Category Archives: Daily Life

Sok dee pii mai!

Pii Mai (Lao New Year) is next week, and Vientiane is getting ready. Today our school held an assembly to mark the occasion.

I had noticed Hawaiian luau-style shirts for sale all over town lately, and I just figured they were hot with the tourists. Fortunately, my Lao colleagues set me straight: Flowers play a major role in celebrating Pii Mai (pronounced Pee My), so floral tops are de rigeur.

While running some errands on my bike, I stopped at a roadside stand and bought one for about $3.50. The guy looked me over and recommended an XL, but I grabbed a bright orange man’s style in a size large. Later, Tony bought one for himself, but his blue-and-white shirt was a size medium. It was even too small for me! Why, oh why, won’t men try on clothes before buying them? But I digress … At school today, he traded with my friend, Whetu, whose shirt was too big, so he and I both ended up in orange as though we’d planned it.
How cute are we?
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The floral shirts definitely brightened up the school today. I especially loved the little boys who wore matching flowery shorts.

Our assembly included explanations and dramatizations of the Pii Mai traditions, music, a demonstration of water blessings and finally a big circle dance (although the clueless falang turned it into more of a dreamy mosh pit).

Afterwards, classes met on the lawn, where students blessed their teachers and asked for forgiveness. Isn’t that a fantastic tradition? Children dipped a small cup into a large silver bowl to scoop out some water and flower petals. They poured a little water on their teacher’s hands or neck and said, “Sok dee pii mai!” (Happy New Year!) and offered other good wishes. The teacher then used his or her wet hands to sprinkle some water back on the student. Because I’m not a grade-level teacher, I didn’t have a designated spot, but many of my students called me over to receive their blessing. It was really beautiful. I expected the children to get wild and silly with the water, but they were shockingly respectful.

A few shots from the assembly:

Out on the grass, we all participated in the water blessings.
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Kindy kids

Here are some details about the Pii Mai holiday lifted from Wikipedia. According to our Lao staff, this is pretty accurate:

Water is used for washing homes, Buddha images, monks, and soaking friends and passers-by. Students first respectfully pour water on their elders, then monks for blessings of long life and peace, and last of all they throw water each other. The water is perfumed with flowers or natural perfumes. The idea of watering came from the legend of King Kabinlaphom, whose seven daughters kept his severed head in a cave. The daughters would visit their father’s head every year and perform a ritual to bring happiness and good weather.

Sand is brought to the temple grounds and is made into stupas or mounds, then decorated before being given to the monks as a way of making merit. There are two ways to make the sand stupas. One way is to go to the beach, and the other way is to bring sand to the wat, or pagoda. Sand stupas are decorated with flags, flowers, white lines, and splashed with perfumed water. Sand stupas symbolize the mountain, Phoukao Kailat, where King Kabinlaphom’s head was kept by his seven daughters.

Another way to make merit at this time is to set animals free. The Lao believe that even animals need to be free. The most commonly freed animals are tortoises, fish, crabs, birds, eels, and other small animals.

Flowers are gathered to decorate Buddha images. In the afternoons people collect fresh flowers. Senior monks take the younger monks to a garden filled with flowers, where they pick flowers and bring back to the wat to wash. People who didn’t participate in the flower picking bring baskets to wash the flowers so the flowers can shine with the Buddha statues.

There is an annual beauty pageant in Luang Prabang to crown Miss Bpee Mai Lao (Miss Lao New Year). There are many beauty pageants in Laos, but Luang Prabang – the old capital – is widely known for its Nangsoukhane pageant. There are seven contestants, each one symbolizing one of King Kabinlaphom’s seven daughters.

During Lao New Year, there are many spectacles including traditional Lao music, mor-lam, and ram-wong (circle dancing). During the daytime almost everybody is at the temple worshipping, hoping to have a healthier and happier life in the new year. During the evening, people of all ages go to the wat for entertainment.

Earth Hour in Vientiane

Earth Hour Logo

Earth Hour came to Vientiane for the first time on Saturday, March 27. Our little city was the 92nd one to join the movement, which aims to raise awareness about climate change by promoting one hour without electricity. It wasn’t as dramatic as the footage of Sydney or Shanghai, where global landmarks and big sections of the city suddenly went dark. Still, the event attracted an enthusiastic crowd to the Patuxai Monument, where a stage featured speeches and entertainment under electricity-sucking spotlights. After the countdown, the lights turned off in the vicinity around the monument, and even the stage lights dimmed a bit.

Apparently Laos had wanted to make participation compulsory, but Vientiane’s patchwork power grid precluded the flipping of a switch to cut off all the electricity. Another quirky note: The rest of the world celebrated Earth Hour at 8:30 p.m., but Vientiane decided to do it at 7:00.

