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.

Happy Winter Holiday!

A refreshing 23 degrees Celsius on Christmas day in Chiang Mai, the first hot Christmas I've ever had. Very peculiar, agreed Zippy and Heather, Canadian comrades teaching in Vietnam and Hong Kong respectively. It's like Christmas already happened and we weren't there for it.

Nevertheless, we dutifully opened presents under palm trees over plates of eggs and pancakes from Bake&Bite, exchanging handmade crafts from not so far-flung exotic locations.

We took a clattering song taew to Wat Umong, wandered through the temple tunnels and overgrown paths scratched up by chickens and dogs, hoping to spot any escapee antelopes who had broken free from the old zoo on the grounds. Instead we found ourselves in the monk pad where they do their laundry and sleep. Whoops. We walked to the pond and bought pellets for the catfish. Man those things are ugly. As they swarmed around the food in a writhing gaping-mouthed mass, Zippy said, "It's like when someone has a really gross scab and you keep looking at it over and over." Some of them were huge. The picture doesn't quite capture the alien gullet maw of the giant catfish mob.

Gives me the Freudian creeps. Am I right, ladies, am I right?

So we washed our hands and went to the market to buy fruit and nuts in exciting colours for the party flapjacks. Here is the recipe for forgieners who don't what a flapjack really is.

Recipe for Party Flapjacks

200g butter
200g demerera sugar
200g honey
400g oats
pinches of any or more of the following spices:
nutmeg
cinammon
star anise
cloves
handfuls of any or more of the following treats:
chocolate chunks
raisins
chopped mango/ pineapple/ cherries/ almonds/ fresh ginger
multicolour sprinkles (that's the party bit)
M&Ms

Heat oven to 180 C
grease up a pan, make that thing slick so nothing sticks
put the butter, sugar and honey in a medium or large saucepan on medium heat (I have only one smallish-medium sized saucepan which made this whole thing a rather careful procedure) and stir till the butter melts and the sugar dissolves. Then get it off the heat.
Whack the oats into the pan.
Hassle the spices o'er top.
Impose the treats.
Stir everything up so it's good and wet, but holding it pretty much together, not falling apart like a sissy.
Press the sticky mix into the pan and put it into the middle of the oven. Cook it for 15-20 minutes. The edges will be crispy and your kitchen will smell like hot sugar (unless you have a sinus infection and you will be making this recipe for your friends only since you won't be able to smell or taste a thing)

When it looks done, take it out of the oven. Divide it into squares or any shape you want. Eat any bits that don't fit on your serving platter. Then it's up to you to party.

a roi maak maak.

So we took this winner of a dish to Small House and had an actually good time with excellent chefs and budding professional line dancers. We wore our matching Christmas sweaters, fluffy and bedazzled. Ukuleles were played, turkey was digested next to the butternut squash dissolving in our stomachs.

Later, we song taewed merrily to the 24 hour coin-operated laundry and computer shop, where I called the Showers's, Zippy called the Doiron's, and Heather snoozed on a plastic chair. And who should flicker onto my screen but father Showers, decked out splendidly, if a little snugly, in a glittery google-eyed cartoon robot t-shirt with the word FRENZY! on it. "I'm thrilled with my present, thank you so much! I've been wearing it all day." How did I know my dad and my 12-year old brother had so much in common? Note to self, put names on presents when you wrap them in the same paper and ship them to different countries.
Enjoy your brown cushion cover, Michael.

Then we tra-la-lah'd home, and I listened to Lucy Day on the Myspace to send me off to sleep.

Happy Festive Time.

You will be denied boarding once gate closes

So I'm off now, taking an airplane, not a 40 hour bus journey, way way down south almost to the Malaysian border - no fighting, trouble not - to Songkhla province to the rubber factory transport hub of Hat Yai. What awaits me there? Buildings, roads, Chinese food, Malaysian tourists, not a lot of falang folk to Starbucks up the place. I have a job at the International School of Hat Yai, starting Tuesday.
woo!
Pumpkins are in season, the tastiest vegetable on this earth. Raw chocolate cake and veg soup tomorrow night at Giant Guesthouse, all us mucky hippy intellectual types will be scarfing down the deliciousness in the communal kitchen after a Doi Suthep wonder tour.

Amy Asks Too Many Questions, But Her Feet Are Wise

Quick update on my emotional state: I am stressed, homesick, tired, irritated by most westerners, in awe of the tropics, curious, inquisitive (is that an emotion?), grateful. There.

Suddenly I have 25 hours of work a week. So much for a 3-day silent retreat in some temple up some mountain. Lesson plan lesson plan flashcards simon says names of animals of numbers of months of the year of days of the week. Six-year-olds are ace, even the day after a very fun birthday celebration. They will be mental, chucking cushions at each other, falling over, shouting shouting, and as soon as you get a box of coloured pencils out, they go silent. Language schools are a good place to start, lots of small classes with all diferent ages. Administration is hectic confusing, lots of pink slips and green slips and even a punch card, like in a factory. For now, it'll do.

Thai people are just as smiley as everyone says. People greet you on the street, when you get into the same song teaw as them, and when they drive by on the road in the car next to you. Everyone says hello, and once you get talking to people, seeing them around a few times, they all want to help you learn Thai and teach you to draw.

In the past three days, a man has tried to snatch my purse (the indecency!),I've eaten a third of my weight in Japanese food at a buffet, I've been to an orchid and butterfly farm with the inimitable Amy, who also dared me to eat fried bugs, which were a grasshopper, a silk worm, a maggot, and a beetle. The maggots were long and crispy, void of taste. The silk worm was perhaps the least appetizing thing I've had in my mouth ever. Imagine crunchy burned leggy fish-tasting bits coating your tongue, getting caught in your molars. I've had an authentic Thai massage from an old blind man, who said I felt like a man, like a plank of wood. Ta. I went swimming in a lake by the mountain, so warm, so quiet, beauty beauty. I've played Jenga in the Griffin Bar (Moon Mueng Soi 7) with Egg and Amy, every night.

Amy was going to stay in Chiang Mai for a night and then go back to Pai, but she stayed here to play for my birthday. It was a dead good birthday. We arrived at the Reggae Bar early, so it was empty. We had a horrible pink cocktail. Then a Thai man with a dredlocked beard and many tattoos started chatting us up with the kind of abuse that's supposed to be funny. Then his mate Yawee showed up and it was his birthday too (the gayest man in Thailand, from Miami, got his nails done that day, and the tatooed man had no idea his best mate was queer, ("never, I never do that, why you say that, it disgusting"). So one small glass of strong clear liquid followed another and then it was two hours later and the band was singing us Happy Birthday. I woke up the next morning with all the lights on, but all of my clothes folded neatly in the cupboard.

I have an address now, send me a message if you wannit.