Tag Archives: Laos

Laos, On the Road

Team Dai 2010 Ride – Day TWO – Hills of Hell

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Day Two
I had been dreading this day since I first heard of Team Dai. Riders from the two previous years told horror stories about the road between Vang Vieng and Phou Koun. “Oh sure, you don’t ride as many kilometers that day,” they’d say in hushed voices, “but it’s straight up the whole way. It’s hell. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

No lie.

Although we rode fewer than 100 kilometers (62 miles), we pedaled from an elevation of about 260 meters (850 feet) to an elevation of about 1,300 meters (4,265 feet). These hills didn’t roll. There were no memorable moments of gratitude for the blessed descents. The road just wound up and up and up, and as the day wore on, the temperature did the same.

I cranked my “bike playlist” on my little iPod shuffle, but many times I couldn’t even stay in the saddle for one whole song. I had to stop at the roadside, catch my breath and slam some warm water (enriched with Royal-D, an orange-flavored electrolyte mix that we all grew to despise). With sweat pouring down my limbs (and every crack and crevice on my body), I was exhausted, overheated, chafed, and unbelievably cranky for most of the day.

Already deflated by the endless climb, my spirits took another hit when we rolled through several areas where fires raged on the hillsides. Slash-and-burn agriculture had blackened the mountains and the sad faces of the children lining the roads. Sometimes the flames licked out from the roadside ditches, heating my skin as I choked on the smoke-filled air. At the end of the day, I actually brushed cinders out of my teeth. Maybe I was projecting my own misery, but I felt a palpable desperation in these displaced tribal people.

I only had one reason to live this day: chocolate. Grete, a cyclist from Belgium, runs a catering company, bakery and gourmet food shop in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Her husband’s work brought them to Laos, where she sells her elegant Belgian chocolates. Grete whipped up a special collection just for Team Dai, and these chocolates were, for much of this agonizing second day, my only motivation to keep moving. At each rest stop, the support crew opened the cooler and pulled out boxes of the most incredible delicacies I’ve ever tasted – candied ginger coated with dark chocolate, crispy balls of milk chocolate with a center of gooey goodness, hard chocolate bars perfectly complemented by a fruity-grainy topping. Grete also donated the white jerseys we wore on this day.

As I neared the end of the day’s torture, I heard cheers from a hilltop restaurant, where faster team members waited for the rest of us. But I had long ago tossed all pride off the side of that mountain. I eagerly hopped off my bike and pushed it for the last 10 minutes. At the restaurant, we stared out over the valley at the winding road that had brought us to the top. “Are we insane?” we asked.

Phou Khoun isn’t a typical stopover for tourists in Laos, so the little town was poorly equipped for our group. We took most of the rooms at local guesthouses and then met for dinner. My roommate for the trip was Tina, a Swede who has a couple kids at our school. We took turns using the one washroom, where the “bath” involved filling a bucket with cold water and dumping it on yourself. The thought of getting up to ride again the next morning nearly brought me to tears.

Posing after a rest break outside of Vang Vieng.
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Scenes along the route.
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Slashing and burning.
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JJ changes a flat tire while the local fan club cheers.
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Pant … pant … pant … rest stop!
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Posing at the top with Grete’s chocolate.
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The restaurant owner at the top of the hill had Team Dai photos from LAST YEAR’S visit!
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Looking back at the godforsaken road we took up the mountain.
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We made it to Phou Koun! Hanging out at the town’s roundabout.
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Chillin’ in our guesthouse “lounge.”
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Laos, On the Road

Team Dai 2010 Ride – Day ONE – Vang Vieng or Bust!

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It’s the weekend, and I’m only just starting to feel like myself again. After cycling for three days, my abdominal muscles apparently locked in a crunch position and my hamstrings simply went on strike. We got back to Vientiane Tuesday afternoon, and I spent the rest of my week’s vacation lolling around the house, occasionally getting out of bed or off the sofa to get a snack. A few sun salutations this afternoon stretched out my tortured muscles, and I finally feel ready to revisit the Team Dai ride. So here goes, in bits and pieces.

