Tag Archives: Vientiane

Mutant Ninja Gecko

October 16, 2010 Sharon Leave a comment

Last night I had a terrifying encounter with this freakish beast.

After eating KFC (Khouvieng Fried Chicken) and hanging out with us for awhile, our friend Carol was heading home. Tony opened the kitchen door, and this bizarre gecko came zipping in. It was unlike any gecko I’ve seen, and I’ve seen about a gazillion of them. About five inches long, it sported a massive head that was out of proportion with its skinny body, and its gait lacked the fluid speed of its ubiquitous cousins. When it dashed across the kitchen floor, its hind end swiveled sending the back legs into an exaggerated swing with each quick step.

As we laughed at its high-stepping trot up the cupboard, the gecko took refuge under our countertop convection oven. Carol speculated that it was a baby version of the gargantuan geckos that generally stay hidden and call out their ghostly high-pitched synthesizer voices: “GECK-oh, GECK-oh.”

Every day, geckos scramble up the walls and across the ceilings, pop out from behind curtains and furniture, appear in our shoes and bath towels, and otherwise cohabitate with us. Recently I got a little surprise when one jumped out of the toilet paper roll as I was pulling off a strip. We generally find them whimsical and amusing.

However, the mutant gecko in our kitchen looked like it was up to no good, so we decided to put it back outside. Carol and I scooted the convention oven out of the way and stared, wondering how to catch the little guy. She suggested using the metal salad tongs. I grabbed the tongs and gently clamped the gecko. As soon as I did, it turned and opened its huge mouth with a horrifying hiss. Carol and I shrieked, grabbed each other and instinctively backed away.

Final Score:
Mutant Gecko – 1
The Dents – 0

Carol went home, and we bolted the kitchen door and went to bed to dream of comically disproportionate reptiles lurking behind our kitchen appliances.

Here’s a video Carol took of the rescue attempt.

Daily Life, Laos

Family Night – Pinky Beef Pot

October 10, 2010 Sharon 2 Comments

After the grilled duck faces at our first Family Night dinner, our little posse lost some of its enthusiasm for the village restaurants. However, we didn’t give up. Surely we could find a local joint to call “our place.”

The week after Anna Grilled Duck, it was Tony’s turn to pick an eatery. He chose Europe Steak House, which actually doesn’t serve any food from Europe. Your steak options are (a) Lao, which is both cheap and chewy, or (b) New Zealander, which is expensive and worth it. The next week, Carol got to choose a place, but she broke the keep-it-local rule. In honor of her birthday, she opted to go downriver and upscale so we ate Mekong-side at The Spirit House.

Last week, Nikki hit the jackpot with Pinky Beef Pot.

Our school director, Greg, had sent his wife and in-laws off to Luang Prabang, so he bravely tagged along with us. We tentatively ventured in – past the wall mural of people eating at Pinky Beef Pot, past the Christmas garland and Santa poster, past the bar and requisite Beer Lao fridge – and stepped down into a garden. Twinkly lights draped the trees, and crockery pots on miniature grills boiled on each colorful table. Lao families and couples looked up to check out the “falang” entourage.

A waitress in a Beer Lao uniform approached our table. Almost every restaurant in Vientiane has waitresses dressed in Beer Lao uniforms, so we assumed she would take our order.
“Beer Lao,” she said.
A quick survey around the table, and we asked for two big bottles of Beer Lao and two bottles of water.
“Beer Lao,” she said again, implying that she was ONLY taking our Beer Lao order. Another waiter dashed over to fill our request for non-beer beverages.

As usual, we weren’t sure about the protocol. The menu featured English labels and lots of pictures, so we ordered beef, pork, fried rice and glass “noondles.” We started to order some veggies, but the waitress pointed to the menu artwork of the meat, which was – sure enough – accompanied by a picture of greens. Ahhh, the meat comes with vegetables, we deduced.

