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....

Wedding Bells

No, darlings, I have not run off to deepest Luang Nam Tha with a water buffalo herdsman, it's just that life has got even more interesting--- I'm going to be the mother of the groom!

(Semi-retirement? Ha!! OK, one thing at a time.....)

I guess my biggest news is actually the culmination of the past three years of coming here, talking to people, thinking up ideas, wild times in the wine bar with the gay ex-pat gang, (Networking, Sweetie, networking....) and gradually working my way through the various bureaucratic and other hurdles. I am about to start legal, paid employment with a real visa tonight at 6 PM.

Happy Birthday, Molls! Yer momma is following in your footsteps and turning an honest buck!

Well, it's a pretty small buck, but I also have been teaching a lot of private clients and learning SO MUCH about this business. It has been brilliant. I spent a month teaching the staff of a posh hotel/restaurant, and am currently teaching the manager of a restaurant who speaks only German and Lao, a young girl who speaks only French and Lao, a young architecture student who speaks only Lao and a lovely mob of ten new employees at a restaurant which is about to open.

Every day I dream up lesson plans that concentrate on the phrases they need to do their jobs, sell stuff, serve drinks, wait on tables and chat a bit with customers. Each class is quite different from the next, but I swing from the chandeliers, repeat myself incessantly, think of new ways to teach different things and basically talk myself hoarse.

It is fabulous when they cotton on and deeply challenging when they look at me blankly. But it is pure joy to work with these kids. A great moment came over the weekend when my new employer, the wily Ping---he of the sparkling smile-----asked me to accompany a school excursion of two busloads of 18-25 year old students to our rather wonderful local attraction, Kwang Xi waterfall, about 25 k out of town.

The blank looks that greeted me to start with turned to beaming smiles and cheeky grins as the day progressed. I was thinking of it as a chore to start with but soon I was thinking that I didn't want the day to end. We wandered through the beautifully improved park land around the base of the falls and I acted as a walking dictionary----answering questions, explaining words and usage and then we climbed up the nearly vertical track to the middle of the falls where there was no actual path so we scrambled across the face of the falls through the water. They--including one teacher in neat tweed jacket and tie---skipping nimbly over the rocks and through the mud and icy water on its way 50feet downwards and me groping and creeping and staggering along after them, getting quite soaked in the process.

I was helped by the tiny hands of elfin but steel-strong students who were always more concerned for my well-being than their own to the edge of the large pool at the mid point.

Here we found half a dozen novice monks stripped down to orange loincloths over their undies, enjoying the forbidden pleasure of a freezing frolic in the deep pool there. They were doing triple spin cannonballs and leaping from trees above the water and having a whale of a time. What a sight!....as was the view out over the countryside to the north, mountains and fields bathed in sunshine and still green and gorgeous.

Then we slithered our way wetly back to the track and continued puffing our way up to the very top of the falls, where a wide pool of clear cool water flows along peacfully through the trees before the sudden drop of maybe 120 feet,----no, it's got to be more than that---over the edge. Safety considerations are almost non-existent, but no one seems to mind. Then down the other side of the falls we went, scrambling like goats, to the assembled students and a vast picnic of rice, grilled fish, papaya salad, pickled fish, spring rolls and fruit and of course, lots of beer.

Afterwards the kids all sang and played games and did a bit of Lao dancing and all joined in heartily as each teacher led an activity---no one thought anything was too corny, bless ém and finally we piled back into the buses and drove home to Luang Prabang through the golden afternoon.

This time of year is the perfect temperature---balmy but not hot, cool, but not really cold, a perfect climate. I couldn't have had a better day.

But the day wasn't over. Next, having washed off the mud and dressed in my serious Lao Lady gear, I went off to the little shack where my other 'son'' Sunlay lives and where I was to meet his prospective inlaws. I am, of course, his parent, as he has not spoken to his father since dad said "No more education for you, kiddo. Into the rice paddy with you." and his mum is dead.

So there were long speeches---luckily, the girl's uncle, who is her chief guardian---spoke fairly good English, and I had to reply and make speeches back and everything had to be discussed and hashed over until they arrived at a price. This includes the cost of the wedding---food and beer, and the bride price which is paid in gold. This was all worked out in fine detail and recorded in an exercise book and presented to me as a fait accompli.

It was another of those can-this-really-be-happening moments, sitting on the hard concrete floor of a dimly-lit cinder-block one-room house listening to lilting Lao patter while the family sat solemnly and watched me, minor members hopping up occasionally to tend to dinner, have a bath.

