Life in Isaan

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After lasts weeks mission down South, we’ve been finding goings-on closer to home.

As you know, we were off because our students were busy helping gather in the rice harvest. So I reckoned it would be handy karma if we got a taste of what almost every rural Isaan does for a living. Kitted up in a long-sleeve top, woolly gloves and a Vietnamese-style hat for protection, we hopped in the back of Bra Yung’s pickup truck and went to labour under the evening sun. We worked back-bent and drenched with sweat alongside Bra Yung’s uncle who, with a smouldering cigarette clenched in his mouth, calmly and skilfully went through his crop like a combine harvester. We worked at half his speed and sweated twice as much. As the orange light grew too faint to know where our scythes were cutting, we took to digging into the wet earth for crabs but only found four, Hors d'oeuvre size by Bra Yung’s standards. We winded our way back home, standing up to let the 50mph rush of night air cool us down. I was tired. Yet it’s that kind of good weary sensation you get from doing some good hard graft. The kind that assures you will sleep soundly. But we only worked 2 hours. Imagine doing that every day for 14 days. Hard work goes into the jasmine rice you buy and I think I’ll leave it to the professionals.

On Saturday morning, we were invited to a merit-making ceremony in Phana. Gathered in Lawrence’s Study House were 6 saffron clothed abbot monks, the family who’s recently deceased ancestors the merit was to be made for, and 5 farangs. We uncomfortably sat on our feet facing away from the monks, hands in prayer whilst the monks echoed chants round the room as the written names of the departed were burnt over blessed water. It finished with a blessing of the holy water, thrown across all present. He must think Ive some evil in me because by the time he’d finished I was soaked to the skin!

Later that evening we came to a gig hosted at Lawrence’s house. By gig I mean a 60 something singing songs about Phana to 50 seated pensioners who half listen, half gabble and woop into eachothers ears. Perhaps this is as wild as it gets for Thailand’s most rural town. Although who’s to say this quiet town image is not just a cover? Phana’s farmers could be selling rice on a huge black market monopoly. Maybe criminal gangs hold open war in the streets and we just stumbled in during the quiet before a coming storm.

Whatever Phana’s appeal, it certainly has its hold on Lawrence. He married his Thai wife in 1969 and has been living here longer than most of the middle aged inhabitants. A lovely white haired man with a smiling face, similar to what most Thai’s wear, he has seen changes in Thailand spanning half a century. He let us stay in the Study House, a place to promote English and Phana’s monkey sanctuary, and said we could come round for a breakfast of bake beans and homemade bread. We never did, choosing to watch Lord of The Rings round at Robyn and Claire’s, but I dare say we will be back for bake beans and a copy of his book to find if there’s more to Phana than meets the eye ( and see who runs the rice cartel).

Next week will have more Isaan stories from weddings to Loy Kratong festival so keep following the blog!

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