Rudolph the red-nosed buffalo...

You will no doubt be relieved to know that I have decided that I will no longer open my posts with elaborate apologies for the paucity of my reports from up here, but simply glide serenely into the latest news...

First, the weather...

Up here on the misty Mekong, the big, dry teak leaves are falling with their usual clumsy clatter, the restaurants continue their wild serenade of completely different music played at the same time. But not so loudly that I can't sit out here on my little balcony in the balmy air that passes for a wintry afternoon in these parts, before the evening chill sets in. (Early mornings are bloody cold, and all we have in the way of actual winter.)

The rains have abruptly ceased, the roads are rutted and dusty instead of rutted and muddy, and the rivers are falling, but still fairly big, with no trace yet of the massive sandbank that usually appears outside our house every year.

How am I?

Am I still happy? I ask myself that question on a daily basis, and the answer is still a resounding YES!!! The tourists slowed down a bit during the Bangkok Airport Unpleasantness, and are taking a while to build up again, but as long as one stays out of the little tourist strip, life goes on unchanged.

Teaching

I am unconscionably busy with teaching and training, but loving it. At last count, I'm up to 37.5 contact hours per week, (between Amantaka Resort and Pasabandith College) which probably accounts for that stunned feeling and the baggy eyes that are my usual mien these days. My New Year's resolution is to bring some sanity to that regime, by cutting teaching hours to allow for some preparation time, currently minimal, due to the need to eat, sleep and take the odd shower. The upside of this timetable, of course, is that I spend far less time in Bacchanalian pursuits with my friends at the wine bar, some of you will be happy to hear.

But my lovely students make everything allright, even the recalcitrant ones who refuse to remember what a verb is and still say ge how instead of guest house. Recently, we held a massive Exorcism ceremony---Amanataka is being built on the old hospital site and is positively reeking with bad spirits and threats to one's composure---which involved two hours of chanting, no fewer than 22 monks and the entire staff of the hotel, plus management and guests. At one point I turned around and saw all 126 of my trainees smiling at me and it was a wonderful moment that I will never forget.

As far as my employment goes, Ping is as wily as ever. I am waiting until he renews my visa before I start hassling him about various sources of discontent, but I know he needs me far more than I need him.

My students there are learning Writing and English for Everyday Activities. The first is made difficult by the fact that no one has told them about sentences, punctuation, parts of speech and little things like that so I have to start from the beginning again. The EEA class is learning how to talk about catching a bus, using shaving cream, using a toaster, none of which they will probably ever need to do and know nothing about. Never mind, as I keep saying, they are all gorgeous and I love every minute of my teaching time.

I have the first few volunteer teachers starting soon, despite Ping's attempt to ignore my efforts to set up a co=teaching project. Had a great and unexpected trial run with this when Brisbane teacher Susan Whiting showed up the other day saying that two friends had told her to look me up here. We had a great time over dinner and a bottle of wine and then I enveigled her into taking two of my classes that I couldn't do due to work at the hotel and she did a great job! The students were delighted to hear another voice and Ping was no doubt tickled pink that he didn't have to PAY anyone to take my classes.

Amantaka Resort is still a building site with Opening Day receding steadily into the distant future. (Probably March). I am actually pleased as it gives me more time to prepare my charges for their jobs.

It's a huge task. From security guards to sous-chefs they all have different challenges, levels, vocabulary, etc. many have never used a knife and fork or seen a French fry, and now they are being trained to handle silver service and to know their croutons from their choucroute. And all of it has to come out of my head...

Monk-y business....

Recently I sponsored my maid, Mimi's, son Thep to go into the temple as a novice. He seemed a bit lost, with three sisters, the two little ones very bright and the older one very capable and poised, so I suggested the idea and he leaped at it. This meant that Mimi and I went along and spoke to the abbot of the temple I had chosen for him---the best in town---- and happily, we got him in!!!

Then we went out and bought all the orange bits and pieces he will need, robes, bag, umbrella plus bedding, bowl and spoon, begging bowl, etc. Then an auspicious day was chosen and we had a great ceremony, starting with a procession from their house; twelve year-old Thep --all in white robes---and his father going first, Dad Keo with his hand on the lad's shoulders and an umbrella over his head, followed by me carrying his robes, and then the elderly ladies of the village, lustily singing wailing, traditional songs and clapping, then Mimi and guests carrying various things, especially my young friend Phone, who kindly volunteered to mastermind the whole thing with two of his friends.

At the temple we presented gifts to all the monks and novices and there was an elaborate ceremony in which I had to sit at the front and ceremonially hand him his orange get-up, and there was lots of chanting and tossing of rice and lollies. At some point Thep went off with some older novices and they dressed him in his orange robes for the first time and he came out beaming from ear to ear. The old monk doing the ceremony was stone deaf and very ancient so he kept forgetting his prayers and chants. The village elders running the show had to keep reminding him what to say and do and everyone had a good-natured laugh about it all.

I paid for it as his parents couldn't, but it means I get a lot of merit for my next life. Now we take it in turns to take food to the temple every day and I've paid for him to have a special English course, so his parents are especially delighted. It's basically for the 5 years of high school, so he gets a good education.

Christmas in a Buddhist Climate

Now the next celebration is Christmas, which up here consists of shops decorated with masses of multicoloured tinsel and lights, waiters in Santa hats and expats retreating to restaurants for dinners and parties, although I'll be working every day anyway, I imagine.

Tonight I'm off to an opening of my friend Thep's (different one) latest paintings and tomorrow to my friend Ric's baci ceremony to bless his new house with dinner for 12. Then on Christamas Eve, our little coterie of Lao/French/Canadian friends are having dinner at LÉlephant, followed by a private party hosted by our friend Keo at his wine bar. And that doesn't even include Christmas Day! So one's social life is still active which is very gratifying and jolly.

Help!!!!!!!!!