Our internet’s been quite unreliable recently (maybe Laos figured out how to impose compulsory limits on THAT…), so I’m a bit late posting this. I finally got it on YouTube this week. Here’s the Vientiane countdown from four.

Bureaucracy and blessings

Getting government approval to operate a business in Laos apparently takes quite a bit of time and savvy finagling. My friend Catherine, an Aussie teacher at VIS, learned that firsthand when she rented space for an art gallery. Hoping to spotlight the work of local artists, she set up her living space upstairs and did some minor remodeling downstairs to create two display areas flooded with natural light.

When her official paperwork finally came through, Catherine shared the news with her landlord, Mr. Boulein, who immediately began planning a baci ceremony. Pronounced “bah-see,” the ceremony is held frequently in Lao communities to commemorate a special event, honor important people, cure sicknesses and celebrate just about anything.

Catherine had hoped to hold the baci on Tuesday, when a friend would be visiting from Australia, but Mr. Boulein explained that April 5 was an auspicious day and therefore the baci couldn’t wait.

As guests arrived at the i:cat gallery, Mr. Boulein’s mother (hereafter called Grandma) assessed our attire and pinned on colorful silk sashes. I enjoyed mingling and chatting with the well-wishers, an eclectic group of people from myriad countries and all walks of life. Catherine was surprised to find that some of her Lao friends actually knew each other and were conspiring to keep tabs on her.

Grandma pins a sash on me.
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Soon Grandma ushered us in to the air-conditioned gallery room for the baci, where we sat on woven mats. She encouraged us to scoot close to the pah-khwan centerpiece – a large silver vase with a massive arrangement of marigolds and braided white strings. A collection of offerings surrounded the vase, including a roasted chicken, a plate of eggs, bags of potato chips, a basket of sticky rice, cans of soda, and thin beeswax candles.

The spiritual leader and the pah-khwan.
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Each of us sitting next to the pah-khwan grabbed a white string tied to the centerpiece and clasped the other end between our prayerful hands. I felt fingertips on my shoulder and realized that everyone in the room was connected to each other – and thus the sacred pah-khwan – by touch. The spiritual leader then chanted long rapid monotone prayers, which were loosely translated by the lady on my left, Jackie, owner of another international school here in Vientiane. In a nutshell, he was praying for Catherine’s good luck, prosperity and overall happiness. At a couple junctures, he said something that elicited a few yelps from the crowd, which apparently were calls for the spirits to pay attention to his prayers.

Finally, we pulled the braided strings off the pah-khwan to offer individual blessings: Using the frayed end of the string, you first brush bad energy out through someone’s fingers on the top side of the hand. Then you turn the hand over and offer a number of blessings while brushing positive energy in over the palm and wrist. After all possible wishes have been offered, you tie the string around your partner’s wrist, giving the tight knot a final twist and rub for extra luck.

A highlight of the experience was when Grandma put the plate of chicken in Catherine’s hands, and the spiritual leader proceeded to do the string blessing with deep reverence and sincerity.
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One young lady, Daeng (whose family owns my favorite breakfast place in Vientiane – Kung’s Café), was tying a string on my wrist when she started to offer up the omniscient prayer for me to have a kid. “Tell those spirits NO babies!” I said. She laughed and went along with it.

Daeng brought this beautiful basket of fruit.
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With the Lao New Year holiday – Pii Mai – just around the corner, traditional water blessings followed the baci. We paraded outside, where Grandma had a silver bowl filled with water and flower petals. One by one, we crouched down for her to pour a bit over our hands.

I can see why Lao people treasure the baci ceremony. In her six years in Laos, Catherine has cultivated many friendships, and this brought us together with a common purpose. By the time we gathered outside for pizza and drinks, the ceremony had generated a palpable vibe of support and optimism for Catherine and her new enterprise.

Pretty, Sheila, Catherine and me. Pretty’s husband, Tommy, is a professional photographer, so I hope to get copies of his pics on here soon.
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International UXO/Mine Awareness Day

Today is Easter, a day for Christians to focus on promises fulfilled and hope for the future. Here in Laos, we spent the morning focusing on the same concepts but in a different context: International UXO/Mine Awareness Day.

In the capital city of the most heavily bombed country on earth, Tony and I joined the crowd at the Patuxai Monument early this morning, dressed in our Team Dai “Ban Cluster Bombs” jerseys. Several organizations had set up informational displays about UXO (unexploded ordnance) and the efforts to rehabilitate bomb victims and educate communities at risk. Hundreds of people showed up to march in support of banning cluster munitions, so we paraded about 5K from the monument to the Presidential Palace and back.

