Free for a year!!

Bagging my first waterfall - the impressive edge of Tad Suong

Day 1 – Pakse to Salavan

I’m really proud of myself, but also a little humbled. I arrived tonight in a town called Salavan that all the guide books said was ‘frontier – like’, reminiscent of the Wild West or 19th century Outback Australia. There wasn’t quite tumble weeds blowing down Main Street but there was the odd pig to test my driving skills.

I feel proud because I’ve rented a motorbike for a week, kitted it out with a new front tyre, had it serviced over night in Pakse and driven all day to get here. I’ve checked into a good room, (‘good’ meaning over US$5) and assertively refused two other rooms that had various imperfections like toilets that didn’t flush or basins that gushed water onto the floor. I’m pushing the boat out at US$8 a night, but let’s put this into perspective; a 6 bed shared dorm in the Perth Youth Hostel costs around US$30 a night. For my US$8 a night I’m getting un-necessary air-con, unintelligible Loa TV, a double bed and en-suite bathroom. Bargain!!
There are a few NGO types staying here too but engaging them in conversation will break that feeling that I’m the only Western in town (actually, there are probably 6 of us in total). I wander down to the river and discover a restaurant where 4 young men are playing “boun” or boules or petonque or botchy depending on where you come from (for those of you still none the wiser it’s the game with the solid metal cannon balls thrown with backspin onto a gravel pitch). Within minutes one of the players called Campane asks if I would like to join in the next game. I’m paired with him and handed 2 balls whilst he takes 4. Obviously I’m seen as an apprentice. Within the space of 2 ends I’ve earned the 3rd ball, passed unceremoniously into my hands without a word being said. Another bottle of delicious Beer Lao is ordered and the communal glass is passed my way. I’ve made the team!
A little while later, after I’ve played out of my skin and won a head to head with a young local, we adjourn to a local restaurant to have a Korean Bar BQ! Campane is a school teacher in a local secondary school. He teaches English and frankly he needs a bit of practice but that’s being very harsh considering my remedial level Lao. It’s probably the 10 beers on an empty stomach talking.
The humble feeling comes later as I flop into bed with one foot grounded to remind me that the room isn’t spinning. It comes in the form of a question about what would I have done if our places were swapped. Would I be so accommodating and hospitable if, on a Tuesday night, midterm, a Lao visitor had gatecrashed my social group. Would I have let them join, bought them beers, taken them off to my favourite restaurant and been prepared to party knowing I had work the next day? Absolutely not! But this has happened to me on more than one occasion in SE Asia in the past year. Like I said, I feel very humbled.

Bagged my second - a particularly tricky one as it wasn't mentioned on any map.

Day 2 – Salavan.
I’m going to blow my own trumpet because there’s no one around to do it for me (one of the draw backs to travelling alone). I’ve just spent a frustrating hour trying to hire a bicycle from the Salavan market. It’s a remote place likened to a Wild West frontier town and very few people speak English. I’m not too great with languages but l try hard when travelling. I’ve just had a conversation at a shop that sells bikes that began in Lao and ended up in French. What’s more I spoke, was understood and comprehended what was said back to me. The fact that they couldn’t provide me with a bike was of lesser concern to the sense of satisfaction I felt at having bridged the language barrier in no fewer than 2 unfamiliar languages.
I needed a bicycle to get to the lake with the rare crocodiles. The day trek would also take me past a few minority villages and use some of the old Ho Chi Minh Trail (that collection of tracks that kept the South Vietnamese Communists well supplied with arms during the Vietnam War.) I had read about trail blazing trips that the intrepid explorer could make in this area in an excellent e-guide that I’d downloaded and printed off from the Travelfish website (my favourite source of information on SE Asia). Stuff that wasn’t even mentioned in the Lonely Planet. I had even allowed for an extra day here.