But, jolly as we are, this year as usual, I am appealing to everyone I know to help me to help people up here. As I mentioned in my last post, I need people to help me send Phone, a promising young man, to medical school on Vientiane. I have paid his first term fees, but I am hoping that everyone who is able will help me with this as he needs living expenses as well and it's a long course! It will cost about $150 Usd per month, so it's a big ask, but I'm hoping that a little bit from a number of people will do the trick......

On the Home Front...

The boys and I are still getting on famously and our little house is a very happy one, except for the recent trauma of losing our darling doggie Dam-dam under the wheels of a truck, followed by the loss of little Buster, one of our replacement puppies only a few weeks later. Now we cling to the gorgeous Milo, a fluffy caramel and white all-breed, with lovely smudgy eyes and a delightful personality, despite a tendency to poop in inconvenient places.

So despite deeply missing my family and friends, you can see that I am FINE and thriving. I hope you all are, too and that you will have an excellent Christmas Holiday and New Year !

Now to fashion a Christmas tree out of banana leaves.....

Umm....Dig Deep....

Just a quick report on doings here.....The house over the river is almost finished and looks great. The family is camping nearby under a plastic tarpaulin and waiting with shining eyes to move in with their little bags and bundles. On Sunday the monks will come and we will have a baci to celebrate and to bless the house. Just in time as the brief dry spell is over and we are in the last rainy time before the weather gets cold again.

Meanwhile, I am hoping that anyone who can will find some spare cash to help me pay for all this. The whole thing was around $2500 USd. Soon I will have an arrangement for US contributors to give tax free, but who knows how long it will be until I can afford to do it in Oz. May have to wait until Dan is a practicing lawyer to get a good rate....

(I know I should have raised the money first, but the rains were falling and there was no time to waste.)

Got to run, as I have two classes tonight and then a HUGE party that we have organised for my new boss Gary. Tomorrow I teach all morning and then have a dinner party here and Sunday I teach, do the baci and next week I start my Amantaka staff classes in the mornings and continue with the Pasabandith ones at night. Whew!! And everybody says this is a serene lotus-eating existence!

Hugs o you all!!

The Little Forest Family and other stories

Once upon a time there was a little man called Lit and his wife Pheng who lived in a forest glade with their five small children. They lived on forest foods, a veggie patch and fish from a pond. They were Khmu people, one of the Lao tribal groups who have traditionally been the bottom of the pecking order in Laos.

But then the children began to grow up and soon the Ngaai Baan, the village chief from the village nearby said that they could not live in the forest any more because the children had to go to school and the government did not want little tribal groups living in the forest with no services or medical care.

So the little family trudged into the big village, where they also had no services and no medical care and no money for school supplies, uniforms or fees. At some point Lit began to drink and rapidly became a helpless alcoholic, spending all his meagre earnings as a porter for people bringing cargo over the river to and from the village.

So Pheng worked harder than ever, walking back into the forest every day to gather food and tend her veggie patch and then crossing the river to the town to sell her produce in the streets. When she wasn't busy doing this she was hugging and loving and playing with her kids, still full of patience and love and smiles for her babies, despite her hard life.

The family lived on a little wooden platform covered with a grass roof, perched precariously on the edge of the Mekong River. As the rainy season grew more intense, the roof leaked copiously on the little family as they huddled in their hut, no bigger than the average vestibule.

The other villagers, not exactly flush with funds themselves, watched this and were worried. They talked amongst themselves and finally told their friend, Phone, from the town. He told me and we bought them tarpaulins and mosquito nets and blankets and began to talk with the NgaaiBaan about where else they could live.

Then the rain began to fall heavily and the river began to rise and soon the family had to dismantle their sodden hut and climb up to live on somebody's porch as the flood waters swept away their foundations.

The upshot is that I am now building them a house on a nice high spot that belongs to the village and has a great view of the mountains to the north. It's high and dry, with nice neighbours, plenty of trees, water supply nearby.

The father sits and stares dully, his clouded eyes full of pain---or is it simply an alcoholic haze?, but the children smile and laugh and their mother smiles and holds my hands tightly. The kids are all kitted out with everything they need for school and have started the year already.

I estimate that it will all cost a couple of thousand bucks to complete all this, including paying the builder and the locals who are working for him. I am hoping that some of you may find a few bob to send along to My Bamboo Village Foundation to help with this, as I have a few other projects that are taking my funds as well.
Contact my daughter Molly on 617 3368 2676 or piggysweetheart@yahoo.com.au She'll pop the money into the bank for me. No, I still don't have tax-free status as that costs thousands to arrange. But I have a logo and the website is in the works.


Project Number Two:
All this has been accomplished because of the remarkable Phonepasert. He comes from a village far to the north and lives here in LP with his aunt and uncle and his cousins, burly chaps of few words and sweet smiles. Phone is just finishing his nursing training and plans to move to Vientiane next year to train as a doctor.

He spent 4 years as a monk and has a sweet, kind, almost elderly demeanour, despite being only in his early twenties. He wanted to be an environmentalist but when his father fell ill, he decided that medicine was a more useful path.

Now I am looking for someone or several people who would like to sponsor him as he will need living expenses and fees to go to medical school. Please let me know if you want to know more about him and about helping him out.

He and I and my maid Mimi all share a love of plants and gardening and so he took us on a long jungle hike the other day gathering plants for my garden, orchids, vines, flowers, gingers, and herbs, guided by his mate, who knows the forest intimately, exactly where to find this or that plant, which of a maze of tiny paths to take, how to avoid the worst mud wallows, and can scamper up the tallest tree to pick fruit for large farang women with great ease.

It was an enchanting day. We started at the house site, had a lengthy conference with the builder and the gaggle of locals that always join in and contribute whenever anything is discussed, whether it has anything to do with them or not.

Then we set off on our walk, past ancient temples and relatively new ones, through Lit and Pheng's abandoned village site, past rice fields and veggie patches, fish ponds and buffalo paddocks, all shrouded in dense jungle.

Finally, loaded with plants and very muddy, we reached a village where Phone's friend lived and where we were invited to lunch. I was thinking they'd fix us a little something and we'd be on our way, but no.....

