Shelter from the rain

by Jessica Fay (Australia)

Making a local connection Laos

Several conversations seemed to be happening; not with us, but at us. The woman at the head of the table dipped small glasses into the bucket of beer and pushed them towards us. Before we can refuse, shots of rice wine are held in the air. “Just one!”, my statement is completely ignored. “Last one!”, Laotian soldiers do not take no for an answer. At the beginning of this trip, I was uncomfortable, both mentally and physically. My fiancée; always ready for an adventure and determined to force me out of my comfort zone, had decided we were to spend the next three days on a motorbike driving the ‘Thahkek Loop’, in the remote area of Laos. First came the unnerving experience of having to change the motorbike 10 minutes into the trip because not only was I becoming unhinged, but our luggage was too. Our second bike then ran out of petrol and left us wandering the empty dirt roads. After obtaining what optimistically could be petrol; bright green and held in a Coca Cola bottle, it was 3 solid hours of bitumen, and the full extent of my transformation into an angst-ridden teenager had come to fruition. The further we drove the smaller and less pessimistic l began to feel. The mountains seem to fold inwards, shades of green almost surrounding us fully. For a while, our only concern is a stray goat or buffalo on the roads; though this did become a consistent problem. The mist that blanketed the mountains slowly turned to rain and our stomachs grumbled. We passed a small restaurant, marked with plastic chairs and turned back to take a peek at the menu. As we pull in, our misconception is made clear. Perhaps frequented by locals; hence the extra plastic chairs, this three-walled wooden shack was the front of a family home. Laotian music is playing loudly from a speaker, the only semblance of decoration is a blue tarp hanging from the floor to the rusty tin roof, secured with rope. Three Lao men and one woman are now cheering and excitedly ushering us over to their table. “Chicken noodle soup?” One man wearing camouflage pants and army boots nods repeatedly as we hesitantly step inside. Through one staggered conversation, we discover that the three men are in fact, off-duty soldiers. The woman; a sister of one of the men is wearing a Lao flag t-shirt, they are all celebrating a national holiday. A large bucket of beer and a recycled glass bottle filled with homemade rice wine sits on the table, and if the amount of alcohol already consumed was any representation of their patriotism, they were feeling particularly proud today. A man holding two chickens by the feet appears and strides through to the makeshift kitchen; a sink and a machete the only items in view. Minutes later, our soup arrives at the table, and some sense of relief comes with the smell. As I eat, five sets of eyes stare obsessively at every move I make. “How old?”, and “where to?” questions in broken English are repeated at us in an attempt to keep some level of dialogue going. One man who speaks no English at all but is desperate to interact calls everyone he knows on Facetime. He shoves his phone in my face as I half-smile back at his excited friends and family, whilst trying to somehow gracefully consume the soup. An unsolicited Facebook friend request and mandatory photoshoot later, and it was our time to leave; if nothing else but to decelerate our intoxication and rest our smile-tired cheeks. We almost forgot to pay, begging the locals to take money for the soup, let alone all the alcohol they had shared. The unusual encounter left us grinning ear to ear. The Laotian people, through their warmth and appetite for life, had left an impact on me I wouldn’t soon forget. This motorbike loop was the first of many, and though that angsty teenager may still come to fruition, she knows that challenges are met with their rewards, no matter how uncomfortable and bizarre they may initially seem.