Koy kaa meng ga bua

This month’s post has the slightly macabre title ‘I kill butterflies’. 

One of the benefits of writing this blog is that I get to learn a different Lao phrase each month but I’m not sure I’m ever going to find regular use for the phrase ‘I kill butterflies’.  Still, it’s nice to know I've got it. 


No elephants were harmed in the making of this blog

I hasten to add that I don’t kill them deliberately; in fact, I'd say they use me to commit suicide.  I regularly find myself peeling the remains of some of the most beautiful butterflies I've ever seen from the visor of my motorcycle helmet and I'm told that riding behind me is like cruising through a wake of gossamer wings, antennae and compound eyes.  If I had to take a stab in the dark, I'd suggest that the true title of the piece (butterflies use me to commit suicide) might translate as ‘meng ga bua sai koy samlap kaa dtua dtai’ but it doesn’t have quite the same snappy ring to it.  Still, it’s another tick for my big list of Lao vocabulary. 

Normally, I like to regularly repeat any new phrases to myself, so I can try to commit them to memory but I think I'll give this one a miss.  I'm fairly sure that if I walk around muttering ‘suicide, suicide, suicide’ for the next couple of days, my colleagues will recognise it as a cry for help and have me sectioned or deported.


The subject of death is on my mind because since I've been in Laos, I have been responsible for the deaths of more animals than I think I managed in my previous 26 years combined.  I’m ashamed to say that quite a few have even been cold blooded murders, which just isn't the kind of zen approach I expected to develop in a Buddhist country.   

 Mosquitoes regularly fall victim to my murderous intent and I have to admit that I really enjoy killing them.  The bastards have it coming.  I went so far as to google ‘Evolutionary value of mosquitoes’ and I’m  still struggling to find anything to say in their favour.  The best I’ve found is that they potentially serve a purpose in human population control but surely we’ve got war and famine to do that for us without encouraging insects to develop a eugenic streak.

Death to all rice pests - even pretty pink ones!

I would hate to seem species-ist and it's not just mosquitoes that I terrorise.  Ants and cockroaches also fall foul and despite their legendary indestructibility, cockroaches seem oddly susceptible to some latent chemical in my house.  I'm pleased to say I haven't killed anything larger than my thumb (my very own rule of thumb) but I've had some near misses, especially on the road.  Goats, dogs, cows, buffalo and people all stray erratically into my path on a frighteningly regular basis.  It's also noteworthy that the only time I've ever understood the basis for the jokes about chickens is here in Laos.  "Why did the chicken cross the road?", is in fact a frequent exclamation, as I swerve around the back roads trying to avoid the livestock.

 As I've become more acclimatised, I thankfully don't suffer quite so many mosquito bites as I used to but there are still some places I try to avoid because they seem to attract the more toothsome insects.  Occasionally though, I still find myself at the centre of a full on attack and often end up smearing the sticky mix of dead carcasses and blood all down my arms and legs.  It’s definitely a look.  I think I’ll call it ‘disease vector chic’. 

Catching the blighters isn't always so easy and quite often I find myself resorting to punch ups, landing only glancing blows on insects that are able to take full advantage of their flight response. If you’re now imagining me in boxing gloves squaring up to a mossie whilst shouting "Fight or flight, you tiny mofo?", it’s not far from the truth, except I don’t have boxing gloves.



My sister taking no chances

The guilt of all these deaths generally weighs heavy on my peace loving shoulders but I recently got my comeuppance when on a short ride home from the office.  The visor of my helmet is a bit scratched and gets so quickly encrusted with dust that I rarely pull it down.  On this particular journey, an unidentified bug flew into my eye, which is another favoured death zone for the animals with no road sense.  Normally, I’m able to brush bugs aside fairly easily and I’ve even developed a special squint which means I can wash bug pieces towards the corners of my eyes, with my tears and still focus on the road.  That day, it was not to be and it took several minutes of prodding and poking with a cotton bud in front of a mirror to free the cadaver from its chosen resting place.
         

Any lasting damage?

Shortly before I came out to my placement, I had an eye test in the UK to make sure my records were up-to-date.  I'm massively intrigued to know what they’ll find next time, as it could be a valuable chance to catalogue some of the broad diversity of Lao wildlife.  I shouldn't complain too much though, as the small sacrifice of my youthful 20/20 vision, pales in comparison to the plight of all the members of the insect community I have so ruthlessly slaughtered and will continue to maim and kill over the next year. 

