Bye

See you later mystery internet friends. Give me a shout if you still want to hang out.

No News to News You With

lol Cute Puppy!

Mr. Butterfly

He looked up at me from the street by the bus station as I was walking back to my hostel. I had just spent the afternoon at COPE, an exhibition which gave me a whole new perspective on the strength of Laos people, just in the fact that they can still smile when their kids are getting blown up by unexploded cluster bombs in the jungle. Much more on COPE soon. http://www.copelaos.org/

He had an elegant grey moustache that ended in waxed curls at the ends. He smiled at me with one tooth and “Hey! You want drink with us?” “Wow, thank you very much,” I said, sitting down at the table on a low stool, feeling a little out of place in my frilly floral dress and polka dot sun hat. A man with a large square face offered me a large chunk of red-purple meat-looking matter on a toothpick. I smiled politely and ate it, and the whole table laughed at me. It was very soft and tasted like pennies.

They were all motorcycle taxi and tuk-tuk drivers. Butterfly spoke the best English. A man who communicated only with sweeping hand gestures since losing his voice gave me a small taste of Lao Lao to wash down the taste of whatever I'd just eaten. Lao Lao is fluorescent and delicious. The men took shots in turn, round and round the table. Five glasses later and we were all in fits of laughter. We ordered another bottle, and 5000 kip (20 baht, or 50p, or 75 cents) got us a glass Fanta bottle filled to the top, funnelled from a big jug by a tired-looking old woman. Clearly we were celebrating something.

Another plate of food arrived, though it was getting difficult to see in the dusk under the streetlamp. I could make out the glistening blue-grey tubes of pig intestine, which I had tried with Zippy in Chang Kong just after Christmas. Resiliently rubbery, fatty, pork flavour. Among the other shapes on the plate were generous slices of blood sausage, and more of the quivering red-purple block. Chilli sauce on the side.

A few people left, and the man with no voice was making gestures of “you” “me” “heart” “together” “good” so I decided to leave them to the rest of their evening. Butterfly gave me his contact number and he said he would take me out the next day.

We drove down to That Dam and had a big Beer Lao next to a blackened stupa that is said to house a demon who was captured and imprisoned 1000 years ago. Seems a little irrisponsible to keep a demon locked in the middle of the capital city, but it looks pretty secure.

Butterfly, or Papillon, or two other names he used to have, was a business man in Paris. He met a woman and they had a kid, but he came back to Laos after he was born. He is estranged from his family in Laos, vaguely referring to mental health problems, and now he sleeps behind the motorbike shop. He has a dragon tattoo winding up each arm, the heads meeting at his collarbone. He has them for protection. 

“Are you Buddhist?” I ask, having seen the stone serpents guarding the stairway entrance to temples.

“Yes I am Buddhist.”

“So what temple do you go to?”

He pauses only for a moment. “I don't go to temple, I never go there. I live every day Buddhism, in my heart I am clear, I don't go this way or that way, I stay direct.”

We get into discussion about staying happy, about cultures that smile verses cultures that don't take time to see what is around them. I approach the subject of the Secret War, and things get political. FACT: Laos people aren't that keen on American people.

A man from the table behind me gets up and Butterfly talks to him in French. The man is in his 60's, a German American, and he lost his right leg when he stepped on a landmine whilst on holiday in Cambodia in 2002. “My leg is robotic,” he says, proudly. “it mimics the rhythm of the other leg.” He rolls up his trouser sleeve to show us his badass prosthetic, and past the knee he's put on a nylon sleeve tattoo.

Everyone has their story.

Bus Station Baguettes and Steamed Fish Eyes

Delight delight delight.
That's right, I've come back to Laos. Third time, sure is fine.
What have I done so far? Well. After a very very long journey from Chiang Mai, resplendent with frequent sudden stops for a poor British boy to be sick on the verge, I eat a delicious plate of raw spring roll. Then I nap like it's my job.
Later, I meet Mr. Bair out front of Mixay Temple and we ride around on his motorbike for a bit. I did wear a helmet, thank you. We zoom past crowded street stalls, steaming pots and clattering plates. We zoom past fashion outlets, some of which are actually not hideous, and I am confused why all the girls still wear their traditional embroidered knee-length skirts rather than these trendy trendy things.
Then the moon comes out from behind the buildings. Huge and orange, reflected over the stinking canal, beautiful.
We go to his sister in law's house and hang out there for a bit. She is very cool and she has a happy face. She is a young librarian with two boys, one is four and very naughty, and the other is almost one. The four-year-old and I play his version of hide and seek which means I count to ten while he hides around the corner, I find him immediataly and he then runs around the house cackling. Three families live in the one house, and the living room we sit in is covered in anime posters and drawings of fashionable blonde princesses. You can tell that kids rule this room!
Bair and I zoom off again and park outside a restaurant. We sit next to a noisy fountain and order the fish. It is epic. Caught fresh from the river, steamed with ginger, spring onion and mushroom, it is perhaps the best fish I've ever paid for. Bair's friend Air comes by and orders beer. He reaches over with a spoon, scoops out the fish eye, and politely offers it to me. Okay, this is a year of saying "yes".  It is very soft except for a ring of cartiledge that breaks up easily. It tastes like fish oil. It could have been worse. I am convinced I have been imbibed with its power and I can probably see underwater now.

And this morning, rising quietly from my rooftop dorm with three snoozing shapes in the beds around me, I leave the Mixay Guesthouse (200 baht for a dorm, o yea).
Then I get the best fruit shake in town from a little place (just this little place I know) that is on the right as you come out of the road that leads away from the big square with the fountain if you're walking away from the river. Seriously, the best.
Then I bargain like a badass with a nice tuk tuk man who drives me to a place, where I do what I need to do. 'Nuff said.

Now, what to do with my limited funds? Visit a temple I say, read my book for the day, drink tea. Whilst being badass, obv.