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There’s a British phrase, oft rolled-out at times when their acquirement is in the ascendancy (think Christmas and pandemics): that a dog is for life. No such sentiment exists here, at least not rurally. Dogs are not so much owned as inherited; if they choose to live close to you then other humans may consider them yours, although the canine’s allegiance may flip at any time. Equally, if their presence becomes a hindrance there is little saccharinity involved in ridding yourself of the nuisance. Dogs are transient.
Our original alpha male here at
Sipasert, Chilo (my first Laos love), bit two individuals and was duly exiled. We have never seen him again. The same fate befell Pak Dam when, as a playful young pup, he nipped Ali. However, on that occasion, our impassioned campaigning did see him returned. Beautiful, gentle Lucy (Diago’s, Pak Dam’s and Lulu’s mum – members of three separate sequential litters) simply disappeared without explanation, although I do have my suspicions as to why. She was due to come into season again and Pi Mai - the most lucrative period of any, let alone this tragic tourist-barren year - was rapidly approaching. Judging by her popularity with
rogue male dogs during her last fertile cycle, and the incessant fighting over her that ensued, I suspect she was deemed too much of a troublesome risk to have around the paying crowds expected during the festive period. Hence she was gone.
Khao (Captain Scarlet) was not ousted but sadly, finally, demonstrated that he wasn’t actually indestructible when his fourth bout of bone choking progressing to blocked bowel saw him off. No doubt someone out there is questioning why a veterinarian couldn’t attempt to remove the obstruction. Well… what passes for a rural vets in Laos is little more than a glorified pharmacy and even if such an operation were possible the price would be beyond all but the uber rich.
Another lovable softy of a dog, When, appeared with his top-knotted master (we have no idea as to the latter’s link to
Sipasert), only then to be deserted himself. Meanwhile Diago (who adopted Martin) regularly insists on escorting us home from theirs and then generally spends the night on our balcony; whilst Pak Dam, now far more confident and independent, comes and goes as he fancies, typically accompanied by his little sister, Lulu. She, coincidentally, has just
turned up with an unpleasant gift: a dirty baby’s nappy.
The last blog left us anticipating Pi Mai, and Laos New Year’s Eve 2025 (Buddhist calendar) saw our little street - that leads to the falls and festivities - lined with an assemblage of newly erected stalls. Of course there were food vendors and drink sellers alongside the win-a-cuddly-toy stands and child-targeted gambling joints, but what did stand out was the “welcome to see the crocodile show”. Hopefully it wasn’t an example of the critically endangered Siamese crocodile, the only crocodilian native to Laos. Regardless, no one seemed to be visiting the grim tarped enclosure which was good, as long as the poor creature wasn’t relying on clientele for food.
Now, care of the Funfair’s Haunted House, dusk was greeted by an all pervasive spooky sound track, an eerie endlessly looped tune that, incredibly irritatingly, also – why? – incorporated the ring tone of a phone.
Day one, New Year’s Day, saw a sizeable number of visitors descend and Somphone’s gazebos and
Sipasert’s stalls were doing good business. However, it was New Year and this is Laos so business was grudgingly
conducted amidst the boozy partying of the vendors themselves.
Palomei’s owner Po, the energy and driving force behind the temporary riverside developments, had provisioned his crew (including us: gazebo builders and litter gatherers) with team T-shirts. Kita’s father was not best pleased: “You our family”. Nevertheless we split our time between collecting rubbish from the islands and waterways (benefiting all, Ali’s back aside) and washing the endless piles of dishes at home.
Meanwhile, Thailand was going Covid crazy with daily new infections surpassing one thousand, whilst numbers were also cranking up in Cambodia. Sure enough, on day two of Pi Mai, Laos announced two cases itself: both imported. The first, case number 57, was a Lao national returning from cosmetic surgery performed in Thailand; her later naming led to some nasty trolling, no doubt putting her rhinoplasty back out of joint. The second, a Thai ex-pat, had met up with illegal entries from Thailand who’d crossed the river for a day’s jolly. He, subsequently, patronized an assortment of massage parlours, karaokes and restaurants before it became apparent that he was now infected. Much of what followed is attributed to this individual.
Still, day two
was humming with several thousand revelers eating, drinking and splashing about in and around the falls, each party group cranking up their personal sound systems to fearsome distortions in vain attempts to drown out their neighbours (and the bloody Haunted House).
Whilst Team
Palomei managed to keep the river and falls environs largely litter-free the same could not be said for our approach road or the Funfair. Here the milling multitude discarded waste – horribly mostly plastic - with abandon despite our best efforts with bin provision, and there were simply too many bodies present to clean-up in real-time.
Although… The numbers present caused Ali, a woman with a bladder of a certain age, to have an epiphany: where were the ladies relieving themselves? No doubt the men were nipping into the surrounding woods, but there were no amenities available for those more reticent al fresco urinators, let alone someone with more extensive needs.
