Sahbaidee Kah – Happy Songkran from Muktahan!

The Thai New Year’s Day is 13 April every year, but the holiday period includes 14–15 April as well. The word “Songkran” comes from the Sanskrit word saṃkrānti (Devanāgarī: संक्रांति), literally “astrological passage”, meaning transformation or change.

Decided to take a holiday – find the closest hotel with a pool, nice air conditioned rooms and a decent price – and here I am, only a few kms from Savannakhet as the crow flies (the other side of the river)   and today I find out that this is the day Laos comes to Thailand – for the Songkran festival.  No escape!  And what a hoot!

Took a walk this morning and was grabbed by this crazy guy dressed in orange and green, and dragged inside the temple grounds to dance to the band.  Turns out he is a nurse from Muktahan hospital – there was a whole mass of staff there, and then he just kept on popping up everywhere I went!

I followed the festivities to a ceremony with some gorgeous dancers and costumes, and then ducked the water bombers on the way back to the hotel.  All in fun, it was a joy to be a part of it.

Even from my 10^th floor apartment I can see and hear the fun and the laughter as cars with their own water bombers get back at the roadside bombers.  And it’s not only water either!

I will post this, just as soon as I can find the photo evidence! Such good times…

Edit and upload: from 2017 – so many more photos, for another time…

Sahbaidee Pi Mai! Lao New Year Part 1

5am on a Sunday morning is not the time you want to be waiting on the street outside your house to be picked up for a party.  The same guy walked past me about five times in the dark, saying something suggestive in Lao – first time I said Sahbaidee as I always do – it always seems to disarm people.  The next time I ignored him.  Next time I said boh, boh (no, no) shaking my head.  The next and the next … well it was a relief when the truck stopped and I saw 13 of my students waving to me from the back just as the sun began to rise.

Vongphet had taken me to meet his uncle the day before, after I had some conversation time with his Saturday students (a government job on its own cannot support a family).  A big house (actually 3 houses in a type of unwalled compound – extended family) around 20 minutes’ drive out of the centre of town, where they were preparing for a party the next day.  After feeling very welcomed to the house, and Vongphet telling me he’d invited the students, I agreed to finish my work up on Saturday night so I could attend my first Pi Mai party.

When we arrived, preparations were in full swing.  I’d counted 200 plastic chairs the day before, these were set up around small tables around the yard.  The students got straight in to help with food preparations and we all stood around big bowls of salad vegetables, or on the floor inside sorting the food onto plates and covering them with copious amounts of plastic wrap.  A cow (pig?) had been roasted and cut into all sorts of chunks (Lao style) on plastic plates, and the tables were soon covered in food as people started to arrive.

Women were dressed for the special occasion – sinhs and sashes, men in long trousers and open necked shirts.  Each group of people brought their alms for the local monks who would arrive and begin chanting around 7.30am.   There were 10 monks who chanted and gave blessings inside the house.  Loud speakers were set up for all those outside the house to join in the praying.

Alms were brought in large silver bowls – always some sticky rice, and then various other items such as packet cakes and snacks, biscuits, drinks, fruit, flowers and money.  Other people had ‘money trees’ – an arrangement of plastic covered currency, bags of sheets, and other unidentifiable collections.  Whilst the prayers were being chanted, people lined up with their alms at a long table that had the monks’ bowls laid out and they allocated some into each.  As the bowls were filled with rolled balls of sticky rice and other offerings, men around the table started to shovel the money and packaged food and fruit into large orange plastic garbage bags as more and more people paid their respects.

The monks left with their goodies soon after, and people began leaving.  A Lao tradition is to tie a piece of string or wool around your wrist while they offer you welcome, kind words and a good future. Sometimes money is tucked in as well.  ‘Good health’ tends to be my favoured blessing!  These amazing elderly ladies are all sisters and each of them welcomed me to sit with them and they all offered me heartfelt blessings.