My legs are not built for the Lao lady style of sitting; men can sit crosslegged, but women must sit like the litle mermaid with both legs demurely together and folded to one side. Feet must never be pointed at anyone. The Lao skirt makes this operation easy, but after twenty minutes or so, one needs to shift over to the other side, which is not as easy for me what with the aftermath of my broken femur, so after forty-five mnutes, I was happy to get up and bow and nop my farewells to the family, now smiling warmly and treating me like family.

The wedding will be lovely, not least because of the sweetness and joy of the young couple, but it will take place upcountry in a village on the Nam Ou, one of the loveliest rivers around, according to my latest visitors, the intrepid Jena and Stan Lubin who've recently descended same and declared it magical. It's north of Nong Khiaw, and near Muang Ngoi, for those of you with a Lonely Planet guide to Lao.

This will be in early January, around the 6th or so. I am having a new Lao blouse made for the occasion, to go with my blue sinh, which is faintly iridescent and newly altered to fit my no-longer-so-plump shape. I can get into skirts made for Lao ladies, but the tops are all incredibly short in the body for Gargantua here.

Sunlay has saved up a few hundred bucks to buy his bride, but it will of course be up to me to buy the beer and the food, but this kid is the most determined young man I have ever met and will be an asset to this country, so I am happy to help him out. (Anyone who wishes to contribute will not be refused!!)

I rounded out the evening with a delightful dinner with my ex-monk friend Ken from Arizona and his cousin Priscilla from Little Rock Arkansas, who is here for a visit. Ken has a peaceful little place overlooking a rice paddy on the edge of town where he makes little wooden spirit houses to sell abroad. he has added a huge farang-style deck to his house which is great for star-gazing and dancing and watching the rice harvest.

So that's my life, a little of this, a little of that and all a delightful mix. And I haven't even told you about the wonderful sleep-over rice harvest and the little temple on the hill and, oh, so much more...

Meanwhile, today the weather has turned chilly and I have to put on some socks and get my lesson plans in order for my private students and my Big First Class tonight! And also track down the smooth-talking Ping to see if he has finally got my contract ready, not to mention my actual visa. Just a soupcon of reality to leaven the mix...

Updates from Up here

I am well behind the eight-ball this month as life gets busier and more demanding so the following will be a general post of many tidbits...

How is, you ask...

The Job Front...Was distressingly slow but now have pinned down my bosses and we are meeting on Friday to sort out the nitty gritty of my visa and start dates etc. . Meanwhile, I am chockers with private students---not strictly legal with my visa---which is giving me valuable insights into the challenges I will face when regular classes start.
One thing I have learned is that I love teaching and another is that Lao students are very rewarding to teach, right up until I realised they will do and say anything to please me, even if they are learning nothing. I have learned to surprise them with questions that are not on the lesson sheet and I have also developed an ability to read their faces and see when they don't actually understand, but aren't admitting it. In the end, as long as they develop some confidence in their abilities and don't say fuck when they mean fork, I will have achieved something.
And as I have learned from Molls and Marion---you get days when you feel as if you are talking to a brick wall, and others when the brick wall answers you and pronounces ''çontinental breakfast' faultlessly. Ah!
I avoid the legal ramifications by not accepting money; instead I am paid in kind---a glorious painting I have long desired from an artist whose students I will teach, lovely temple paintings from my Thai friend A who has a shop, (No, that's his name) and so on. Last night I had several glasses of wine at my friendly wine bar for free since I taught the staff there a few lessons. And so on.

My Visa ....at present is maintained by leaving the country once a month and this time I went to Chiang mai in Thailand and took my son Sommay, who is thrilled to bits to have become an international traveller. Chiang Mai, you can have, as far as I'm concerned. Yes, nice mountains, wonderful temples, great markets, nice people, but dirty and crowded and full of traffic and pollution, not least of which is made up of dissolute fat farang travellers who have lost their way, their razors, and their self-respect, as far as I can tell and do the place very little good except for the call girls and drug dealers.
We did some shopping for various necessities for the house that are much cheaper there and came back a day early, mainly because we had a very exciting pieces of news...the boys were both given places at university!