The road less travelled - first off road experience - Day 2
The tourist set up here is really quite farcical. Both the small tourist office in town and the larger Department of Tourism in the Municipal Office both have crude display boards showing the above mentioned features of the area that the visitor might want to see. On my arrival here yesterday I met the Head of Tourism who spoke a little English and who told me he could fix me up with a guide if I could get us both bicycles. I’ve the motorbike but he tells me this is not practical as the trip involves 3 rivers crossing where the mode of transport has to be carried across. But it seems there’s not a bike to be hired in the whole town. There are bikes for sale or I could knock someone off theirs or offer them large quantities of cash for the use of their bike for the day but that’s all getting too complicated. The Head of Tourism just shrugs his shoulders when I turn up for our meeting at 9am – bike less. “I been thinking that it might be a good idea for the Department to buy 2 or 3 so we can hire them out”, he muses. No kidding!! This is an end of the road town, but they are constructing a new road that will pass through and onto the Vietnamese boarder. When that’s operational at the end of 2009 there’ll be a lot more people like me arriving and they’ll need far more than 4 bikes to satisfy the demand. As for now I’ll accept defeat, leave my strongest recommendations in the suggestion box and get back on the open road.

The air always smells of smoke. The ever present slash and burn techniques to create more farm land.

Day 3 - Sekong
This is a town on the make – literally. There is construction everywhere. The old adage “build and they will come”, seems to have been taken to heart by the city fathers. This is a town that knows that the tourists are coming and wants to make sure that it's ready. This explains the larger than usual choice of accommodation. There’s a hotel on the outskirts that could sleep 200+ guests a night. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town got 20 a night at the moment. Then there’s the haunted hotel that’s next door to the intriguingly named Woman Fever Kosmet Centre Guesthouse (no clues anywhere as to the origins of that name). But both have one of the town's many loudspeakers tied to a lamp post outside and I’m not sure I want to be woken by distorted and discordant Lao music or what seems to be government radio broadcasts. So I seek out the Koky Guesthouse that my reliable e-guide from travelfish.org tells me is as close to a B & B as Laos get.
I’m in luck. There’s one room left (the other 3 are taken by a French doctor from Medicine sans Frontier, his Lao translator and driver.) They are following up on an outbreak of cholera that occurred in this region about 10 days ago. They are building and equipping a tent base for the treatment of further outbreaks and training local medical personal in how to deal with new cases. Luckily, the chain smoking doctor tells me there haven’t been any new cases reported in the last week and this follows the pattern that suggests that the outbreak has abated.
The tourist information office here is collecting information about tourism in Sekong Province, but doesn’t dispense any! They’ve a little to learn from their counterparts in Salavan. There are rumours of great trekking in the nearby hills but I’ll frustrating have to settle for a walk down by the, admittedly, very scenic Sekong River at daybreak to watch the early fisher men casting their nets. Time to move on again!

Sunrise on the Sekong River

Day 4 – Attapeu
He breezed into the sleepy restaurant like a cross between a Star Wars Storm trooper and an old Wild West frontiers man. His dusty black armour gave him the appearance of a gigantic cockroach. Now here was a real motorbike rider. Strangely I earned his respect within minutes by being this far from civilisation on a tiny 100cc city bike. His trail bike was splattered with mud and loaded down with camping gear and aluminium boxes. His name was John or Don – I couldn’t quite tell as his voice was distorted by the Darth Vader-like mask he was wearing. The restaurant was empty so he sat down at my table. It was all a little intimidating.
Two beers and an excellent fish laap later (a refreshing blend of finely chopped fish, fresh mint and basil and chilli) I felt much more at ease. He was an American who lived off his boat in Malaysia because it had the cheapest mooring fees of anywhere in SE Asia. He was an amateur cartographer and had been spending 3-4 months of the previous 5 years year’s exploring almost every remote road and track in Cambodia and Laos, paying specific attention to the famed Ho Chi Minh Trail. The guy was impressive, but with a confidence and ease that didn’t boarder on arrogance. He knew the area like the back of his hand, was kitted out for any eventuality, slung his hammock up in the jungle or in villages where ever he happened to be and could speak passable Khmer, Lao and Thai. All this made my achievements of the previous few days seem positively boy-scout- like in comparison. But I found that I had enough experience of the region to contribute to the conversation and a good few hours passed very quickly.
At one point I mentioned that tomorrow I planned to find a spectacular but un-sign posted waterfall up the Bolevan Plateau. I thought I was well prepared having some distances written down in my e-guide and having had the odometer specially checked out so that I could rely on its accuracy. He had been to the waterfall that afternoon and had added GPS co-ordinates to his own map. Out came the lap top and within seconds he was giving me precise distances down to a fraction of a kilometre.

