February - March

February continued...

With the end of February came my housemate’s birthday and departure neatly wrapped up into one weekend.  What else could we do but celebrate with a party and… a spot of karaoke.  The latter probably goes without saying as I’m sure that by now you’ve got the gist of how these things work in this part of the world, with the ever-revolving carousel of beer Lao and karaoke.  This party had an added dimension though, just to give it a little twist – a Baci ceremony.  More on that in a while.

We also welcomed a new cohort or volunteers, almost tripling the number of volunteers in country and amongst them is…’The Other Archers Fan’… I’ve searched long and hard over the years to find someone else who listens to the Archers.  Who would have thought I would have to come to Lao to meet one! 

With our continued quest to learn how to cook some Lao dishes, our Lao colleagues offered to show us how to cook a fish & noodle curry that we’d both had at formal parties and wanted to be able to cook back in our respective countries.  I really should have learnt my lesson by now though – never ask what goes in to dishes as your taste buds will become conflicted.  Our colleagues came round in the morning to prepare the dish, and knowing how poorly equipped our kitchen is, they came armed with every ingredient and piece of equipment needed from the fire pots to strainers… and a litre of padek (which you may remember is fermented fish).  Looking on the bright side, they didn’t need the whole bag of padek and we were cooking for 30, so per person it would probably only work out as a teaspoon or two each which is manageable.  You’ll be pleased to know that I probably won’t be recreating this dish back in UK (at least not faithfully), not just because of availability of padek, also as it is the most labour intensive dish, taking several hours for the four of us to prepare it.  I should say though it is still my favourite dish and I haven’t been put off… so long as someone else is preparing it!

The party started with a Baci.  This is a Buddhist ceremony ‘calling of the soul’, I think may be particular to Lao, where the blessings of good luck are given, often for people: leaving, arriving, going to the monastery, getting married, recovering from illness, etc…  An elder community member delivers the blessing to the individual, tying string to their wrist and then guests do the same, until all the string on the pha kwan (floral arrangement) is used, or everyone’s wrists are full.  These ties should then be kept on for at least three days or until they fall off.  So this took place at the start of the party, not really sure what was being said but it was very moving.  Ceremony out of the way, usual proceedings commenced…

So, I lost my lovey housemate, which was a sad moment in my time here.  Still, I now have a bedroom with air-conditioning – every cloud… as they say.

March

Back on the Road

After trying to work out how we (that is my colleague at HJA) could fit in another road trip together before I left, VSO landed us with the perfect opportunity – to assist in some work they needed to carry out in the South of Lao.  So we managed to combine HJA & VSO work together and this time we got to travel in relative luxury, with the VSO truck and a driver – no public transport – hallelujah!  This little luxury meant that we could get to see a little more than with the confines of public buses and no night travelling.

In this week I had the most eye-opening experience of my time here.  (Just as a reminder, the volunteers that we recruit the HJA work in the communities they come from to assist INGOs in their projects.)  After spending the morning carrying out a monitoring & evaluation exercise with one of our INGO partners, we then moved on to speak with one of the communities that our volunteers, past and present, work in.  In this particular case, the volunteers are recruited for their knowledge of the local language, spoken by the Mongkong people of an area in Savannakhet Province.

After waiting for the district government offices to re-open from lunch, we were able to pick up our permission letter and make tracks.  In order to visit a village in this country you are required to obtain a letter authorising your visit, from the government.  This lets the head of the village know that you are there with consent.  From what I understand this used to be imposed on all villages, even those in the city.  So, to put it in perspective, if you lived in Fulham and you wanted to visit your friend who lived across the street but (unfortunately for them) in Chelsea, then you would have needed a letter of permission from your local council.  But now it is only carried out for rural areas, so that’s progress!

The village we travelled to is about 1.5 hours from the district capital, Muangnong (or an hour if you know the road) and in kms it really isn’t too far, as remoteness goes around here, but the road is more of a motorbike track in places.  This particular village is the closest one to the district capital.  Although it doesn't do it justice - the videolink will give you some idea of our journey...

To communicate with the village people we needed one Lao-English speaker and one Lao-Mongkong speaker.  Whilst we have some training on facilitation with a translator, having two translators was a new experience and I was pretty intrigued as to how it was going to work out.  The answer is: surprisingly smoothly.

Arriving in the village we were immediately mobbed by a teem of children intrigued, I have to say, more by the truck than by us and as they don’t speak Lao there wasn’t the customary cry of ‘sabaidee falang’.  In fact I think they were a little awestruck by the whole situation.  One thing that is the same the world over is the basic differences in the genders.  Whilst us girls went to see the weavers working on their looms, accompanied by the girls and women of the village, the boys were drawn, like iron filings to a magnet, to the truck – it’s good to see that no matter what the differences in people, some elements will always remain constant.