I’m not sure how an egg differs from a healthy egg or why eggs are listed on the vegetable page.

Like magic, our table was suddenly packed with two hot pots, plates of thinly sliced meat, ramekins of sauce and chopped chilis, bowls of fried rice, and baskets of leafy vegetables, garlic and onions. We dropped the meat and veggies into the steaming pots, which we think contained a mixture of water, oil and spices.

Then we sat back and waited. A waitress whisked away all our empties and told us to let everything cook for five minutes (although it took a lot of body language and apparently unintelligible Lao language from me to get this tip).

The Beer Lao girl broke character momentarily to encourage ample servings of sauce with each bite. That turned out to be good advice; the nutty sauce mixed with chopped chilis perfectly complemented the hot pot concoction.

At one point, we realized we were singing along to the music, a fun mix of Top 40 from the 80s and 90s. For us? Almost certainly. After awhile, the speakers resumed the usual blaring of traditional Lao tunes and Thai pop songs.

As we were leaving, a cute little girl hollered for our attention and then demonstrated her Lao dance moves. Just like we saw so often in Turkey, the young girls in Laos learn traditional dances from their mothers, sisters and aunties early on.

We took a poll and gave Pinky Beef Pot high marks for service, food and ambience. And then Tony delivered the pièce de résistance: There was ice cream on the menu! Lao people generally don’t “do” dessert. You can get yummy sweets at the western restaurants, but you can’t plan on an after-dinner treat at most local places. When the waiter brought out real parfait glasses with scoops of real ice cream, we all felt a little giddy.

This happy family says, “Thanks, Pinky!”

Daily Life, Laos

Audio Torture

October 9, 2010 Sharon 6 Comments

On a warm breezy weekend morning, I love eating breakfast in the shade of our mango tree with a big mug of coffee and a good book.

Make that past tense – LOVED. Last winter construction began on a house next door, and it was loud. Really, really loud. All the time. Sitting outside was not just unpleasant; it was unbearable. Even indoors, the noise was sometimes so obnoxious that we had to turn on the A/C just to drown it out. Finally, the new house – with its ridiculous baroque ornamentation – was finished. Peace at last. I managed to enjoy a few weekends of outdoor noshing and reading before we left for the States in June.

Upon returning to Vientiane in early August, we were shocked and dismayed to discover the new house now seems to operate a woodworking business. From about 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. Every. Single. Day.

Some days, when I am exhausted from school or cranky from all the rain or frustrated by a cultural impasse and all I want in the whole world is some tranquility, that sound … that incessant SOUND … can trigger the mother of all meltdowns. My nerves are shot. My eyes ache from holding back the tears. My shoulders hunch up around my ears. If I knew any state secrets, I would spill them. Just make it stop.

Daily Life, Laos

Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your na-a-ame … and they’re always glad you ca-a-ame

September 20, 2010 Sharon 6 Comments

Last year Daeng cooked dinners for us three nights a week. She usually prepared so much food that we could eat leftovers for lunch. This year she wanted to go back to school to study English, and of course we wanted to support her (big eye roll). So we kept her salary the same but cut her hours to half-time. Now she only cooks once a week, and the rest of the time Tony and I feel like hunter-gatherers. We never really know where our next meal will come from.

With no car, shopping for groceries is a bit of a challenge. We generally buy one backpack full at a time. That’s one excuse for not making a weekly menu, buying food and cooking at home. We could also whine about the inconvenience of buying produce at the fresh market and other supplies at the corner store, which likely will be out of whatever we need, forcing us to visit other shops in town. But, in all honesty, our biggest excuse involves an amalgamation of ennui, laziness, exhaustion, sweat and empty pockets. We’re simply shattered at the end of the day, and it’s strangely more expensive to cook at home for the two of us than it is to eat out.

So here it is Monday night, and I haven’t eaten a meal in my own house (other than a little fruit and yogurt for breakfast a couple times and a delivery pizza) since Daeng cooked fried rice last Tuesday.