Tad Katamtock - the difficult to find falls half way up the Bolevan Plateau

I asked him what he was going to do with all these maps and he told me that in his view the next 5 years would see travel revolutionised by the mobile phone. Apparently there are already models on the market that have built in GPS functions and he spoke convincingly about their ability to download maps, e-guides, phrase books all to the one small devise in your pocket. Never would you need to lug great door stopping guide books around or ever get lost. It’s an interesting future to contemplate.

Bagged a North Vietnamese missile on the Ho Chi Minh Trail today with the help of Mr Ngai, my guide.

Day 5 Attapeu and surrounds

I was feeling quite good when we realised that we had a puncture. Despite the heat of the day and being the furthest from civilisation that I had got on this motorbike trip, I was strangely confident. This feeling lay in the fact that today I had blown the budget on a guide – a young looking 30 year old called Mr Ngai, who was dressed very trendily in designer cap and shoes. He didn’t seem too concerned. We had passed a worker’s camp 10 minutes before and I was secretly jubilant that only 2 days before I had had the foresight to buy a new inner tube after one of the two people I was riding with that day had ridden over a nail. The only problem was that we didn’t have tools and my trusty Swiss Army knife was one of the cheaper models without the spanner option!

Bee-eating!
However, Ngai knew someone at the worker’s camp and reckoned that they would have a tool box. So, as Ngai began to push the bike back at rather a brisk pace and I stepped out in pursuit I must admit to still finding it all a ‘bit of an adventure’.
One hour later, as the sun blazed down and we finished the final dregs of my water, the ‘adventure’ was losing its gloss especially when we got to the camp to discover a lack of tool box or pump. But Ngai was a resourceful man and he found another bike that had merely run out of petrol (I also think he was feeling slightly ashamed that we should be in this predicament in the first place – though goodness knows why!) After syphoning one litre of fuel from my bike using the tried and tested ‘suck’ method and getting a mouthful for his pains- (not pleasant at all as it’s happened to me before and the taste stays with you for days), he rode off to the last village we had passed through to search for a mechanic.

Going hunting
I was left, delightfully in the shade, with a jolly woman (who I think was the camp cook), an older man and a monkey. The cook was sucking what I thought was honey from a wild honey comb but on closer inspection turned out to be the maggot-like grubs that would never now make it into adulthood. The old man sat with a battered old bolt action rifle across his knees that looked like it was held together with string and the monkey just got on with its business.

Roadside repairs.
About an hour later Ngai returned with a pre-pubescent mechanic who replaced the back wheel and inner tube with the speed of someone who had been doing it his entire life. I paid the boy the bargain, life saving fee of US$2-3 and Ngai and I set off down the dusty, rocky track again with me secretly promising never to complain about the bumpiness of the roads again.

A woman of the Lavae tribe - faint traces of her tatoos can be made out on her chin.

An old hand now, I bagged 3 falls on the last day but it aged me dramatically!

From the wooden balcony hanging precariously over a 10 meter drop, the sounds of children are plainly heard. Edging closer to the void, I’m presented with a vision of harmonious Laos life. The Mekong is about one kilometre wide here and slow moving. In the shallows are 4-5 small children splashing around in various states of undress. A man of indeterminable age is washing his hair with a bar of soap. It’s 5pm and everyone in Laos who is not a “falang” backpacker scrubs themselves scrupulously clean as the day draws to a close. The women are the most fastidious and the most modest in their full length sarong wraps. Several basic boats are tied up at the water’s edge and there’s a pile of large fishing traps artfully arranged on the thin strip of beach. The women are still labouring though. It's not yet time for their ablutions. They move between the water and their small vegetable plots with watering cans made from large tin cans. When they run out it’s a quick stroll to the river to replenish.

Women attending their allotments - Champasak

The neatly terraced beds under the balcony hold lettuce, corn and herbs of various sorts - everything is bordered by magnolias - some sort of bio-defence if memory serves me right. It’s Sunday and the day has been lazy for most. Everything seems in harmony.

Rush hour on the islands.

