It’s been almost six months since we arrived, six months that have settled so much into routine that nothing seems extraordinary any more, not the novice monks chatting on cell phones nor the vendors pushing wooden carts laden with coconuts nor the prepubescent motorbike drivers, though a particularly small boy will catch my eye.
So what does stand out? I got mildly electrocuted by a banana muffin toasting in our Pro-Life oven, purchased with much fanfare from a ladyboy in Thailand, who insisted on taking our photos with our new product, then getting her staff to unpack it, break it, and pack it up again. That’s not why it shocked me—any appliance does, since the electricity isn’t grounded—but it does explain the rubbish timer. I rode in a tuk tuk that towed another tuk tuk (the one belonging to my original driver) for ten kilometers down National Highway 13, Laos’ “busiest” road, the two vehicles nominally attached to one another with a bit of blue plastic string that broke more than once. I stole a kitten from the grounds of the Asian Development Bank, and then promptly gave him away as a birthday gift.
And that’s about it. I teach banking, economics, and soil professionals during the week and beer salesmen on Saturdays, right after I visit the organic veggie market; Sunday mornings are dedicated to the herbal steam room at the gym. Every so often consumer needs drive us to visit a Thai mall, and the Thai mall drives us promptly back into Vientiane’ sleepy embrace.
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