Spring in Laos can be brutal. The mighty Mekhong has shrunk to a turgid shadow of itself, the sand bars have stretched to vast deserts and only the best boatmen can navigate the treacherous rocks and rapids that have appeared.
Ashore, the teak trees are bare, the leaves black and fallen, crunching bleakly underfoot, rice fields are hard baked clay, weeds and grey stubble and gardens are full of the grim scarecrows of last year's marigolds.
The sun is fiery red orb and the air is thick with smoke and ash from the extensive burning off of fields in the hills. Folks here still practice slash and burn agriculture, despite the government's attempts to stop it, and this is the worst I have ever experienced here. Everybody is sniffling and sneezing and coughing and spitting. People who normally wear contact lenses can't because of the smoke and the ash and also the dust which is everywhere. The car is constantly coated in a thin beige layer and washing it is fruitless and frustrating as there is such low water pressure that it can only be done late at night or by the river. Not really a fun time of year.
Many neighbourhoods have no water, sporadic water or very low pressure. The nursing school has no water most of the time in the student quarters, but they have discovered an office building where there is a tap, so these sturdy country kids gather there every morning and evening for their usual shrieking, singing, laughing communal cold water baths together. It's right behind my house so it sounds as if this wild carry-on is in my house.
But it brings home to me how cheerful and persevering these Lao youngsters are; far from their home villages, living in big dormitories equipped with triple-decker beds, washing their clothes by hand, cooking outside on little stoves made from a metal bucket and concrete but having a whale of a time. The conditions they live in are so basic and the weather so revolting----hot, hot, hot except at night and early morning, that they'd have every right to complain, but they simply carry on, planting little gardens to supplement the big bag of rice they've brought from home,laughing and playing guitars in the evening, playing boules and eating spicy papaya salad and just living life joyously and fully.
So I can't possibly complain, which is annoying, as I'd like to sometimes. The good thing is that some rain has fallen, just enough to wash the sky clean for a day or two and everything is starting to green up a bit. My glorious bougainvillea needs daily pruning or it will swallow up the entire neighbourhood, my new ginger garden is no longer a dirt box full of scrawny, limp cuttings, but already full and green.
In February, my footie team battled on bravely to the semis, but went down in a penalty shootout to a very badly behaved side, finishing fourth in the competition, but that's not bad for a new team of young players with very little chance to practice together. We were roundly congratulated by all and sundry and I thoroughly enjoyed my personal victory march across the vast pitch of the national stadium to receive the prize money of $50. The coach snaffled the framed certificate, of course, and I spent the money and a lot more on a post game celebration which was a classic of its kind. The four playoff teams all went to the same beer bar where the winners let us all drink beer out of their huge golden trophy and we all promised to come back next year for another crack at the championship. Great night. The food arrived after most had left, of course...
Our little property outside town shares the bleak dry look of the rest of the landscape, but it still manages to look great to me as Sommay has been living there for two months, overseeing the building of our little caretaker's house and the beefing up of our fences and the building of a boules court, complete with grass roofed hut with tables and chairs made of teak stumps and much much more.
We recently discovered that the wonderful Pheng was no longer so wonderful. Things were not getting done, he was drinking heavily and entertaining dubious women on the premises and then Sommay's sister, Pheng's somewhat estranged wife, admitted that he was beating her and had done so for years. He chose this moment to insist that he wanted a TV and a phone for the house and grumbled about being asked to work, and finally, he had to go.
Sommay, being an overachiever at everything he tries, has done more in two months than Pheng did in two years, so the place is great! We have a new caretaker, who seems pretty good and when we have some money, we'll do more to make it a little peaceful retreat to get away to.
We spent International Women's Day out there having a massive fish barbecue with friends, mainly brother Bounlay's co-workers from the police department.
Sommay's foray to Thailand ended up being a fizzer, but he is now hotly pursuing a new course of action designed to get him to law school in Vientiane in September. So he is back home with me for now, being a whirlwind of accomplishment around the house.
Sadly, my other lad, Joy, is exhibiting a bit of halo slippage and we don't know what to do. He's showing a nasty, stubborn, sneaky streak that is making life very unhappy for us and he may just have to leave my employ if he doesn't shape up. He has, in fact, started a job elsewhere so I no longer pay him a salary, but he refuses to speak to Sommay or to apologise for his bad behaviour, denying that is ever happened, despite the fact that it is undeniable.
This is the last thing I need, with the culmination of preparation for my Low Season Teaching Program taking every minute and every ounce of thought and worry I can spare. Not to mention that I will be off to Florida soon to visit The World's Most Amazing Mother for two weeks before the hard work starts.
The school goes from strength to strength, but it's still a drama as to whether we will break even every month and be able to pay salaries. It's exciting, though, and we are very pleased with ourselves.
Various of my expat friends are already gone or going soon as we get closer to Lao new year in mid April. I am also decamping for two weeks in Florida. Here in Luang Prabang, there will be few students coming to class--not just for the three official days, but for the entire two week window---and a lot of mayhem about town with all the drunken parties, so it's a good time to get out.
OK, not an inspired piece of verbiage, but that's yer lot for now as work calls. The good thing about this horrid dry time of year is that it is watermelon season and we are awash in them---big round red juicy things that slake the thirst nicely as we watch the big red round sun drop into the Mekhong every evening.
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