So, once we found a suitable meeting room – a reasonably level piece of land under the shade of a tree – the mat was laid down and we got started.  They meeting was to get feedback on the value of the work our volunteers carry out in the community and was with the village leaders and the senior women in the village….and all the other adults…..and the children….maybe a few dogs as well.  All seemed to be welcome.  Which was a good thing as, after all, we were discussing the community as a whole and with a little encouragement we managed to get the senior women to contribute to the discussion.

In this village only some of the men speak Lao.  Whilst we were talking to them to see if the women would be interested in being HJA volunteers, we came up with their biggest obstacle.  The women don’t speak Lao and many of them have never left the village.  Because of this, they are too scared to go to Muangnong let along to bright lights of Vientiane, which they would need to do for training.  With access to education limited to primary years 1-4 (complete primary is 1-5) then this is unlikely to change anytime soon.  It does make me wonder, when statistics are quoted on the increase in access to primary education how it is never indicated if this is in part or full.  Not sure I’ll ever know the answer to that one.  I can’t imagine how it feels being so cut off from the wider province, let alone country.  In the work that is done to try to empower marginalised people to make a better life for themselves one question sprang to mind after this visit.  Notwithstanding access to medical services, education and a secure livelihood, which should be a minimum standard for all people, are they happy as they are?  And if so, should we really be trying to change them?  Perhaps The Kingdom of Bhutan have it right, with their use of Gross National Happiness as a measure of quality of life.  It can’t be any more useless than using GDP with its inherent flaws, surely.

So, after the formalities, the discussion turned into general chitchat – you know the usual things: where are you from, how old are you, are you married.  On hearing my answers to their questions - through two translations - I was delighted to be informed that, had I been from their village I would be a grandmother by now.  Now that was certainly food for thought!

On the return journey, having previously played a Lao music CD to death, we turned to the only other CD in the truck – Bach.  Whilst a little surreal to have Bach playing whilst 4WDing on a dirt track, it was actually quite appropriate, especially reflecting on the preceding hour or so in the village.  I will always be grateful to the villagers for giving up their time to answer our questions.  I only hope that, in return for their kindness, we can use the information to their benefit.  Somehow.

All in all the afternoon was both rewarding and humbling, tinged with a sense of helplessness.

The next few days were filled with organising meetings that we’d thought had already been agreed, cutting through the pile of red tape that is government bureaucracy, chasing missing faxes and endless phone calls.  To get through the bureaucracy you have to tiptoe round speaking to the right people, in the right order.  To add to the challenge, as the meeting locations were half a day's drive apart we had to second guess what day and time each would be likely to take place so that we could strategically place ourselves in a hotel, avoiding the yo-yo effect.

It was a miracle that any of the meetings we’d travelled across the country for took place at all, but as I have worked out is typical for Lao, things always work out in the end.

Thankfully mobile phones are in abundance here and (assuming you have the right sim card to get signal in the area you’re in) they are the saving grace of communications here in Lao.  E-mail is still in its infancy and very few organisations have e-mail systems, including most government offices.  With no door-to-door postal service there is a heavy reliance on faxes and it took me back almost a couple of decades to and memories of the unreliability of faxes.  

While I was in the South I took the opportunity to take some time off and go and explore for a few days.  My colleagues started the 12 hour journey back to the City and I headed off to Paksong in the Bolaven Plateau – the heart of the coffee growing region.  I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker in England, but I have definitely come to appreciate it out here.  I’m not sure though if it is the coffee or the condensed milk it’s served with that I have a penchant for.  As we journeyed down to the South with every stopover the coffee just got better as we go closer to the Plateau and I spent a few days really looking forward to breakfasts of noodle soup (which is nicer in the South as I am able to identify all the animal parts in it) and Lao coffee.

Paksong is a small quiet town, with a few guesthouses and little sign of the coffee industry surrounding it.  There is only one Falang living in the town – aptly named Koffie - who has his own organic coffee farm & cafe and so naturally I headed straight to his place to for, well a coffee.  After a walk round his farm (I can now tell the difference between Arabica and Robusta plants and I probably know enough about the planting season to set myself up a smallholding) I managed to begin to get a bit more of an understanding of why coffee is Lao’s best kept secret.  In a nutshell, small scale coffee farms are incredibly labour intensive and it takes a few years before coffee yields are high enough to warrant production costs.  Due to legal restrictions, although there are many small organic farms they are not able to sell their products as organic and therefore cannot get same prices as those from the large scale plantations.  While I was in town I heard that, with the help of the German government on the legalities, the local farmers had just received permission to set up as a co-operation, which now means they can formally sell the coffee and under the organic label.  This is a big breakthrough for the families involved and will make some difference to their incomes, it is incredible though that it takes foreign intervention to make this happen and perhaps without the resident Falang pushing it through on behalf of the local families, it would never have even been considered a possibility.  

