Here in Vientiane, we get two TV channels that play English-language movies. Star Movies generally shows shoot-‘em-up action flicks or slash-‘em-up horror films. HBO also leans to more violent offerings, but occasionally it shows a classic. On a recent evening, the HBO selection was the original Superman from 1978.
Times like that make me almost numb with the surreal quality of our lives. Here we sat, curled up on comfy sofas we had made in Shanghai and using my giant nutcracker barstool from Germany as an end table. Tony leaned back on the pillows from Turkey, munching on Lao-labeled Oreos and drinking Diet Coke. I sipped red wine from Italy, resting my glass on a tray from the Chatuchak Market in Bangkok, as we listened to Lex Luthor plot to steal kryptonite from Addis Ababa.
The first eight or nine times I saw this movie, I had no idea where Addis Ababa was. Last year, I applied for a job there (International Community School of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia).
A similarly surreal moment happened a few months ago, when we sat in a Chinese dumpling shop here in Vientiane, waiting for our to-go order. It was Halloween weekend, but the restaurant’s TV blared National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. We seemed to have passed through a hole in the time-space continuum.
The fact is these “surreal moments” happen all the time. We see children in the most remote Southeast Asian villages wearing Mickey Mouse T-shirts and Nike shoes. Tuk-tuk drivers crank their radios and jam to Beyoncé. We get take-away “Hawaiian Pizza” from the Swedish Baking House, located about four blocks from the Mekong River. My black-and-red “ethnic-looking” dishes from a tiny shop in China are stamped with the logos for Target and Kohl’s, so I could just as well have bought them in Detroit.
Maybe “surreal” is the new “real” for us.
Category Archives: Daily Life
Thanksgiving – Lao Style
It is American Thanksgiving … in Laos … which is to say it’s just like every other day.
I’ve tried in vain to find a restaurant in Vientiane with a special holiday menu shouting out words like “turkey” and “cranberry” and “stuffing.” At school today – oh, did I mention we had to work on Thanksgiving? – there were no fixins’ on our plastic cafeteria trays. The other North Americans and I decided we would join forces for an American-Canadian Thanksgiving next year at Full Moon Café, a local restaurant owned by an American guy and his Lao wife. But we waited too long to collaborate on a 2009 holiday meal, so Tony and I hopped on the motorbike and headed to town for a traditional Italian Thanksgiving at a new restaurant owned by a fifth grader’s dad. After enjoying some lasagna and another pasta that I’d never heard of (bucatini), we popped in to Joma, a café serving … wait for it … PUMPKIN PIE!! Halleluiah!
Here are a few things I am thankful for today:
• I am thankful for a family that laughs at ourselves, scoffs at pretense, revels in the spotlight, holds nothing back, values eccentricity, shares in each other’s celebrations but also in the burden of struggles and regrets, and doesn’t get worked up about a phone bill.
• I am thankful for a husband who once scored as my polar opposite in every category on the Myers-Briggs Personality Test but who has stayed the course for nearly 20 years, keeping me grounded and safe when I’m inclined to whirl out of control.
• I am thankful for the title of Aunt Sharon, two snuggly little boys, and the squeaky giggly voice that yells, “Sherrrrryyyy!” when I ask, “Who do you love?”
• I am thankful for the beautiful, strong, supportive, hilarious women in my life. Most of you are way too far away geographically, but I feel so lucky to know you. How would I get by without my BFFs?
• I am thankful for the temples, mosques, cathedrals, monasteries, castles, palaces, fortresses, bridges, cities, villages, mountains, beaches, coral reefs, rivers, jungles, ancient ruins, natural wonders, historical settings, man-made phenomena, museums, galleries, handicraft workshops, art studios, exotic animals, unfamiliar fruits and vegetables, myriad modes of transportation, and the gracious, kind, generous people we’ve encountered in our overseas adventures.
