Like so many times before, this war was waged in the most beautiful of places, on the most peaceful of peoples. This otherwise idyllic place is Muang Ngoi Neua, a small one-street village nestled amongst spectacular karst mountains, where one can hear no cars. No motorbikes, no telephones. The serene Nam Ou river isolates this peninsula from the rest of northern Laos and most everyone likes it this way. On a mud bank neatly bisecting the river, two groups of baby-faced men nervously faced off in the afternoon sun. In the background, their grim minions worked furiously, nails digging deeply into the dirt to compile an arsenal of mudballs. For one unnerving moment, all was quiet on the northern front, and then all hell broke loose. Boys will be boys, and soon mud was hailing in
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