We live about 15 minutes by motorbike from the center of Vientiane, where most decent restaurants are found. Our village, Thongkang, is not exactly a dining mecca. Nevertheless, our new friend, Carol, (Canadian chemistry teacher and fellow Thongkang resident) had the brilliant idea to try a different local eatery each week. Tony reluctantly agreed to participate, and another new friend, Nikki (Canadian counselor and resident of adjoining Sokpaluang village) signed on, as well.

Thursday night the four of us ventured around the corner to Anna Grilled Duck. A skinny guy wearing a face mask and grilling duck parts by the side of the road gestured us in to the restaurant garden, where we parked the motorbikes.

The restaurant comprised several “salas” – which are thatch-roofed wall-less huts, each with a low table and cushions. Tony balked at the idea of sitting cross-legged on a cushion for an entire meal, so we bypassed the salas and found a regular table with chairs. A fish with an abnormally large head watched us from its tank, while a bird in a cage chattered nearby.

The waitress brought one menu with English translations.

Placenta soup? No thanks. We ordered four ducks and some Beer Lao. I walked around the peaceful garden area to snap a few photos while we waited. The meat on the grill should have been a tip-off. Yep, that’s duck feet on the left, duck faces on the right, and unidentifiable duck bits on the back.

Soup soon arrived at the table. What kind? Who knows? Spring onions, various veggies and the requisite coagulated blood cubes floated in a clear broth. Carol was the only one brave enough to suck down a blood cube. She said it tasted like tofu.

Finally a small plate of duck chunks arrived at the table. It was like the cook put on a blindfold and went wacko with a cleaver. The pieces were random sizes and full of bones, so it was quite a chore to get a substantial mouthful of meat. What little I did get was quite tasty, though.

Tony was grateful for all the TP on the table.

We felt certain that more duck was coming, so we waited and waited until we nearly gnawed off our own arms. Carol eventually ordered a few more plates of duck. This time, the pieces were a bit more recognizable. I was about to nibble on one piece when I realized it was the duck’s bill. In fact, we had a whole plate of faces!

Nikki kisses a duck.

So Anna Grilled Duck was a bust. We all went back to our house and gorged on some Doritos and Oreos.

Next week: Mr. Khampeng’s Grilled Goat. Or maybe not.

Daily Life, Laos

There’s a Sucker Born Every Minute

September 19, 2010 Sharon Leave a comment

When I saw the signs all over town advertising the local circus and proclaiming, “Joyful Fun Excited Wonderful,” I figured it was time to re-visit the Big Top.

My previous visit to Hong Kanyasin was stellar, but I hadn’t felt inspired to see it twice. The signs’ claim of “New Update” intrigued me, though. I couldn’t resist checking it out.

Some parts of the show stayed the same: the bizarre snake act to the tune of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” the girls who danced with fire, the contortionist partner stunts, the hula hoop ladies, the tumbling boys, and the bedazzled dogs.

Some parts of the show had been mercifully cut: most notably, the lame fedora juggling act and the insanely safety-free trampoline routine.

Some parts of the show were same same but different: The ribbon acrobatics no longer featured a scared solitary young lady dangling from a rope, who tripped and missed her entry cue last time. Now the act has new bright red ribbons and two performers, who masterfully whipped through the air, twirling and dropping, catching each other, and landing light as feathers back on the ground. The clown act also got a make-over. Same clowns, better costumes, funnier routines. And the tumblers added a bit of successful slapstick to their act.

Some parts of the show comprised the “New Update”: Kudos to the new-and-improved jugglers; daggers are much more entertaining than hats. But, oh, how to adequately describe the pathetic Lao Elvis magician? He wore a black wig with muttonchops, a sparkly black suit, and platform shoes. So wrong. So so so wrong. Most of his tricks involved sleight-of-hand, which we couldn’t really see from the cheap seats. (They’re all cheap seats.) But he performed each trick with ridiculous flair. He had a magic box, from which emerged rabbits and doves and finally, to our great amusement, a couple of chickens. One of the chickens made a break for it, running and squawking and evading the flustered handler. Lao Elvis dramatically levitated a small table while the crowd howled with laughter at the chicken going cock-a-doodle-cuckoo.

