thankfully, this time I could shoulder no blame.  Since my arrival in Laos at the end of February I had been crossing the border once a month to renew my visa.  Then, in August, I had been granted an official entry visa and the reason I was without my credentials was because I was caught up in bureaucratic limbo waiting to get pasted with my multiple entry visa and temporary stay permit.

Despite the fact that my placement is in a government organisation it has taken nearly 9 months to get officially recognised.  In that time, I have accrued 7 paper visas, 2 visa extension stamps and 33 cross border stamps between Laos and Thailand.  That’s a lot of ink!  Not to mention the cost of making the regular crossings.  I even know of a man who has lived in Laos for some years, has a business, wife and child here and still has to make a monthly trip.  I can’t quite work out if it’s genius or insanity but I certainly know that I’ve enjoyed the regular excuse to go on a road trip.

I was starting to get nervous when my passport still hadn’t been returned two days before I was due to travel but after a couple of quick emails and a trip to the bus station, I finally had it back in my hands with one day to spare.

The next problem couldn’t be solved by any amount of nagging. 

2.  Thailand was suffering the worst floods seen in decades.     

I tried nagging the god of rain and flooding but he was having none of it (or I was talking to the wrong god) and the waters kept flowing.  I thought about having a quick nag at Yingluck Shinawatra but she already seemed to be woefully out of her depth as the Thai authorities presented inadequate and inconsistent information to a disgruntled population.  The stories coming out of Thailand were horrific, with huge loss of life and massive destruction throughout 25 provinces. 

Despite trawling the internet, the only reliable information I could find listed details of the Bangkok flooding and there seemed to be confidence in the protection established around Suvarnabhumi airport.  Therefore, my major worry, as a spoiled and self obsessed international traveller was my planned initial bus journey to Ubon.  Having checked the UK Foreign Office advice at least three times a day, it continued to state that all but essential travel to the province should be avoided. 

A drop of rain

As the time got closer, and none of my flights were cancelled, I thought I’d chance the journey but leave extra time in case of mishaps.  It may seem misguided to value the advice of a budget airline above the Foreign Office and its network of skilled civil servants but everyone knows that civil servants hate soggy feet.  Their love of water absorbing stripy socks and brogues is well known and although a furled umbrella can be swiftly deployed, bowler hats have built in gutters which make them entirely unsuitable rainwear.   Air Asia cabin staff on the other hand, are a hardy bunch of lithe young things with dynamic smiles and snazzy new uniforms featuring specially designed materials with wicking and compression capabilities.  I know this because the latest edition of the in-flight magazine features a wonderful editorial on the new uniforms.  Strange then that while waiting in the departure lounge at Ubon airport I should notice a member of ground staff wearing kick flares with an ankle split.  Maybe she was planning on auditioning for the Air Asia tribute act to Pan’s People and far be it from me to begrudge the hardworking souls some corporately sponsored extra-curricular activities.

Needless to say, the journey went surprisingly smoothly.  There was evidence of water encroaching on to normally dry land and lots of road repairs underway but it wasn’t until I was in the air over Thailand that I was able to see the full extent of the devastation.  Central and protected areas in Ubon where I spent an evening and at Suvarnabhumi airport in Bangkok showed no evidence of anything being amiss and tourists and locals carried on unimpeded.  I found it difficult to decipher whether this was a remarkable act of defiance against the difficulties the country was facing, or a misuse of resources and skewing of priorities when so many were suffering enormous hardship.  Following the immediate clear-up after the floods, it will be interesting to see how and in what image Thailand rebuilds, particularly in its agricultural and industrial areas and where the people are most susceptible to disasters of this nature.  The impact on Thailand’s neighbours will also be interesting to gauge, as it could provide both opportunity and impediments to growth in the rest of the region, which normally relies on a strong outflow of Thai products.    

Hong Kong at night

On a more upbeat note, the wedding was absolutely fantastic.  In many respects, Hong Kong seemed more than a world away from Laos and for a few days I really enjoyed drinking being somewhere where I could get anything I wanted.  Having said that I was reassured that when I arrived back in Pakse after the trip, it felt comfortable and homely.  I even found that despite having spent 4 days successfully rebalancing the champagne to blood ratio in my body, I didn’t feel like I was missing out by being back in Laos. 

Bpai heua

Blistered & burnt

This month I’ve been having a slightly sinister Dr. Strangelove style relationship with my left arm.  At the beginning of the month, an angry ant managed to get stuck underneath my watch strap.  He writhed and struggled and fought hard but ultimately succumbed to death by crushing and washing up water.  In his death throes, he bit my wrist red raw.  I can only assume he did this accidentally, not understanding that it was my watch and not me that had caused his untimely demise, whilst I was entirely focussed on scrubbing a frying pan.  Anyway, my wrist swelled to twice its normal size and was bright red and itchy for a week.  At the time, it made me laugh as I’d just that day been trying to describe some common ailments to my English class and both swelling and rashes had been difficult to mime.  ‘Oh the irony’ I chuckled to myself, promptly getting an Alanis Morisette song stuck in my head for the rest of the day.

