Tong kong koy

I was going to write about food this month but having attempted it several times and hit a brick wall, I think I’ll save it for another time.  I’m making a flying visit to the UK in mid June and my mind is too focussed on thinking about all the cheese sandwiches I’m planning to eat to be able to objectively discuss the Lao food situation.

Instead, this month I’ll mostly be writing about my bag.  It doesn’t sound like a promising topic but it’s been increasingly preying on my mind.

Mind yer 'ead!

When I came to Laos I brought with me a small Jansport rucksack which I’d had for at least 8 years, if not longer.  I’d used it more or less every day since I’d bought it, sometimes for text books and files and on other occasions for various collections of stinking sports kit.  It was a hardy bag with excellent pedigree and simple, yet efficient design.  It had a surprisingly good capacity for such a compact load and comfy straps to boot.  It had a lovely internal clip for my keys and two slots which held a pen and a pencil in a reassuringly constant position.  In a life where I frequently become overly attached to inanimate objects, I was particularly attached to my rucksack. 

If you haven’t got too caught up in the emotion of my ode to Jansport bag, you will have noticed my liberal use of the past tense.  Alas, the bag is no more.  It had been suffering for a while, the teeth of its front pocket zip had become warped and chipped and on one fateful, evening motorcycle ride, I lost a packet of tissues into the night, as the zip completely gave way.

I battled through my tears (I had no tissues to dry my eyes), straight to one of the biggest and smartest shops in Pakse, to immediately buy a replacement before I was rendered inert with sentimentality.  I bought a sensible, mid priced rucksack which looked hardy enough to withstand the rigours of the Lao lifestyle.  As soon as I got it home, my housemate said, “I bought a new bag in Laos and it broke within a week”.  I thought nothing more of his pessimistic prediction and merrily burnt my Jansport in a manner befitting such a faithful and loyal companion.

Check out my sewing prowess

One week later, the shoulder strap on my new bag started to come loose.  So it turns out my clever clogs housemate is a soothsayer.  He also has an incredible ability to predict rain to within a couple of minutes, so it could be true.  One night it started raining just as the words 'it's going to rain' left his mouth.  It's the most timely prediction I've ever seen. 

I’ve become quite proficient at fixing things since I came to Laos.  The weather, dust, bumpy roads, textile loving beasties and harsh washing powders have all taken their toll on my clothes, as has my propensity to set myself on fire at regular intervals.  Sewing is also quite a pleasant occupation for a balmy evening spent on the veranda and I’ve become a bit of a dab hand with a needle and thread.  I’ve also mended flip flops with screws and electrical tape, headphones with masking tape, a frying pan with a few twiddles of a screwdriver, an autoclave with garden hose, broken through numerous locked doors and revamped a plumbing system with a shitty stick and a cast iron constitution.

Bungee cord repair

I’m quite proud of myself but also a tad pissed off.  At home I carry a full tool kit, overalls, high-visibility jacket and three pairs of safety boots in the back of my car at all times.  I’ve only ever needed them for fixing fuses and changing lightbulbs.  Here in Laos I only have a small multitool and a penknife which I broke trying to cut into a Durian.  Nevermind, the new bag was duly fixed and so I went on my ever so slightly smug way.  However, there is a twist in this tale, because it turns out that ordinary cotton thread isn’t strong enough to cope with the loads I typically carry (laptop and a few books).  I’m loath to buy the proper equipment to carry out a durable repair, as it’ll probably end up costing more than the bag's worth, especially as I’ve already ripped a hole in the outer layer of material by driving through a coffee field with the bag hanging off the back of my motorbike; which was an accident, not a punishment.

So, the bag has been subjected to a second temporary fix with a bungee cord and will be replaced with a proper but considerably more expensive new rucksack, which I’ll purchase when I’m on my flying visit to the UK.  I’ll probably go for an Eastpak because it seems too cruel to subject a new Jansport to the inevitable comparisons with its predecessor

 The only problem, is that my bungee cord fix makes me look ridiculous and means every time I need to unstrap my bag I end up twanging myself in the face.  I’m quite used to looking ridiculous and being giggled at wherever I go, so I’ll suck it up for the next couple of weeks but it does sometimes feel that the universe is working against my attempts to reinvent myself as a sensible adult.