I wish I had a better photo of Lao Elvis, but I took this with my phone.

Curiosity satisfied, this sucker likely won’t return to the circus. I encourage everyone to see Hong Kanyasin once. But that ought to do it.

Daily Life, Laos

Night Gartening

September 11, 2010 Sharon 11 Comments

Most people we know in Vientiane employ a night guard who doubles as a gardener. It seems excessive until you hear the stories of home burglaries. Or until you look out at your jungle of a yard that you have no time to maintain.

So for $120 a month, we employ Beng. We hired him back in October after an unpleasant guilt-trip of an experience with our first guard, Ae. Beng comes over in the early evening, spends the night in the adjoining guardhouse (a small bedroom and bathroom) and leaves around 7 a.m. In the beginning, he kept fairly strict hours and we kept a close eye on him. However, we’ve all loosened up. Beng comes and goes as he pleases now, often popping by at any time of day to work in the yard or just take a shower.

We don’t know much about Beng. We’ve met his diminutive wife and their sweet 3-year-old son. We know Beng’s dad works as a handyman for our landlady, and we know his mother-in-law runs a market stall. And that’s about it.

I don’t speak enough Lao to get much deeper than “thank you for cleaning my bicycle” or “the garden looks beautiful.” And Beng doesn’t speak enough English to say much more than “hello.” He tells me in Lao when he needs money to buy a new broom (made from sticks), big woven baskets (used as outdoor trash cans, which slowly decompose until they become part of the trash), gas for the weed-eater (which he uses to mow the grass) or other supplies.

Despite the language barrier, I get the feeling Beng is an artist at heart. When I stick my head out the door to say “good night” before heading to bed, I often see Beng sketching by the light of the carport. Using colored pencils I gave to his little boy, he draws temples and other religious scenes and then tapes his artwork up in the guardhouse.

Lately, Beng has put his talent to work in the yard. He salvages containers from our garbage and uses them to plant flower clippings. It started with a little garden of Diet Coke cans lining the railing of our front porch. Now the mango tree is strung with more Diet Coke cans, as well as yogurt containers and plastic bowls from restaurant deliveries. A smaller tree by the gate features pink fabric softener bottles, the serrated edges alternately bent up and down. More Diet Coke cans embellish the dok khoun (golden rain) tree, some with the aluminum cut in thin vertical strips and splayed out at various angles. The display on our front porch has grown beyond the original cans to include containers that formerly held peanut butter, tuna, floor cleaner, restaurant take-away, shampoo, Beer Lao, Pepsi, Sprite and tonic water. A few real flowerpots have also appeared.

In addition to his whimsical container garden, Beng has planted hundreds of cuttings along the perimeter wall and driveway, pruned back the trees and coaxed some dying bushes back to life. Our banana tree has doubled in height since he began nurturing it. Tony and I are stunned at how fast plants grow here.

We love it all, but there’s something about the recycled cans, tins, bottles and tubs that makes us particularly happy. I wonder whether Beng creates his living art with a deeper purpose – to comment on the environmental impact packaged food and beverages are having in this simple country, where street food used to be sold in folded banana leaves and now comes in plastic bags – or whether the garden simply offers something to fill those long, dark, boring hours when the rest of the village sleeps.

Daily Life, Laos

Power to the People

September 11, 2010 Sharon 1 Comment

Just outside my gate this morning, electric company workers stood on bamboo ladders to inspect the village transformer’s tangled lines. Safety gear? That’s for sissies.
Why am I so surprised every time we lose power?