This wonderful boy’s name is Katoun, and he is an incredible student leader – always gracious, smiling, wanting to help, wanting to learn more, and he loves his English classes the most!  He comes from a very poor family from the outer provinces and he is an inspiration to all.  He borrowed my camera and went around taking many photos, I’m guessing the first time he’d got a hold of a camera and did a great job!  He took quite a few of me ‘in action’ on the dancefloor too – my swaying hips were a hit! At first I wasn’t sure if I was being inappropriate because nobody seems to move their hips when they dance here.  It is quite uniform, using hands and stepping with the feet, not a lot of eye contact or passion for the music.  So all eyes were on me, with Vongphet, my work colleague, on the microphone I couldn’t get out of it and got requested to dance quite a few times!

Next day at school, I found out my whole class had seen a video of me dancing and wanted to demonstrate.   Again, they found it quite hilarious!  Apparently it is not taboo, it is just not really done here – maybe I’ll set a new trend?

Things deteriorated after the monks and the many visitors had left … then it was Pi Mai party time!  Music cranked up, beer appeared, dancing began, and the dreaded obligatory fluorescent Pi Mai shirts came out.  A bit of water throwing, lots of hilarity, and more food.

I ended up leaving ‘early’ – that is, 10 hours (and quite a few beers) since I’d left home that morning, and spending the rest of my Sunday sleeping.  So while people were flaking from exhaustion at work on Monday, I felt pretty good for the first (and last) day of the week.  Next stop – over the river to Thailand.

 

 

 

Tonight – vulnerability

My very conscious walk home tonight…

It is 8.38pm and I’ve just arrived home from a full and busy day at work.  Daylight savings is over now, so I was walking home from the tram stop in the dark, after stopping off for a beer and some dinner out – a treat for myself.  I felt no threat whatsoever in the city (Melbourne) or on the tram.  Getting off the tram, Jill Meagher’s murder came into my mind.  She was on her way home, knew the neighbourhood, and had no reason to not feel safe.  I love my new neighbourhood, but this was the first time I was walking through the quiet streets, in the dark, on my own.  For some reason, a visceral repeated dream memory came to me – I don’t remember the circumstances, all I remember is that I try to scream, but no sound comes out.  This is a recurring dream, and yes, it made me think of Jill.

It makes me think of my vulnerability.  It made me think of the vulnerability that many people are feeling – the heightened consciousness, the possible threats, the mistrust of a stranger walking behind you, someone getting off at the same tram stop.  I walk tough.  I recognise that I have often done this in the past – the way I walk at night on my own is one with which I try to downplay my vulnerability, my female-ness, my ‘ugly tough walk’ I call it, that I feel is my defence. 

We all have our own weapons, our own versions of ‘ugly tough walk’.  Some people talk about holding their keys like a weapon, carrying sprays or alarms in their bags, or better yet, never walking alone at night.  None of those are acceptable to me, or they would not necessarily make me feel safe. 

What is my point here? I’m acknowledging, I’m empathising, I’m describing a feeling that I know many others express in their own ways. I’m paying heed to that vulnerability that many of us feel – whether venturing out of our ‘comfort zone’, or simply trying to live a life of choice and what freedom we can assert for ourselves. That the stories we hear about from others – or, like with Jill, survivors and investigators of such catastrophic events, matter, are heard, and are remembered. That we all have a duty and a role to play in reducing this need for ‘heightened awareness’ and feeling of vulnerability. Here’s to peace, it matters.

I’m back.

And my last post was in August 2019 … skip to June 2020 and everything but nothing seems to have changed. As I’ve said before, I take me where ever I go, who ever I’m with, what ever I do.

Mbonegi River, Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands December 2019

You look so happy, so comfortable, so much a part of the moment. A picnic, a swim in the river, some drinks. Lots of fun, lots of laughter. You were there, you were here, you were quiet, you were loud. You laughed and chattered, switching dialects at random.

You look as if you were loving that moment. You went home and your lover was there by your side. Life was compact and content, thrilling and social. Time went slowly, but the departure date was nearing. You could not, would not, break those bonds and so when you left on that flight ‘home’, you left a big part of yourself behind. You arrived home to become the stranger you were before you left.

A walk around my campus…

Today I went for a walk around the STTC (Savannakhet Teacher Training College) campus, which is much bigger than I realised.  At first the office, admin, toilets and classrooms were enough – but venturing out further I discovered all sorts of gems!

The greenhouse is full of carefully tended bushes and trees kept ready for planting by students.

Another café that looks very clean and serves delicious smelling soup (pho style).

Some more slightly bewildering signs.