I was struck with this thought on the island of Don Khon which I left yesterday. There, I took to having breakfast in a tiny, roadside shack alongside a basic house. The 35 year old Mum (Deng) spoke little English but was glad to help me with some basic Lao phrases. In addition to this she made great Lao coffee, strained through a muslin bag into a glass that already contained a good 2 cms of condensed milk. The coffee was thick enough to coat the back of the spoon once stirred in with the milk. This was the entree; next came ‘pho’ (pronounced ‘fur’) – a steaming bowl of rice noodles, beef or chicken stock, white cabbage and lemon grass to which you added your own quantities of fresh mint, basil, bean shoots and lettuce that had been picked fresh that morning. Around her chickens scratched in the dirt with their chicks imitating in close attendance, mud splattered water buffalo lumbered with their shaggy young, two young children struggled to get ready for school and various dogs looked on bemused. The dogs don’t seem to chase anything her. Maybe they are severely chastised as pups if they give a chicken a predatory look or maybe, like the baby chicks, they just follow their parent’s good example. Either way they are extremely good natured and accepting, rather like the Laos people.

Looking across to Don Khon with the simple cabins available for rent on the far bank.

Don Khon is part of Si Pan Don (4,000 Islands) where the Mekong opens up to its widest point yet in its journey from the Himalayas to the Mekong Delta in Vietnam many hundreds of kilometres downstream. Thousands of islands have formed here, most of them uninhabited except for the water buffalo and the white storks that shadow them wherever they go – another example of a harmonious relationship. Don Khon village has about a dozen guesthouses of the wood and bamboo variety. It’s high season and they are all pretty full, but there is still a sense of stillness and tranquillity. Most tourists are on bicycles, the odd motor cycle moves amongst them and it’s only the daily influx of Thai tourists ferried about in open sided mini vans that gives any indication that this is a tourist destination. First thing in the morning and after 3pm the island empties (rather like Sark) and the locals and ‘falangs’ who are staying overnight can enjoy the atmosphere of a by-gone age. Don Khon is linked by a short concrete bridge with 8 graceful arches to Don Det. This smaller island gets a write up in the Lonely Planet that is enough to send me running to the relative tranquillity of Don Khon.
“...generator driven music and TV, pool tables and restaurants where travellers make anything happy- ‘happy mash potatoes’ ‘happy’ Lao coffee – for an extra US$0.50.”
It’s just as beautiful an island but the northern village and boat drop off point has far too many backpacker bungalows and guesthouses built next to each other with more under construction or being added to. Business is obviously good. It’s crowded and menu boards herald “International Cuisine” (German meatballs or pizza!) Many backpackers are sleepily rising although it’s gone 10am – all signs of the late night party scene that is thankfully absent from the generator driven guesthouses of Don Khon that literally ‘shut down’ at 10pm. There’s the waft of marijuana on the breeze to accompany the ever present smell of wood smoke created by the daily ritual of leaf burning that follows the morning sweeping of yards and thresholds.

Crocodile Dundee visits the falls!

On the other side of Don Khon is a small but impressive waterfall (Tat Somphamit). The Mekong isn’t full until the end of the rainy season and exposed rocks allow you to see the gigantic bamboo fish traps that can catch up to half a tonne of fish in the height of flood. Some have an intake of almost 10 meters and watching fishermen clear them when the river is at full strength must be a spectacular experience.

