Bladder Hell - Neil

The air conditioner is losing the battle with the sunshine and body heat creating a glassed-in sauna for the 30 of us suffering on this 10 hour “VIP” bus ride from Luang Prabang to Vientienne. Lush panoramic views of jungle and blue skies dotted with cotton-puff clouds and waterfalls taunt those of us trapped in the convection oven. My bladder is inconsolate. The bus yaws and pitches and rolls about like a mechanical bull pitching our anatomies and jostling all the fluid in us that hasn’t already turned to sticky sweat. The harmonics of the bus set up no soothing rhythm. No comfort or pleasure that might be found on the back of a galloping horse or the cadence of a train. Instead dissonance prevails – bones are jarred, the head is rocked about, and my bladder is squashed and pressed on every inopportune bounce. The onboard bathroom, which one of the passengers now staggers towards, is only a different type of sensory torture. One man pitches down the stairs towards it as the bus lurches. On the previous 4 hour stint I myself braved that bathroom journey and stench. Standing , as men often do, I found continence had gripped me. One needs safety – a calm moment for the body to relax and let the fluids flow, and with my head banging into the 10” too-low ceiling and the bus lurching me about from side to side that calm, reflective moment never came . I lowered the toilet seat which slid off the perch as the hinges had long since rusted through. Replacing it I eventually eeked out the contents of my wary bladder, but by then my stomach was churning with nausea from riding backwards in this smelly cubical. So now I sit – inwardly peevish, outwardly stoic. Asking the childhood question “ARE WE THERE YET?” I check my watch again – surely there is only a little more to endure. Sadly only ten minutes have passed since last check. Five more hours to go.


Eplilogue: We reached the guesthouse and both of us were pleased with our clean Western style non-lurching toilet. h

Quite a trek, now packing up to move along

Here’s a quick from update as we’re soon to be in-transit here out of Muang Sing; we're busily recovering from our trek and shedding our “sorta household” we’ve collected here so as to be ready to leave Friday morning.

We had our 3-night, 2-day trek on Saturday, Sunday, Monday. A tough trek, both physically and mentally, we definitely got “off the beaten-path!”, and overall successful. Here were the highlights:

· A beautiful blessing ceremony in the little village of Ban Sai, at the corner of the Mekong River and Nam Soh River, looking west into Myanmar. The four big-men of the village including the chief—all apparently thoughtful, serious, considerate, careful, responsible, family men—each came around and tied little strings around our wrists while very respectfully chanting blessings about our good journey and good health, and then drank lots of lao lao (rice whiskey) on our behalf. The ceremony was in the home a very kind family where we slept, they were so careful and eager to make us comfortable, with many smiles, veggie food (bamboo shoot/chili soup, egg and rice nicely laid out in clean dishes on a banana-leaf-lined little bamboo table), and clean, comfy beds, and gentle massages for our exhausted bodies by beautifully dressed Tai-Lu young women from the village.

· Bathing in the smaller river, including being joined by 5-6 young boy monks; though I still haven’t mastered bathing gracefully in a sarong. Feeling clean was awesome, woulda’ done it with the whole village watching if I had to. The river was fast, cool, perfectly-sized, with lots of rocks to make for non-muddy bathing.

· Though miserable, the fact that it rained on us much of the second day was also a blessing as it kept us from getting hot as we trudged up from the Mekong thru beautiful views, rice fields (lined with cucumber vines, pumpkin vines, sesame plants, etc.)—up a 1500-meter high mountain, then back down, then back up—finally reaching Ban Eurla (an Akha village) for our second night.

· Though not necessarily pleasant, we had many observations of how challenged this village is—school building run down, teacher “not yet arrived” (empty house also waiting for him/her). What seems dirtiness to us—the village itself, the homes (at least where we stayed), the dishes, the furniture, the children. Lucky for this village, their water at least seems pretty clean from a village stream. Chief was away on business, we were hosted by his family including his very-addicted father (we think?), and kid-brother (16 years old—and one of the very few in the village who speaks Lao). Are the challenges because of Akha culture? Poverty? A dysfunctional chief’s family? Bad air from Vientianne (300 miles south), as one family believes and shared with us? Or perhaps not enough sacrificed chickens, pigs, cows, water buffalo? Or the secret war that pillaged this country 30 years ago in the USA’s seemingly-ill-advised effort to combat the Red Threat? Or the opium that has been, in some way, a focus of political and economic attention in this region for centuries? Or just “fate”? Who knows . . . regardless of causal elements, depressing.