The big stadium/hall.

The cute looking kindergarten.

And the on-campus primary school.

Even though I’m working with pre-service primary school teachers, this is the first time I have visited the school on campus and I was pleasantly surprised.  It looks great, the kids are very happy and playful (it was lunchtime) and all said ‘hello’ to me in English.  I went into a classroom – English/Lao work on the board, lots of lovely flowers and decorations on the walls.  I went into the library where I was greeted by a teacher (in Lao).  There were picture books on the shelves, mostly in Lao language and the kids were pulling them out and showing me.  I sat down with a group of them and one pulled out a picture dictionary.  We pointed to the pictures and said the words in English – again, I was pleasantly surprised at how many English words they knew!  No doubt, being ‘city kids’, they have much more exposure to English than the students from the provinces that I am working with.  But the contrast is stark, and these students will be qualified as primary teachers but many are still at a very basic elementary level of English, and most lack any confidence to speak up or to come up with a creative response to a question.  They are used to English classes in Lao, and copying everything from the blackboard.  This is not ‘learning’!  But we are starting to get somewhere…

This course is called 9+3 – students have reached year 9 in provincial schools and now finish their education at the teacher training college to prepare them to teach back in their village schools. Most of them are around 15 years old.  Their standard and exposure to English is very low.  

The other students my colleagues work with are in the 12+4 program – they have completed year 12 and do a 4 year teacher training course to become qualified as secondary school teachers – most of these are ‘city kids’ in their late teens, early 20s.  We (the Foreign Languages Office) work with the English (and Vietnamese) language majors.

The difficult thing with using WordPress that I find is finding the photos that ‘fit’ the post – especially an older post such as this. I like to illustrate my words, and often have a photo in mind – but finding it, uploading it, and giving it some sense means that over time, things get lost or harder to find. So I guess this is my ‘memory recording’, and although the scenes and photos remain in my mind, the sharing can be different matter! But at least back here in Melbourne, at least I have unlimited data, and faster, more dependable connections – so I’ll share this ‘old’ memory just for my reference to an incredible time and place. (7 April 2022)

Ok, I’m back, hmmm, April 2022, where has the time gone?

I have neglected my space here, but I have never stopped my writing and my thinking. The last few years have bought joy, sorrow, despair, frustrations – but here and now, life is better than ever, and I’ve decided to make the effort again to record and share this. I don’t do it for recognition – jeez, not like I have a following, but it gives me the opportunity to put down my thoughts and try to make sense of the world out there.
I see I have a number of incomplete drafts from years gone by that I’ve never posted. So I’m just going to get back here and play a little more with ideas and memories from the past, the present, and whatever comes up beyond.
Best, Annabelle

Phew, hello 2021?

It is 2021, and I am back in Melbourne, doing what I was doing all those years ago … precarious employment as a ‘university academic’ working in Pre-service education. Since 2020, pretty much remaining in ‘lockdown’, practising and developing my skills as an ‘online facilitator’ or tutor of pre-service teachers. I’m battling with being able to ‘make do’ with the current situation, limited (if at all) ability to travel or work overseas (where I’d rather be), trying to be thankful for what I have (house, food, family, relative comfort) and a brain that can’t stop quiet and be content.

Today I signed a piece of paper to sell my house of 20 years. This brings relief, hope for the future, new opportunities, a change in lifestyle, a view to being able to lock the door and move on to where I want to be, to be alleviated of the challenges I don’t think I should have to be dealing with at this time of my life. Covid has put us in Melbourne back in lockdown, partially alleviated in its third week, but realistically, not offering much more than the life I’ve been living since returning from the Solomon Islands. Every time I venture out into the ‘real’ world, I feel like a stranger who doesn’t know how to behave, or dress appropriately for the situation.

There is talk about moving back to face to face teaching – I can’t quite imagine having to face my students without their names under their video feed, if they choose to have their cameras on. I feel as if the closest relationships I’ve had over this period of time has been with my students who have cameras on and who talk directly with me. The next closest, with those who will email me to discuss issues related to their learning and assessment. To tell the truth, I enjoy ‘online’ teaching. I can plan opportunities for students to meet and discuss issues with their peers, to contribute their thoughts to the whole group, and alongside carefully constructed 2 hr seminar blocks, to have time to lecture, discuss, critique, share, collaborate and feedback in regards to course related topics. This form no doubt benefits some students more than others, and I do wonder whether my ‘enjoyment’ has much at all to do with the ‘success’ of learning. But I have learnt that my passion for the subject matter, and for the collaborative work of my students, actually does matter, and does contribute to the value acquired from taking part.