First we sat a spell and chatted. Mimi discovered that the lady of the house was in fact her cousin so they had a great time catching up. Then we went for a wander through the village, greeting old friends of Phone's and ending up at a house where they kept ducks, to purchase one for lunch. Well, when I say 'kept'---the ducks kind of wandered about in the general muddy area of the house and there was an all-family circus in progress to catch the thing by the time Phone and I continued our wander.

Finally we sat at a little table by the edge of the village and watched a column of dark silver rain as it advanced over a wide, fiercely green rice field. Three young women were laughing and picking fruit nearby and stopped to bring us a jug of cold water and glasses. Such hospitality...Finally the rain began to fall and we headed back to the house where we were served a delicious fish soup with rice. I assumed that the duck had eluded the chase and shortly after lunch wondered if we should be getting back, but no, out in the kitchen the duck was being dealt with as Mimi and her cousin chatted by the fire and chopped and pounded and prepared what turned out to be a fabulous meal of BBQ duck, with a sort of salad of duck blood and giblets, chillis, herbs, garlic and peanuts. Wonderful!

By now I had lost any sense of time or of thinking we should get back and accomplish something and soon the laolao appeared, plastic bags full of it from the local shop---home-distilled rice liquor. Filthy-tasting but very warming. One passes a glass around, refilling for each person and the jollification that ensues is always hearty indeed.

There was a short recital from one fellow who was once a doctor and is now a farmer and has a rich baritone voice, and the party really took off when the second baggie of laolao arrived. Finally, it really was time to leave because one needs to get across the Mekong before dark as the boats have no riding lights.

The village cultivator tractor was hired to get us back to Ban Xieng Maen, as we were several kilometres away. This is a two wheeled device that can plow a muddy field and also pull a small wagon and which is used for transport among the smaller villages. The journey was especially festive because our hosts, their grandson, the baritone, the forest guide, and Phoné's mate all insisted on coming with us, piling into the wagon with us, along with the rest of the laolao and the last plateful of BBQ duck as well, just to be sure we didn't get peckish on the way.

So off we chugged in the late afternoon sun, along the dirt road between rice fields and small farmhouses, drunkenly singing and clapping and laughing and hallooing, waving to the general populace, who just smiled and waved back. The glass of laolao continued to be passed amongst us and a snort was literally forced down the throat of the driver as he drove. The tiny grandson watched all this with round eyes, from his perch between Grannie's knees.

25 minutes later we poured out of the wagon and said a warm farewell to our hosts as we tumbled down the steep bank to our waiting boat and putted off across the golden river.

BUT WAIT....It doesn't end there. Once back on the Luang Prabang side of the river, Phone dropped me at my house where Sommay was in the shower, shouting, Hurry up, Mammy, we have to go soon!

Yes, his sister Nang, the one who had the grumpy husband and lost her only child to meningitis last year, was suddenly getting engaged and we had to be there for the betrothal ceremony. She is a delight and we are all very happy for her. She met the groom at her brother Xai's wedding in Vientiane only two months ago, and we all made the journey down there to celebrate the occasion. That's when I bought my car, but that's anoher story.

All the family, plus brother Xai, the groom-to-be's family, the elders of the villages, plus brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts, were all sitting on the floor at the family house in their village outside town, discussing the marriage contract, the bride price, the advisability of Nang remarrying, the procedures to be followed along with long perorations about marriage and the duties of each partner and how to have a sucessful union.

The highlight for me was when little Ai, the 3 year-old foster son of Sommay's brother, Bounlay, came into the house and chose my lap to sit on of all the assembled mob. Ah! A Grannie moment...

Then there was a baci ceremony and we tied strings and money around the wrists of the couple and then sat down to a large meal of laap, minced meat salad with herbs, rice and soup, washed down with lots of beer. I brought my usual cask of wine so as to avoid the gluten-rich brew, and we toasted and cheered and celebrated. Then the women started singing traditional jolly songs and soon somebody put on some music.

The women were pretty jolly by now and started to dance lao style and, of course, I had to join them and do my version and then it was on for one and all. We danced and danced till I was soaked with sweat and finally had to bail out and head home. What a night! What a day! What a life!!!

More soon.....

I'm Baa-aa-aa-ck!!

Incredibly, the internet saga that halted my blogging all those months ago had a few more twists and turns and I've been once again without Internet access until a few days ago!!!!

I am gibbering with relief at being back online and can only hope that you haven't totally given up on me. First our internet account ran out and they just simply unplugged us. No warning, no invitation to renew, nothing.

Then we tried three different routers and many days of fiddling and re-configuring and finally the thing worked. Well, not mine, only Sommay was able to connect. There was some sort of virus that sneaked into my computer via a USB and it took days and days to fix, once it was discovered, because my computer guy works at two jobs and has very little time.

Anyway, I won't go on as it's very boring and because there is so much more to tell you that isn't....

The JOB(s).....

My 'visa' job at Pasabandith has been totally undemanding for a bit as they were doing exams and then being graded and finally graduated in a big ceremony in the Provincial Administration Auditorium, which is conveniently only a few steps from my house. Very grand with lots of varnished panelling and furniture, all decorated in day-glo orange and white bunting at the back, red white and blue bunting near the front plus hideous plastic cherry blossom branches. The students were kitted out in black academic robes edged with traditional Lao woven design. The custom here is that everyone gets flowers for graduation and takes endless photos afterwards clutching their certificates and beaming.

But now I am teaching a 'summer' course in English for Office work in the Travel Industry. Only about eight students so I won't make more than pin money, but they're nice kids and it's not too demanding, but it's every evening for an hour and a half', so my days are long.

Soon the regular term will start and I'll teach in the evenings and teach the teachers in the afternoons. Not that we have very many, as most of them quit, pissed off with the Wily Ping because of his highhanded manner with them and the pitiful salaries he pays. They get 45 bucks a month!!!!!