Fish traps
Just nearby are a couple of stalls/ huts advertising fresh coconut milk or fruit shakes. I get talking to the owner of one, a woman in her 50s called just ‘Madam’. I don’t need refreshment now, but her English is good and my Loa just 1 day old so she says she’ll teach me some more if I turn up tomorrow. The next day I turn up around 11am. Business is slow; the Thai tourists haven’t turned up yet, so I’m able to chat with Madam, her husband and her 27 year old daughter. At 27 the daughter is getting dangerously close to being left ‘on the shelf’. Mr ‘Madam’ asks me to ask her a Loa phrase that I’ve got no idea what it means. It sounds like I’m being set up but everything is light hearted so I play along. I suspect I’m asking the daughter if she is married. I’m quizzed on my marital status and am apparently ‘prime’ marrying material, being western (therefore rich), older (therefore less inclined to gamble or womanise like younger suitors) and a divorcee (therefore experienced). It takes all my diplomacy to change the subject, but it does make me think about how a young girl living in this isolated corner of this most isolated part of Laos, finds a husband. Does she have to move to the more populous parts of the country or is spinsterhood an acceptable alternative in this country – I’ve really no idea. I like this family and I’m always on the lookout for those experiences that aren’t in any guide book so that night I take up the invitation to try some of Madam’s cooking. It’s a 30 minute walk from Don Khon’s one small town and requires all of my bush tracking skills to find in the dark. But it’s a beautiful night with the most fantastic stars as you would expect from a part of the world where there is no light pollution. Madam cooks me local fish steamed in banana leaves – thoughtfully with all the bones taken out. She tells me how she use to have a thriving family business in the main part of Don Khon, but how it was sold to help her other siblings who had debts. She’s very philosophical about having to start from scratch at her time of life. She’s just bought a plot of land a little way from the town on a stretch of river. She’s already sounded me out as to whether I want to ‘invest’, but I tell her about how much I still owe on my mortgage back in Australia and when converted to Lao kip becomes a multimillion sum and enough to end any more financially related questions. The figures she is talking about are relatively small. For about AUS$ 35,000 she reckons she can build her restaurant and guesthouse; perhaps even pick up a small, midstream island that’s adjacent to the land. She dreams of building a bridge to it and having one exclusive bungalow there. I think the idea has potential. This island can only get more popular with tourists. I try and give her my ‘western perspective’ about what a traveller/tourist wants even in a ‘basic’ island accommodation (en-suite toilet, sit down loo, mosquito net etc) – all things that I’ve got and am paying US$8 a night for. I think she should go for the up market end of the tourist demographic – the older more cashed up type. I’m protecting any potential future investment. If I return here in the future I would hate to think the place had been overrun by pot-smoking backpackers and International cuisine!

Kids at play.

“A backpack of smiles, a dozen words of introduction and a bit of cash in the pocket – welcome to Laos!” A bit wordy for the latest Laos Tourist Bureau advertising campaign but you get the idea.

I feel very happy here, especially going at the pace of my rickety bike. The sort that keeps your back ram-rod straight and makes you pedal like some Victorian spinster. You feel that this is the right pace for Laos, especially here in the south where the pace of life seems to slow in proportion to the mighty Mekong river that spreads out, slows and creates Four Thousand Islands (Si Phan Don) before it crashes down 20 meters or so and rushes into Cambodia. I crossed the border, working against the current, 3 days ago. I would like to have done the journey by boat as you had the chance to do only 1-2 years ago, but improvement in road conditions and cheap buses has inflicted a mortal blow on the river boat operators.

Waterfalls created by the drop in the Mekong River at a point just north of the Laos/ Cambodian border.
The dry border crossing wasn’t without its drama though. I was with an assortment of European nationals and we had all done our homework or at least read the right pages of the Lonely Planet, which most of us have in one incarnation or another (pirated photocopy, door stopping SE Asia in its entirety edition, or the slimmer, exclusively Cambodian version) and have all secured our Laos visa in advance. This relatively new border post doesn’t issue Laos visas, but coming the other way, as most travellers seem to do, the Cambodians do. Unfortunately a young Swedish man has over stayed his visa by 1 day. Added to that he doesn’t have any cash as his wallet was stolen a few days before, last night was Chinese New Year and all banks were closed in the last Cambodian town before the border. He can’t pay the whopping $35 fine. These ‘fines’ at the discretion of the border guards and corruption is as rife here as it is in the upper levels of ‘officialdom’. The guide books had warned about a $1-2 ‘processing fee’ for leaving the country, rising a little if you crossed the border in a lunch break. I can tolerate that and today we are early and they guards must be in a good mood because we only have to pay $1. But the $35 does seem steep, but the Swede really is up the proverbial creek without a paddle. The guard just quietly looks at him and says “Go back to Phnom Penh”, a minimum of 2 days in a bus and one that would be virtually impossible without money. These are the times when I wish I could speak Khmer a lot better than the few lines I’ve got. But I do know about ‘maintaining face’ something which is preventing this situation from turning ugly. It’s all a bit theatrical, a game. The standoff involves power and status and patience. After five minutes the fine has come down to $25. I find myself taking the lead after the box containing all the official stamps is ‘symbolically’ closed and the guard retreats a little up the road. I approach him to speak but making the fatal mistake of using one of my more accomplished phrases, “What is your name?” He immediately reacts. “What do you want to know that?” He thinks I’m going to report him to some superior. I back track fast. “My name is Mark.” Change the subject quickly. I try to explain the Swedes money woes though inside I’m thinking why didn’t he stay in the last town one day longer and wait until the banks re-opened. The ‘fine’ comes down to $20 and I say that I’ll pay it. The guard looks vaguely surprised but impressed and mentions something about merit – a Buddhist thing where good deeds will eventually reward the giver. The box of stamps is re-opened, the guards have won and we can proceed on our way together with one grateful Swede.