I have recently completed a subject “Facilitating Online Learning” and part of this was setting up an ‘Edublog’ in which I have been exploring ideas relating to technology, with my usual overly critical bent. See: https://abelspace.edublogs.org

This has given me some new ideas, but also reinvigorated my critique of technology as more of a gimmick than necessarily improving learning. I get that technology provides us with many tools and accessories for teaching and learning, but not all of the world is ready, willing or able to access this. Making something more ‘engaging’, or ‘interesting’ does not necessarily improve the quality of learning, but has become a ‘necessity’ for educators. Finding a balance, recognising and knowing how to use tools that are available, and not simply using them because ‘students find them more appealing’ is important. Isn’t it? Maybe I’ll be outvoted on this because educational institutions depend on good reviews from their students, not long term investigations of the ‘success’ these students encounter throughout their careers.

Belated Update from the Solomon Islands

Did you know that the Solomon Islands has on of the highest mobile data costs in the world?  And as a volunteer, it’s pretty hard to maintain contact with the world, let alone to update this blog and share the wonderful photos I’ve been taking, and adventures I’ve been having.  And then of course there’s the time factor, I am so busy with my current work (Inclusive Education in the Solomon Islands), but true, still maintaining a damned fine social life as well.

And Social is what the Solomons is.  I will have smiled and/or talked to probably 10 people before I even arrive at work at 8am.  In a day, multiples of this.  On the street, ‘hey Annabelle!’, ‘hey wantok!’, ‘hey tambu!’ – (I’ll explain those terms another time…) good morning/afternoon, evening … Not a chance to be lonely here unless I locked myself in my room, which unfortunately I spent far too much of my life doing back at ‘home’.  I thought I needed to live in my own space.  I only now recognise how happy I am with friendly and open people around me.

With my Wantoks;  View from my balcony;  IE Workshops in Rennell 

A (Selfish?) Life in Savannakhet, Laos. (+addendum…)

I just came back from a party to farewell another fabulous human being I have met here, Michael.  He originally came here as a Fulbright scholar, and stayed for longer than he was contracted to… I mean, who wouldn’t?

It was a fabulous party.  Held at mutual friends’ house, ‘Pot luck’ – bring a plate.  Fabulous food, fabulous company, great conversations, music, shared interests – new faces, old faces, local people and expats.  Michael is a sociable person who has worked at a range of different places, and he invited them all!  He is around half my age, but his playlist was excellent – huge range of music from different places and eras.  This epitomizes a very different life to the one I lead back ‘home’.

People who had seen my recent facebook posts asked me about my plans for when my contract expires, at the end of August.  For the first time I needed to articulate something I’ve been putting off, what am I going to do?  It is June now, my contract ends in three months.  I don’t want to leave but I need to go home.  I want to come back.

I talked with my 85 year old father today.  He said something like “So you’re looking forward to coming home, because I miss you and many other people miss you too…”  My immediate thought was no, I’m not looking forward to coming home.  My ‘home’ is a miserable place, a job in which I am devalued and constantly on edge, never knowing whether I’ll have work for the next semester, no chance of achieving an ongoing position.  Children who I adore but I cannot continue to be their all when living a life of discontent.  A complete lack of ‘community’, where I sit at home on my own and wallow in my misery.  A lack of meaning and feeling as if I am contributing to the world.  Here I feel as if I am on my way to contributing.  To helping others achieve, to inspire, to educate, to share my knowledge and be a part of improving the lives of others.  I don’t want to go home.

Is this selfish?  Am I only thinking of myself?  Or does a meaningful life actually matter?  It seems to matter to me.  I have worked hard for a long time to develop the skills that I want to share with others.  I have tried to do that in my ‘home’ context, in working with students in Australian universities to inspire, to provoke, to work towards a better future for their students and the world.  Sometimes this feels like an achievement, as if I’ve made a difference.  And then I get my student evaluations, I get rejected for ongoing positions, I feel like I’m not inspiring, or achieving, or doing anything of any value to anyone.  I feel like a failure, with nothing to offer. God I hate that feeling, but it’s real, and it hurts.