Day One
Dressed in our orange Team Dai jerseys with the flashy “Ban Cluster Bombs” design, we gathered at 5 a.m. last Saturday near the statue of Fa Ngum. The 14th-century warlord watched us line up in the dark, click on our flashing lights and take off in an adrenalin-pumped pack. Twenty-six riders rolled out of town, followed by a van carrying our overnight bags and a flatbed truck stocked with water and snacks.

Every 25 kilometers or so, we stopped for a short rest break. Our wonderful support crew always waved us over to the side of the road, where they offered cut-up fruit, granola bars, water and other treats.

The first part of today’s ride was flat and cool with scenery typical of our weekend training rides: rice paddies, farms, villages and water buffalo. Then we hit the rolling hills. My body put up a little bit of a fight, but the great thing about rolling hills is they roll up but they also roll down. Every downhill stretch was a little gift, and my excitement to have this long-awaited ride under way kept me going.

A highlight of this first day – and ultimately, the entire trip – was the turnout in the villages. As our group swept through, it seemed everyone came out to greet us. Women sat in clusters, chatting, weaving baskets, pounding rice, feeding babies, always working. Men took a break from building, patching, hauling, digging. Hunched-over elderly villagers shuffled by or crouched in the shade. Everyone waved and laughed with a big, “Sabaidee!” But the children ensured that a smile stayed plastered on my face all day, coating my lips and teeth with dust. The kids, some carrying younger siblings, ran into the road, jumping up and down and screaming with anticipation, holding out their hands for us to slap and cheering as we zipped by.

Just for kicks, I tried to keep track of everything that wandered in to our path, forcing us to slow down: dogs, cats, goats, cows, chickens (one with a whole passel of chicks that zig-zagged erratically, barely escaping with their lives), an enormous hog with several piglets, a guy hauling a thick bundle of long bamboo poles, families of stair-stepped children heading out to work in the rice fields with proportionally sized baskets on their backs, and so on.

Our destination was Vang Vieng, the backpacker Mecca of Laos, on the banks of the Nam Song river. There was no time for kayaking, rafting, tubing or rock climbing, but we did enjoy hot showers, a nice riverside dinner at our hotel and a big western breakfast the next morning.

We racked up about 167 kilometers (103 miles) this day!

* Disclaimer: Most photos I post about our ride were NOT taken by me! I have to credit the other riders and support crew, especially Peggy, a cyclist who fell sick and couldn’t ride so she made the trip by motorcycle.

Paany checks off the attendance list as we prepare to head out of Vientiane.
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Paany’s wife, Linda, helped with the support crew the first day and took some photos from the truck.
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I loved riding in the pack!
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Lunch break.
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You know something’s off when you get excited that it’s “only” 96 kilometers to your destination! That’s me and my roommate for the trip, Tina.
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My sporty prescription sunglasses broke a few days before our ride, so I had to wear my fake Chanel glasses from China. I was a little self-conscious till I realized Nicolette’s were even more fabulous. Rhinestones, baby!
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This is Bruno, a serious biker from France who heard about our ride and tagged along “just for fun.”
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Still feeling chipper!
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One of many roadside cheering sections.
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Pulling in to Vang Vieng – we made it! Tina and I sprinted to the front just for the photo. Usually we hung back and took advantage of the draft.
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The view from our hotel’s restaurant deck.
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Laos, Teaching

There’s a Light at the End of the Semester

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As a teacher of English to kids who don’t speak English, I spend much of my time waving around flashcards, overenunciating vocabulary words, leading youngsters through silly songs with repetitive lyrics and actions, and contorting my face and body in ways that help communicate the mysterious language.

I can’t say the word “book” without automatically putting my hands together as in prayer and then opening them up to read the story. I can’t talk about an abstract concept without automatically reaching for a marker to sketch a clarifying illustration on the board.

On a good day, a student will poke me, point out the window, and say, “Sun!”
“Yes, it’s a beautiful sunny day!” I’ll exclaim. “Is it raining today? Nooooo! Is it snowing? Nooooo! It’s sunny! Good job! Did everyone hear Jenny tell us about the weather? She said it’s sunny! Super!”
On a bad day, I’ll ask, “How’s the weather today?” Some poor kid will answer, “Sun!” and then I might possibly have a total meltdown.
“No! We don’t say the weather is SUN! We say ‘It’s sunny!’ I have told you that a million freakin’ times! ‘Sun’ is a noun. ‘Sunny’ is an adjective. Geez, have I taught you NOTHING?!”

