The End of a Decade

by Emily Meyer (Canada)

Making a local connection Laos

We put such pressure on having the perfect New Years Eve. Millions flock to the cities to join in firework celebrations and last year, I was among the hoards. I realized very quickly that being in a place like Sydney Harbour, surrounded by drunk backpackers who carelessly elbow and push for their perfect "countdown" spot, is not a romantic way to ring in the new year. The countdown began and everyone's phones came out. I watched one of the most spectacular fireworks displays in the world through other people's smart phones. Once the crowds cleared, my husband and I made a promise that next year would be different. It wouldn't be about the hype. It wouldn't be about a busy spectacle. To avoid the wintery months of Canada we headed to South East Asia the following year. We joined a tour that would see us spending New Year's Eve at a Village along the Mekong River in Laos. Before arriving at the village we were told that not only do the Laos people not celebrate New Year's on December 31st, but the village does not have electricity and therefore, when the sun goes down, the villagers go to sleep. It sounded as if New Year's Eve might not even happen at all. On December 31st, we boarded a river boat that would take us eight hours down the Mekong River. Eight hours of sandy beaches and vibrant tropical jungle clinging to mountains. Buffalo grazing at the shore. Villages tucked away in the sides of mountains, the villagers working in the shallows of the river. The boat stopped on a sandy strip of land below the village. We climbed up a sandy trail towards our home for the night, curious children watching from afar. As we walked through the town, villagers stood by their doors and watched. Children played, dusty clothed and muddy faced. Some would shy away and others smiled and waved to us. Babies clung to their mothers and young girls carried water jugs on their heads. After a tour of the village we were brought into the prayer room of the village leader. In the middle of a room was an alter covered in banana leaves. On top of the alter was a vase that held bamboo sticks covered in cotton string. Sticky rice, eggs, rice crackers and fluffy rice rolls were placed upon the alter. Locals piled into the room. The village leader had us circle around and put our hands on the alter. They began chanting and performing a blessing of health and happiness for our journies ahead. When the chanting finished, each one of the locals came around the circle, tying the cotton strings to our wrists. The ceremony was completed with another chant and then the offerings were passed around. Children hung by the door and peaked in, watching us. I asked our local guide if the children knew their national song, and if they might sing it for us. He translated for the children and they giggled before their little voices joined together. The room fell silent as they sang their anthum with big smiles on their little faces. We sat down to a meal cooked by the villagers. A few of the locals joined us and brought out "happy water"; a mixture of whiskey and other questionable liquids, mixed together in an urn and drank through long bamboo straws. A sip was enough for me. By 8:30, the village was asleep; with the exception of the handful of our moonshine friends who continued adding mystery liquid to the urn. Our local guide organized a bonfire down on the beach so our night could continue and we could ring in the New Year. We climbed back down the sandy track away from the village and back to the beach where we first arrived. We passed around a bottle of rum and danced to music of both our cultures. Our groups didn't speak the same language but we spent the last hours of our year together under the night sky of a million stars. When the time came, friends of old and new counted our way into a new decade.