And I have also got a contract job to teach a group of government employees how to report verbally and in writing to an aid group who are looking at setting up an agricultural improvement project. Again, not a lot of money but a worthwhile endeavour.

Then I'm going to set up some intensive seminars for the company that runs the airport--snack bar people, Xray screening, passenger services, to bring them up to a better standard of English and tourist interaction.
That will pay well.

But my big job, as education administrator for the newest Aman resort in the chain-to be called Amantaka, is fairly full-on just now. Two weeks ago I interviewed 700 job applicants in five days. I was screening for English levels and then sending them off to the various department heads. It was mammoth.

I also had to find translators and helpers for this enterprise and it was hot and sticky and utterly exhausting. One night I came home and fell asleep, completely missing my evening class.

Then this past week we did the Second Interview for which we called back about 300 people, and then had a two day Management Training Seminar, which entailed listening to hours of motivational gobbledygook and doing daft things in teams to develop team spirit and define our values. Or something. But I survived. And yes, we developed lots of rapport and bonded and all that.

Then last night we had a gala night out for just the ten of us with beautiful Lao food and music and dancing and a Baci ceremony to celebrate our bondedness. Afterwards a few of us went out and had a lot of fun getting roaring drunk. So now we're all well-bonded and rather hungover.

So, work-wise, I am very busy and in much demand. In about two weeks I'll start teaching the Amantaka employees and I'll learn the real meaning of the word 'work'.

Right now I am going to re-define the meaning of sleep, as I've been gardening all day and am utterly pooped. So tired in fact that I had to turn down an invitation to eat with Sommay's family tonight. They ran over a snake on the way back from the Pak Ou boat-racing festival (Sommay's brother Bounlay captained the winning team!!!) and were having a feast of snake soup. Cheers!

Helllooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!

Is anybody still out there?

Well, I wouldn't blame you for giving up on me, since it's been so long. I can explain.....but do you really want me to?? I can see Peter shaking his head violently as he rocks to and fro, moaning, no, no....!

Well, many of you know that my internet has been busted since about april 1 when we had the grandaddy of all electrical storms up here, and it's been agonising getting something done about it, and you know that I have to schlepp around to various hot sweaty little internet shops when I have a spare moment to write and then there are the usual signal-dropping-out-just as one has produced a lovely long screed and the whole thing gets lost, or the urgent Mum-where's-the-Medicare-card type messages to answer and, yada yada....And I was back in Oz for most of April whichwas lovely, but hardly newsy....

Well, now here I am in the second-sweatiest internet shop, but the fan at this end of the shop is broken and the German family next to me enthusiastically writing to Grossmutti have only very recently removed their feet from sweaty trainers so I am already swooning from the heady mix that this produces and probaby won't last long.

Mainly I just wanted to let you know I'm OK, I am still deeply in love with this town, and now have an unexpected but thoroughly welcome new lock on solvency, having signed a one year contract to be the chief educational officer for the newest, poshest and most expensive hotel in town, still under construction. They offered about four times what I thought I'd try and ask for so I'm not quibbling. My new boss--(well, sub-boss as the wily Ping is still my guarantor and nominal boss. He gets more nominal every day that passes that he hasn't paid me.) is an affable, capable, easy-going Australian called Gary Tyson who was told that I was THE go-to-girl here in Luang Prabang by my dear friend Brian---another Affable Aussie who is part of the architectural/project management team. Ex opal-dealer from Coober Pedy who once ran an opera company in St. Louis.

And well, it seemed like the next logical step was to buy a car. So I went down to Vientiane to check up on one of my ex-novices who is starting college there and met up with two guys. One is a waiter at Sticky Fingers Cafe called Vong, who is also a bit of a wheeler-dealer but has a heart of gold and plays rugby union (would you believe!) being fairly un-Lao in size. The other was Mike Murphy, a Newfie in coke-bottle glasses who's got a big garage in town and has lived there for twenty odd years when he wasn't being framed by his bejewelled and jealous exwife, chucked out of the country, going into business unwittingly with a conman who carried a suitcase full of dodgy passports, thrown into jail, getting vindicated and then re-framed, but does a nice line in used cars and trucks fro he vaious international mobs who come to twon.

I set them to looking for me and Vong came up trumps two weeks later with a Hyundai Starex mini-van with power everything, only a year or two old and got us all the way back up here to Luang Prabang on less than a tank of diesel without a murmur.

That might not sound like much unless you've seem Highway 13, which is either flat and potholed or stunningly steep and twisty. Either way it goes through tiny villages full of dogs and chickens and motorbikes and big trucks and small babies and herds of dozy, apparently deaf cows, all of whom share the road. Some times this is because the land drops away inches from the edge of the road, and sometimes because there are people cooking and chatting and picking their noses right at the edge of the road, seemingly unaware that the nation's biggest and most amazing highway runs through their living rooms.

It's only about 400 k's but took nine hours with lightning stops for pees and one 20 minute pause for food and I am happy to tell you that I had the brains to hire Vong to do the driving, sending him back by plane the next day, a matter of 35 minutes.....

"We" consisted of not only myself and my head boy Sommay, but most of his family---sister Jumalee, brother Bounlay, Uncle Peng, Auntie Ti, their year-old granddaughter Gai and Auntie Phaw. Another brother and sister were treated to a plane ride as I don't have it anywhere in my heart to make anyone take the bus. Ten hours of lurching....you know the drill....

We'd combined the car-buying trip with the wedding of another brother Xai, who was marrying a girl from just outside Vientiane and the wedding was a ripsnorter. Took about three days, but we couldn't let him face her family on his own and I am sort of their mother and family elder. Not to mention their own travelling side-show. Yes, I wore the Turquoise Trainstopper and yes, I danced.....Let a veil be drawn....

No, really, I'll tell you all about it soon, and even try to whack in the odd photo, but I've been here for nearly two hours and it's G&T time. Nice to be back in touch. More when the modem is up and running. I promise.......

Slice of my Lovely Lao Life

Let me tell you about yesterday.....