· Again—bathing at the stream, this time under the bamboo aqueduct (powerful force!!). Then dry clothes (woo-hoo!!) and warming up/drying off by the cozy fire in the Naiban’s house.

· Baby dogs, baby pigs, baby cats, baby pigs, baby chickens, baby humans, exuberant children, lots of swings erected—seemingly one of the bigger past-times for kids and adults. And a way to be out of the collective mud/poop/garbage/run-off of the village. . .

· Hearing the story of the addicted man—despite his condition (which is how it seems to be viewed), he is seemingly an influential man in the village. A former soldier who was injured by a land mine with a long scar on his leg to prove it, he gets K400,000 ($50) /month, allowing him to support his habit and his large family of two wives and nine children in style in the village and also to have his opium without police interference (despite no school for his children). His two wives were among the most dignified beautiful grandmothers, with lots of smiles, laughter, tolerance for the children (including lots of pee puddles). Then having a very PAINFUL massage by the chief's bare-breasted daughter, a 20-year-old mother of two with quite a grip.

· That the mother of the sick baby trusted us enough and was able to comfortably decide to come with us even without her husband to consult with. Observing her beautiful smile for the baby, her tender care of him, and her uncomplaining perseverance as she carried the child 5 hours on foot, and held him for 5 hours in a tractor ride—including pre-chewing his rice, breast-feeding while hiking (!!), and giving him water out of the grubby-soda-bottle-turned-water-bottle cap.

· That the 16-year-old brother who also came with us survived the hike without incident despite his respiratory infection—causing difficulty breathing, lots of coughing and hawking (a farovite national past time even in normal times). Plus sore toes from his flip flops (eventually opting for barefoot and then Neil’s Teva’s—which he swam in but which protected his feet).

· Not a positive highlight, but we all were tasty to the leeches—I think only Neil and I were persistently grossed-out by them. We pulled off probably 20-30 of them from our shoes, socks, legs, feet, of which 5-6 had managed to connect to Neil (none to me). We’ve finally found the critter that likes Neil’s blood better than mine!!

· Imagining seeing the town thru the eyes of mom and brother, as we approached the Muang Sing valley at tractor-speed from high in the mountains, and increasingly saw bicycles, trucks, shops, lights, televisions in the shop fronts, and finally the very-bright-lights of the white-tiled hospital. With a television in the waiting room.

· On arrival at the hospital here in Muang Sing, quick attention by the medical team. Although a very scant exam, within an hour they’d given the baby oral antibiotics, and anti-allergenic/anti-itch/sedative, and multivitamins. And started an IV drip plus IV-push antibiotics on the boy. Our guide, Ko, pictured here in the hospital with Neil, helped us to ensure the family was well-settled. Most poignant moment was when the staff asked mom to remove the baby’s beautiful hat. I had noted that she carefully kept the baby’s head covered even the evening before in the village, so had a gut feeling that what was under the hat wasn’t good. Indeed. Lots of impressive scabs and sores on the baby’s head—leading both mother and brother to tears.

And yes, it was very good, finally around 8:30pm, to eat a large bowl of noodle/egg/tomato/peanut soup made by the lovely, gracious Chinese lady who gets that we’re vegetarian and lets us come into her kitchen and select our ingredients every time we eat there. Plus lots of cold Fanta and water. And then home to the guest house for long hot showers, clean clothes, and “our own” (well, sorta) bed.

Friday morning we’ll be taken to the bus station around 7am by some of the young people Neil’s been working with. Quite a send-off it’ll be, I think. Love to all, we’re getting a lot of it here.

Trekking in Xieng Khaeng, Lao

We trekked for 3 days and visited 6 villages in the Golden Triangle region – along the border of Burma and Lao and China – a formerly predominantly-opium-growing region.

We visited a Tai-Lu village and 5 Akha villages. The Akha are arguably the poorest ethnic group in Lao not only economically, but educationally and in health. Betal nut has rotted out the teeth of successive generations, and the villages we visited were often in poor repair, without latrines, strewn with trash, littered with children, lacking school teachers (or schools), and the walking surface made up of the ubiquitous red mud mixed with dog, water buffalo, cow, pig, and chicken poop.

The engineer in me says – “We can divert this water, and channel it so it doesn’t erode your village. We can arrange all these rocks and stones to make paths and stairs and walls that the rain won’t wash away.”