So I leave Australia, I work here as a volunteer, supported by the Australian government.  I feel as if I have some purpose to what I’m doing.  I feel as if people appreciate what I’m doing.  People seem to acknowledge and recognise that what I’m doing is selfless – this is not for me.  I have knowledge and ability and I can share it unselfishly – I simply need enough money to live, and beyond that, I will give what I can.

This is the dilemma I find myself in.

Addendum:  a year later, another volunteer position in a different country…

The dilemma is still with me.  Again I find myself in a position that feels right – in a position that welcomes me and my skills, where I feel I can make a difference, where I am challenged every day.  As I leave home, my father hugs me and every time it feels like the last goodbye.  My children hug me as I farewell them, and I assure myself that my discontent presence is more damaging than my content distance – that technology provides a channel for more communication than would be possible with my presence.

I was asked by a friend why I didn’t look for the same work in my own country – out of respect for being a closer part of my kids’ lives, and (presumably) to work for the betterment of my own country rather than overseas.  It is difficult to articulate why I do not have any desire to work in my own country, but I think I have expressed this in many ways over many years.

Professionally, there are people who have training and experience in my profession who can certainly do these (local) jobs and who I would have to compete with based on questionable measures of competence.  I am tired of battling to prove myself, to present myself in an ‘acceptable’ manner, to write and to speak in a way that is not true to myself and has nothing to do with what I want to accomplish and how I want to work with others.  Or how I can draw on a life-time of experience that doesn’t ‘fit’ in my ‘3 page max CV’ and certainly isn’t mentioned in job interviews.

For a long time I have just wanted to work at my best, to meet challenges head on and to use my ‘big picture’ thinking to work on immediate issues … I don’t have as much energy as I did 20+ years ago when I started on the desperate journey through academia so I’d rather put the energy and passion into the work I have, than into getting my foot in the doors that remain closed to me.

So the ‘dilemma of selfishness’ remains but …

Deliberating inside my Cave…

Pakse Trip 1: Bolevan Plateau and Waterfalls, Champasek

When the internet / wifi doesn’t work and your phone is kaput, thank god for cheap beer, food and cigarettes.

We had a fantastic day today, a minibus tour around the Bolaven Plateau in Eastern Champasak province.  Thanks to Debbie and Al for helping to arrange it all!

( – from Pakse, 150,000 kip, booked through Khem at Lao Adventure Travel, ph: 02095775785 – there are a broad range of tours to take, or travel independently).

Pakse has so many more international tourists than Savannakhet – and it is easy to see why.  So much more development, more built up, more investment, and by far, more natural sites to visit.

But the flipside of that is, tourists are not so friendly (or desperate?) to talk with another falang, and the local people are far more used to foreigners.

We set off sometime after 8am, and picked up others on the way.  The ‘planned tour’ we were sold wasn’t quite the way it eventuated, but no problems (boh phenyung), it was an adventure.  All those on my bus just happened to be Germans, but spoke English well – lucky me!  (oh never forget the privilege of being born into a majority English speaking country!)

First stop Tad Fan and Mr Coffee.  Brilliant waterfall dropping far down into the abyss from two different rivers.  Not sure how the valley was formed but really spectacular, photos could not do it justice.  Coffee plantation was fascinating, seeing the beans on the trees, the spiders doing their business, and bees producing honey as well.  Sample coffee was delectable, had to buy myself a supply to take back with me.  Tea plantation a little further on also had delectable teas so I finally managed to get some black tea for my new teapot (Thai – Muktahan).

The stops at ‘Ethnic villages’ are always a little discomforting.  You have to wonder how the people feel about these strangers wandering around their homes, taking photos and trying to be friendly – but understanding that our tour pays a fee for the privilege, and  recognising the little signs of how these proceeds are spent such as a very decent little outdoor toilet that I was much relieved to find!  This wonderful woman sitting on the step chatted away to us in indecipherable language (ethnic minority groups have a range of languages different to the more common Lao – by her body language I could only think that she was telling us about her sore head, her sore eyes, her sore legs…  I asked for a photo – it was still quite unclear what she was saying, but she was so delightful and animated I had to give her some money – she took my hand in response and seemed so happy, aside from all her aches and pains… again, my interpretation!

