Here are a few phrases that we would rarely use anywhere else, but that get bandied about here in Laos with regularity:
• “Geez, it’s chilly today. The temp must be down in the 80s.”
• “Don’t walk out there without shoes! You know, there’s that parasitic worm that burrows up into your foot.”
• “No problem, we can fit a couple more people on the motorbike.”
• “Excuse me, do you carry the cough syrup with opium?”
• “Yeah, that salon is a bit pricey. I paid almost $30 for a manicure, pedicure, haircut and massage.”
• “I’ll have the banana flower salad.”
• “We ought to ride our bikes to Thailand on Saturday.”
• “ So I was chatting with this monk…”
• “Dude, there are gecko eggs in my underwear drawer.”
• “Where did that lake come from, and where’s our driveway?”
And my personal favorite, which I actually used today at lunch…
• “I’ll take my noodles without the coagulated blood cubes, please.”
All posts by Sharon
Taste of Laos
When the lunch bell rings at school, Tony and I usually eat leftovers from the previous night’s dinner or we purchase meals from our canteen, which is operated by a local restaurant owner. Recently, the VIS receptionist, Paramy, started providing lunches prepared by her husband and delivered to school – at a third of the canteen’s price.
Yesterday, we had a special treat. Paramy’s mother made our lunch!
“This is real Lao food,” Paramy said. She pulled off the soup pot’s lid to expose clear broth with pale green chunks. “That’s baby cantaloupe soup,” she said. (Actually, she said “cantalook,” but we eventually figured out what she meant.)
Then she handed me a little tub of steamed rice with a banana leaf packet on top.
She removed the toothpick holding the packet together, unfolded the banana leaf and pointed to the contents. “This is a flower from the south of Laos,” she said, explaining that the flower comes from the Dok Khae tree in the rainforest. Her mom spotted these at a market and decided to prepare today’s delicacy.
Minced pork, bits of fish and delicious spices were stuffed into each blossom, and then the whole packet was steamed. The flower itself had a slightly bitter taste, but a few drops of chili sauce gave the dish a fiery kick.
Paramy claims the Dok Khae tree has many medicinal benefits. If I understood her correctly, the flower helps to regulate your metabolism.
As I noshed on Mok Dok Khae and chatted with my Lao and foreign colleagues, I had to smile. You can’t get much more authentic than a Lao mom whipping up lunch in her own kitchen.
Silly Signs
Who doesn’t love a funny sign?!
I pass this one on my way to school every day. Apparently there’s a koi farm behind all the jungle growth, but they transposed a couple letters in their sign. Hee hee.
This one is right on the corner near our house. Nice of Beer Lao to remind people about the dangers of drunk driving. Too bad nobody seems to listen. I just like the punctuation. It’s like, “Hey you! Yeah, you, the big lush! Don’t get behind the wheel. Duh.” The circle with the red X is too small to see here, but it includes a bottle of pills, a champagne bottle with the cork popping off and a wineglass that looks like it’s full of fire.
Patuxai … sigh
I realized this morning that I haven’t posted anything in about a week. That’s because I haven’t DONE anything. Well, I haven’t done anything INTERESTING.
Parent-teacher conferences … yawn.
Professional development workshops on the Primary Years Program … snore.
Mind-numbing exploration of the library’s teacher resources section in a futile attempt to find some ESL materials … snort, stretch, roll over.
Yeah, it’s all been about school lately. Sorry.
That’s why I decided we were going to do a little sightseeing on this beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon. Tony and I jumped on the motorbike and headed across town to the Patuxai Monument. Also spelled Patuxay (and pronounced Patoo-sigh), the name translates roughly to Gate of Victory, which is close to “Arc de Triomphe,” so the locals often refer to the boulevard leading to the monument as the Champs Elysee.
(No, I’m not wearing a ping-pong-ball hat. That’s a street lamp.)
Construction began in the early 1960s, and workers officially finished the job in 1969 using concrete donated by the United States for a new airport. Intended to honor Lao people who lost their lives in war, the monument is powerfully impressive from a distance. Not so much up close. You don’t need to read the sign to see that.
Draped in lights, the monument looks a bit shabby by day (much prettier at night!).
Stepping under the arch, we could see the colorful ceiling with lots of Lao motifs.
For just 3,000 kip (35 cents), you can climb to the top. So we did. On the way up, we had plentiful shopping opportunities as vendors sleepily displayed “Same Same” T-shirts and other souvenirs.