Of course, I don’t really say that stuff out loud. But I do think it. A lot. Especially in that first semester of the school year when progress … seems … so … slow.

I just get impatient. I want them to hurry up and learn English so they can change their social outcast status, participate in class discussions and milk every drop of discovery that school has to offer them. Language researchers have repeatedly found that fluency might elude a student for up to seven years, and it’s totally normal for a child to experience a lengthy “silent period,” during which he or she won’t utter a single English syllable. Every so often in those first few months of the school year, I temporarily reject research and its accompanying logic, and I feel compelled to throw a little mental temper tantrum at the mind-numbing pace of language acquisition.

Right about now, however, as the first semester is winding down, there’s a sudden dearth of those cerebral hissy fits. Instead, I can’t help but notice how terribly brilliant all my students are! My eyes, more often than not, widen in admiration rather than roll in frustration when a child answers a question or shares an idea. Sometimes I even find myself asking a question with my back turned to the group, and students actually ANSWER – even though they can’t see my facial expressions, read my lips or take cues from a gesture. It’s like the English Fairy waved her magic wand, sprinkling comprehension dust over all their little heads.

Today, I was teaching some words for food and drinks to a group of English beginners. When I held up the flashcard for coffee, I said, “I like drinking coffee!” Then I grasped the flashcard in a passionate embrace and said, “I LOVE drinking coffee!” Fidgety giggles ensued.
“Do YOU like drinking coffee?” I asked.
Correct answers included (a) I like drinking coffee, (b) I don’t like drinking coffee, or (c) a simple thumbs up or thumbs down to show understanding. To my surprise, one excruciatingly shy second grader popped out of her seat and said, “I don’t like drinking coffee, but my mother and father like drinking coffee.” She didn’t pronounce any ending sounds, but it didn’t matter. She spoke!
At that moment, I heard angels singing and I couldn’t stop myself from giving her a big weepy hug. (Yes, I know I could get arrested for that in America, but such things are still OK in the holistic international teaching world.)

Another end-of-semester triumph occurred in a first-grade classroom earlier this week. I was providing “in-class support” during Miss Jill’s writing lesson, so I sat with a little Vietnamese boy who didn’t speak a lick of English four months ago. First, he drew a picture filled with aggression, complete with ninja warriors and weapons of mass destruction. Next, he told me what was in the picture: good boy, bad boy, fighting, shooting. He didn’t know the words for “tank” or “bullets” or “strong,” so I explained them and helped to label his picture.

Labeled Picture

Then he told me the story, and I dictated it back, showing him how to link together the “sight words” he already knew with the labeled picture so he could write his exciting action story.
And he did. Here it is.

Grade 1 Student Writing

While we worked, I felt a pang of guilt for teaching this child the vocabulary of violence. On the other hand, who am I to deprive a little boy from writing about what interests him most? Last year, visiting author Ralph Fletcher told our Shanghai American School staff that boys WILL write violent stories, and teachers must give them some artistic freedom and validation of their ideas. I agree.

Even more than Ralph Fletcher’s approval, though, I found reassurance in the big smile that stretched across my student’s face as he read his own writing out loud over and over again.

In that smile, I also found a little reminder of why I love teaching English as a Second Language: Sure, the school year – especially the first semester – is filled with moments of agonizing self-doubt and sleepless nights as I stress about children spending their days bombarded by meaningless sounds and texts. Lucky for me, I get to collaborate with talented classroom teachers, who create a safe, supportive, language-rich environment for those English learners. And best of all, I get to witness the proud grins when those sounds suddenly make sense, those texts reveal facts and fairy tales, and that alphabet offers the power – real POWER – to share thoughts, experiences and make-believe with other people who also understand this crazy language!

Daily Life, Laos

You Don’t Get to Say That Every Day

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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.”

Laos

That Luang Festival – Wax Castle Procession

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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.

Laos

That Luang Festival

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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.

Dance Party

Daily Life, Laos, Teaching

Anticlimactic Halloween

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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:

Halloween Pirates 2008

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.