Another woman sitting in a doorway had bags of roasted almonds she wanted to sell.  They were actually very good, reasonably priced, so Debbie and I agreed to buy two bags.  She was particularly interested in my rings (what she wants my rings as well as my money?).  I went over and showed her my hand – she seemed interested in my mother’s wedding ring (a diamond), but also a ring made out of tortoise shell from the Solomons.  She wanted to take them off – luckily they are pretty well jammed on my fingers for good!

The stop I most enjoyed was the two hour lunch/waterfall/swim stop.  I had my stash of fruit with me for lunch and after taking some shots of the spectacular waterfall, took off downstream to the little shelters by the swimming area.  Ah, the water was so cool and delectable, all so serene and refreshing.  The sand underfoot is apparently volcanic residue, ground down to a silken consistency.  I investigated the little river side bungalows – 50,000 kip / pp – what a wonderful place to come back to with my family!  I wandered through part of the village and met these wonderful girls, Anny (13) Tookrok (13) and Daowan (15) at the little ‘free school’ there – most entertaining and friendly!  I only got their ages because Anny wanted to know mine!  Daowan didn’t know how to write her name in English so I gave her my approximation.  Tookrok – I think her sister, wrote it on her hand for future reference.  They all wanted to take photos with my camera of us together – that was fun!  Very friendly and welcoming people here.

Final stop was yet another waterfall/ethnic village/museum.  Again, spectacular, with a swing bridge constructed to walk across, and an amazing wooden structure that composed restaurants, viewing areas and accommodation.  Not a long stop but I could also imagine spending more time here relaxing and enjoying the atmosphere, and the lovely people too.

Dropped back at guesthouse, happy and contented after a day’s adventures! 🙂

 

 

 

EPIC JOURNEY HOME from 4,000 Islands

Home again after a 12 hour epic journey from Don Det, surrounded by 4,000 Islands, back to Savannakhet.  We had a pink piece of paper that said 3 pax, from x bus station to Savannakhet.  To get to the bus station, we needed to wait for a ‘ferry boat’ that left at 11am.  Rani had his own pink ticket, that took him from the bus station, to Pakse airport, ready catch a flight to Luang Prabang, and then on to Van Vieng the next day on a bus.  Luckily, after most of our cash was stolen, even though we had to be very careful to make it last – 800,000 kip ($AUD140) between all of us didn’t go far!  (OK, in hindsight, a lot further than it would have back home in Australia!)

So with Rani phone-less (didn’t survive being dropped down a toilet), Caroline also phone-less (got stolen along with our kip), and about 7 bags between us, we waited in a queue of about 30 other falangs going to various destinations, on the same (rather small long) boat, at the same time.  Then the wonderful refrain that you hear when travelling with a gorgeous 7 year old, “aaaahhhhh, Tilly, you come with me, yes, all of you, come and get on this boat!”  Ah what a relief, she’s certainly made herself known on this little island haven!

So we managed our way onto the boat with our luggage, Rani doing the heroics carrying most of it with him, got to ….  Remembered where the bus had dropped us off days before, and walked the 500metres or so, to find the bus was there ready for us.  We got ourselves on – yay, good seats, lots of space, air con… luxury.

After a couple of hours, the big bus managed to get us up the side street in Pakse where our amazing travel agent Khem was waiting for us.  As we got off the bus (hoping to get ourselves some food for the rest of the trip) a savage tuk tuk driver got on the bus saying “Pakse airport, Pakse airport”.  Being tired and not thinking I said to Rani, quick quick, follow him … quick hug, kiss, best wishes for the trip, that was the last I saw of my son … Found Khem who said “where is your son?”  She had been ready to get him to the airport herself, and I realised it was just an opportunistic tuktuk driver who had taken him … god only knows what he charged him but he’s gone now … no phone or way of contacting so just hope for the best, once again.

 (In general, don’t trust tuktuk drivers in Laos – rip offs!  A 10 km trip that costs a local approx. 10,000 kip or AUD $1.65 will be bumped up to around 50,000 kip for a falang – find out what it should cost and offer them that – be prepared to barter or walk away, and agree before you or your bags are on board).