The following week, I was cooking some fried potatoes to eat with some Lao style scrambled eggs and like an idiot managed to splash water into a pan of hot oil, resulting in some nasty blistered burns on my forearm.  In case you’re wondering, Lao style scrambled eggs are the same as normal scrambled eggs but without benefit of butter and only a drop of UHT milk.  Recently, all my eggs have had double yolks, which never fail to excite me, so I’ve been eating more than I normally would.  

Then, to top it off, my watch stopped.  It had been losing time all month, probably weakened by its run in with the ant and finally gave up the ghost at the beginning of this week.  So, all in all, it’s been a bad month for my left arm. 

In other news, I finally made a trip to see Wat Phu and Buddhist Lent came to an end.

Looking towards Wat Phu

Wat Phu means temple mountain and despite the Alton Towers sounding name, it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site about 50km from where I live.  Essentially it’s a crumbled down Khmer temple similar to the arguably more famous Angkor Wat in Cambodia.  It was an extremely pleasant day out with a volunteer from Vientiane who was passing through on his way to the flood stricken Thailand.  We zoomed down in the morning on motorbikes, crossing the Mekong at the Nippon Bridge (no word of lie – that’s what it’s called) in Pakse and taking the rather splendid road along the west bank.  Now the weather has calmed down a bit, the mostly tarmac road was a delight, cutting a course along the river and below tree covered mountains.  At one point we passed what seemed to be an organised 4WD race with chequered flags and everything but seeing as it was on probably the flattest piece of tarmac in the whole of Laos, it was a tad incongruous to say the least.  We arrived in good time and after a swift Pepsi cola we promptly set off up the mountain to see the temple.

Looking down from Wat Phu

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely worth a visit, if only to marvel at how such tiny ladies manage to haul their wares to the top for sale but we couldn’t help coming back to the same questions, ‘what makes somewhere qualify for World Heritage status?’ and ‘how do I get a job with UNESCO because it seems like a piece a piss?’.  Neither of us knew but it’s quite easy to find out if you go to,
http://whc.unesco.org

Despite lingering scepticism about the impact of UNESCO, I had a smashing day, while my friend charmed the drinks sellers, confused a Cambodian, smoked an extraordinary number of cigarettes and tried to convince everyone he met that he was from Laos. 

That evening in Pakse it was unusually quiet and the only moment of hilarity came when we were eating at one of the floating restaurants as it was being hauled off the muddy bank by a diesel belching tug boat, which filled the restaurant with fumes in minutes, much to the chagrin of the Thai party on our left.

With hindsight, the evening was probably so quiet because everyone was anticipating the festivities to come. 

The Wednesday following my diesel tainted meal was officially the end of Buddhist lent, so to celebrate I ate a curry and had a couple of beers with the volunteer from Paksong who had come to see the boat racing festival to be held the next day.

The entire area around the river was transformed with stalls and stages and more people than I have seen in Pakse in the last six months combined.  There were colourful lights, fireworks, Chinese lanterns and the release of small plant based floating displays onto the river surface.  It was all fairly spectacular and another example of how well organised things in Laos can be.

The next morning it was pissing with rain and with some hesitation we managed to drag ourselves back down to the river for the boat racing.  When we arrived we had posh coffee and pastries to prepare ourselves and then spent the next few hours walking around the bank watching the brightly coloured boats and teams indulge in some frantically competitive dragon boat racing.  A dragon boat may be an insanely inefficient way to travel but it certainly makes for an engaging spectacle.  As I have something of a penchant for boats I found it to be a highly entertaining and celebratory day despite the rain, which became almost inevitably beer soaked as it wore on.

I’ve decided that I definitely want to be in a boat for next year, so if any sporty types are thinking of visiting, the middle of October would be a good time.  Hopefully my left arm will be back in shape by then.

Saad kun kai

Laos is a nation of shopkeepers...who all sell the same thing. 

Beer and Mama Cup

I live down a small side street (street is actually a bit grandiose) that ends in a field.  Despite that, there’s a shop only three doors away.  There’s another one on the corner and another one across the road from that and another one a couple of houses from that and...well, you get the picture.
It’s pretty handy assuming I want to buy beer and pot noodles which is more or less all they sell.  Mostly, I want to buy beer and pot noodles, so it works out quite well for me.  I had only ever eaten one pot noodle before I came to Laos but now eat them almost daily.  Not the Golden Wonder kind but a spicy Thai variant thereof.  My favourite brand is Mama Cup but I’m kidding myself if I think they’re made of anything other than the same MSG and fond wishes that go into a Bombay Badboy.