Border crossing - the standoff!!

Bicycle speed is really the way to go here. The children have time to see you coming and most come running to the edges of their gardens to greet you with a broad smile and a “Sabai dee”. Some will even try a “Hello”. It’s all very idyllic, but occasionally you hear a new line – “You got pens?” Most of them don’t know what it means, but it’s enough to knock the gloss off the image. No-doubt some well meaning traveller following advice in a guide book and thinking to improve the lot of these children, has inadvertently turned them into beggars. The Lonely Planet has much to answer for.

Looking up towards the ruins of Wat Phu with the sacred mountain behind.
I’m cycling back from Wat Phu the Heritage listed, 11th century Angkorian temple near the dusty little town of Champasak. It’s not as architecturally as impressive as Angkor Wat in Cambodia, but it makes up for it in geographic location. Back in Cambodia all the main Angkor Wat temples are built on a flat flood plain. This one in Laos is on 7 man-made terraces which work their way up a small mountain which was believed to be sacred. The lowest level has a causeway that bisects two artificial lakes or ‘barras’, but unfortunately a lack of resources has meant they are sadly in need of some repair.

The marker stones recently restored to the causeway on the lower level.

Steep steps climb from a second level to a 3rd and 4th. They are flanked by large frangipani (the national flower of Laos) shedding their blossoms.

The elephant - a 18th century edition to the upper terrace.

It’s a tough though short pull to the upper terrace where a there’s a shaded temple, several interesting rock boulders carved with symbolic and stylised Hindu images (from Laos’ pre-Buddhist past) and a spring that’s created at the base of a cliff face and which is the reason why the whole structure was built here.

Crocs were important creature in Hindu mythology (rather as they were in Egyptian) thought the depth of this carving is still a mystery.

The sun is in the wrong place for great photos. It’s slipping behind the mountain, but the view looking back over the temple complex is worth the climb alone. Below the symmetrical layout of buildings and man-made waterways is clear and impressive. Then that formality gives way to the irregular patchwork of fallow rice paddies and beyond there is the glint of the Mekong River. Everything is bathed in that golden glow that comes with sunsets or sunrises. I think I’ll come back tomorrow! A plan is forming as it often does when you finally get to a place – plans that don’t come when you are just reading the guidebook from a distance. I’ll change my bike for one of their 2 mountain bikes I saw at the guesthouse ($2 a day instead of $1!!), in the hope that I’ll cover the 5 kilometres to the temple a little faster than the creaking, spinster machine. I’ll wake at 6am and with the head torch that is now causing so much interest as I cycle, Cyclops-like, back through the villages, I’ll make my way back here for sunrise, some photography and a few hours of tranquillity before the first Thai tourist

The rewarding view from the upper terrace at the end of the day.

Theary lived up to her name. For her, the experience of meeting a foreigner (and a man at that!) was too much. I think we only saw each other for 1 minute - then the 'sadness', as described by one of my 5 PLAN guides, took over. I can barely imagine how a seven year old would feel when a complete stranger; different in looks, culture and ethnicity, drops, as if by magic, into her little familiar world. David Bowie-like, I really could have been "The man who fell to earth." My strange hair colour, blue eyes, pale skin - all alien to the people around her. In the brief time I had to see her, I noticed that she had changed a lot- longer hair and face - not the doe-like eyes and chubby cheeks of the photo PLAN had sent me when I began sponsoring back last August. Goodness knows how old that photo was.