We got to have our lunch – a case of going to a restaurant, asking if we could have baguettes rather than bread sandwiches, and that we only had 5 minutes before our bus left, and smiled at the restaurant owner as she took off on her motorbike to go and buy the baguettes … 10 minutes later, back to our luggage at the travel agent, and onto a tuktuk arranged by Khem, with two Israeli guys with very limited English, and who didn’t seem to know the name of the place they were headed to.  The tuktuk stopped in what seemed a rather random location, on the side of the road next to a little portable shop that sold watches – we thought maybe he needed one because he didn’t seem to know what time the bus was due to leave.  Amazingly, up drives a bus, stops on the side of the road and he tells us to board it.  Um, ok!

Luxury comfort, leg room, air con, music video playing, bags loaded, and off we went.  We didn’t know if this was just the bus to the bus that we were taking or what, so we sat ready for the next off-loading, but no, on we went and we were all very happy with that!  Bus stopped a number of times for toilets and food (wow!) and random monkeys in cages.  Now this is good travelling!  Until … a horn, a bump, a scrape, bus slows to a stop, a smash, metal crunching … immediate thought, we’ve hit something … the crunch and the smash under the bus, OMG, we’ve hit a motorcyclist, they are under the bus, Matilda whimpering, what’s happening mummy?  We stop.  We wait.  No one speaks English.  Most people stay on the bus.  We wait.  They clear a space in the luggage area and my mind makes up the whole scenario (loading the body and wreckage into the bus hold…).

 

Inside the cab…

We wait.  Finally I climb out of the bus to see what’s going on.  No sign of smashed motorcycle.  No sign of blood or dead animal.  There is a little crowd at the front of the bus so I go to investigate.  I see that the window in front of the driver is smashed, a small hole with shattered but intact windscreen.  People standing around discussing … um, whatever.  A woman talking urgently on the phone.  OK.  I take the opportunity to have a wee on the side of the road.  End up sitting down so that the passing traffic doesn’t have to be upset by a view of my big white ass.  Goddamned it, prickles – why do I always seem to land in the prickles?

We were probably there for an hour – after some time we gathered that the bus had actually hit a buffalo, buffalo just wandered off, window smashed, four hours still to go to get to Savannakhet, darkness.  Then suddenly everyone gets back on the bus and it sets off slowly, cautiously, and we wonder what time we are going to arrive home at this pace, if at all.  It’s night, can’t see a thing … we are crawling along.  Next thing, the bus stops again, and I hear “Savannakhet” and the bus man gestures to us to get off the bus.   Just as I was finally getting comfortable enough to sleep.  Oh.  Caroline (speakers back on, settling back into sleep mode) we have to get off!  Mad scramble for our multitude of bags, and I look around – this sure doesn’t look like Savannakhet to me!  Bus station, lots of market stalls open, but absolutely no idea where we are!

A man with no English is gesturing and petting Matilda, touching her face, trying to get her to sit with him.  Who is this man?  Where the hell are we?  Why did they make us get off this bus in this strange place?  I walk around and say to everyone, “Savannakhet”?  I can’t work it out because they say “boh” –  no – so why the hell are we here????  I come to my senses and remind Caroline that it all seems to work out in the end … they seem to know what they’re doing, so we can only play along, and keep the faith.

Amazingly, a minibus appears and we are ushered into it – crammed full of non-English speaking refugees from the previous bus, presumably heading for Savannakhet, we manage to squeeze in – Matilda on my lap in the front seat with our creepy sleaze-man, we set off again.  Along the way, I finally start recognising the ‘free economic zone’ on the outskirts of Savannakhet, and Matilda was the first to  spot the familiar dinosaur roundabout.  They dropped off some passengers at their hotels (how did they know that?) and we just kept the faith.  I asked our sleazy friend if he knew Savannakhet (yes) and did he know the Avalon hotel (yes) and tried to have a conversation and then he said he was Vietnamese, hence the non-understanding, and as we soon found, he had no idea where the Avalon was – once we got to the bus station, he virtually pushed us out of the bus, with no intention of dropping us anywhere near our destination.