The Boys.....This was welcome news because they've both been hanging out since August when they took the exams and then waiting to hear as various lists went up and their names were not on them yet. I thought this was odd, knowing how bright Sommay is, but then I discovered
the grim truth, which is that it's not only the bright ones who get in but the ones who are able to pay large bribes to teachers and administrators. There are only 600 places for 2500 applicants and Sommay was loath to tell me that we'd have to pay; instead he spent a lot of time visiting his teacher, doing odd jobs for him, painting a fence, and hoping. In the end we still had to pay, but only after the fact, not in anticipation, which sometimes does not get rewarded or returned.
The teachers, to be fair, are very badly paid, and tuition fees are quite low by comparison to the 'gifts'' one gives, but often the university teachers are merely last year's graduates and still rather wet behind the ears themselves.
Then we had a flurry of haircuts and new shoes and shirts as they need to be neatly groomed to go to uni here, unlike the instant slobdom that our kids adopt.
And Joy needed a motorbike, so that was another loan/gift. But lately he's been a paragon of dutiful employee standards getting up at dawn to climb down to the river bank for bags of soil for my pots and much more.
Overall, they are fine and happy and a delight to live with, as ever.

My Social Life...continues to improve, with invitations to all the right parties and gallery openings. The last one was a magnificent photographic exhibition at the posh hotel, where the air-kissing was frenzied---- both cheeks, as we are part-French here----followed by a wonderful dinner for a select 40 or so people at the magnificent riverside home of the artist, my friend Mimi, catered by her friend and mine, the redoubtable Vonnie. She is the daughter of a general and is a hotelier here. She speaks Chinese, Lao, French and pure San Diego American and is a real treat.
Before that was the White Party at the Pack Luck Wine Bar where we all wore white and celebrated the birthday of big Laurent, who works for the Heritage commission and drives a huge Lee-Enfield motorbike. He lives with the very bright and witty Wei Wei, who is from China and she and I share a love of plants.
And before that was the glittering do at Satri Lao House, the home of Ivan and Lamphone, who are the duke and duchess of Luang Prabang. He has the Apsara (listed in Hip Hotels of the World) and employs me to tutor his staff and she has a posh shop and loves to party. Most attendees at her soirees end up in the pool sooner or later, so one has learned to wear swimmers under one's clothes or at least something that won't be ruined by repeated dousings.
And I finally staged a small event of my own on my little verandah, a mini homage to our legendary Alexandra St. Dos serving , yep, smoked salmon and cream cheese with capers, nuts and crudites all in the glow of a huge number of tea lights. Huge success! I had Vonnie and Mim and the new guys, Chris and Anthony whose shop has just opened and Nith, the artist who is actually a royal and lives partly here and partly in New York and Paris. He's a lovely little man and is also employing me.

My Good Works....Reports from the village I have adopted have been few as they are flat out with the rice harvest and are waiting for the track to dry out after the rains, so we will go up there early inthe new year and see how things are going. My scholarship plans have received a set-back with the death of the dear man who was going to help set it up for me. He was visiting a village upcountry and fell ill, but was too far from medical help to be saved. He was a lovely guy, very gracious and dignified.
I have been busy using my connections to find jobs for various kids, which is very rewarding, and am embarking on a project to trace Sommay's eldest sister who disappeared two years ago, basically taken by a Thai woman as a domestic servant and never heard from since. She had suffered a degree of intellectual impairment after a bout of japanese Encephalitis B so she is a bit helpless. Her husband and children are left feeling totally bewildered and Sommay's mother wept about her missing daughter until the day she died. We think we can trace her if we do some work, and I really feel I must, for the sake of the family.
Meanwhile I am putting together a list of stuff you can provide for those in need here with a smal donation and willpost that soon, rather like the Care Australia Give a Goat for Christmas idea.
And my landlord has been most uncooperative about taking my concerns for the doggies to the village head, but I have been talking it up and my friend Vonnie has agreed to go with me, since she has considerable clout and lives in the same neighbourhood.

My health is fine, I can hear with BOTH ears now, I exist on local food and am having clothes taken in and now that Joy has a motorbike I have taken back the bicycle and am hoping for trimmer calves before too long.

The Garden....is, of course, my real joy and now that we have cleared the rubble out back and the boys have built nice concrete beds, I have a burgeoning crop of veggies that would make even Melinda green---the soil here is fantastic and as long as I control the mealy bugs and the weeds, it's an easy place to garden. My tiny bougainvilleas are now well up over the six foot fence and I've found a village over the river that makes pots and have ten arriving tomorrow---They are literally dirt cheap that way, as long as you don't mind waiting for delivery.

OK, now to post this before the internet signal drops out againand I lose the whole shebang again, then it's cocktail hour here on the misty banks of the Mekong. Sabaidee.