It was a beautiful rainy, cool morning but it didn't begin well. First, at 8 AM, I taught one of my 3rd-year classes-----Well, I went to school and stood in front of my 3rd year students and spoke for over an hour, but any teaching was pretty well imperceptible. They are some of the brightest and the best and they love my jokes, ask good questions, many of them seem to understand what I'm saying, and some actually make an effort to speak and demonstrate that they have picked up some crumb of knowledge.

But yesterday, nothing.

Just blank looks and yawns. OK, the monks get up at 3:45 AM so that's understandable. And some students work late. But there was no reason for it. You teachers out there will understand. Just one of THOSE days, when one thinks, "Allright-maybe I could get a job running a restaurant....or become a nun for a year, or ANYTHING, as I am clearly incapable of this.. ...

I moaned a bit to my fellow teachers at break time, but they just grinned and said..."Some students are very lazy." Small comfort.

So I trudged back up the filthy stairs to tackle the second years, usually an even motlier bunch, but while they didn't exactly sit up and hold an erudite discussion on the state of the world today, they were asking questions, answering questions, listening, trying to understand, speaking and showing real animation and enthusiasm. What a treat! Wow, I said to myself, What a great class....I'm obviously born to teach!

I had a quiet coffee at the Canadian bakery and reflected on how quickly one's reality can change. Then it was Game on! again.

After lunch, I helped Joy with a few questions, and then my tutees for the afternoon began arriving. First were two smart young almost-graduates from the University for another coaching session in how to be the MC's of a seminar they are organising about the challenges facing Luang Prabang in the areas of Investment, Human Resources and Tourism. It's a school assignment, but it involves a lot of speakers from the Uni and from Government Departments and will be attended by several hundred people.

In the midst of that, my boss, the Wily Ping, showed up with my invitation to the big opening ceremony of our new school building on Saturday, with the whole schmeer----speeches, a baci ceremony, monks chanting and a big piss-up lunch afterwards at the new school. I'll have to dust off my Lao lady outfit for that.

The emcees had no sooner left when the four musicians from Puang Champa House Cultural Centre arrived for their session. They are beginners but quite adorable. I do a lot of pantomiming and leaping about and so on to explain things to them, so it's fairly tiring, but a lot of fun. (Tomorrow is their last class so I'll take them out for a meal.)

Then after a break for a G&T and a bath and it was time to prepare another lesson, this time for Jauck, who came at seven, desperate to be able to improve his pronunciation so he can keep his new job at a posh hotel here and be able to take room service orders. He's really a maths teacher, but there's no money in it and he has a young family to support. The menus he has to try to work from are in French and badly translated English---some of it quite unfathomable, so the poor kid is up against it, but I'm having a go.

Afterwards he dropped me in town to meet my lovely friends Gabriel and Britney, two young travellers who are so taken with this place that they're staying as long as possible. I have found Britney a job and counselled her about whether she should take that one or another one which sounded fabulous but on closer examination was a worry, so we celebrated her accepting the one I found her.

Then they told me all about their trip to Cambodia and Vietnam. Great stories about how their tuktuk driver fell in love with Britney and sat outside her hotel room all night playing love songs at full volume on his phone and weeping. And how Gabriel had to almost fight off the physicaland emotional blandishments of his female guide on a trek to Hmong hill villages in Northern Vietnam! Hilarious evening.

Afterwards I dropped into the wine bar and saw some dear friends there for a glass or two of cold white, a bit of gossiping and planning for our various farewells and returns, and then a council of war over the Dog Problem, which has flared up again, this time with the heartbreaking disappearance of the beautiful Bounma, Nith's dog that we all look after and love.

So that's a picture of a day in my life. There were other things---we've discovered the origin of the awful smell at the back of the house, I've confirmed my ticket home in April, and started lining up farewell dinners and drinks, been out to the hospital for my latest ear infection, but I can't really tell you write any more now because they've just phoned to say that one of the speakers for the seminar has dropped out and would I give a talk and lead a discussion on Cultural Communication at the seminar tomorrow?! Another outing for the Lao lady costume.....

One of my emcees is picking me up at 7:30 tomorrow AM, ( !!!!!) so I'd better get busy writing my speech....Let's see now. How to begin..........Um, Gidday everyone!.....

Going Postal...Lao style.

The other day I went to the post office and was reminded of why it is so charming to be here. I went to send one parcel and check the mail. These two simple procedures took me about 45 sweltering minutes to accomplish, but I cannot complain. It was all so Lao, so sweet.


First I went to the counter with the sign saying Petits Paquets, thinking that would be the place to take my small packet. It was manned----okay, personned---by my neighbour's eldest daughter who smiled sweetly and sent me to Produits Postales, personned by a beaming former student of mine. I thought that would be where you bought postal products and obscure philatelic items, but it turns out it's the place where they shake your parcel, notice that it rattles and refer you to the Package Man.

This guy is a treat to watch. He sits at a battered wooden desk half under the staircase beside a large pile of carboard and, armed only with a huge roll of tape and a pair of scissors, transforms people's ragged bundles into tightly wrapped parcels, glistening with layers of sello tape. He was busy squashing a pile of textile products into a box for a tiny Lao girl and then taping, taping, taping it shut, until every vulnerable point and edge of the box was securely sealed with tape. Did he have a tape dispenser with a sharp serrated edge to cut the tape? He did not; he had only the big old pair of scissors. Then he laboriously addressed the parcel, pausing often for with lengthy consultations with the tiny sender until, at last, he was happy and she trotted off to send this masterpiece of parcelling art.

It was my turn. He shook the long, cardboard tube which I had already taped up thoroughly and addressed. It still rattled. Apparently that is not good. So off came my multiple layers of sticky tape, after which he casually but accurately sliced into the tube and pared it down to size, deftly measured, cut and fitted a square cardboard to stifle any remaining hint of a rattle, trimmed the edge of the cut again, popped the lid back on and began taping, taping taping.

A work of art, I said. He smiled self-deprecatingly. (Just pleased that I could fix yer rattle, ma'm.)