The rooftop was pretty disappointing with chipped concrete, broken steps, cracked walls, and big pieces of debris. We met another American up there who thinks the monument’s condition is an intentional political statement about the way the U.S. treated Laos during the Vietnam War. Maybe. Or maybe not.
Tony was nearly impaled on this rusty ornamental arrow!
Here’s a view looking toward the Mekong River (with Thailand on the other side).
Here’s a view looking inland. This park is lovely and well maintained, so locals hang out by the fountains to enjoy ice cream or spicy noodles.
Final verdict: Enjoy the monument from the outside!
That Luang Festival – Wax Castle Procession
Expats often feel out of the loop during big cultural hooplas. Tony and I have taught in three international settings, and we felt equally uninformed in Istanbul, Shanghai and here in Vientiane. Even if a magazine or newspaper reports on an upcoming event, we often don’t fully understand where to go or what to do. We depend on the long-time residents and host-country nationals to give us the scoop. Fortunately, our Kiwi librarian Jeanette had done her research on the That Luang Festival (and her husband, Basim, is a writer who makes his own hours and thus has time to explore the local scene).
I knew that a procession was scheduled for Sunday afternoon, during which people would carry their “wax castles” (see yesterday’s post) from Wat Si Muang to Pha That Luang – the Golden Stupa. I had planned to be at the Si Muang temple to watch, but Jeanette made the same mistake last year and encouraged me to head out to the stupa instead. That was great advice! My friend, Whetu, and I rode our motorbikes to the stupa, which is about four kilometers from the center of town, and waited for the procession to arrive.
(Sidebar: This was my first solo excursion on the motorbike beyond my neighborhood! What a blast!)
At first, people trickled in through the gate and sat in the shade outside the stupa entrance. We started to wonder whether this event was worth our time. Suddenly, everyone stood up and started walking toward the stupa. An official-looking guy gestured for the crowd to move to the sides of the esplanade, and the procession began.
Flag-bearers led the procession, followed by a group of monks and some apparent VIPs and military leaders. Behind them, beautiful women in ethnic costumes gracefully danced forward while men played traditional percussion instruments. I didn’t get my camera ready in time to film the ladies, but here’s a short video of the musicians:
And then came the throngs of people with their offerings for the revered temple.
There must have been thousands, all carrying arrangements made from flowers, banana leaves, wax decorations and bank notes. They lined up peacefully and slowly moved toward the Golden Stupa with big smiles on their faces – chatting, chanting, cheering.
That Luang Festival
Adjusting to a new job and a new city and a new language occasionally takes its toll, and some days end in tears. That was Friday. But today is Sunday, and my culture shock schizophrenia has brought a sunny mood to match the weather and festive spirit in Vientiane this weekend.
The That Luang Festival celebrates the most important monument in Laos – Pha That Luang. Its name translates to “World-Precious Sacred Stupa,” but it’s generally known as the Golden Stupa among local expats. For the Laos people, it represents sovereignty, spirituality and national pride. The stupa was built in the era of Lan Xan, the Kingdom of a Million Elephants, in the mid-16th century when King Setthathirat moved the Lao capital from Luang Prabang to Vientiane.
Last night, we visited Wat Si Muang, where locals turned out in their finest clothes for the “wax castle procession.”
The wax castle is actually an arrangement of banana leaves and wax discs that resemble yellow flowers. People attach paper money and glittery decorations before presenting it at the temple. We saw small arrangements that easily fit in one hand, as well as massive multi-tiered displays carried on a litter by two or more men. Stalls selling the wax offerings lined the streets around the temple. Many people bought the unadorned models and added their own cash and glitz, while others created their displays from scratch, building a base from bamboo or styrofoam and mixing wax and honey to sculpt the flowers. The ubiquitous banana leaf-and-marigold arrangements sold every day near local temples were also a popular choice.
Inside the temple grounds, a xylophone band on an elevated platform provided music for the trips around the temple, and people walked with their families, village organizations or business colleagues. Here’s a little video of the xylophone guys:
After three loops around the temple, groups carried their offerings into the building and left them at the altar. Soon the temple was filled with wall-to-wall wax castles. Through the back door, we watched monks dismantling the displays and collecting the money. Here’s a little video of the procession:
The mood was light and festive with lots of singing and cheering. Occasionally, monks chanted Buddhist prayers over the loudspeaker. Children proudly carried small arrangements, candles or banners.
