"Clean Food, Good Testes" - Vientiane, Laos

---

When most people hear the word, “Laos” they think of a back-water country with no running water, no electricity and no trace of Western culture. They aren’t all-together wrong. Large swaths of the country are like this, albeit without the lack of Western-influence, as rigged-up satellite dishes have brought our culture in to even the most remote villages. But quite a few of the bigger cities, in particular, Vientiane the capital, offer all the Western creature comforts of home, though within the wonderful culture of Laos.

Laos’ capital city is fully developed to the needs of tourists, ex-patriots and diplomats, meaning it boasts international restaurants, bars, clubs, gyms, bookstores, clothing shops; you name it, Vientiane has it, and it‘s probably new. Vientiane was likely a comfortable, modern respite for foreigners, from their work in the rest of the Lao ‘frontier’ for decades, prior to the war. Since the country re-opened to international visitors in 1988, Vientiane has returned to its glory as the most modern and improving part of what is largely an undeveloped and un-developing country. This is partly due to it being the first and most common place in Laos where foreigners come to work, practice diplomacy and vacation. Luang Prabang, as well as other cities in Laos, are also in the midst of developing and modernizing, but they will never catch up with Vientiane. With all that in mind, and my plan being to soon return to Luang Prabang and remain there, I figured I might as well enjoy all things Western and modern while I could.

My first day in Vientiane, after two weeks spent down south eating traditional Lao food, mostly noodles and sticky rice (which I love but sometimes which just get boring), I ate Vietnamese for breakfast, Japanese for lunch and Italian for dinner. I sat at a gorgeous roof-top bar, overlooking the river, and drank Lao whiskey cocktails while chatting to Lao and Thai people my age who spoke perfect English. I rode a rented bicycle to a yoga class run by an American woman in her home, and bought a full-day gym pass for a gorgeous new state-of-the-art gym complete with outdoor swimming pool. I bought French cheeses and baguettes at the fabulous international market. It really felt like entering another world; yet this was the same country where I’d been during my entire trip. I guess capital cities are generally known as being much more advanced, in things good and bad, than the rest of their countries so it‘s nothing unusual. I felt like I’d gone to Paris!

At a Vientiane food court, I discovered my third-favorite sign of the trip thus far, “Clean food, good testes.” Ah, isn’t it nice to know that your chef has cleaned his genitals before preparing your food?

While riding a packed bus thirty minutes outside of town to visit an intriguing Hindu/Buddhist sculpture park, I met Mr. Rose. Only twenty-five, he speaks perfect English and is a local English teacher. He was well-dressed in slacks and a collared-shirt and carried a briefcase. Within twenty-minutes of speaking to him, he had convinced me to come along with him, dismounting the bus at his friend’s house. He promised to tour me through the sculpture park, having noviced at a monastery nearby, he said he knew it quite well. In return, he wanted me to come along to his private English lessons that afternoon; he said his students would be thrilled to meet me, a native English speaker. So I trusted my intuition and had a really interesting afternoon with Mr. Rose.

At his friend’s home, we retrieved Mr. Rose’s motorbike and drove ten minutes more to the Buddha Park. Once there, my new friend was able to explain the meaning behind the mind-expanding sculptures, portraying Hindu and Buddhist figures in various aggressive and frightening activities, meanings I never would have known on my own. The weather turned stormy and it started to pour so Mr. Rose and I enjoyed some noodle soup at the park’s covered food stand. Mr. Rose would not even hear of me paying, he insisted on paying, saying he had invited me to come along with him.

From Buddha Park, we drove by motorbike to the Lao Paper Factory in Ban Dongphonehaear where we met Tim Boriboon, Mr.Rose’s student. Tim was a sweet kid of eighteen who lived in a small shack aside a recycled toilet paper factory where he and his parents worked. The shack where they lived was actually one long shack, split in five different rooms, for five different families. Despite the tight conditions, the families did not seem dirt poor. They each had a TV and a motorbike, and there was even a fifth of the shack devoted to study space, like a small school. Tim and his parents were beyond thrilled that I had come; Tim in particular, never spoke to a native English speaker before. He toured us through the toilet paper factory, which was interesting as I hadn’t realized that toilet paper was made in long, long rolls and then cut in to the short rolls we use. Big vats held all sorts of paper, ready to be recycled in to the pink toilet paper that is ubiquitous throughout Laos and Thailand. A teenage boy running a big toilet-paper making machine was shocked that a ‘falang’, or foreigner, was touring the factory. Long rolls of toilet paper were stacked everywhere. Two big, strong teenage boys were feeding a huge furnace outside, constantly chopping huge felled trees around them for the firewood to keep the fire going.