• I am thankful for incredible and fascinating friends around the world, whom we rarely see but truly treasure. The international teaching circuit is a tossed salad of nationalities, and although we may flit in and out of each other’s lives, we know people (from casual acquaintances to dear lifelong friends) in 24 states and 19 countries.
• I am thankful for Skype, Vonage, Yahoo, Facebook, WordPress and every other avenue of interconnectedness that keeps everyone close.
• I am thankful for a career that zings between painfully frustrating and deeply rewarding but offers up something new, without fail, every single day and allows me to give the gift of communication to little people from every corner of the globe.
• I am thankful for the Asian mini-bananas that are golden in color and so much sweeter than any banana that has ever immigrated to America. And if I’m going to get sappy about Southeast Asian fruit, then I have to express my deepest gratitude for Daeng, the young lady who makes sure my fridge is stocked every day with peeled, cut up fresh watermelon, papaya, pineapple, mango, apples, or whatever is in season. I love her.
• I am thankful for the availability of red wine here in Laos, and I can’t help but notice that the more I sip, the more I’m thankful for! How beautiful is that?
• I am thankful for a roof over my head and a big comfy bed … and that’s just too enticing to resist. So off I go.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Wat ‘o’ the Week: Wat Hai Sok
Welcome to The Guide Hog’s new “Wat ‘o’ the Week” spotlight on Buddhist temples in Vientiane! I’ll try to visit a different temple each week with the goal of finding a unique angle or tidbit of information.
All wats comprise a “sim,” the actual temple building where people pray and make offerings, as well as a housing area for the monks, various sculptures, and ornate monuments with the cremated remains of temple-goers. Although visitors are free to walk around the temple grounds, the sim at most wats stays locked unless monks are using it for a ceremony.
Today Tony and I poked around Wat Hai Sok, a small easily overlooked wat that sits in the shadow of a bigger, more important temple. Here’s a view from the street.
The humble entrance was partially obscured by thick bundles of electrical wires that run the length of the road.
I couldn’t find any substantial information online about Wat Hai Sok. Every website lists the same paragraph:
Wat Hai Sok’s soaring five-tiered roof, topped with elegant golden spires, can be seen all the way from Thanon Setthathirat. It is worth stepping just off the main road to enjoy the atmosphere of this neighborhood temple. The windows and facade are beautifully carved in wood. Gilded multi-headed nagas (mythological snakes) flank the steps. There are usually children playing football in the shaded courtyard. Food sellers serve customers from the surrounding wooden houses, sitting at stalls beside the numerous funeral monuments.
There were, in fact, children playing in the sand next to a small bell tower. As we walked around the sim, we met two more youngsters tussling with a couple puppies. They eagerly showed us their dogs and happily posed for a couple pictures.
The sweet little boy was a tiny bit rough with his puppy.
The temple’s sim had ornate windows on all sides.
I always love the guardian nagas.
Another interesting attraction was a tree surrounded by golden Buddhas in various poses.
Other than the kids and the puppies, the wat was deserted and peaceful. No tourists. No monks. Pretty mellow.
Sunday Morning
There’s something about early morning on a crisp cool Sunday.
The sun shines in a cloudless sky; it’s 66 degrees. Sitting outside in the shade, eating fresh mangoes with yogurt and sipping thick dark coffee, I have to zip up my hoodie against the breeze that tosses dried palm fronds around my yard. Dark blue butterflies the size of my hand land on the white railing of our front porch, and birds chatter in the trees.
Construction on the house next door has momentarily ceased. The tuk-tuk drivers who park under a big shade tree just on the other side of my front gate have inexplicably turned off their music. There’s a dearth of noisy motorbikes.
As I turn the last page of a fun read (Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame-Smith with a little help from Jane Austen), I take a deep breath of the fresh air and pull my chair into the sun. Days like this, it really doesn’t matter where you are on the planet; it’s just good.
You Don’t Get to Say That Every Day
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.”
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!
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.”
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.