Sipasert, situated right in the thick of the action, has a little-used toilet block… and bus stations charge 2,000 kip for such a convenience. Hmmm… Following a quick conflab with Pon, the construction of a sign, a cleanliness overhaul of
the facilities and a tray daintily arranged with toilet paper handouts, Ali assumed the role of toilet attendant. And very happy she was with her duties (nurses are strange beasts), until a user actually shat on one of her pristine floors. Fortunately for that “lady” Ali hadn’t been poised ready for a spruce-up as she exited.
As darkness descended and the crowds thinned so the police arrived and began disseminating the news: due to the day’s developments, from tomorrow, all Pi Mai festivities – countrywide - were cancelled. There would be no visitors on days 3 or 4, nor at the weekend that had, conveniently, abutted the cessation of official celebrations. It had been a wonderfully productive day, but that was it. Many, prepared for two or more similar days, had bought-in food stocks. Most do not own a freezer. Somphone had made something like 1,000,000 kip, but $100 is little return for five solid days of labour by multiple workers (pre-event) and then two further days during. Unless we were very fortunate there would be another lock-down (our first in a year) and no time available to gain some extra revenue before the threat of the
coming rains necessitated all constructions being dismantled and removed. There was a subdued mood about town. We cracked some conciliatory beers.
Bright and early the following morning there was a mass exodus of the transient vendors, leaving, in their wake, a carpet of detritus. Fortunately Nichola (Nicholas, but the French don’t pronounce the “s”) had been visiting M&M and he emerged brandishing two homemade litter sticks. Thus he and Ali set about clearing the street and surrounding fields. Many, many, bags were filled and, care of the school bus, run to the land-fill site, but the day was still shrouded within a pervading aroma of burning hydrocarbons.
Our smug Covid position of 56 cases (and no deaths) in over a year was rapidly realigned when following the truncated Pi Mai we recorded 28, 6, 65 and 88 cases in four successive days (a greater than 300 percent increase to our total), the vast majority all directly linked to case 58. Vientiane went into lockdown on the 23
rd, with the rest of the country following suit on the 24
th. Unfortunately this coincided with us running out of bread; we needed to bake, but equally had
no flour. Masked-up we wandered into town. On arriving at the main road it was apparent that road blocks were once again in operation with cars being prevented from crossing the bridge. Indeed we were refused passage to access our usual flour dispenser and were forced to obtain what we could from an unsealed sack in the market. There were some weevils visibly present, but upon returning and with fine sieving we additionally discovered a multitude of tiny maggots. This was an infestation too far and I, cringing, stated my intention to throw the flour and go breadless for… as long as… Pon found this most amusing; hell, we’d removed… most… and they were only harmless maggots. What was my problem?
The covid numbers continued to climb steadily with daily counts of 76, 113, 75, but at least we were not seeing an exponential rise. We were, however, recording some peculiar demographics: most of those infected were under the age of 39, including a sizeable number of children, several of these younger than three. These unusual findings might be explained by the, highly efficient here, track-and-trace identifications (of those younger individuals who had had contact with no.
58) rather than – as largely occurs in more stressed countries – individuals with symptoms requesting a test (the older/infirm)?
On an up note: in the last week we have gained a new recruit, a barely weened and still mightily skittish pup named Pepsi. We have no idea as to her parentage, but we do, once again, typically have three dogs lazing on the balcony – the only remaining loiterer from last year being Pak Dam who, though still a pussy, may actually be assembling his own pack.
Anyway, as I notice my verbosity on Travelblog’s stats, an aside…
If someone mentions a lengthy book most of us immediately think Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” and at 587,000 words he wasn’t holding back, although one of my personal favourites, Vikram Seth’s “A Suitable Boy”, necessitated over 591,000. The totality of my
Travelblog scribblings clock 258,000 (across 64 entries), marginally surpassing JK Rowling’s rather more lucrative “Order of the Phoenix” (257,000) yet markedly less than Dostoyevsky’s interminable… I’m still wading/drowning… “The Brothers Karamazov” whose adventures span a yawning 364,000. Meanwhile, “The Art of the Deal” at 384 pages (seemingly no one has ever bothered to
read count the words) comprised an unimaginably informative ca. 96,000 (384 x 250: best guestimate for double spaced 12 pt. Courier font). That said, it almost certainly contained significantly more as it would be unlikely that many long words were employed, thereby giving the orange troll a reasonable chance of at least comprehending what Tony Swartz wrote for him. Yes… I’ve (masochistically) missed him. Not that he hasn’t contributed prolifically to the printed word as his well in excess of 3,500 lawsuits (more than half not as plaintiff) will have generated millions. Here’s to many more of those. And some convictions.