Well, we managed to get a tuktuk back to the Avalon where we had a celebratory and very relieved Beer Lao – 12 hours after leaving the island.  Wow, another adventure…. Xox  The moral of the story was, for me, is keep the faith… If you have been promised to be transported from point A to point B, you will probably get there … eventually.

Communication in Laos

Whenever I go out in Laos, I talk to anyone who is willing to talk back (and some who aren’t, it’s true).  The bigger the population of falangs (white people), particularly those just passing through, the less people there are that seem willing to chat.

As an English teacher, students often ask how they can improve their spoken English – without a doubt, having the confidence to talk with a falang is a great start, and a great opportunity to practice listening and speaking skills.  But it takes a willing falang, an ultra confident Lao, and often a certain ability to get past the inevitable misunderstandings that occur.  It doesn’t have to be perfect, but that of course involves too much shame, or too much effort for many people to even try.

Trying to get past misunderstandings is also the responsibility of both parties; it takes an effort, practice, and some interpersonal/cultural skills.  These are ones that come to my mind, as both a current English teacher and a Lao learner – but also keeping in mind that some contexts will change the dynamics, that hierarchies (age/status), respect and culture also play a part, and the purpose for the conversation is another potential form of misunderstanding – I just wanted to practice my (limited) English/Lao and here you are asking me questions???

• Slow down!  Speak clearly!  Enunciate every word!  (Whether English OR Lao).
• Use Gestures!  Sign language, point to objects, count on your fingers.
• Be patient.  Be kind.  Smile a lot!
• Ensure time to formulate answers.  Try counting slowly to five after asking a question – feels like a long time but often what is needed.
• Remember that often Lao students only hear English from their Lao speaking teachers, including any mispronunciations.  As much as possible, speak English with a Lao accent!  Listen to the way they say the words themselves – that is what they will be more likely to understand.
• Falangs also have accents!  Be conscious of your own accent!
• Lao speakers often leave off the end of the words when speaking their own language as it is not always required for understanding.   However in English the ends of words are necessary for communication (plurals, tense, meaning).
• Tone is another key area of difference – Lao is tonal, and the tones will change the meaning (quite dramatically) of the words spoken.  Whereas in English, our use of tones is more likely to change the meaning of the phrase or sentence – eg. whether we are asking a question, making a statement, being sarcastic or making a joke, etc.  And don’t think that the Lao speakers don’t also have their fun with tones and misunderstandings – just that often it is only one side of the conversation that ‘gets’ the joke.  My strategy is hey, just laugh along!
• Many Lao learners of English will basically learn the same structured conversations that depend on both speakers giving the standard answer or asking the question in the same order and structure it was taught!
  • Greetings and Introductions  (Hello!  How are you?  I am fine thanks.  And you?)
  • Where are you from?
  • Occupations/workplaces
  • Family
  • Food/drinks/colours – like/don’t like …
  • Less experienced (ie most) students will know little else beyond these basics.
• A Lao conversation is more likely to be along the lines of Sabaidee, are you good?  Where are you going?  Have you eaten? (in my limited understanding! – and I often get it wrong, or can’t understand anything after the 1st question…)

Most Useful words/phrases to learn in Lao:

Hello  –  Sabaidee

Thank you  –  Kawp jai

No worries!  –   Baw pen nyang

Remember too that there is no agreed upon phonetic spelling for English pronunciation for Lao words.  Primary complications are the tones that change the meaning of words, and sounds that have no exact English equivalent.  Phonetic spelling of sounds may well be pronounced differently depending on your first language/accent..

Most importantly, have a go!  Lao people are, on the whole, very very friendly and appreciate a ‘good heart’ that shows in your actions

(Article 1 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights)

Sample text

Transliteration
Manut thuk khôn kœ̄t māmīkẏat sâk sī, sitthi, sēlī phôp læ khwôm smœ̄ phôp thàw thẏam kân. Thuk thuk khôn mīhēt phôn læ khwômkhit khwôm hian swàn tôw khɔ̄̄ṅ phai khɔ̄ṅ mân, tǣ̀vồ manut thuk thuk khôn khwan paphʉt tàṁ kân khʉ̄ kân kâp pianốy nɔ̄́ṅ kân.

Translation

All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.

http://www.omniglot.com/writing/lao.htm