Daily Life, Laos

Bug-a-licious

August 29, 2010 Sharon 5 Comments

Earlier this week, I was fortunate to get an email with those three little words that make my heart leap with joy and anticipation: “Food Festival Invitation.”

Woo hoo! I quickly skimmed over the list of local restaurants scheduled to participate in the cooking competition, but the words “free public sampling of dishes” were all I needed to mark my calendar.

One line in the invitation particularly caught my attention. Turns out this event was part of the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations’ Edible Insect Promotion Program. I guess I didn’t realize that ALL the free samples would contain insects.

Tony and I arrived at the convention center with our friend Nikki (the new VIS counselor) shortly after the event’s 4:00 start time on Saturday. Unfortunately, the hungry throngs had already snatched up all the paper plates and gorged on most of the samples. Chefs frantically tried to whip up new batches of their larvae eggrolls, cricket fried rice and sushi, insect laap, grub tacos, and other delicacies.

I struggled to snap a few photos in the jostling crowd.

Here, a judge tastes one of the entries.

Cooks prepare some cricket fried rice.

If you want to make it at home, don’t forget your bucket-o-crickets.

Don’t you think the tomato rosette lends a touch of elegance?

Mmmm … nothin’ like a big pile of slimy larvae on a rainy day.

When I saw our lovely Lao friends, Addie and Lae, relishing a selection of invertebrate treats, well, there was no avoiding it. I was just going to have to eat some bugs. People all over the world eat insects every day as a cheap source of protein, so it seems ridiculous and immature to make a spectacle out of it … and yet …

Lae encouraged me to try the cricket canape offered by one of our favorite restaurants, Lao Garden. The cricket sat on a little bed of grassy bits, and the cook poured a spoonful of sauce overtop.

After a few moments of requisite drama, I popped the snack into my mouth. The sweet-and-tangy flavor was surprisingly pleasing, and I have to admit enjoying the crickety crunch.

Lae preferred the cricket sushi.

Next up: grubs. Addie called them “baby bees” and tried to convince me that they tasted like potatoes.

For some reason, I was way less eager to sample the grubs.

Potatoes? Whatevs. Grubs taste just exactly like what you think they’re gonna taste like. I don’t recommend them plain. I wish I’d tried the grub taco instead, but they were all gone before I had a chance.

Final verdict: China’s sea cucumber continues to hold the coveted title, “Nastiest Creature I’ve Consumed,” but that grub offered up some stiff competition. As for the cricket, saep lai lai!

Daily Life, Laos

Flash Flood Freakiness

August 13, 2010 Sharon 5 Comments

As we wrapped up our first week back at school, I was feeling neglectful of The Guide Hog but too busy to do anything blog-worthy. And then Mother Nature handed me a story.

Rain pounded Vientiane overnight, but that’s nothing new in this wet season. As we headed out the door for school this morning in the deluge, I donned my water-resistant ride-to-school pants, purple plastic poncho and polka-dotted gumboots and then climbed on back of Tony’s motorbike. I prefer to hitch a ride rather than pedal on days like this.

When we arrived at school, we parked the bike and walked toward our classrooms. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until we turned the corner around the administration building. The whole field and playground area had transformed into a lake. My first thought was, “Rain day!” But then I remembered where I was. If we canceled classes for every downpour, we’d have to teach all summer to make up the missed time. No thanks.

I often work with small groups at these outdoor tables, but unfortunately, none of the children came to school in hip waders today.

I had supervision duty here at break time, but my main job today was to tell kids, “Don’t even think about it!” To make up for the playground prohibition, I taught them how to play “Red Light-Green Light” on the sidewalk. That was a surprisingly big hit.

The hallways in the secondary building were literally crawling with every little creature seeking refuge from the flood – spiders, roaches, crickets, beetles, frogs, snakes, snails, you name it.