Lastly, to any daddy-long-legs reading this, I promise I will try to mend my ways before I get back home.  

Hong gaan bpai sa nii

Getting post in Laos is a tricky business. 

Controversial new spelling of my name

It’s also been really difficult to get the message across to friends and family at home that I really don’t have a postal address.  I get the impression they think I’m being reclusive and awkward.  So here it is once more for those in the cheap seats, I don’t have a postal address.  Promise.  I would love to get some letters in the post.  I would like few things more.  Despite having limited space, I made sure I brought out my goodbye cards, so I could check some handwritten messages every now and again.  For most things email is fine but you can never quite capture the doodles and idiosyncrasies of something written with a pen.  

It is possible to pay for a PO box and it is apparently possible to use a post restante service at the post office but I don’t really know how it works and it seems like a bit of a long shot that it will go off without a hitch in a town like Pakse.  Who knows, I could well have a year’s worth of post waiting for me at the post office only a few streets away.  One of my friends who lives in a small village has made an excellent arrangement with his local post office so they contact him by phone whenever they have any packages for him.  I suspect that such an informal system relies heavily on the fact that he is a rather noticeable figure in a small community and if I tried the same in the heaving metropolis of Pakse, I might hit a brick wall.

Look how much fun I'm having!

The best way to transport non-emailable items around the country seems to be by bus but this is a far from fool proof method.  I recently had cause to try and receive an envelope sized package from the southern province of Attapeu.  You’ll be disappointed to find out that the package didn’t contain nuclear secrets, stolen jewels from an ancient kingdom or anything remotely interesting but instead a small plastic and paper colour chart for helping to gauge the nitrogen level in a rice crop.  Stifle those yawns because this is fascinating stuff!  Anyway, my friend in Attapeu gave me the bus number, phone number of the company and a rough arrival time.  After trawling all the bus stations and a carrying out more than a few confused conversations, I eventually picked up my letter three days later.  In the mean time, I'd clocked up 68km on my motorbike and the letter had made at least one round trip.

New lab

That’s a combined total of 468 wasted kilometres just to deliver one, first class stamp sized letter.  It was definitely worth it though and I now can rest soundly knowing I topped up with an extra 23kg/ha.

You may have noticed that this blog post is a little later in the month than I normally post them.  That’s because, shock of shocks, I’ve actually been busy for the past few weeks and haven’t had time to squeeze in a page of inane ranting.  The reason is that we’ve just opened a new plant disease diagnostic lab at my office and we’ve been working on the set-up, sample collection and initial training of local staff.  I’m hopeful that it should provide some fruitful work for the next few months, provided we can successfully navigate the delivery pitfalls of getting chemical and glassware supplies from Thailand.

The last time I tried to order chemical supplies, I was working in the UK.  After registering, I got a call back from the supply company about an hour later wanting to check the order details with Professor Horsestrap.

Reluctantly, I had to admit that the eminent professor was in fact me, as I’d been unable to resist the seemingly endless choice of titles from the drop-down box on the website and invented an alter ego.  To be fair, I’d been egged-on by my colleague but he was nowhere to be seen when they called back and so I spent the next ten minutes persuading the chemical company that Prof. Archibald Horsestrap was a suitable person to sell sodium hydroxide and glass beakers to, despite his surprisingly feminine voice.

All the instructions are in Chinese.

Anyway, I’m sure that a Thai company will be a bit more laidback about transvestite professors but I’m a bit concerned that given my previous postal experiences, Prof. Horsestrap may go empty handed.

Just last week I hoped to take delivery of 25 diagnostic manuals sent from Australia.  A single book was brought in to me with great pomp but no explanation as to where its companions might have got to.  After some probing, it turned out that my over eager boss had already got them stamped with the department brand and distributed them.  I explained that I thought there might be more worthy recipients than the statistics department as I’m not entirely sure how often they’re called upon to diagnose plant diseases.  After we rounded them all back up, we were still missing around 15 copies.  Following a good deal of nagging, a search was eventually made and the books finally turned up but it does make you think about how resources are managed, especially as a microwave, a centrifuge and various sundry items have already gone missing. 