The teacher in me says – “You have a school building and older adults and some children who know the Lao language – go to the school and set up a program using your community resources rather than just hope the teacher shows up. Maybe I could be a teacher here and help transform the village.”

The cynic in me says – “The village is doomed. Give up and move out. The kids have little future. The headman is an addict. Chairman Mao was right – the country people are bumpkins who need modernization - out with the old, in with the new.”

The anthropologist in me says – “The pride of the women in their stunning headdresses, the ability of the people to live from the land, the language and ancient ways make our world richer.”
The traveller in me says – “Been there, seen that, glad to be moving on.”

The philanthropist in me says – “I can save this baby’s life for somewhere between $5 and $100. Why am I traveling if I could use the money to help 1000 other babies? What is the right balance between “heart” and “head” giving? Triple my money to Operation Smile. Give to Health Frontiers. Ask other people I know to give.”

The coward in me says – “It is too hard, too complex, too entrenched to tackle. You don’t speak the language. You aren’t rich. You don’t know the nuances. It should really be one of their own to step up.”

So how should we live. Unaware? Guiltily? Generously? Simply?

The human in me said – “Bring the sick baby back to the hospital. If she was your baby you would unquestionably.”

Yvette and I brought back a family with us to the hospital. 9 hours of travel from her village. The baby’s hand and ear and head were encrusted with bloody scabs. The parents had asked if we could help. They spoke of bad air coming from the big city and making them sick. The father left early in the morning to sacrifice a chicken. The mother decided eventually to come with us, even though she couldn’t confer with him.

The advocate in me says to you – “Get involved – beyond girl-scouts and PTA and church. Become doctors, learn languages, become ambassadors for a more equitable planet and use your skills and $$ and time to make it so.”

Chickens Crossing, Playing Chicken and Pondering Why

Today chickens are crossing the road - playing chicken with my bicycle, and I am left to ponder why. Despite the roosters many crows claiming it was all about them, my observations suggest otherwise that just as often Ms. Chicken is crossing away from one rooster and there just happens to be another on the other side thinking it was attraction that brought her rather than avoidance.

In addition to our thoughts on Chickens Yvette and I penned a few lines over the last few days. Yvette thinks I should ask the question, not "Why did the chicken cross the road?" but How.... This after two chickens came flying across (gracefully as only chickens can be) our path on our way home from a waterfall that we sought out and found today...

Night

by Neil
Our bicycles parked, we stand on the blacktop under the Laotian sky – the Asian sky – the Earth Sky
The Big Dipper is here, an old friend far from home
The contrast of the sky magnified - brighter AND darker
Moon, stars and lightning coexist
The clouds wisp about the moon like a closer swirl of the Milky Way
The lightning adds drama at the fringes on the low clouds over the surrounding hills
A tractor putters by with a handheld flashlight for a headlight
The light swivels to our faces, surprised by Americans in the blackness, in the starlight, in the lightning, in the cicada song and the croaks of night

Web of Travelers
By Yvette
Polish, Finnish, Chinese, Japanese, French, Korean, American
Or combinations of these, each made up of where they’ve been
Joined by this thing called travel, a role, a pigeon box to be put in,
(What are you doing here? Ah, you’re tourists.)
Evoking Marco Polo, Gulliver, Canterbury, Mecca.
People identified as “that French couple,” or “those Finnish guys,”
If something happened to them, might I be one to speak to their families?
“We saw them last in the back of a tuk tuk on the way to . . .”
Wanderlust, restlessness, grunginess, discovery, brief connections, disconnection.

Scram Bled Eggs and Other Pleasures of the Road and the Dark Side of Familiarity

by Neil

Satisfaction
The rainbows kissing the rice fields, butterflies dancing on the air currents, broods of chicks and ducks exploring the scratches of in the dirt and rivulets in the dikes, smiling babies, silver clad headdresses, wise weathered faces, the tidy compound by the river – surrounded by grass and tended by a grandmother with a young one on her hip, created wind by the bicycles speed, diligent students with an eagerness for more, Coldplay and U2 and Rufus played on the tinny speakers of our lugged laptop, eggplant jhao, mangos and sticky rice, bananas, fans, showers, smiles, glimpses of culture, saffron robes, expansive moody skies

Dissatisfaction

Trash thrown from the bus –the shop – the house - everywhere, hawking and spitting, cow and dog shit, dental work gone amiss and without, the rubber trees, the squalid toilets, ants, the hack job of pruning trees, the administrators dirt bowling while their buildings crumble, the males standing around smoking while the women work, the aimless teenagers cruising about, and the amateur-hour plumbing jobs, the diesel spewing tractors and trucks, the one same unimaginative menu in every restaurant, the indignity of beggars and hangers-on at the market, the apathy of many, the beer industry, suffering and addiction, cruelty of boys – boxing ears, jabbing each other in the butt, pushing and shoving to get their way

Home is where you hang your toothbrush holder . . .