According to the United Nations:

Throughout the Second Indochina War (1964 to 1973), more than 580,000 bombing missions (every 8 minutes, 24 hours a day, for 9 years) and wide-ranging ground battles dropped over 2 million tons of ordnance on Lao PDR. Additionally, over 260 million cluster munitions were used, of which an estimated 80 million remain live as a result of high failure rates. Today UXO litters vast areas of the country; approximately 25 percent of 10,000 villages are contaminated.

Tony and I cannot believe that we never learned about this in school. We feel fortunate to live here and witness first-hand the selfless work under way to excavate the bombs, reach out to bomb victims, and educate communities to prevent further casualties. These organizations from all over the world are living the message of Easter: promise and hope.

A quick speech. Every red dot on that map represents a load of bombs that were dropped there.
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Release some balloons (no need to address the environmental impact of that at this moment …)
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And off we go for the UXO/Mine Awareness March.
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We walked with friends Alison and Todd, teachers at VIS, and their kids Sam and Kira.
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We cheated a bit and crossed the median just short of the Presidential Palace.
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A sign at the monument. I just never get tired of quirky translations.
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Fast Food Nation at last, alas

Residents of Vientiane jonesing for a Frapuccino, Big Mac or KFC hot wings just have to get over it … or get over the border. All those things can be found in Thailand, just a few short miles away. Until last week, Laos was fast-food franchise-free, and many of us liked it that way. You can get the best coffee of your life on almost any street corner for less than $1, and while several restaurants have mastered slobber-inducing burgers and other tasty Western fare, that’s not what attracted us to Southeast Asia.

Last week, however, Vientiane’s first international fast-food restaurants opened their doors: Swensen’s ice cream parlor and The Pizza Company. The Lao-Thai venture cost $500,000. The two shops occupy one building in the shadow of the National Culture Hall with a parking attendant and first-class service.

Here’s my favorite quote from the Vientiane Times article about the franchise opening:

The manager said that she had confidence that her fast food service would be attractive to many Lao people, especially the middle- and high-income ones.

Considering Laos’ per capita income is around $800 a year, I’m guessing she’s on to something.

We checked it out on opening day, but frightened away by the prices, we walked a few blocks further and ordered pizza at the independently owned Swedish Baking House. (My attempt to boycott the cookie-cutter chain wasn’t entirely successful: Tony got a double scoop of cookies-n-cream in a waffle cone.)

We wandered over to that neck of the woods again today. The waitresses really freak out when you try to order at the counter. They prefer that you sit at a table and peruse the menu before ordering your ice cream, even if it’s just a cone to go.

I barely had enough time to snap this photo; my ice cream was melting all over Tony’s hand. Today’s high was 99F/37C. No wonder all the upper-class fast-food junkies enjoy their treats inside.
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Biking to Breakfast in Thailand

What a busy week! The weekend’s already here, and I still haven’t posted anything from LAST weekend.

Last Sunday, I cycled to Thailand with a group to cheer for a few Team Dai members who were participating in a triathlon. The Thai-Lao border is only 16 kilometers from my house in Vientiane. At the border crossing, we filled out customs paperwork, got our passports stamped and pedaled across the Friendship Bridge, which spans the Mekong River. On the other side, we filled out more paperwork to enter Thailand and got another passport stamp.
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We could see the triathlon venue from the bridge, so we cycled along till we found the transition staging area. From there, we watched our friends swim by in the strong Mekong current. We cheered loud enough that Eelco actually stopped, looked up and waved! He competed in the race with his son JJ, along with another father-son team, Maurice Sr. and Jr. When they got out of the water and jumped on their bikes, we hollered some more, and Eelco’s wife Nicolette actually stopped them for a quick chat.

Standing on the banks of the Mekong in Thailand, we looked across at Laos and down at our friends swimming in the triathlon.
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Maurice and Maurice pull their bikes out of the transition area.
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Eelco comes out with a borrowed helmet. He and JJ had forgotten theirs and almost got disqualified. Luckily our friends were standing by with their own bike helmets!
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Nicolette has a quick chat with her two boys before they tackle the cycling leg of the race.
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After the competitors took off on their bikes, we cheerleaders walked the short distance to Mut Mee Guesthouse for a nice breakfast and later cycled back to Laos. How often can you ride your bike to another country and be home in time for lunch?

Like Grand Central Station … if Laos had trains

Our house sits on a main road through Thongkang Village in Vientiane. Directly across from our gate is a collection of vendors selling fruit, vegetables, dried fish, grilled meat, clothes, coffee, fruit shakes, sticky rice, air for your bike tires, eggs, toiletries and other sundries.

It’s a real hot spot.

We often open our gate to see parked tuk-tuks with drivers napping in the back, cars left running while their owners grab some lunch, schoolchildren in uniform purchasing icy drinks on a hot day, stray dogs scrounging for scraps and other activity.

Once a truck-o-monks pulled up with a huge gold Buddha draped in Christmas lights and blasting music. Villagers scrambled out to throw money at it.