Where's Postman Pat when you need him?

Viek ban

Jingle jangle, jingle, jangle.   Am I being haunted by the ghost of Jimmy Saville?  No, then perhaps Father Christmas and Rudolf are making a late stop off to get some winter sun.  No, well then obviously I have a herd of cattle grazing in my garden.  Bingo!  The grass needs cutting anway, so I can happily go back to sleep.  Bzzzzzzzzzz, bgrzzzzzzzzzzzz.  Hmm, am I being attacked by a swarm of killer bees?  No, the hive is definitely attached to my neighbour’s house and not mine and that itching is undoubtedly mosquito bites.  It must be my neighbour starting some early morning welding.  Hoooowwwwwww, haaaaooooooooooooow.  So it seems packs of dogs really do howl at a full moon?  I can definitely go back to sleep for another hour if the moon’s still out.  Of course just as I’m drifting off, the village loudspeaker system will kick in with its morning ritual of news and song.  If only the sound wasn’t so distorted, it might be quite informative.  I can understand the early wake-up as bed time in Lao is similarly early, so I find it’s best to just give up, get up, kick off the ‘Hello Kitty’ bed sheets which have inexplicably formed themselves into a ball around me once again, have a cold shower and some hot tea and start the day again.

Hungry cows - in my ruddy garden!

The cold shower isn’t a choice, although now the temperatures are on the up again, it’s starting to become quite welcome.  Why a house needs 200 television channels but no hot water system is a slight mystery to me but as long as I get the timing right, the water pressure is good enough to blast off the worst of the grime and dust.

My house is unrelentingly dusty, so any kind of shower is a welcome relief.  It will probably come as a surprise to know that I spend a significant proportion of my weekends cleaning but I really do.  Laundry is all done by hand in two buckets, with some fearsome washing powder and stain removing soap.  All in all, with soaking time included, one load takes me around 2 hours.  If I clean the ‘Hello Kitty’ bedsheets (they came with the house), another load of washing will take me another couple of hours.  Boiling water for the washing up takes around 15 minutes; a trip to the market takes around an hour and a half and I could spend all sodding day sweeping the floors and still be left with dusty floors at the end of it.  So, in a normal week, if I devote a day at the weekend to getting the housework done, then things are pretty much sanitary for the following few days.

My mess making nemeses

I’ve decided to blame the chickens for the dust.  They’re not my chickens, just as the hungry cows aren’t mine either.  They belong to some unspecified neighbour but wander around foraging as they please.  The little minxes have decided that it’s great fun to move the soil from the beds at the side of the house onto the concrete path, where it can easily be stirred up by the merest breeze and from thence be re-distributed over the house, the veranda, my motorbike and of course any drying laundry.  I hate those bloody chickens and I don’t even know what they’re looking for.  The other side of the house would be much more lucrative in terms of food sources, so I can only conclude that they’re trying to piss me off.  Either that or they’re attention seeking because there’s no doubt I’ll be having a little word with them about their antisocial behaviour.  I don’t think their chicken brains can interpret the stream of invective I direct their way, so they probably think I’m being friendly.

Because of the chickens, my clothes and pyjamas are always filthy with end-of-the-day dirt, particularly around the lower back.  When I say lower back, I mean lower back and not arse.  I can’t work out why but perhaps it's because the sweat streams down my back, collecting dirt as it goes, to form a pool of sludge at my waistband.  So my sheets get grubby quite quickly, mostly from my dusty feet but the grimy pyjamas don’t help. 

My mother always denies it but as children she used to get us to clean the worst of the garden dirt off our feet by flushing them in the toilet, so we didn’t tramp filth round the house and into the bath.  I think it’s quite a nifty idea, so I’ve extrapolated to use my in-built bathroom arse-hose to clean not only my feet but the bathroom tiles and to give the laundry a final jet wash.  The arse-hose is like a hand-held bidet and no-one can persuade me that it’s useful for its intended purpose but I hate to see a gadget go to waste.

Hanging the washing - at least it dries quickly!