Many of us felt disconcerted that our 2-year-old campus could experience such terrible flooding problems. We worried that a poorly designed drainage system might lead to weeks of indoor recess (every teacher’s nightmare). We wondered if the land would eventually return to its previous incarnation as a rice paddy. Our new director asked if I knew what a cubit was in case we had to build an ark. (I didn’t.)

Luckily, our facilities manager, a spunky Thai woman named Ben, found the source of the problem. She borrowed my boots, waded into the flood water, and discovered the school’s drainage system worked perfectly to channel the water off campus and into large ditches. Ben also discovered that the pooled water in the ditches was a popular fishing spot for village children. When the heavy rains and flood run-off created a strong current in the ditches, the children used their problem-solving skills and built a dam, effectively trapping the fish and flooding our campus.

After Ben dismantled the dam (and survived an encounter with a large eel), the water and the drama quickly ebbed.

Daily Life, Laos

Leavin’ Laos

June 22, 2010 Sharon 1 Comment

Date: June 17, 2010
Significance: First Day of Summer Vacation!

5:30 a.m. – Sunlight pours through the curtains of the guest bedroom, where I had sought sanctuary from Tony’s snoring. A quick wave of grumpiness over the early hour immediately subsides when I realize we are leaving today to spend the summer with friends and family in Michigan. A big smiley stretch, and then I crawl out of bed and get to work: charging iPods, cameras and phones; transferring computer files on to my laptop; redistributing the stuff in our overpacked bags; and sending a few emails.

6:30 a.m. – I consider taking a shower but then realize my scheduled shopping excursion to the Morning Market will leave me coated with grime. Bathing can wait till later. I head downstairs to nag Tony. I had asked him to set out everything he wanted to take home so I could use my superpower packing skills to fit everything in our luggage. Days ago I had asked him to do that. And then again yesterday. Nagging commences, followed by a brief argument. He continues watching The Godfather on TV. (Later, when we were getting along again, he offered up a good packing suggestion: “Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.”)

7:30 a.m. – I am a multi-tasking packing genius. Toiletries in a Ziploc bag. Underwear and T-shirts rolled into tight little cigars and tucked in every nook and cranny. A couple Turkish carpets and other special souvenirs from our travels carefully rolled in plastic trash bags. Even a few cans of Beer Lao wrapped in newspaper and triple-bagged. Tony spots the beer and shakes with frustration.
“We go overweight every time,” he insists.
“No we don’t!” I lie. “I promise, if the bags are overweight, the beer will be the first thing to go.” I have no intention of parting with the beer. It’s an awesome gift.

8:30 a.m. – I want to buy presents from Laos for everyone I will see this summer in the States, but (a) we’re broke and (b) all the stuff for sale here is either cheap Chinese crap or expensive ethnic Lao handicrafts. I can’t seem to find anyone selling cheap beautiful local crafts. Nevertheless, I meet a few friends for breakfast, followed by a visit to the Morning Market. The market comprises a three-story mall and a labyrinth of smaller stalls selling knock-off iPhones, kitchen utensils, T-shirts, silk tapestries, Hmong textiles and just about anything else you could ever need. My neighbor, Julia, has hired a tuk-tuk driver who hauls us to the café and the market. He is very sweet and praises me incessantly for my brilliant Lao language skills (Good morning! Turn left. Turn right. Go market.)

9 a.m. – Julia and I meet up with our friend Whetu and two Lao teaching assistants from VIS, Lae and Addie, at my favorite breakfast spot – Kung’s Café. As we savor the sticky-rice pancakes with mango, French toast with banana, and thick iced coffees, the café’s owner, J.B, chats with us. He speaks five languages and worked for the American military as a translator in the 60s at the same time the CIA’s “Secret War” was blanketing Laos with clusterbombs. Some day, I want to interview him about that experience, if he’s willing to discuss it.