Well, we’re now about 10 days into our stay in Muang Sing. How to describe this little town?

Great market, with lots of veggies (critically—onions, garlic, potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, cabbage, cucumbers), herbs (some known and some not—galangal, lemongrass, cilantro, parsley), plus chickens/ducks (live or not, with feet hanging out, and being carried about by feet or in “chicken purses”—I heard a quack and thought “oh, that person has a duck in their bag” but indeed the bag was the duck, just protesting being carried in an undignified manner), plus live eels swimming about in plastic bins, lots of noodles (dried or being “scissor-cut” from larger-than-lasagna-like sheets that have been folded for easy cutting), some fruit (rambuttans, oranges, semi-flavorless mangoes due to season, oranges, few pineapple, some bananas, rare pineapple, few and somewhat flavorless apples, grapes, peaches, plums). Nextdoor a “mall” of sorts (big u-shaped building with lots of shops and a u-shaped interior corridor, all shops with garage-door sorts of openings), housing stacks of clothes, or Chinese plastics, or wash basins, rice cookers, woks up to 3-feet across, hoe or shovel heads, pesticide sprayers, cell phones, various sugarized drinks (we like the mango, tamarind, yogurt drinks and occasionally soy milk boxes) and “popped candy” or shrimp-flavored snacks, palm oil, fish sauce, chili sauce, polyester clothes or bedding . . . quite a place!!

We’re surrounded by beauty . . . we’re in a very wide valley, surrounded on 3 sides by hills that are moody, surreal, often cloud or mist-covered. It’s rainy season which means green-ness is all around, also means that at least we can’t predict the weather. Our first few days here were very rainy, perfect for the poetry I’m intending to write. The hills are covered with quilt-patterns of plantations, either “upland rice” (which doesn’t have flat, water-filled terraces but instead can grow on steep fields), or more often rubber plantations.

The weather’s good . . . mid-day is warm and certainly in the sun is downright hot, but mornings and evenings are cool. If you move around you get sticky, but after a shower lying still you’re cool. Fortunately for us the bugs are also relatively few. Our guesthouse is screened to keep out the biggies / baddies, the little black gnats still get thru so we leave the light mostly off above our bed. The idea of them makes us itchy but I don’t really think they bite much.

And we’ve made several friends . . . We've met some fabulous folks who are here doing local NGO work--and who know people we know! There's a couple named Brian and Laila from Santa Barbara, CA. They’re here doing very "off-the-beaten-path" health development work, and have a kids play / development time every afternoon, 4-6pm that Neil has quickly gotten involved in. She practiced for years as a pediatrician in the US, and he's a photographer by trade, now her right-hand man in health / development work. Also have met a German woman, Ingrid, working here for GTZ (the German govt-related NGO / bilateral group) on agricultural development with the ethnic hill tribes, around livestock development. Also have met a Chinese woman, Yunxi, who's getting her PhD in anthropology from a univ in Australia, by studying the Akha ethnic tribe (effect of rubber plantations on them), which shares ethnic heritage with her own ethnicity--the Hani people of China who Neil so enjoyed visiting a couple of years ago.