I digress. 

Shop wise, there are also the many beauty salons which seem to specialise in late night ear cleaning (seriously) and the agricultural fertiliser shops where you can also buy a handy snack (not advised – unless you enjoy glowing like a Ready Brek kid).  I have developed a finely tuned sense of which shop/market stall I need to go to get what I need most cheaply and also know exactly where my favourite shopkeepers hang out.  This inevitably means my shopping involves several circuits of the town which undoubtedly uses more money in fuel than I save at the till but it passes the time and if my eggs arrive home slightly the worse for wear, it means I get to eat eggy bread for breakfast.

Espadrilles pre-funeral

Clothes shopping is more tricky.  I recently managed to break my flip flops just as I was setting fire to my espadrilles.  It was deliberate; they’d survived the worst of the wet season but had finally succumbed to the ravages of the constant soaking and drying cycle so I gave them a Viking funeral.  That left me with only a pair of Converse and although my Sinh and Converse combo fits right in with the teenage Lao girls, I’m a 27 year old volunteer civil servant who struggles to cling to my dignity at the best of times.  New flip flops were therefore sought.

Looking ridiculous, as always!

15 flip flop shops later and I have seen the same pair of size 39 flip flops 15 times.  Fair enough but in my obsession I’ve noticed that there are actually quite a few Lao women with feet larger than size 39 who hobble around in shoes which are too small.  Never fear, I know exactly where to buy screws and electrical tape and although looking a tad dishevelled, my Havaianas are soon to be back in business.

A volunteer who is based in another province came to stay last weekend.  His placement is much more rural than Pakse and from his description is almost completely lacking in services of any kind.  He’s currently struggling with food, as the local diet is mostly insect based and he’s not keen.  He was discussing the hospitality of his neighbours and said that he found that as long as he arrived at a house with a couple of bottles of Beerlao he was welcomed anywhere and that conversely he could arrive anywhere and find that they had beer to give him in replacement for the insecty treats.  Needless to say, he’s on a more or less entirely liquid diet.

Now this is what I find confusing.

Brewing beer is a complex procedure of biotechnology utilising modern techniques and equipment.  Admittedly it doesn’t have to be, but in the case of Beerlao it is.  The Lao Brewing Company is jointly owned by the government and Carlsberg.  They have two large, modern and shiny breweries, one in Vientiane and one in Champasak and the Beerlao brand has an absolutely extraordinary hold on the market with some figures quoting a 99% share; remembering that 80% of all statistics are made up and in Laos I suspect the figure is somewhat higher. 

Spelling mistake?

The beer is produced with hops and yeast from Germany, malted barley from France and Belgium and some local rice.  Once bottled, it enters into a really efficient distribution stream, including a collection and rebate system for used bottles.  The whole thing is incredibly sophisticated and means that it’s possible to buy Beerlao in the most far flung and remote destination in Laos, including the places where they’re mostly eating insects.

Brian Ferry's favourite t-shirt

How the bloody hell do they do it?  Actually, why the bloody hell can’t the same application be used to supply other products and why haven’t secondary industries sprung up to support LBC e.g. bottle and label manufacturers etc?  Or, why not piggy back on the distribution system to provide people with slightly larger sizes of flip flops?  I find it puzzling but it’s probably quite a nice metaphor for Lao organisation in general that they can do something so complicated, so well and yet struggle with the basics.

On a final note, amongst the range of easy to source products in Lao shops, are some quite imaginatively inappropriate t-shirts.  I’m on the fence as to whether the messages and images are deliberate or just misguided but I intend to stay ever vigilant for new examples so I can chuckle quietly to myself as I limp round the market in my ill fitting and slightly singed shoes. 

Hua bin, lot fai le lot nyon!

What’s the best way to get to Bangkok?  That’s not the start of a bawdy joke, although now I’ve got the idea in my head, several punchlines have occurred to me.  In fact, it’s what I’ve spent most of the past month trying to find a genuine answer to.  From Bangkok, it’s quite straightforward to get to almost anywhere in the world but to get to Bangkok itself, or more specifically to get to Suvarnabhumi airport from Pakse, takes some thought, a lot of time and varying amounts of money.

My plan was to spend a couple of weeks in the UK this August.  My sister’s baby was due; I had a wedding to go to and a bridesmaid’s dress to help look for, so it seemed like a prime opportunity for a holiday.  It was easy enough to book the flights, although there is a bewildering array of options for different routes at different prices.  As I didn’t want the trip to take three years, I chose a direct flight to Heathrow with an airline that shall remain unidentified.  For the purposes of this blog I’ll call them Blighty Flights.  Actually, I won’t be coy, it was British Airways but if I ever get the capital to start a budget airline, I’m going to call it Blighty Flights.  My first problem was paying for the flight.  I’m British, the company is nominally British, my credit card is British and I pay off the debts on my credit card using small denominations of British currency.  If anyone can therefore explain to me why I was forced to pay for the flight with Thai Baht purely because I was starting the journey in Thailand, I’d be grateful for the explanation.  In the process of paying, I lost out twice over on the exchange rate and incurred an unnecessary fee, which made me understandably, a bit miffed.