10 a.m. – I’m feeling a little apprehensive about our shopping trip. Our luggage is already bursting at the seams, and our 2 p.m. departure is creeping up on me. I had convinced Tony that the airline will let us take a few extra kilos, which nearly made him explode. I brush aside my doubts and encourage the girls to get going.

10:15 a.m. – Julia, Whetu and I are picking up gifts for people back home, but money is tight and the vendors are stubborn. Lae and Addie help us haggle over prices. As we browse through embroidered bags and silk scarves, perspiration rivers down my arms. My soaked T-shirt clings to my torso. I haven’t washed my hair in four days, so I pull it back in a greasy, stringy sweaty ponytail.

11:30 a.m. – We’re looking at traditional sinh skirts, and I suddenly remember the two skirts at the dressmaker’s shop in another part of town. I was supposed to pick them up yesterday. Panic sets in. I call Tony, who agrees to pick me up on the motorbike and take me to the dress shop. I wish my friends a happy summer and dash out of the market to meet Tony.

Noon – We pick up my skirts, and I climb on the back of the motorbike to head home. I mull over my market purchases. I had bought some cute little slippers for my nephew, Nico, and a matching stuffed elephant made from traditional fabrics. I had meant to buy another set for his little brother, Paul, but I ran out of time. I picture the two of them shuffling around in their silly slippers and making their elephants fight and kiss. Suddenly, I am determined to go back to the market to buy slippers and an elephant for Paul even though he’s too young to care. At the same time, I know Tony is ready to strangle me.

12:05 p.m. – Still on the back of the bike, I have a brainstorm. Tony has been begging for a new cell phone, which I think is a waste of money. However, desperate times call for desperate measures. “If you want to pop back to the Morning Market to look around, I think we have enough time,” I tell him. He makes a beeline for the electronics section and shows me the knock-off Blackberry he wants. I feign interest. He haggles over the price as he has done many times with this same vendor. He already knows the final price, but he does this for sport. Eventually I pull him away and drag him to the handicrafts section to buy Paul’s gifts. Feeling a bit anxious about our luggage allowance and the potential marital discord if we have to pay a penalty, I decide to take out an emotional insurance policy. “If you really want a new phone, I guess I don’t care if you buy it,” I say. “I really do want it,” says Tony. So we return to his phone lady, dicker a bit more, and finally score the Blackberry for $60.

1 p.m. – When we get home – with just an hour to go before our airport shuttle picks us up – Tony drops the bomb: “Oh bad news. The power’s out.” Annoying, but no big deal. This happens all the time, and it usually comes back on within five minutes. I peel off my sweat-soaked stinky clothes and stuff my new purchases in our already stuffed luggage.

1:30 p.m. – Still no power, which means no air conditioning and no water. Which means no bathing. Which is bad, bad news. I look and smell like I was dipped in sweat, battered in dust and deep fat fried. The thought of boarding a plane in this condition fills me with self-conscious dread. Tony suggests washing my hair with the garden hose, but by the time I dash upstairs for shampoo and a towel, he has used all the water to rinse his armpits.

1:45 p.m. – Down to the wire. I use up three packs of green tea-scented wet wipes to give myself a good scrubbing. Nothing I could do about my hair. Extra deodorant, clean clothes, and I’m fresh as a daisy. For about 30 seconds. And then I’m slick with sweat again.

2 p.m. – Mr. Det pulls up to our gate in a big white van. I want to be discrete about our departure. Many of our friends and colleagues have experienced break-ins during school vacations. We don’t want to alert the neighborhood that we’ll be gone for six weeks. I open the gate, wave in the van and shut the gate behind him. We load all our bags, lock up the house and open the gate again so Mr. Det can drive out. As I secure the padlock on the gate, all the tuk-tuk drivers gather around the van, look in the windows and jabber about what I can only assume is our obvious impending absence. I sigh. Our night guard, Beng, and cleaner, Daeng, have promised to keep an eye on the place. Fingers crossed.

And we’re off!

Adventures in Teaching and Travel