Today, I heard drums and singing so I wandered out to find this crew. They might be representatives of the village temple. Not sure. (Yeah, the composition is pretty lame. I snapped it too quickly.)
Village Alms Collectors

Again, the locals were dropping money in the silver pot. So I stood in line and did the same. The lady with the glasses tied an orange string around my wrist and rattled off what I think was a blessing. As I dropped my 5,000-kip note (about 60 cents) into the pot, I saw the pile of other bills and realized I was giving about 10 times the usual donation. Rookie mistake. Maybe my blessing was actually the Lao version of “Sucka!”

Oh, notice the jackets and hats? That’s because today’s high is a bone-chilling 85F/29C degrees. When you’re used to temps in the 100s, you gotta bundle up on days like this.

Lovin’ the Lantern Bug

Sitting under my mango tree a few weeks ago, I looked up to see this guy on a branch. I ran inside to get my camera, shrieking for Tony the whole time.
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I had to balance with one foot on my patio table and one foot braced against the tree to get a close enough shot, and I was scared the whole time that the bizarre bug would suddenly attack my face or blast venom from its freaky nose. Fortunately, it just sat there. Later that evening it was gone, and we’ve never seen it or any of its ilk again.

I’ve been trying to find out the name of that strange yard guest, but when I did a Google image search of “laos insects,” the results featured mainly edible market fare. Today, I gave it another whirl. I entered “Laos insect long nose.” Score!
Turns out our little visitor is known as Pyrops candelaria, although his friends call him Lantern Bug.

Here’s some info from the Lantern Bug website:

The lantern bug can grow from 1.5 to 3 inches long from head to thorax and has a wingspan of about 2 to 2.5 inches wide, depending on the species. It has a long beak, called its rostrum, which it uses to suck the juice out flowers and fruits. The lantern bug is an herbivore. Lantern bugs are called thus because of their bright usually contrasting colors. Their actual coloring varies for each genus but the colors are bright enough for them to earn their name, despite the fact that no lantern bug actually emits any light at all.

Feelings About Footy

Working overseas with a diverse group of colleagues is a sure-fire way to discover how little you know.

Oh, I thought I knew about football. Kids (usually boys) play it in high school, decked out in lots of protective gear. After graduation, it becomes a spectator sport associated with terms such as “first down” and “10 yards to go” and “touchdown.”

Teaching abroad, I quickly found out that my understanding of “football” was limited to “American football,” a virtual nonentity beyond U.S. borders.

In Turkey, I learned that “football” meant “soccer.” Round ball, no downs, no yards, no hands, no pads. You score a goal, not a touchdown.

In China, I met quite a few Australians and New Zealanders for whom “football” meant rugby. Elliptical ball, forward kicking, backward passing, no protective gear. You score a try.

Now here we are in Laos, and I went to my first Australian Rules football game yesterday. This “football” was the most unfamiliar one yet. Oval field and ball. Lots and lots of running, bouncing the ball every few steps, passing with a volleyball-esque fist pop, four goalposts, brutal tackling (again, no protection; we Americans are such wussies). You score a goal or a behind.

Our local team, the Lao Elephants, had never trained together, and I heard that some of the guys were playing the sport for the first time. Their opponents, the Vietnam Swans, were a bit intimidating with their flashy uniforms and organized warm-up drills.

Aussie friends Kimbra and Simon sent their tips from Shanghai:

Our advice for the footy is swear a lot, call out “oh come on” a lot, call out “too high” a lot, call out “held ball” a lot, call out “ball” a lot and, when the player on the opposite team needs to concentrate, call out “chewy on your boot.”

I particularly liked that last one, although I didn’t understand it. I tried it out at a pub the night before the game … except that I botched it and said, “Chew on your booty!” The Australians at the pub assured me this was NOT something to yell at the game. After checking my e-mail again, I got the phrase right, and I was informed that it refers to “chewy” aka “chewing gum” being stuck on an opposing player’s “boot” aka “shoe,” thus mocking his inability to run. So much to learn, so little time.

My sports-flunky take on Aussie Rules: Like I do with most sporting events, I tended to chat with fellow spectators more than actually watch the game, and despite patient explanations from those around me, I couldn’t really follow the action or make any sense of the scorekeeping. However, I found it fast, exciting and entertaining. That’s more than I can say for American football.

For me, though, “footy” is still just a sock.

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You might recognize a couple of the guys from the Team Dai photos. Pauly (back row, far left) and Paa (second row, far left) were on the support crew, and Adam (back, third from right) cycled with the team.
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The nurse who usually attends these games apparently couldn’t make it. Ingrid, who works for ElefantAsia was put in charge, so she brought along an elephant first aid kit that they distribute to mahouts (elephant caretakers/trainers).
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A possible explanation for the Vietnam team’s triumph.
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