So you can see, I really put in my best effort to trying to keep the house clean but it’s inevitably a compromise between cleanliness and time efficiency.  In the warmer months, it’s also necessary to make sure the house is open, to moderate the temperature and by its design, there are vents and gaps in most places.  In particular, there are vents in the bathroom which coupled with the fact that the shed is just the other side of the wall, means that insects and bugs like to come in to the toilet area to die.  This really gives the wrong impression and no amount of arse-hose to foot spa conversion will mend those hygiene bridges!  I should also admit, part of my desire to keep the place clean is just because I don’t want the chickens to think that they’ve won.

 An added bonus with all this vigorous cleaning is that at least one night a week I can go to bed at about 9pm really tired, albeit in what is essentially the same dust bed a hamster might enjoy sleeping in.  At least it helps me ignore the next morning’s cacophony of cows, welding, dogs and loudspeakers.   

Kong gaan cao niaow

My resolution this year is somewhat unconventional.  I’ve decided that I should spend more money.  This might seem like an absurdly profligate thing to resolve in these times of austerity but it occurred to me towards the end of last year that I was spending too much time penny pinching and was consequently managing to place a self imposed restriction on my opportunities.  Given the fact that I’m living in an amazing country with huge potential for travel both internally and to the wider region it seemed insane that I should sit at home and read free books on my Kindle.  I’m not going to be in Laos forever and it definitely felt like I could be making better use of my time here.   

Farming chic

I’m doing really well with my resolution and I’m managing to steadily eat through my savings with lots of visits, trips and treats.  To put that into perspective, this week I’ve bought a KitKat every day after my lunch, when normally I wouldn’t eat any chocolate from month to month.  It’s not as if I’ve suddenly been plundering the gold and silver reserves.  The very fact that I’ve been able to amass any savings as a volunteer may surprise you but the allowance I receive is quite generous when compared to the cost of living, although it wouldn’t cover a monthly travel card if I was still living in London.  My plan was to use my savings to pay for flights home but really, what else are credit cards for?

The reason I bring up the rather vulgar topic of money is because I’m temporarily financing a dry season rice project.  That sounds genuinely extravagant and is even verging on the philanthropic but even if I was to foot the entire budget it would only account for around a month’s allowance.  I should add that I have no intention of covering the entire budget but nature waits for no man and I had no time to wait for the alternative funding to come through before sowing.  Fingers crossed, in a few weeks time I should be happily munching my way through a family pack of KitKats to make up for it.

20x20cm transplant spacing - ish

The project is the first real piece of long term agricultural advisory work I’ve been involved in since I started my placement and it feels fantastic to finally get stuck into some work.  In short, the idea is to compare three different systems of nutrition for the same glutinous rice variety, sown across small plots of land and managed by two different farming families on the same, single hectare area of irrigated land close to the Mekong.  Phew, doesn’t it sound exciting?  My main motivation for the project is to look at subtle options for trying to introduce some cropping variety into the almost relentless rice based monoculture which is prevalent in irrigated areas. 

Two of the six plots will be managed using azolla introduced as a companion crop into the paddy field and although in essence it's there to help supply a self renewing source of nitrogen, it can also be used to supplement livestock diets and if successfully cultivated, has the potential to be sold on to other farmers.

Last Friday we went to buy the azolla in preparation for broadcast through the target plots.  After some complex discussion of the arrangements the day before, I arrived by motorbike at the district agriculture office before riding with a colleague to the azolla supplier.  When we arrived, it was already packed up in old plastic sacks with no way of knowing how long it had been there.  It seemed quite cool and moist so I was happy to go ahead and follow the delivery to the trial farm.  When we arrived, I was somewhat surprised to be told that we wouldn’t be able to spread it in the field until 3pm that day, some 6 hours later.  Reluctantly, I agreed to ride back out there that afternoon and left instructions to open up the sacks and top up the water every so often.  

My biggest extravagance

Back out at the field later that afternoon and only half the bags had been opened.  As I opened the others, the gust of heat that rushed out was incredible but we soldiered on and spread the azolla in double quick time.  I only fell over in the paddy field once, so my average is improving and I’m a total convert to doing agricultural work in a skirt.   It’s definitely much more chic than my normal boiler suit and wellies combo.  The azolla broadcast well and the plots were pleasingly evenly covered when we finished but I couldn't help but be left with a sense of impending failure. 

Fingers crossed my concerns are unfounded but I suspect my first really extravagant expense of 2012 may well have been 143kg of dead, partially cooked, water fern!  And with that, I wish you all a Happy New Year!

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.