Anyway, the flight was duly booked for just after midnight on the 4^th August.

The most straightforward option for getting to Bangkok is to fly from Pakse airport but only if you want to travel on a Monday, Wednesday or Friday and pay through the nose for the privilege.

Bangkok park

Option 2 is to take a bus.  It’s really cheap and very direct and reliable, with only a short train ride on the uber efficient airport express once you arrive in Bangkok.  I chose this option.  Never, never again!  I woke up at three in the morning, wedged in to an unfeasibly tiny space to see that the aisle had been filled with plastic garden chairs and extra passengers.  I passed the 15 hour bus journey by listening to a Kindle ‘text to speak’ version of Crime and Punishment.  It was like having a bed time story from Steven Hawking and although I don’t know which of my crimes I was being punished for, I’m fairly sure I’ve done my time.

Having survived the journey, Bangkok was a bit of a revelation and I’m definitely keen to spend more time there.  The transport around the city was easy and cheap and I spent a very pleasant morning watching the middle aged joggers in an immaculately kept park before retiring to the airport in the hope of a shower and a change of clothes.

There followed a fantastic, although action packed time at home in the UK, covering a ridiculous number of miles and racking up enormous train fares in the process.  As my new nephew had arrived nearly four weeks early, he was tiny, grumpy looking and a bit spewy but undoubtedly a lovely edition to the family.  He is variously called turtle face, spider monkey, Twix and James and it’s a real shame I won’t be seeing more of him over the next couple of years.  Even if seeing him had been the only reason for going home, it would still have been worth the ridiculous journey.

James looking grumpy in a natty outfit

After my exertions in the UK, including the jet lag busting trip to the Great British Beer Festival only 12 hours after I’d touched down, it was time to head back to Laos.  Predictably it started badly.

Take note, if you travel to Bangkok with British Airways, the flight might be operated by BA or by Qantas.  If it’s BA you get a 23kg luggage allowance but must use only one bag, if it’s Qantas you get 20kg but can use as many bags as you like.  Don’t confuse the two or you will get screwed over at the airport for excess baggage, like I did.  My evident and facially expressed displeasure at this elicited a ‘cheer up, the flight won’t be that bad’ from one of the stewards as I boarded.  I responded cheerily with ‘it’s what happens at the other end that I’m worried about’, which with hindsight probably isn’t the wisest response when it’s Bangkok you’re heading to.  Yet another example of why I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people.

Learning the song 'boogie nights'

What did happen at the other end was another seamless trip through Bangkok on their excellent public transport.  I’d decided to take the train back to Ubon and catch a bus from there, over the border to Laos.  This method is marginally more expensive than using the bus all the way but given the amount of money I’d frittered away on my Oyster card in the previous two weeks, I thought it would be churlish to complain.

The train was clean, cool, spacious and comfortable.  I had a lovely bunk and slept pretty well.  I used the spare time to catch up with the Archers omnibus podcasts and arrived in Ubon refreshed.  We were inexplicably over three hours late.  It took us half an hour to leave the station in Bangkok and well over two hours to clear the suburbs.  I have no idea if this is normal but reading some forum posts about Thai Railways, it sounds like it might be par for the course.  Also, everyone on the train seemed to have doughnuts.  Some had Krispy Kreme whilst others preferred Dunkin’ Donuts but boxes of doughnuts were everywhere.  Perhaps that’s what slowed us down.  Who knows, but they’re definitely the accessory du jour for the discerning Thai traveller.

Thai tuk tuk

Having missed the bus in Ubon, I took a series of minivans and tuk-tuks to make it to Pakse.  In total the journey from Gantshill to Pakse took 39 hours but I’d definitely use the train again, as long as I was in no rush.

I’m due to head back to the UK for a flying visit next June.  Predictably enough I’m going to a wedding and potentially a bridesmaid dress fitting.  I think I might try mysterious option 4 to get to Bangkok.  That would involve a bus to Ubon and a cheap Air Asia flight from Ubon to Bangkok.  It sounds feasible but getting the timings to add up will take many hours of careful browsing on Skyscanner and precision timing to get the cheapest deal.  I’m planning a dry run in November when I’m going to Hong Kong, so I’ll keep you updated. 

In case you’re wondering, I’m going to Hong Kong for a wedding.