On my way back to the Philately Department, I was stopped by another acquaintance who works at the post office who shook my hand and asked how I was and so on, told me how busy things were, shook my hand again and scurried back to his post behind the counter.

The Produits Postales girl gave me another beaming smile and a sticker and a chit, which I took to the Paye window where they gave me a signed receipt. Then, and only then, was my parcel taken from me for the next stage of its journey

By now a good half hour was almost up, but I thought I'd just check to see if any mail had arrived for me. So I went to the window clutching my passport where the former Package Man who now works there greeted me warmly. The tiny sender was also there, discussing the next stage of her parcel's journey, but with less success than I'd had.

A lady in beige and a lady in purple were sent off to the back rooms to rifle through piles of mail for about five more minutes but nothing turned up. I said I was now using my 'son's' post box and they suggested I check that out. So I went down the hall to a huge room full of rows of PO Boxes, peered through the window but saw no-one. I waited with another lady carrying a wide-eyed grandchild who deftly snatched my passport from my sweaty hand and had to be convinced to give it back.

Eventually the lady in purple ambled in from the back courtyard where she'd gone to rest after the rigours of searching for my mail. The other customer took quite a while to explain her errand,waving her Identity card and pointing at a box, but the purple lady just kept shaking her head and picking her teeth until the customer left.

So I thought I'd have no luck getting mail from Sommay's box, since I am not him, but anyway I launched into a long explanation in mangled Lao about how my Lao son has a box, when she interrupted me to say "You mean Sommay?"and handed over the contents of his mailbox without so much as a glance at my proffered passport, Lao Identity Card and work permit.

It was only the latest New Yorker, but I was terribly impressed with how well it went, and shared my feelings with the hand-shaker who happened to be milling about again. He wanted to have a look at the New Yorker, of course, which gave me time to notice that the tiny sender was back at the pick-up window, patiently filling out a form beside her once exquisitely sealed box, which had now been cruelly sliced open in front of her for some obscure procedural reason.

She didn't exactly look charmed, but she wasn't much perturbed, either. These things happen, she was probably thinking, as she trudged back across the Post Office to the Package Man to start all over again.

I was, however, totally charmed as I emerged into the late afternoon sun, and a passing student stopped to give me a lift home on his motorbike, just in time to watch the big burning red sun drop into the Mekhong again.

Poverty: The Latest Fitness Fad

It's interesting that here in this very poor country, people seem to be able to keep up outrageous working hours and workloads, blithely walk and cycle distances that we would quail at, and are almost never fat. Most of them are fit and glowing with health and vitality, despite being on fairly meagre rations.

Yes, there are bugs everywhere.And the locals are not 'used to' or immune to the malevolent microbes and whatnot that teem in a country where fridges are rare, food is prepared in the open air, (or indeed on the ground) chickens walk non-chalantly through kitchens, and everyone shares spoons and glasses, eats from communal bowls with their fingers and washes dishes in cold water.

Nope, they all get sick, too. They just cope better. What's amazing is that they don't get a lot sicker a lot more often. The answer has to be what they eat.

Far from this being a minefield of dietary disaster, I am eating healthier than ever.

The food is all local, organic, fresh, un-processed and seasonal, something we yearn for in the so-called First World. Everything is grown, sold, bought and prepared within a kilometre or less from where one eats it.

Local people seldom eat bread, cakes, puddings etc---dessert is mostly fresh fruit. Nobody can afford much in the way of soft drinks, and few drink coffee or tea. Virtually none of the locals eat french fries, none eat meat pies or hamburgers, and a lot of them have utterly fabulous teeth. Sugary stuff is creeping in and biscuits are becoming popular, but they are still a luxury for most folks.

And getting back to ME for a moment, I pretty much do the same. For those of you who have an interest in the state of my corpus, the diet here seems to be very good for me, (there being less of my corpus than usual) and I feel pretty good. And i's not because I'm sick al the time. It's something new called 'éating healthy food'.

There is this pesky gluten intolerance, of course. I find that it's less of a problem up here where there is plenty of rice, of course. Mind you, I was shattered recently to learn that I react very badly and pretty much instantly to rye flour and soy sauce (!!!!) This is a blow as I love them both. I exist on rice, fruit, nuts, eggs, cheese, lots of vegetables, a bit of meat and the occasional pig-out on steak and chips and such at the French cafe.

I simply walk past the croissants, baguettes, doughnuts, cakes and pastries that beckon daily, and eschew all but rice noodles when it comes to pasta. I have very little to put butter on. You can't buy anything that is purposely gluten free, not even rice crackers, but you can occasionally get corn-flour baguettes. Trouble is even the vendors can't remember which ones are wheat and which ones are corn. Heavy sigh....

So, while you'll always need to bring your immodium or gastrogel and such with you, this is the place to come to lose the avoirdupois. As long as you avoid the French pastries and the French restaurants, of course.....And the lovely, crisp Lao beer.....(No I can't drink beer either, except Heineken, strangely enough.)

Or you can try the Amazing Lao Instant Weight-Loss Regimen, which is simple: drink one glass of Mekong water and retire to a bed near the loo.

The Opposite of Dark

Now it's darkest February, and even little Laos has had its share of weird weather. We've had three days of unheard-of winter rain ---three days of the stuff, just bucketing down, and then a bit later, another fierce cold spell which sent tourists scuttling inside the warm farang bakery restaurants and the locals scurrying outside to gather round a smoky little fire. Don't know which worked better.

But tonight things are back to normal ---coolish--- and the locals are again thronging the little riverside restaurants, living it up to jaunty Lao folk music---infinitely preferable to those mewling Thai pop songs ----and the tourists are thronging the night market again.

And I am determined to tell you what's going on before it becomes too much to tell.

The other day in my class I was running a quick quiz on opposites and asked for the opposite of 'dark'. And the resounding answer came back--- 'Cat!' Of course. Ummmmmm....??? Yah, they heard dog and decided that any answer was better than none. Well, 'dark' and 'dog', ánd, for that matter, 'duck', all sound pretty much the same to them. We had a good laugh together in the lighthearted way that folks here have of finding fun in almost anything, despite the grim realities in their lives. Warms my heart, it does.

