Up the Lazy River

Last weekend we enjoyed a family day out, Lao style, and I had a new and startling experience.



We have a little block of land---I bought it for Sommay from his family, basically as I cannot legally own it without a lot of bureaucratic mess. Essentially I did it to save them from having to sell it, under pressure to a greedy farang resort developer, who was trying to get it cheaply because he knew that Sommay's mother was dying and that the family needed money.



It's about 2.5 acres or just over a hectare of riverfront along the Nam Khan, the river that joins the Mekong to create the Luang Prabang peninsula. It's high above the river with a little apron of flat land along the edge, covered in teak, bamboo, and all sorts of lovely tropical greenery.



We set out in the morning and took a long time scuttling around town in a tuktuk picking up supplies--- food, ice, beer and money. By the time we got to Sommay's village, we were famished so we had to stop for noodles for breakfast--foe, as it's known. Then we carted everything down to a long flat narrow boat, by now joined by the boat guy and his helper and Auntie Ti and Sommay's older sister and we chugged off upriver in a sinuous but generally northward direction past our little piece of paradise and continued up for a bit of sightseeing.



The water is a delicious chocolate milk colour at this time of year and lined with thick forest for the most part, but every so often we saw people fishing, washing, loading up sand to cart down stream to waiting trucks, working on their boats and fish traps. The view to the north of misty blue mountains was classic postcard stuff, the air was soft and fresh and it all made one feel quite exhilarated and yet totally at peace. Even my Lao companions, for whom this is an everyday experience, were enchanted.



We kept on for nearly an hour, sometimes barely making headway against the current, even bouncing along on virtual white water, while the motor made odd groaning noises. Soon our bottoms were sufficiently paralyzed from the hard wooden seats and we turned around, making landfall back at the property.



After a hilarious time floundering up the thick dark chocolate mud of the bank (Can't leave that image alone, can I?) the mood turned somber as we discovered that someone had hacked down our large frangipani tree. This is called Champa in Lao and is the national tree of which everyone seems inordinately proud, as if they think it only exists here.



Auntie Ti was incensed and ranted passionately about some farang she thought was behind it, but it turned out that it was some locals who work for the farang, who is my Swiss mate Danny, married to a Lao woman, who owns an adjoining property.



To be fair, the poachers had planted half a dozen of the branches in the ground to renew our supply, as these trees grow very easily from cuttings with almost no water or attention.



Somebody has also been helping themselves to our bamboo, so there was little left of any size. But it's still a fabulous block, with a lovely view out over the river to the east and north ( I think---the river twists so..) and magnificent orchids in some of the trees. We plan to build a little bamboo pavillion there where we can have picnics and relax.



But first we need to get Auntie Ti's husband to build a fence and assume caretaker duties for a small salary. So my staff is growing...



Anyway, by now we were hungry again so we hopped back into the boat and floated a short way around the bend down to the family's veggie patch, past the property where we could see our frangipani branches, newly planted in their new home, Danny's garden.



We climbed up though the garden with its neat bamboo fence and settled in their little bamboo pavillion with its rusty corrugated iron roof, which somehow sheltered all of us , by now including Sommay's older brother Bounlay, his wife and child, Ti's son, and another brother, Xai, who'd been out fishing. All the food was spread out on a banana leaf, including the sticky rice, fish and chicken we brought from the markets, veggie soup and papaya salad and a couple fish from the river and some lovely little tree beries that were roasted in the fire. It was a feast and became a party when we opened the beer and I felt very much a part of the family. Another of those How Could I be so Lucky moments of total peace.



Until suddenly there was agitation and the men jumped up and started pointing to something moving in the garden and like a flash a rifle was produced and Bounlay raced down to the patch, took aim and bang--a huge rat was proudly lifted by its leathery tail.



Everyone seemed delighted with this and I thought briefly that it was joy at having rid the garden of veg-munching vermin, but no, this was a plump river rat and seen as a valuable addition to that night's dinner.



Was I invited? Of course, we'd already arranged to come back that evening to the village for fresh fish laap, a sort of fish puree with chillis and herbs, with lovely mushroom soup, fish soup and delicious stirfried veggies with spices and herbs. And the rat, fried with herbs and chili. (You know what's coming next, don't you? ) Yep, it tasted just like chicken. Bada boom. But not bad.



Again, I was smack in the bosom of this close family who see me as one of their own and say to Sommay that they wish so much that they could talk with me. As do I. We all looked through the photos of Sommay's mother's funeral, that I paid for by buying the land.



Then there were goodbye hugs and smiles and we sped home through the dark cool evening. It was a lovely day and evening, rat and all.