Cern nang

I’ve had a great success this month.  I’ve finally found somewhere comfortable to sit.  The chairs in Laos seem to be almost universally uncomfortable.  I find it a little bit strange that this should be the case because Laos has all the ingredients for making great chairs.  I think there probably are some really fantastic chairs out there but in the last 5 months, I’ve struggled to find one.  In fact, I’m going to make it my plan b for while I’m here.  If I can’t contribute to development of improved phytosanitary systems, then at least I will have sourced some good seats for those who follow.

In my previous blog entry I talked about my office.  It’s the office that ergonomics forgot.  I have a wooden chair at the wrong height with a wooden desk.  The chair doesn’t even have arse dimples.  Much to my disappointment I’m fairly sedentary at the moment and I finish each day looking a little bit more like Quasimodo than when I started.  That’s Quasimodo with a very flat arse.  It’s a character trait that Victor Hugo didn’t linger on but I’m sure he had a flat arse. 

At home it’s no better.  We have a collection of wooden armchairs and a bench.  All of them really poorly designed with regard to comfort.  I’ve spent a good many hours squirming in those chairs trying to find a good sitting position whilst watching the plethora of space and astronaut related stories on Russia Today.  Which reminds me, I don’t think anyone’s told the Russians that the space race is over.  We get at least a weekly update on the progress of the space programme.  It’s very odd but quite enjoyable.  It’s like starring in a really crappy Laos version of ‘Goodbye Lenin’.

Anyway, until quite recently, the most comfortable place I had to sit was a plastic garden chair positioned on the veranda so I could rest my legs on the balustrade.  This position necessitates resting my dinner on my chest to eat, resulting in a really steamy face but it was generally the best of a bad job. 

I’ve looked for other chairs both in Pakse and Vientiane and have come up against three main obstacles to comfort.  They are the wrong proportions for people over 5’5’’.  They are all far too flat in the arse area and even the marginally softer sofas are all covered in leatherette, which given the average temperatures here, results in the removal of significant tranches of thigh skin.

So why are the chairs so uncomfortable?  Although in some ways the subject seems quite trivial, I think it is indicative of some of the broader obstacles to development in Laos. 

Bear with me on this one....

Laos has the potential to be a fantastic and sustainable source for timber, with some of the best opportunities in ASEAN for developing the industry.  This potential is currently checked by illegal logging and weak enforcement by the authorities but if these problems can be minimised, there are real opportunities to use the forest.  The Vietnamese situation makes an interesting comparison.  Here they have extremely strict controls on internal logging and have therefore had to substantially increase the quantity of timber imports to feed the factories and furniture industry which rely on the raw material.  In some ways this provides a great opening for Laos but what concerns me is the lack of development of the secondary and consuming industries within Laos itself.  It is true to say that there is currently significant investment in extractive industries and processing plants for raw materials like rubber but this investment is coming mostly from foreign companies looking to feed their home markets and international demands.  Laos doesn’t seem to be succeeding at adding value. 

The advent of sustainable and accredited rattan production in Laos is being trumpeted as a great success, which it undoubtedly is but like so many of the other natural products which Laos is so well placed to grow, the results are sent for export.  The most comfortable chairs I’ve used in Laos are undoubtedly the rattan chairs found at some higher class cafes but in order to buy them, you have to seize the opportunity presented by passing Vietnamese traders.

Even in one of the areas of great success within the Lao economy, increased coffee production is being hampered by the lack of processing capability and resulting lack of profile for Lao coffee on the World stage.  Lao coffee is accepted to be of a quality comparable to the best in the world yet you can’t find it on the shelves in Western supermarkets.  Like Lao tea, it is exported and blended and you will no doubt have found yourself inadvertently drinking it but as a single origin product, commanding higher prices, whilst providing opportunities to further develop the industry it is impossible to get hold of. 

Living in Laos there is perhaps a surprisingly large number of processed and prepared foods available.  The vast and overwhelming majority of these products come from Thailand.  There are some positive examples within Laos but for some reason they don’t seem to be thriving as they could.  Processing can be carried out on a small, cottage industry scale to start with and seems to present a prime opportunity to diversify and stabilise farmers’ incomes but it doesn’t seem to receive the same attention as the larger scale industries like mining and rubber.

So, what was my recent success in the search for comfort?  Well, I’ve bought a hammock and it’s a revelation.  But where did I buy it?  Sadly, I picked it up on a recent trip to Thailand when renewing my visa. 

Anyway, I’m off for a nice sit down and a coffee.    

Chao het nyang?

This month's blog entry is a tricky one to start because I decided I should focus on what work I've been doing here in Laos to justify my volunteer allowance. It's now over a month since I started my placement in Pakse and I'm not sure how much closer I am to getting stuck in to any true development work.

