Visitors to Southeast Asia often observe that women appear to be doing a good bit more than 50% of the productive work. A lot of men can be seen doing the difficult job of drinking coffee and staying out of the sun, while women sling those bamboo poles over their shoulders, hitch massive baskets of goods to either end, and head out for another 14 hours of fun and leisure at the market.
This impression was amply confirmed on National Women’s Day, a holiday in which no women are supposed to work, and consequently the entire region shuts down. The holiday is celebrated in both Vietnam and Laos, so I assume it’s a Communist, up-with-people sort of thing.
Unfortunately, National Women’s Day happened to coincide with my arrival in Vientiane. I spent several hours roaming between banks, trying desperately to effect a complex dong-to-kip conversion before I dehydrated and turned into a backpacker husk on the sidewalk.
My friend just won several tens of thousands of dollars on Jeopardy. He won three days in a row before blowing it on a Final Jeopardy question about the date of the French Revolution.
This story has absolutely nothing to with Vientiane. I will say, though, that since I started this blog, my expectations for other’s storytelling efforts have ratcheted way up. And been consistently disappointed. I’m slaving away in these dusty internet cafes, struggling with sticky keyboards and glacial dial-up connections to provide the public with fresh anecdotes. Meanwhile, getting details of my friend’s appearance on national television is like pulling teeth.
Did you touch Alex Trebek? Did he touch you? Will you stay in contact now that the show is over? Is his mustache real? How can you tell? Did the lights make you sweaty? Did you wear a fake Trebek mustache and bushy wig to psych out your opponents?
These all seem like questions I shouldn’t have had to ask. A little effort, people. Come on.
In Laos I carry around a brick of cash. My brick of cash pleases me. When transactions aren’t going my way, I can slap down my brick and say, “Perhaps this will change your mind.”
It does change their mind. Previously they thought I was merely annoying. Now I’m annoying and unhinged. It’s like saying to an American cop, “Perhaps we can settle the fine right here with this sock monkey full of loose change.”
Vientiane has a great bike shop, perhaps the best in Southeast Asia. It’s owned by a Frenchman named Willy (locals can’t say “Wilfred”), who also coaches a team that has claimed numerous regional medals.
While in the shop, I noticed that the hulking, lycra-clad Lao lounging out front looked suspiciously similar to the man standing on the winner’s dais in a framed picture on the wall. He strutted over and confirmed that it was him holding up the gold medal. Then he pointed at the teammate standing next to him in the photo.
“See that man?”
“Yes.”
“He dead now. AH HA HA HA HA HA!”
The Lao are such a positive people.
I’ve become too cool to wander outside with my camera, and so I’ve missed several pictures like the following: two young monks — shaved heads, saffron robes — wordlessly beating the living crap out of one another in a game of Tekken on a Playstation 2. Most prepubescents screech like scalded apes while playing video games, but these two were so…composed.