Unsurprisingly, Tim really couldn’t understand a word I said; he had to look to Mr. Rose to repeat my words. He’d never heard a native speaker, so I’m sure my words sounded all wrong. He was an ambitious kid, and was just here saving money so he could continue college the following year. I took his photograph and promised to send it to him, as he’d never had a photo of himself. He had the best grin, and he kept using it; like he just couldn’t believe his luck that a real American had showed up, at HIS house, to teach HIM English. When we left, his parents presented me with a sixteen-pack of pink toilet paper. They were so glad I came, they wanted to give me something, and that is what they had to give. Such lovely, lovely people.

Our next stop was the opposite of our first; we arrived at the nicest house I’d ever been to in Laos. Real, strong walls supported a home with eight rooms; three bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, even a separate room for toilet and shower. A living room with a couch and a TV, a kitchen with a counter for chopping and cooking, bedrooms with real beds. This home so resembled an American home I could barely believe where I was. The parents were apparently ‘pig farmers’ which I’m sure is a lucrative career, but… I just had trouble believing ‘pig farming’ could have earned them such a comfortable lifestyle. I’d met quite a few pig in my time in Laos and none of them had digs like these guys. More likely these people had close ties to government officials and thus, were taken care of.

Here we taught three kids who were cute but unwilling to speak a word of English. We accepted an offer to stay for dinner because I thought the kids would be more relaxed and thus more willing to chat. But the kids didn’t even join us; we ate at a low bamboo table in the living room with their parents, in front of the TV. Now was my turn to be shocked; eating in front of the TV is an awful American trend, and these affluent Lao people adopted it from us! How embarrassing to be an implicit part of the change from their traditional way of eating. Dinner, especially the pork, was very delicious. Upon parting, I gave the parents a lovely gift of a sixteen-pack of pink toilet paper. I think they liked it.

Mr. Rose drove me back to Vientiane, and it was my turn to show him something. I took him to my favorite roof-top bar and bought him beer. I introduced him to my lady-boy friends, a group of fabulous ladies I’d met a few nights earlier at the bar. They are very hot young Lao ladies, who are biologically men, who go out drinking with each other, dress in racy, fancy outfits, and are more boy-crazy than anyone I’ve ever met. Their favorite game is to seduce American and European boys, managing to ‘hook-up’ with these guys without the guys realizing these sexy ladies are men. It’s a complicated game, but quite fascinating.

Now Mr. Rose was stunned (not about the lady-boys, all Lao people are familiar with ‘katouey’). He said I’d shown him a whole new life, a new way to have fun. I thought that was hysterical as really he was the one that had shown me amazing things that day. All I’d shown him was a bar that was neat because it was on a roof, and because one could drink cheap beer here while chatting with Lao and Falang. We had a great time at the bar, talking about life, and fun, while drinking beer and talking to others.

Things got a bit awkward around midnight. Mr.Rose declared that he did not have enough gas to get back to his village and all the gas stations were now closed. I could not just let him sleep in my room as it is strictly forbidden for Lao people to enter a hotel room with a falang. (This is to enforce the law against falang-lao sexual relations, although there are certain hotels and shady places where this is permitted.) I also knew that my guesthouse was full, so I could not just rent him another room or bed. I suggested he look for another guesthouse or hotel to stay in and I would pay. He declined and instead set out riding towards his village, hoping to make it before running out of gas. I never knew what happened; I called him the next day, numerous times, and couldn’t reach him. He never called back. The lovely Mr. Rose; I hope everything worked out OK for him.

---

Photos

One of Many Fabulously Creative Sculptures
Based on Hindu and Buddhist Myth

The boys feeding the furnace for the factory
Notice their excellent safety gear...sandals.