When I first arrived in Laos and was based in Vientiane, we were given a schedule of events and language lessons which took up around five hours a day. Following that, there was time for email, background research, and sightseeing. No problem and no guilt, apart from the feeling of hopelessness linked to my slow progress with the Lao language. Now I'm here in my office I'm starting to feel a bit of a fraud.  This is hugely exacerbated by the fact that for the first time in my life, I actually have my own office.  In itself this is a bit of a problem because in order to try and learn more Lao, which is a must for better integration, it would really be easier to be surrounded by daily chatter.  Having said that, the group office has arctic air conditioning and if I sit in there I have to go for a walk every couple of hours to get the feeling back in my hands and feet.  I imagine it’s fairly unusual to see an Englishwoman shivering under the blazing midday sun but I like to think it adds to my mystique.

My office

So what do I do in my office?  I send emails, I download and read documents about Laos and the region and I watch the latest editions of ‘The Apprentice’ when they’re posted on YouTube.  I’m sporadically involved in other activities and occasionally I get to stand in a field with my hands on my hips desperately trying to understand what’s going on.

I recently attended the Southeast Asia Coffee and Tea Conference, which was held here in Pakse.  It was a great opportunity to see the workings of an international conference and it really brought home to me how varied the path to development has been for different countries in ASEAN.  It was noticeable that the meeting, which was necessarily conducted in English, was dominated by those delegates who were more confident in their English language abilities and in this regard Laos was unfortunately lacking.  Having said that, there was one Lao delegate who had excellent English and regularly made pertinent contributions, but given the colonial history, he did it all with a very heavy ‘‘Allo, ‘Allo!’ style French accent, which kept me entertained for the full three days.

Some coffee

There is recognition in Laos that improving English skills is inextricably linked with development but with the current skill base it is likely that they’ll continue to lag behind their neighbours until today’s schoolchildren reach working age.  English is a difficult language for Laotians to learn, as Lao is for us in reverse, because structurally there is little in common and the vocabulary alone is not enough.  I don’t think there can be a single English speaking volunteer in Laos who hasn't been asked at some point to deliver language lessons to their colleagues.  Whilst all my other projects have been a bit slow to get off the ground, I was asked to start teaching English within days of arriving.  I have absolutely no background in teaching so the idea was pretty terrifying.

I currently teach an hour a day, at lunch, to a group of colleagues from the forestry department.  The group varies in size from two to around 8 and ages range from 25 to late forties.  Some of them have a rough grasp of English and others are a completely blank canvas.  So what on earth do I teach them?  My favourite thing is to teach them really English colloquialisms, and to date I’ve successfully got them all saying ‘ta ta’ instead of goodbye.

A lesson plan

Beyond that, I try for the standard ‘what’s your name?’, ‘where are you from?’ introduction but what they really need is to be able to converse with other non-native speakers on business subjects.  Unfortunately, there’s no shortcut, so I’ll keep going as I am because at least the lessons give me some connection with the development work I came here to do. 

One mistake I won’t repeat is playing Bingo with a 4x4 grid using numbers 1-100.  It takes bloody ages and the light relief of a game quickly becomes a tedious and monotonous slog.  I think I redeemed myself by giving out biscuits for prizes but there’s still a glint of mistrust in their eyes over a week later.

Getting back to the coffee and tea conference and my favourite moment was when the head of the Thai Coffee Association commandeered the hotel bar after dinner to make me an espresso while I waited for the downpour to stop for long enough to let me travel the couple of kilometres home.  That's definitely an experience I wouldn't have got at home and on a serious note I've found networking and building connections to be a really crucial skill here that I'll be able to take back with me to the UK. 

I’m still confident that I will be able to make a useful contribution here in Laos, I just have to remember that two years is a long time and apparently patience is a virtue!

Car toad maa kong koy si bpai hong nam

 Where does all the dog shit go?  I’ve seen hundreds of dogs since I’ve been in Laos but only one dog shit.  The dogs here are generally quite good natured, they bark a bit half heartedly when you walk past them at night and they’ve taken to having group sex by my front gate but generally they’re quite friendly.  I’ve seen one playful puppy which had a nibble at a friend of mine but he was wearing quite offensive sandals, so you can understand the puppy’s displeasure.  So where does it go?  The shit that is.  The dogs roam free, so I’ve never seen a person picking any up.  There aren’t any specific shit collection points and the general waste collection is restricted to more central areas of town.  It’s a complete mystery.  Maybe, they’ve developed a completely shit efficient breed of dog without the rest of the world noticing.  Maybe the shit burns up in direct sunlight or maybe the dogs got together and decided that shitting on the streets really wasn’t the done thing any more and they’ve all learned to use toilets.  It would explain some of the public toilets I’ve used, so I think I’ll settle for that explanation.  Anyway, it’s been bothering me. 