Supervision Duty

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.”

Daily Life, Laos

And It’s All Small Stuff

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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.

Daily Life, Laos

A Fool and Her Money …

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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.

Laos, On the Road, Teaching

Study Shmudy

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Last week, I accompanied 20 fifth graders on their study trip to Vang Vieng, Laos, about 4 hours north of Vientiane. The classroom teacher, Paula, worked with an organization called Green Discovery to plan a fantastic trip that built on the theme of environmental consciousness. The students were totally keen to discuss the impact of tourism, explore the concept of healthy ecosystems, learn about sustainable businesses, and reflect on their roles in caring for the earth. In fact, they were such independent learners that we teachers got to kick back and enjoy a little mini-holiday!

Grade 5 - Ready to Go!

Bus shenanigans

Our first stop was the Phosar Paper-Making and Reforestation Project funded by a Japanese group. The project uses tree bark to make paper, textiles and chopsticks for export. When we asked about the “reforestation” part, they admitted that they really aren’t doing that anymore. They quickly added that this type of tree grows to maturity in just one year. Whatever.

Papermaking

Later we visited Tham Chang Cave, the biggest cave in Vang Vieng. Inside, the guide encouraged us to close our eyes and stay very quiet, not an easy feat for 10 year olds. When we emerged from the cave, Paula asked the kids to pick a partner and compare the ecosystem inside the cave with that on the outside. It was amazing to see how much they knew and how eager they were to tackle the subject. At the bottom of the hill, the kids played an impromptu game of soccer.

Our hotel overlooked the Nam Song River and beautiful rock formations. The kids played in the pool while we watched the locals zip by in their dragonboats, training for the upcoming holiday races.
After dinner, we had a “bonfire.” By North American standards, it was really just a regular-sized campfire, and the kids were woefully uninformed about s’mores, but they had a lot of fun singing songs and debating the best methods for roasting marshmallows.

We enforced “lights out” at 8:30 p.m., and the students were pleasantly compliant. That gave Paula and me a chance to enjoy a Beer Lao on the balcony overlooking the river. While we were relaxing, a HUGE insect (very nearly the size of a velociraptor) landed on the wall nearby. We tried to ignore it, but occasionally it would leap across to the opposite wall and freak us out. Finally, we summoned the front desk clerk, who caught the bug and took it to the kitchen to fry it up as a snack.

Sunset!

The next morning, we toured an organic farm that raises silkworms and produces mulberry tea, fruit wines and goat cheese. Students got to cut and roast mulberry leaves for tea, make organic fertilizer (aka goat poo), peel starfruit for wine, and milk a very patient goat. After lunch at the farm (where we munched on fried mulberry leaves with honey – yum!), we hiked to the river and crossed the water in a longboat. The Green Discovery guys gave a quick demo of knot making and rock climbing techniques. Then we all grabbed a harness and gave it a go.
Kids were only allowed to climb up to 5 meters, but I decided to show off and climb to the top. The kids were shrieking, “Go Miss Sharon! Go Miss Sharon!” At one point, I couldn’t find a handhold, so I shouted down to the belay dude that I wanted to come down, but he said, “No, keep going!” My leg started shaking uncontrollably, which was a little embarrassing, but eventually I made it to the top and then rappelled back down. One little girl said, “You’re the bravest woman EVER!” As if.

Another quick dip in the pool for the munchkins and then we all marched into town for dinner. One of Vang Vieng’s claims to fame is the unfortunate presence of many, many TV restaurants. Customers sit on cushions at elevated tables and watch episodes of Friends or Family Guy. When you walk through the town, those two shows are playing at nearly every restaurant! The kids were glued to Friends on the big-screen TV as they slurped spaghetti. Kinda fun, kinda sad.
On our trip back to Vientiane, we took a motorboat for about 2.5 hours on the Nam Ngum Reservoir, which was created when the Nam Ngum River was dammed in 1971 to generate hydroelectricity. We passed forested islands (formerly the tops of small mountains) and fishing villages. At the power plant, we met our bus and drove the rest of the way home.

Boat ride

If you plan to do any adventure travel in this neck of the woods, I strongly recommend Green Discovery.
The kids had a fantastic time, and so did the teachers!