Today, I spent a great deal of time in class labouring through lots of descriptive words, finding opposites, pronouncing, explaining meanings and showing how they could be used in their upcoming, end-of-term piece de resistance, a little talk they must give for the class that all of them are dreading.

They sat in earnest silence the entire time, nodding and occasionally asking timorously, 'Teacher, can you spell that again?'' and smiling wanly when I did something silly to illustrate a point. They really are horrified by the thought of having to speak, even though that's why they are here.

But then we played The Game---I hold out a sheaf of paper slips with simple questions that they must read aloud and then someone must answer with a full sentence---and once they all cottoned on, it turned into a riot.

They suddenly became hugely animated and laughed and called out answers and then collapsed in giggles when I pretended not to hear because they hadn't made a proper sentence. They absolutely sparkled with joy when someone made a mistake or indeed when they made a mistake themselves, because it was another chance for merriment. They leaned over each other to read the slips in someone else's hand and hooted in disbelief when they got it right and competed like mad to be first with the answer.

Even the monks and novices joined right in and no-one minded when I recycled the questions, and they had to do it all over again. I laughed, too, of course and this is fairly unusual teacher behaviour, so they enjoyed that. Then they got cute and started changing the questions slightly to try and trick each other, and sometimes put together really elaborate answers, but that was great because it showed they were thinking as they went and using their heads, instead of just repeating. They were learning and loving it.

I do this a lot these days once I get through the main points of the lesson and it's clear that they relish the chance, not only to have fun, but to show off and compete and speak aloud.

They know an incredible amount of grammar and a fair bit of vocabulary but it's like a basketball team that's been in the locker room or on the sidelines for several years, learning all the plays and every fact there is about basketball and seeing it all happen, without ever getting out on the court. Mainly it's because their own teachers can't speak English either...

Games are great. There's another one where I go around the class and get them to stand up and say who they are and where they are from, and then do it again with My favourite colour or food, and again with What I do best is, or I would like to travel to... and so one with ever sillier questions and soon they start having fun with it and say things like, Hello my name is Crazy Boy and I live under the bridge and my favourite food is rocks....Or they say they want to travel to Australia and their favourite food is meat pies. (Most of them have never been as far as Vientiane)

And they keep coming back to my classes, even though I have days when I feel as if everything I am saying is bouncing off their brains like so many ping pong balls, so I am loving it. And they gather to offer me rides home from classes on their motorbikes. One devoted fellow shows up every evening to take me to school.

The hours are a little crazy, working seven days a week, with about 24 hours of actual standing up in front of classes and almost as much preparing. But that will change soon, now that I have put my foot down and said No More!! And I am have got much better at it, sometimes virtually winging a whole class off the top of my head. (can you do that??)

It was a big gamble for my boss, the Wily Ping, but he seems happy to have me around and has taken me to see the new school he is building for us. Wonderful new building with a great view, but a bit farther from my house than the dirty old wreck we're using now.

His is the biggest of the five private English schools in town and I think I am the only Farang on staff in town. Apparently I am a drawcard. There is an American guy at my school, of Japanese descent, but lives in New York and comes here to volunteer. He was apparently too pushy with the other teachers and then was deeply miffed when I was hired instead of him. He gamely shows up every day and helps the kids, which is a good thing, but he is certainly a living lesson in the value of people skills.

OK, so that's the school part of my life. Then there are the training gigs, which are wonderful. I have very small groups to train intensively for a few weeks preparing them for a specific job. It is hugely rewarding. (No, not in money terms---I only get 3 dollars per hour, per student and sometimes I just get a nice piece of artwork or something from their stock instead) but right now, for instance, I am teaching four young musicians who are learning the very difficult traditional Lao instruments from leathery old masters of the art. I am teaching them just what they need to be able to say to answer the questions that people ask at performances and to be able to introduce the pieces at a concert.

They are all training at a wonderful little house in town under the energetic and extraordinary Nith, who is actually a Lao prince and dedicates his life and his time when he is here to preserving, promoting and developing authentic Lao arts and culture. He lives in Paris part of the year and when he takes a break, the boys will be able to hold the fort for the brief spells when the public visits the house.

It's fabulous, what he does, and I am thrilled to be a part of it. He also wants me to train his director to write proposals and answer correspondence in English, which I think is a great idea, because the diector looks rather like a Lao Patrick Swayze.

The young musos are a real treat, only 17 to 20 years old and they come to my house three days a week for lessons, usually ending up in severe giggling fits when Kongle, the impish Hmong boy who is the class clown and the least proficient at English but one of the better musos, attempts too energetically to pronounce something difficult and inevitably fails. He laughs harder than the rest and we are usually in tears of laughter by the time the lesson is over, but they really do try hard.

Last night, the expats were all invited to a glittering benefit performance at Nith's, Puang Champa House, which means the Garland of Frangipani. It was to raise enough money to buy three beautiful traditional dancing masks, hand-made by old masters, and we each stumped up $20 for an evening of candles, wine, snacks and a performance of the very beautiful and difficult Homlong, a rarely performed masterpiece of traditional Lao music that is played to pay respect to the spirits. It must be played without stopping or making any mistakes, so it's a big deal.

We heard it played by the leathery old masters themselves, and then saw an exquisite performance by five beautiful young girls in their glittering red and gold and blue costumes, all handmade by the dancers. They wore traditional gold headdresses with high points on top and elaborate decoration. It was all quite fabulous, sitting there on little handwoven cushions in Nith's lush green garden, among the huge palms and glowing candles, enjoying this loveliness.

Then a bunch of us went out to a meal at the rather wonderful new Arisai restaurant, where they do beautiful little eggplant roll-ups with fresh salad and balsamic dressing and other Mediterranean specialities. Later, a drink at the wine bar with the usual suspects and then a lift home with my friend Sirivonh, the indomitable and irrepressible wonder woman that I hang out with sometimes, listening to Elvis on her car stereo---our great favourite.