Another thing I don’t understand is the prevalence of upright washing machines.  I moved down to Pakse about a month ago and started work just over three weeks ago.  We moved into a new house on the banks of the Mekong at about the same time so we’ve been stocking it with stuff ever since.  I contemplated a washing machine but the preference here is most definitely for the upright type.  We had one in our house in Vientiane and it didn’t do a bad job as long as you were prepared to stop the cycle to disentangle your clothes from each other every five minutes, or to play a giant game of clothes Twister at the end.  They also take up a disproportionate amount of room compared to a horizontal drum machine.  They need the same type of connection and there’s no shortage of up-to-the-minute electronics here and in Thailand, so why choose upright as the default?  I must be missing something.  So anyway, for now, we don’t have a washing machine.  We do have an enormous television and satellite dish though.  We’ve got about 200 channels, with a roughly equal split between Thai soap operas and Thai music channels.  I can understand why the government here are concerned about the erosion of Lao culture with all this crap flooding the market.  I even quite like the fact that their concern extends to ensuring that all women wear a traditional Lao skirt in government offices.  As I work in a government office, that includes me.  I love the Lao skirts.  They’re immensely practical and easy to wear except in one crucial respect.  I ride a motorbike.  A proper motorbike, not a scooter like most of the demure and elegant Lao ladies who scoot about the place, answering phone calls, carrying shopping and juggling two children on their scooters all at the same time.  Anyway, my motorbike (her name is Lottie – short for lot jak which is Lao for motorbike) has a dirty great fuel tank in front of me which necessitates the hitching of my skirt to thigh level.  This isn’t a great start in a broadly conservatively dressed country but the skirts are wrap-around, so as soon as I get up any speed, the skirt flies up in my face, reducing my modesty still further and blocking my view.  This makes me a somewhat erratic driver, so in some respects I’m fitting right in.  Last night I had to ride home from work with an enormous jackfruit strapped to the back of the bike with a bungee cord and a pineapple swinging from my handlebars, which was a first but seemed like a perfectly natural solution.  I’m definitely coming to the realisation that there’s absolutely nothing I’m going to be able to do to avoid looking utterly ridiculous and out of place over the next couple of years, so I suppose I’d better try to embrace it.          

Sabaidee Bpii Mai!

I've been in Vientiane two months now and it's looking likely that the move down to Pakse should happen in the next week or two.  Our work agreements still haven't quite been completed but there's much more hope in the air than there was a fortnight ago and meetings are planned for next week.

Anyway, we've got a leaving party planned for this Saturday but then I suppose we can always make it a pre-leaving party if our departure is postponed.  We've also got a new volunteer coming to stay with us until we leave.  His name is Jesus (Phillipino) and he arrives on Saturday, just in time for the party, so if all else fails, we can make it a Christmas party.  Ah, the fun we've had asking each other "When will Jesus arrive?" and "Is Jesus coming soon?" our hilarious jokes were at fever-pitch on Easter Sunday. 

Talking of which, I thought I should make an effort to go to mass for Easter.  It was certainly an interesting experience.  The service started at 8.30am and we pitched up a few minutes late to find a crowd sitting outside and loads of folk still arriving.  We managed to find a seat on one of the pews inside fairly easily, although we were slightly obscured by one of the pillars.  The church itself is from the French colonial period but has very little architectural merit.  The service was in three languages, Lao, French and English but they weren't direct translations and not every reading was repeated.  It lent (geddit) the whole process something of an air of mystery and I couldn't help thinking it might have been a bit clearer if they'd resorted to the traditional Catholic solution of having the service in Latin.  Ah well, I'm told God moves in mysterious ways.

Back to the party.  It's planned along an international theme, with each housemate providing a dish to represent their country.  Our house only has a couple of gas burners and trying to think of a British dish (suitable for a range of international pallets) which doesn't require an oven has been hard work.  I've got something in mind but I'll reserve judgement until after the party.

Most of the previous month has been taken up with language lessons and we've definitely been making progress.  We're still nowhere near the standard needed to comfortably start a job but I'm sure we'll improve quickly once we're isolated from English speakers.  We've also been keeping our steady stream of party attendances and occasionally we've found time for a bit of site seeing and culture.

The most significant parties happened over Lao New Year.  It was amazing and I absolutely loved it.  I don't think I've ever been so consistently soaked to the skin for such a prolonged period but I can't imagine wanting to spend those three days in April anywhere else but Laos.

The rough gist of the celebrations (as you've probably gathered) is that you throw water at each other....for three days...if not longer.  In theory New Year should have been celebrated on the 14th, 15th and 16th but we started with an office party on the 11th and didn't stop.  Not only were we covered in water but diluted paint, talcum powder, soap, shampoo, you name it.  The parties are mainly held spilling out onto the street so even if you're not directly invited, you can't help but take part.  The city pretty much throbs with music from 10am until 10pm - early to bed, early to get up again and chuck stuff at each other.