After a week off driving, eating and sitting in meetings, I decided to do the one thing that I have done very little of over the last six months – walk.  It’s not that I have been spectacularly lazy since I’ve been here, it’s just that my bike is a car replacement and I don’t even go to the local shops without it.  Taking it easy to start with, I decided just to do a short 10 km walk (not least because I had no sunscreen or proper footwear) just as a warm up for the next day’s activities.  As there is only ever one road to follow, even I couldn’t get lost this time.  Enjoying my freedom from the confines of the truck, I merrily refused the offers of a lift on the back of passing bikes on my return journey, which in hindsight may have been a bit too hasty given the blisters I was beginning to cultivate.

Lao is renowned for two things – temples and waterfalls – and it is hard to travel anywhere without seeing one or t’other.  Temples I’ve seen plenty of but after almost 5 months I was yet to visit a single waterfall.  I’ve been taking the view that as it’s dry season there’s no guarantee that there is water in them and would hate to make all the effort just to be disappointed.  Anyway, I was assured that Tad Yuang was full so the following day I headed off there.  With the waterfall being 12 km away and transport a scarcity I decided (and quite wisely, as it turned out) to get a songtheaw there and to save my poorly feet for the return journey.  I know this is no great distance, but being poorly quipped as I was it may as well have been 120 km.

After a few hours sitting in quiet contemplation at the bottom of Tad Yuang it was time start the uphill journey back to Paksong, praying that I could get a lift back at least part of the way.  Given the offers of lifts the previous day, my hopes were high.  Oh, how foolish!  I should also point out that, whilst my fellow volunteers back in Vientiane were hibernating from a five day long rainstorm, I’d been enjoying clear skies and unseasonably high temperatures.  (Which goes to show that wherever you are the North is grim and the South is sunny!)

After a few kilometres a songtheaw did pass me…and kept going.  Although it did look full-to-bursting had I been Lao I think they would have crowbarred me in.  That said, I think there is a secret code in getting songtheaw to stop and where to strategically place yourself to effect this and you would need to be native to Lao to understand this – it’s all part of the hidden culture VSO speak of so much! 

Continuing on my way the passing Songtheaw appeared on the horizon as it took a long stop to unload the goods passengers were bringing back from the market in Pakse, 40km back down the road.  So as I walked closer to it I prayed that there were still more bags to unload and was dismayed when I saw the driver climb back into his cab and go on his way.  Still, I may have been burning to a cinder and swelling up in the heat, but I wasn’t defeated.  The second time I saw the Songtheaw (which I was beginning to realise was my last vestige of hope as the service from Pakse stops early in the day) I, again, said a small prayer and quickened my pace, blisters permitting.  Only for history to repeat itself and for my crest to became well and truly fallen.  After about 6km I finally caught up with the ever slowing-songtheaw, hopped on the back and rested.  Then something happened which is pretty well unheard of for a Falang in Lao.  Possibly by my amusing the driver and passengers by the fact that I could ‘wao pasa Lao noy nung’ the driver didn’t charge me for the journey.  Possibly the first and last time this will happen and will go down in my memory as a very welcome act of kindness.

To fly or not to fly

Due to time constraints, I decided to risk it and make the return journey by plane.  The infamous Lao Airlines.  Lao is renowned for low road safety standards and the same applies to sky travel. 

Pakse airport is easy – there’s just the one gate so know problem finding your way.  Checking out the flight schedule beforehand I had some peace of mind as the plane was going to be one of the four French aircraft that was donated to the country, which has a perfect safety record.  As it turned out the plane was one of the ancient Chinese fleet donated some years prior to the French.  In Lao anything that comes out of China is cheap and liable to break after a few uses.  I could only pray that the same logic wasn’t about to apply here.  I should say (before my parents have apoplexy) there hasn’t been an aircrash for a number of years with this model of plane and I suspect that, as is usually the case, bad news has stuck.  Nevertheless, after getting on the plane I said a quick prayer to St Christopher and hoped that the elastic band was wound up tight enough to propel the plane to Vientiane in one go.  Flying over the Mekong with its islands and giant gold Buddha status glistening soon took my mind off of the plane, or at least as much as stunning scenery can make you forget the propeller blade creaking away just the other side of the window to me. Still, Lao is looking to introduce jet engines in the near future.  So that’s progress. 

As Lao is so underdeveloped there are many gaps in the market ripe for filling and barely a week will go past when a potential market emerges.  It does seem though that the gap in the market for airline food product has been taken.  I was intrigued to see what was in the food box and expecting something a little bit Lao.  So I was quite surprised to see a frankfurter in a bun.  Not typical Lao cuisine and not something I’ve seen in the last five months.  Looks like Herta beat me to that one!

As a post script to a previous posting about the survival of the village I live in, it has now been announced that the government will be knocking it down this month to make way for accommodation for visiting dignatories, for an international meeting taking place in Vientiane next year.  We're just waiting for the demolition order...  This was one prediction that I wish I had been proven wrong over - the only thing I was wrong on was the speed of its demise.