What an evening, and rather typical, I am pleased to report. So you can see why I love it here---the blend of high culture and simple fun, the worldly international artists, colourful locals, idiosyncratic ex-pats, sweet, sweet people and a lot of fun, none of it terribly expensive, all of it interesting, some of it heartbreaking, but definitely the opposite of dark.

Working Girl

Outside, the evening music barrage has begun---a mix of Thai pop and Lao folk music backed by clucking and barking, puttering motorbikes and occasional belated New Years greetings. The sun is sinking into the golden haze over the Me Khong, which is shrinking noticeably daily. The usual vast sand bank is emerging rapidly in front of our place and lush gardens along the riverbanks march ever downwards as the waters recede.

Mornings are misty and cool, days are mild sometimes quite warm, and nights are crisp to bloody cold. Pity the poor monks and novices running around in nothing but a few orange bedsheets.

But they troop faithfully to my classes, where they are very much the stars. Teacher's pets, except that Teacher is not allowed to pet, touch or even hand anything to them, given the vows they have taken. That doesn't mean we don't have fun, as some of them are quite clever and all are sweet and have glorious smiles. As are my civilian students.

The job consumes pretty much all my time just now as I have my five evening classes every week and my two weekend double classes all of which I need to prepare for and now another 8 hours through the week of regular textbook classes, for which I don't really have to prepare anything.

I started out in a regular state of nerves, trying to churn out lesson plans and materials for my own classes, ricocheting between lessons that were too hard and others that obviously bored them stiff but it has been a very useful process as I now realise that some of the not-so-shy ones who sounded good were weak in other ways, that some of the mute terrified creatures of the first week have turned into normal speaking, contributing students. The shyness factor is huge, and they will not believe that I really mean it when I urge them to tell me anytime they don't understand.

Some can read perfectly from a text or the board, but haven't a clue what they are saying. One boy seems to be on the verge of a seizure every time I speak to him and just stares at the paper and whispers, usually the wrong answer. But then he smiles meltingly at me, offers me a lift home and carries on a coherent conversation with me all the way home. Turns out he also studies French and is only 17 years old.

Some are just plain exhausted from working all day before class, and the monks, of course, have been up since 3:45 AM praying and are living on two meals a day so it's not surprising that they yawn a bit. Others seem to be rigid with boredom, but smile enthusiastically when they see me and thank me warmly when they leave at the end of class. And sometimes, they are just plain tired from working all day, but still they trudge in to class in the big, cold, ugly, dirty building that is PasaBandith College. I have commandeered a classroom at the end of the building on the second story (first floor to non-N. Americans) and from this hideous edifice I have a stunning view of the apricot sun bathing the little pointy mountains to the southwest every evening.

I have learned to put together lessons that they seem to respond to, using reading, repeating, asking questions and a few games to keep them entertained. There is nothing I can do about the fact that there are so many levels of ability in the same class----I just try to include easy stuff, intermediate stuff and a few challenges in each lesson so they will all get something out of it. I also give them several options on the class exercises, so the bright ones can impress me.

They are very attentive and polite, but one night I divided them into teams and did a rapid fire oral quiz which was a huge success. We had a ball----and I saw them suddenly becoming competitive and really animated, even the monks.

Then during the day I teach four EEA sessions , which is a book of everyday activities, illustrated with line drawings, explaining some simple thing like playing a CD or having breakfast. We drill the vocabulary, I get them to read aloud and ask questions. I pick up grammar and pronunciation points and we do OK, but it's pretty basic. Some kids listen, some murmur among themselves, some ask good questions and really participate, speaking good English, some just titter or look blank. Of the thirty four students on the roll, 4 were there on time, another twenty drifted in over the next half hour, and some arrived an hour into the lesson.

And in the middle of class, a teacher and several student monitors trotted into the room and started checking uniforms, ties, badges etc. and ticking off the students who were not properly kitted out, sending a few off to the office to pay the latest installment of their fees. I was flabbergasted.

And this week I'll have two classes teaching New Headway, a collection of texts with questions and exercises for students. many of them are so complex and culturally inaccessible that I wonder they don't just throw the books out the window and set fire to the school in a fury of frustration.

I asked some of the other teachers about the difficulty level and they agreed with me that it was tough, but they just get the students to translate the stuff into Lao, with their dictionaries. It's pretty pathetic as a curriculum, but at least it means I don't have to worry about the quality of my lessons too much. Anything I give them is at least accurate and topical and geared specifically for them, rather than random blasts of largely incomprehensible gobbledygook from another world.

Of course, the really bright ones will benefit from any exposure to other voices and cultures,----- Hell, they'll learn a lot from reading a beer label----but for 85% of them it is really uphill work.

I cheer them up by explaining some of the cultural refernces to them, teaching them odd words, helping with pronunciation and giving them tongue twisters to practice their pronunciation.

And, yes, I finally have the visa and a Lao ID card and will presumably see my contract and work permit and my first month's pay fairly soon. The wily Mr. Ping is very nice to me, invited me to a family party for his son's birthday and I think I am considered an ornament to the organisation, being the only native speaker on staff.

And I still have a few private students as well, which may just turn out to be a bit too much, but I do enjoy those sessions of specific one-on-one work. Last week, an American tourist phoned me to say that she'd heard that I was doing tutoring and that she'd met two promising young fellows who she thought could benefit from some classes. She's paid me in advance and I'll fit their classes in around the others. One boy is quite bright, the other a bit scatty, but adorable.

OK, that's the pedagogical update. I've been so immersed the whole teaching trip that I haven't had time to do or think of much else, but now I think I have it under control so you'll hear a bit more from me about the rest of the adventure. Now I've got to get away from this computer screen for a bit! Tomorrow is Monday, and I teach from 8 to 12 AM and then again in the evening, so I think I deserve a bit of a veg-out in front of the TV.

Happy New Year to you all..............More soon....