There's plenty of BeerLao flowing and it's not unusual to be flagged down on the street, have a bucket of water thrown over you and then be given a lovely glass of icy beer to drink before heading off again.  It was also great fun catching people unawares with the high powered water pistol I kept hidden in my bicycle basket.  Strangely, no-one ever seemed to expect me to be packing heat.

There were a couple of stages set up along the Mekong in town and the atmosphere was at its height there.  Traffic over New Year was a nightmare and it was quite common for groups of youngsters to cruise the city on the back of pick-ups hurling paint bombs at each other and pumping music out of their stereos.  It was all brilliant fun and I'd never have though when I volunteered to come to Laos that I'd be moshing to a Thai rock band on the banks of the Mekong with hundreds of Lao, all trying to give me beer while we were saturated by a water cannon from a tanker parked alongside the stage.

There was also a slightly more serious side to New Year.  We've headed into 2554 in the Buddhist calendar and on the 15th, the tradition is that you should attempt to visit a minimum of 7 temples in order to bring good luck.  I only intended to visit That Luang to get an idea of how the celebrations happened but ended up at 11 different Wats in one day.  There was a fantastically warm and welcoming atmosphere and each temple seemed to be quite different from the last.  The water theme is continued inside the temples, with statues of Buddha doused with holy water and flowers.  I even got soaked by a couple of monks, so I must be in for a good year.

In conclusion, New Year is absolutely mad and the people are friendlier, happier and more generous than there is any right for a foreigner or tourist to expect them to be.  I bloody loved it and recommend everyone to come here and experience it.



I thought I'd get that off my chest but I promise to write more serious things about Lao and the culture next month, hopefully from my new place in Pakse. 

Koy bpen aa sasa mak!

The title of this entry is my appalling attempt at some transliteration from Lao into English.  It means, 'I'm a volunteer' and that's pretty much what I am, although up until now it hasn't really felt like it.

I arrived into Vientiane at the end of February on a business class flight from Bangkok.  Who sends a volunteer business class?  Needless to say, I didn't realise and missed out on the amazing Thai Airways facilties in Bangkok.  I also got some very strange looks from the suits sitting around me, as I was wearing all the clothes I couldn't fit in my 23kg lugage allowance.  23kg for 2 years isn't very much and needless to say it was the heavier items (jeans, coat, walking boots) which I chose to arrive in 32 degree heat wearing.

One of my bags didn't make it and although we have subsequently been reunited, the 'orange bag' which contained all of the items that were sorely missing during our first fews days in Laos became something of a celebrity.  Needless to say there was rejoicing all round when I picked it up at Wattay International (about the size of Inverness Airport) and liberated the bike tools, sensible shoes, baby wipes and other essentials from their brief holiday on a Qantas flight to Sydney and Back.

My intial impressions of Laos are amazingly good.  Vientiane is much more vibrant and developed than expected and is immensely laid back for a capital city.  The people are also really friendly and accepting, particularly of our appalling attempts to speak Lao.  The language lessons are a great opportunity but progress is slow and we have only a month left before being thrust into the world of work using a tonal language, written in a crazy script.  The words for 'near' and 'far' are alarmingly similar, so I imagine myself on some interesting journeys.

Vientiane has a great range of restaurants and music venues and the Lao youngsters that you see in the evenings don't seem to fit too closely with the reserved image we've been led to expect.  Tourists seem to be restricted to two key streets in town, which makes for an interesting atmosphere but even there the hawkers and tuk tuk drivers don't hassle aggresively for business.

Playing in the traffic is fun but even here the laid back Lao attitude means that I don't feel too exposed on my dodgy bike.  There's 7 of us living in one house and when we cycle anywhere together we look like a scene from the Goonies.  I think our bikes might actually be the original props from the film.

My biggest cycling mistake so far was heading out on a 50km cycle along the Mekong, at midday with no water and no suncream.  I really will never learn and will have to wear stripey knees and bright red arms for the next week or two as penance.  Then I will shed my skin like some kind of human-snake hybrid and the whole process can begin again.

So anyway, the move down to my placement in Pakse happens in the first few days of May.  In the meantime, I think we've got a few more parties planned; Laos New Year should be fun and I've got a whole laptop full of podcasts to listen to whilst I drink my BeerLao.  For now I'm off to sample one of the culinary delights whipped up by my broad spectrum of international housemates.  Will tonight be Phillipino, Kenyan, Dutch, Indian, Ugandan, Canadian or a whole new take on fusion cooking. 

It's a pretty strange collection of people to find yourself living with but thank goodness we all seem to be getting on ok.  It must be the cross cultural exchange that we've all been told so much about.