That ramble inevitably, testily, brings me on to vaccines and the now faltering roll-out in the Divided States. Approaching 50 percent of their populace are apparently reticent/unlikely/unwilling to have the jabs. Without a timely 70 percent plus uptake you will never achieve “herd immunity”, a concept that requires drastic viral population contraction – a tiny R number – thereby seriously impeding the virus’s ability to successfully source a new host (and replicate) and, ultimately, leads to its extinction. Lesser compliance and new, potentially vaccine-breakthrough, variants will inevitably evolve. It’s a simple, brainless choice. The more erudite
populace of India (and I was going to add Laos, but see later) would happily accept their unwanted excess. How wealth (with its supposed accompanying education) and irreverent ignorance can co-exist to such an extent astounds. And… As vaccine acceptance there largely mirrors the individual’s political allegiance (OK, and religious beliefs – although are there any non-Republican evangelicals? African American and Native American hesitancy is sadly, self-destructively, far more forgivable given their historically outrageous treatment as medical guinea pigs) we may well be witnessing the true hideous legacy of a Trump presidency. Churchill, for all his failings, might have orated: “Never, in the field of human suffering, was so much, bestowed upon so many, by so few”.
Laos’ extremely limited vaccine supplies, all donated, have come from India (AstraZenica) and China (Sinopharm). With good cause the former may well be in short supply for some considerable time. We know of people here who have had a shot, but rurally it may be many months yet before we are able to proffer an arm and, realistically, it might well be 2022 before we are in a position to re-enter Europe. Who knows? Maybe Scotland will get there before
us?
On the 9
th of May Laos recorded its first death; consequently we were no longer – virally, statistically - the safest country on this Earth. And although that is a nothing statistic it, given the nation’s compliance, resilience and fortitude, hurts.
And then, sliding somewhat, we have China: the origin of the virus, the most populous country on earth, who now sits – according to its (admittedly less than totally reliable) figures – at 97
th in the world league of infections, with a total number of cases some 4-fold lower than India is currently recording on a daily basis. Thailand (like all – up to this point – South East Asian countries) has been regarded as a relative triumph in its handling of the pandemic and yet on May 13
th it “officially” surpassed China’s almost static total.
Still, for most, life goes on.
Currently there are squadrons of dragonflies buzzing the sky just off our balcony, the balcony upon which our basil was recently decimated by a stealthy colony of ants.
The fragrant frangipani blooms are largely past, replaced by the stunning scarlet masses
of flame trees, whilst cream and purple epiphytic orchids display from a miscellany of unlikely perches.
As the heat of the day intensifies so the children, most aged around seven, many of the tots naked, gather below to perform fearless somersaults from the pontoon into barely two feet of water. And indeed Ali is also back in the river, churning out her lengths.
Post-English lesson, Namphun, Pancake and Phuang (the latter without her first beau in tow) increasingly join us in cooking (and then consuming) our offerings. Anything originating from a potato is popular (buttery mash or twice-fried chips are literally fought over). That said there are numerous disappointments: if it contains nutmeg – to our minds a fine addition to an egg custard set within a small steamed pumpkin; my homemade tahini paste – humus is universally reviled; or any sauce containing wine and/or tomatoes then it is – not subtly – rejected.
Oh, and then today on the 21
st, feeling somewhat uninformed about the vaccine roll-out to rural areas, we questioned Pon about when she thought it might become available. “Now in the local clinic” she chirped.
And thank heavens we’d enquired because its availability was for two days only and we had just three hours remaining to make that window. From tomorrow the team move on to the next village. And that brings me back to the USA, education, and reticence to have the (any) vaccine. Why? Because, as it transpires, people here are truly scared about doing so; yet, of course, especially outside of the large cities, they are largely uneducated about such matters. There were a smattering of takers (and very professionally it was being handled), but I fear most in rural Laos need strong leadership and example to take advantage of what little vaccine we have. Chiefs, Abbotts and elders need to step up, have it themselves and publicise that fact. Hopefully it will have been noted that the falang were more than eager to have theirs and that this encourages others.
As a footnote… We have been invited to go speak again to the town council, this time about vaccines, and evidently it is much needed. In terms of entry restrictions and containment the Laos government have, thus far, handled everything thrown at them with decisive good sense. We
pray, in our atheist way, that they are able to stifle this latest, biggest, threat.
And a last caveat... Incredibly we have received our first vaccination before friends in the Netherlands, Germany, Japan and Australia.
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Ake Och Emma
Ake Dahllof and Emma Holmbro
Congratulations to your Covid shot
It sounds like Laos so far has come through the pandemic better than most. Also congratulations to your Covid shot. The vaccines are what will eventually allow us to travel like we used to. But for us that won't happen this year. We are planning another trip in Sweden this summer. /Ake