We've had some trouble finding a place to live. We were all set to move in with Yunxi as she has a big house (WITH kitchen and bath which seems to be the stickler here) and was happy to share, but then we got into a complicated negotiation translated with 3 separate languages involved, with her landlord, a policeman who lives right next door. It was clear the idea made him very nervous, they were worried for her safety, for their liability, for lots of things. (At one point Yunxi said something like, “so let’s speak frankly—in the worst case scenario if they killed me, he’s worried about something like that?” and everyone chuckled nervously.) We finally gracefully backed out which made everyone much more comfortable and we all remain friends. I bought two small pillows from the policeman’s wife a few days ago, and also visited with his brother-in-law (who speaks English) a bit. I was concerned we would jeopardize Yungxi's relationships with them, which wouldn't be good as she needs to stay and do her research for months to come, yet. Anyway, so we've finally made a 3-week agreement with the owner of Chan Thimeng guest house, a very beautiful concrete two-story building in a beautiful, quiet part of town that overlooks stunning rice fields, is quiet and breezy and cool. Has a beautiful terrace. And importantly, is far away and pointed the opposite direction from the town loudspeakers which seem to include news and nationalistic music from about 6:30-8:30am and Buddhist chants in the early evening. And they've agreed to let us set up our electric wok, rice cooker, and dish basin (no running water near the cooking area, just work with a basin). So we’ve bought our cooking appliances and a few basics and some food. Nga, the young woman who runs the guest house, is very helpful and friendly. We’re exchanging light coaching on how to pronounce numbers (she in English, me in Laos—I’d never thought about how subtle the difference between 30 and 13 is. . . ).
There's also a very nice man named Pohon whose family has a restaurant overlooking the rice fields, and who runs tours/treks up to the ethnic hill tribe areas. We've been helping him with the English for some of his displays about his tours, and in return have had several yummy veggie lunches. He speaks English and seems like a nice, good, hard-working family man. They also run an "herbal massage and sauna" business--though I for one can't imagine going into a sauna most of the time here. Neil and Pohon together built us a wood / bamboo shelf so we can hang our clothes and feel less like we’re living out of our suitcases. Quite the lovely piece of furniture!! Note the instructions from the local tourist office / and police / and management unit, these are the “guest house rules” that are the same in each guest house, which addresses things like “be in by 10pm” and no prostitutes or drugs. We've bought bikes (which we're enjoying very much!) and Neil collaborated with a nearby mechanic to weld an extension to the "post" so his seat is a good 4-6" higher than other bikes in town, making his knees much less sore!

As we've met especially the NGO expats who live here, and described that we want to live here for a month just "to be and to see", we got looks that I imagine we'd have given people when we lived in Juba, Sudan, if they said they just wanted to live local. Like: "Why did you pick here? What are you going to DO?" I feel self-conscious to sit and read my book / write my poems when there truly is poverty and need around and I see NGO folks working their 14-hr (or even 6-hr) days in demanding conditions. Hmm. Were we silly to try this here? I feel that we’ve probably picked a harder / poorer place than we realized initially. I do feel self-absorbed to sit here cool in my tidy little guest house room while farmers till their fields outside despite leeches, snakes, bugs, hot sun, etc.,--even the government workers here reportedly make $40/month so supplement with farming or other things. Neil commented that I’m a bit self-absorbed with my self-absorption—hmm, that’s a bit of a twister!! But I am doing a lot of reflective thinking about how best to spend my time here, and also how I want to spend the rest of our year after we leave Muang Sing. Seems that doing a sabbatical “well” is a bit tricky. I see in myself and I’ve seen in a few colleagues on sabbatical recently, a restlessness, unsureness re: what to do with oneself, etc. It really does seem to be an unnatural way to live, not to have daily work. Plus, I fear I’ve become a bit of a “city girl” and perhaps even in a US town this size, would have trouble finding enough to do.

So . . . on the good side, it's not too hot, the people are friendly, we've made friends here both expat and local, we’re both healthy so far, the market has a-plenty (only thing we're lacking is good bread and a place that has cheaper ice cream, so far have only found that at one of the guest houses in town for a whole 50cents per ice cream bar, which amazingly feels expensive. :-) ), there are many cute baby animals around, we have a comfy, clean place to sleep at night, and the pace of life here truly is slow. Really, our troubles are few.

On the other- (I hesitate to say down-) side, we don't have our own house, it's a little "tougher living" here than we thought, and the need nearby makes one self-conscious about being too pamper-ey or even leisurely with one's time. We have to leave Laos to get our visa renewed as of Sept 12, and I think it's unlikely that we're return to Muang Sing, though we may come back to check out other parts of Laos, not sure. Anyway, we've negotiated to stay here until then, so it will be nice to do less "logistics" and more other stuff like writing and reading over the next few days. For me, part of it will be determining some of my personal objectives for this year--as Yunxi my Chinese friend here said, "oh, you're such an NGO person!!" when I told her that. Yup, guilty as accused. It will be nice to get into a bit more of a rhythm as so far it's felt like moving around, getting settled, making decisions, etc. I've found myself having reactions I recognize as "missionary wife-ish" like when Neil throws my pillow on the floor to sit on, or BRINGS a gecko into the room to show me, but then it gets loose, or my custard apple is covered with little tiny, white, pill-bug-like creatures which I attempt to eat around, or I just really would love some fresh orange juice or whatever. Ha!! Have seen that and felt it before in other settings! I'm trying to be "zen" and be "above" needing to control my surroundings. And feel okay about the fact that I do love a cool shower, feeling clean and not sticky in the middle of a warm day. Ah well.