Suddenly, in the midst of the Buddhist celebration, a bomb went off. Well, I thought it was a bomb. It turns out Lao fireworks are even scarier than the ones in China. Some poor guy had the job of lighting a very short fuse of an explosive that was packed into a bamboo tube, and he did this over and over in various locations around the temple. I hope he survived.
Each time an explosive detonated, the crowd scattered and ducked behind trees for protection while watching the firestorm rain down on the temple. You never knew where the next bomb would be; sometimes it was right in the middle of a path. Freaky!
Finally, the fireworks ended and the crowd thinned.
Here are some photos from this spectacular experience:
Then it was time for a little Western-style revelry. Tony and I headed to an open-air pub owned by one the VIS teachers, where another teacher was performing with his 10-member funk band. I met up with some girlfriends, so Tony was free to go home, and we danced for hours under a hazy night sky.
Anticlimactic Halloween
On this day at schools around the world, children dressed in costumes and celebrated Halloween. Last year, our whole ESOL department at Shanghai American School dressed as pirates. Here we are in all our swashbuckling glory:
This year, at my new school, I was the lone pirate. In fact, I was the only person – child or adult – who dressed up. I knew there wouldn’t be a parade or a party, but I just couldn’t let this most awesome holiday pass without digging into my costume box. I had lunch recess supervision duty at the basketball court, and I’d like to say the kids gathered ‘round and expressed their admiration for my unique form of individuality. In reality, they made fun of my “parrot,” a silver-sequined Christmas ornament that I wired to my shoulder seam, and tried to steal my plastic sword.
Not one to shy from the spotlight, I enjoyed all the stares and comments from kids, parents and other teachers. However, I felt a bit deflated in the cafeteria when a European teacher said in a rather surly voice, “That’s so AMERICAN.”
I wanted to respond with (ahem … cue the patriotic music, please), “Madam, if you are suggesting that my country has overpromoted this great holiday – a holiday that allows people of all shapes and sizes a reprieve from calorie counting and stress-related eating disorders … a holiday that fills our plastic pumpkins with unconditional joy … a holiday that gives ordinary citizens the freedom to dress in their most shocking, funny or slutty frocks … a holiday that cares not about religious affiliation, sexual orientation or political parties but only about uncensored silliness – if you are suggesting that my country has helped millions of people around the world discover the innocent chewy goodness of candy corn, the eerie yet satisfying glow of a jack-o-lantern at night, the ability of peeled grapes and cold wet spaghetti to trick unsuspecting haunted house guests, and the pheromonal qualities of a tight black cat costume … if you are implying that the United States is single-handedly responsible for the globalization of Halloween, well, then madam, I can only say I AM PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN!”
Instead, I lifted my eye patch and said with a whine, “This school is so LAME.”
International Day
At a school where …
• one second-grade class comprises 12 nationalities,
• many kids speak a different language with Dad than they do with Mom,
• the elementary teaching staff represents 5 continents,
• even the native English speakers get confused by each other’s accents, and
• an impromptu lesson about an insect in the room turns into a discussion of how to cook it …
EVERY day is International Day.
However, one day each year is set aside to celebrate the myriad cultures represented by our student body. At VIS, that day was Friday. Dressed in their traditional costumes, children puffed up with pride for their home countries and paraded around the school grounds. The younger group spent the morning in sessions that explored dance as a form of cultural expression, and then they joined the secondary students for an assembly at the covered basketball court. Student performances included a spectacular Bollywood-ish dance by two sisters from India, a poignant interpretive dance by a Nepalese girl, a silly crowd pleaser by the 8th grade class (“Did You Ever See a Penguin Come to Tea?”) that got the crowd up out of their seats, and a rap version of Frere Jacque by the middle school French class. A local Lao hip-hop dance troupe had everyone clapping and cheering.
The highlight of the day was lunch! Nearly every family contributed a dish from their home country, so the tables overflowed with delectable treats. I’m not sure exactly what I ate, but everything was scrumptious. Just when things were wrapping up, a German dad passed around some apfelkuchen. Mmmm … schmekt gut!
