Lao Hai
Our time in Nong Khiaw had many highlights - the hammock outside our room overlooking the Ou River, the glorious food, our walk to caves and a brief encounters with Lao leeches, a hike to the top of a mountain - but the best thing that happened was our time spent talking with Lao people.
Ever since we left Bhutan, we've been backpackers and tourists and with these titles comes an automatic wall between us and the people of the countries we visit. Scott and I have missed having normal conversations and interactions like those we had when we lived in Tanzania and Bhutan. I understand it, of course. As a backpacker, we're not necessarily giving anything back, we're not investing ourselves; we're just passing through, so why should anyone treat us as anything else? Almost all the places we've been to are very much on the tourist route, so the people of these cities and sites are accustomed to dealing with and seeing foreignors. There's a sense of the local people seeing through us rather than at us. Again, I don't blame them.
Nong Khiaw, a small town in northeast Laos, is still in transition. Guesthouses have existed there for several years but they haven't seen the influx of tourists that they'd like, that go to neighboring Muang Ngoi. In Nong Kiaw, Scott and I actually got to talk to Lao people, conversations that didn't merely revolve around prices or getting directions.
At our first dinner in Nong Khiaw, a local man named Arr (pronounced 'air') struck up a conversation after helping us order our food; the shopowner didn't speak English, or rather Scott and I don't speak Lao, so Arr was brought in to help with the interaction. In an accent I hadn't ever heard before, Arr told us about his job working with the local goverment and the health benefits him and his family get with that (which doesn't cover enough), the guesthouse his wife owns and his desire to see more tourists, and his everyday struggle to save more money and take care of his family. We talked with him for about 20 minutes before he went back to join his friends at a table filled with Beer Lao bottles and food. When Scott and I finished our meal, we said good-bye to Arr, who replied, "You're leaving already?" It was the night before the first official day of Lao New Year and while we would've liked to have intruded on Arr and his friends and drunk with them, we knew, with only Arr speaking English, it would've been more awkward for everyone than really fun, so we left.
At another dinner in Nong Khiaw, we started talking to a Lao couple from Vientiane. They had time off for the New Year and were traveling in their country for the occasion. Next to their dinner table was a big clay pot filled with a concoction of rice and coconut juice that had been fermenting for about a week. The couple was drinking the contents of this clay pot, which is known locally as Lao Hai, and, for the next hour or so, continued to offer Scott and I shots. The woman was a teacher and the man was a creator of museums. Through this job, the man traveled all over the world (including to far off places like Thimphu); he was due in Paris the following week. We listened to his stories, shared some of our own, and happily drank the Lao Hai. Lucky for us, this local drink is not very strong.
Ever since we left Bhutan, we've been backpackers and tourists and with these titles comes an automatic wall between us and the people of the countries we visit. Scott and I have missed having normal conversations and interactions like those we had when we lived in Tanzania and Bhutan. I understand it, of course. As a backpacker, we're not necessarily giving anything back, we're not investing ourselves; we're just passing through, so why should anyone treat us as anything else? Almost all the places we've been to are very much on the tourist route, so the people of these cities and sites are accustomed to dealing with and seeing foreignors. There's a sense of the local people seeing through us rather than at us. Again, I don't blame them.
Nong Khiaw, a small town in northeast Laos, is still in transition. Guesthouses have existed there for several years but they haven't seen the influx of tourists that they'd like, that go to neighboring Muang Ngoi. In Nong Kiaw, Scott and I actually got to talk to Lao people, conversations that didn't merely revolve around prices or getting directions.
At our first dinner in Nong Khiaw, a local man named Arr (pronounced 'air') struck up a conversation after helping us order our food; the shopowner didn't speak English, or rather Scott and I don't speak Lao, so Arr was brought in to help with the interaction. In an accent I hadn't ever heard before, Arr told us about his job working with the local goverment and the health benefits him and his family get with that (which doesn't cover enough), the guesthouse his wife owns and his desire to see more tourists, and his everyday struggle to save more money and take care of his family. We talked with him for about 20 minutes before he went back to join his friends at a table filled with Beer Lao bottles and food. When Scott and I finished our meal, we said good-bye to Arr, who replied, "You're leaving already?" It was the night before the first official day of Lao New Year and while we would've liked to have intruded on Arr and his friends and drunk with them, we knew, with only Arr speaking English, it would've been more awkward for everyone than really fun, so we left.
At another dinner in Nong Khiaw, we started talking to a Lao couple from Vientiane. They had time off for the New Year and were traveling in their country for the occasion. Next to their dinner table was a big clay pot filled with a concoction of rice and coconut juice that had been fermenting for about a week. The couple was drinking the contents of this clay pot, which is known locally as Lao Hai, and, for the next hour or so, continued to offer Scott and I shots. The woman was a teacher and the man was a creator of museums. Through this job, the man traveled all over the world (including to far off places like Thimphu); he was due in Paris the following week. We listened to his stories, shared some of our own, and happily drank the Lao Hai. Lucky for us, this local drink is not very strong.
posted by Siapiau | 9:29 PM
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