Yvette and I have wonted to write a bit of poetry and impose some more discipline on ourselves. Yesterday morning we headed out for a longer bike ride and an early start, but this morning we just lay in bed sleeping in, finally rousing ourselves to pen a few lines of poetry:

Sweat - the lubricant and the adhesive
by Neil
It beads on my forehead and carries the day’s dust into my eyes
My soaker hose arms pop out small beads which merge into pools and then an even gloss
My shirt clings to me now, becoming a second sheer sticky skin
Another loosed button invites cooling, but evaporation and humidity are equally matched in this moisture war
I envision a not too far moment of comingled sweat as our bodies slip together
The coolness of a breeze mixed with the heat of passion
But my visions are for the younger - the infatuated
Comfortable reality calls for a shower


Bangkok Monsoon Season
by Yvette
Stinky sauna, sweat seeping into and out of one’s skin
Slippery sidewalks, stones setting sideways, shifting
Storm water rushing, gushing, supplanting sewer smells.

Picks and Pans: Bugs, Kids, Anniversary, Market

Outside our room we witnessed an insect war. A stealthy praying mantis had his eye on a bumbling cicada twice his heft in weight. Slowly the mantis worked his way across the 20” gap between them, moving one of its 6 legs at a time, testing the woven bamboo surface for a gap to secure its footing. After several minutes it was 3 inches away. We watched it strike at the cicada, but the cicada slipped its grasp and flew about as though blind – bumping into the ceiling, walls and the lamp’s two guardian geckos in a buzzing frenzy. The geckos retreated to the shadows, but the mantis waited and the cicada landed again near the light. Again the mantis worked its way slowly across the ceiling to the new battle ground. By now 4 of us were watching the action from below. Finally the mantis lunged and grabbed the cicada. They fell to the floor and for a second or two it looked as though the mantis had a supper snack, but the cicada buzzed free and bumped again into everything on its way back to the light. I retired, for the night as the mantis was climbing its way back up the wall towards the arena.

I am volunteering ~5 times a week at Bryan and Lyla’s house were 20 – 30 children descend every afternoon between 4 and 6 p.m. Bryan and Lyla are an American couple who have lived in worked in Lao since 2001 predominately with pediatric medical training and with youth. I am missing all my resources that I had in Seattle. I bought 40 small composition books for students to be able to take notes in, and am working to balance my time between writing, reading and speaking. O-ba-ma, ba-na-na, ma-ma, so-da, no, so, ha-ha, he-he, cat, bat, fat, rat, hat, sat… are some of the words kids are starting to be able to decode on their own. Of course the trouble with English is all the exceptions, but for now - to (toe) and do (dough) rhyme with no and so - as I try to get them to recognize the predominant patterns. Some of the best English speakers are 4 girls who work in a shop selling textiles to tourists. Yvette bought a skirt from them on our first day, and I had taken one of their pictures at the time.

Our 14th anniversary was on the 20th, and we have now settled into a guesthouse for the duration of our time in this village. We have set up a cooking area in the communal space (but as we have the run of the place it is really our space). We bought a small rice cooker, an electric wok, a mortar and pestle, a large knife and a cutting board. For our anniversary we cooked Thai but had to substitute peanuts for cashews as we couldn’t find those anywhere. We also got a movie from our personal Blockbuster – YungXi – a Chinese graduate student who we almost ended up renting part of her house from. We watched The Reader which intermittently said “Property of the Weinstein company – do not copy” so we didn’t make a copy of it. The Chinese copies of DVD’s are much higher quality than the Thai or Lao ones. Those ones none of the submenus work (although the ones I saw in Thailand did fit 4 movies onto one DVD).

The market here is sizeable, but filled with so much of the same junk that is a bit futile to keep moving from shop to shop. We bought a kilo of salt because we couldn’t find any small sizes, no one had anything except palm oil, no sesame seeds – not in season, but we can ask a truck to bring them from China, no nuts except peanuts. Occasionally we find something unique: the one store with breadboards and one store that has sponges with green scrubbers…