As an American, it’s always a little tricky to come up with a costume on International Day. One of my students said, “You could dress like the Green Lady.” I thought he meant a superhero like the Green Lantern or the Green Hornet, but eventually he struck a pose and I realized he meant the Statue of Liberty. Another student told me to dress like Uncle Sam. Instead I opted for a red, white and blue ensemble with some silver stars on my face. Those savvy little kids know their flags. “You could be from Australia! Or Burma! Or Chile!” Smart aleck TCKs.
And It’s All Small Stuff
If I smell a little ripe today, it’s because:
(a) we can’t seem to figure out our bedroom A/C unit, so we wake up repeatedly during the night either in a pool of sweat or frozen solid, and
(b) we had no water this morning. Our helpful new night guard, Beng, fixed the water pump before he left, but by then I only had time for a quick prostitute bath with a packet of lemongrass wet wipes.
As Tony stared at the bathtub faucet and waited in vain for it to do something, he muttered, “This is a nightmare.”
In typical sympathetic fashion, I responded, “It’s not really a nightmare, is it? But it is frustrating.”
We both stomped out of the house, cranky and stinky.
My friend, Carine, lent me her car for a few days while she went out of town, but I had to return it this morning. On the way to work, I made a quick detour to the gas station and used my last few kip to put a couple liters of gas in the car. My empty wallet contributed further to my funk. (See the previous post, “A Fool and Her Money …” for background.) Grumpily, I put the car into gear and headed to school.
In that 10-minute trip, I witnessed several groups of Lao people waiting by the side of the road with their offerings of food for the village monks. The image of one little girl keeps popping into my head. She wore a public school uniform: a traditional dark blue sinh – a straight skirt woven of cotton or silk – and a button-down blouse. She must have been about 9 years old, so she had probably witnessed the morning collection of alms on nearly every one of her 3,000-some days on earth. Still, she knelt with her hands in prayer position and a smile stretched across her face as the monks chanted a blessing over her family.
The barefoot monks draped in orange are a common sight each morning here in Vientiane. But today, that little girl’s connection with the monks somehow soothed my frazzled nerves and served as a gentle reminder not to sweat the small stuff.
A Fool and Her Money …
Today I had to borrow money from a friend to pay back another friend. How embarrassing is that?
It’s not about spending too much and living paycheck to paycheck. It’s about a ridiculous banking system. Our school deposits our salaries in the Laos Public Bank, which is open from 9 to 3 Monday to Friday. As people saddled with jobs, we are NEVER free during the bank’s operating hours. “Oh, well,” you’re thinking, “just use your bank card at an ATM.” Wouldn’t that be such a tidy solution? Unfortunately, the Laos Public Bank doesn’t issue ATM cards.
Rather than switch its account to the local branch of New Zealand’s ANZ Bank, which DOES have ATM cards and DOESN’T charge any fees for them, the school instead patronizingly offers us this service: We can bring our bankbooks and paperwork to the school cashier before 9 a.m. each Wednesday, and she will go to the bank and handle our transactions.
That’s a great system IF you don’t get sidetracked by the piles of paperwork on your desk, a concerned parent dropping her kid off at school, a depressed colleague needing to chat, a crying child, or any number of other obstacles that stand between your classroom and the cashier’s office early on a school day.
That’s a great system IF you don’t have any surprises during the week, such as a guard who makes off with your electricity bill money, a weed whacker that needs to be repaired because the aforementioned guard put the wrong kind of oil in it, or an unanticipated shortage of Beer Lao in your fridge.
That’s a great system IF you know what day of the week it is and therefore go to the cashier on Wednesday instead of Thursday.
That’s a great system IF someone reminds you that the following week is a holiday so you should probably take out some extra cash.
Perhaps you sense that I haven’t been entirely vigilant about the Wednesday banking. You would be right.
Two Wednesdays ago, I took out just a bit of play money. Then I realized we would be off work for a week, the bank would be closed for the holiday, and we had friends visiting. So I borrowed $500 from a colleague. Today, I frantically tried to fill out the banking paperwork before my 8 a.m. EAL Parent Coffee. At the last minute, I realized I had left my bankbook at home. Meltdown. Freak out. Waterworks. Pick your euphemism. It wasn’t pretty.
My fabulous colleague, Carine, sprinted across the room, gave me a big hug and asked how much I needed. Let’s see … $500 to pay back Bernadette, plus money to pay back our new guard for the weed whacker work, plus money to pay back our housekeeper who bought groceries out of pocket, and so on. Before I knew it, I was $800 in debt to Carine.
I can totally see how those dumb gamblers on TV get in so much trouble.