Although disappointed not to see more of her, to have her see the photos of my family and my life in Jersey and Australia, I understood her distress and wasn't going to push it. The 5 PLAN organizers set up a low bamboo table outside the family house and we sat on this, asking and answering questions with Mrs Ven, assorted brothers and sisters and interested neighbors. I thought that maybe the next hour, with its presents and sweets that I had come prepared, would entice Theary from her hut, but as screams and sobs accompanied each family member who went inside to draw her out, I quickly realised that a meeting was not on the cards for today. Anyway, it made me feel a little like the child catcher from "Chitty- Chitty Bang Bang" and whose to say that might have been how I appeared in her eyes - especially when sweets came out!

Sharing photos of my family with the Ven family- their house is in the background

But by then it was dawning on me that being a PLAN sponsor isn't about being a single child's sponsor. They are merely the point of entry; the individual that gives a human face to all the projects that PLAN runs and supports in this Province. Although it might make me feel good to imagine I am a surrogate parent for 1 individual child, that isn't the reality. Theary has 6 other siblings (5 brothers and a sister), she has a Mum and a Dad, and although it is apparently a great honour to have a sponsor any excessive favouring of one child or its family is discouraged as it places a strain on village harmony and causes neighborhood jealousies. My varied gifts had been vetted that morning at the PLAN office - I took advice on what to give Theary and her family. Now, in full view of other interested neighbours, my gifts were removed one at a time from their plastic bags and presented. With Theary not there to receive the gifts I had to rely on my interpreters to suggest who would get what – but really, at the end of the day, they could divide things up as they saw fit.
Individual lollies kept the children quiet and new colourful pencils were gratefully accepted by those of school age (they start aged about 7 or 8). Then there were the drawing books and crayons for Theary and a family sized mosquito net for Mrs Ven. From the briefest of looks inside the family house I had seen a very old and holed net and so was pleased with my late decision to purchase the net from the market in Kampong Cham. Dengue fever is rife here and children are especially vulnerable. The world’s biggest outbreak was recently recorded in Cambodia although it received no air time in world news – perhaps because it primarily affects children and has little risk of spreading to the western world due to the limited range of the mosquitoes unlike more high profile health scares like SARS or Avian Flu.
The questions were all from me in the first instance. What was the make-up of the family, how far away was the school, what was Mr Ven growing at this time of year? Then, when I got my own photos out and the assembled family members and neighbours had warmed up, my questions were returned. It only took 10 mins (quite slow by Khmer standards) for the inevitable “Are you married?” question. I said I wasn’t to which they asked if I would consider a Khmer wife. “Are there any single women here”, I enquired. “Many”, came the reply. “So where are they?” I asked, bringing my hand to my forehead in that clichéd gesture of searching the distant landscape. Everyone laughed. The ice had been broken.

The Ven family - plus a few hangers on I think - and I (Mr and Mrs Ven to the left - seated)

Mrs Ven was more recognisable from her photograph than Theary. A quiet woman of 44, her face was tanned and lined to give her the appearance of someone older. She asked how I liked their village. The surrounding landscape included fallow rice paddies and scrubby, recently cleared land that eventually gave way to thicker bush. I said it looked beautiful, but also that I thought the farming must be hard. She thought for a few seconds and then said that it was easy. She added that having done it all her life she knew no other way. The family went to the small local town about 2-3 times a month for essentials, notably salt, but everything else could be gathered closer to home. Protein came from the fish and frogs found in local waterways and although well into the dry season the ground in some of the rice paddies was still quite wet. I asked if the water buffalos were ever eaten after they had grown too old to pull a plough. No, they weren’t. They were like pets. They were either sold on or more likely left to retire, much like an aging sheep dog.
In my attempt not to favour the Ven family I had purchased a brand new football, 2 pump attachments, a couple of skipping ropes and 3 tennis balls. These were going to be gifts for the community, but the place I was going to distribute them was going to be a school that PLAN had funded and that was 10 minutes down a bumpy system of levees between dry rice fields. Unfortunately we were running late and all classes had stopped by the time we arrived, but about a dozen students of different ages were still hanging about. The row of classrooms contained 5 rooms each with bare wooden benched and tables, a black board and paint peeling walls. On e of my PLAN guides proudly announced that one classroom was ‘child centred’ which seemed to mean that the school furniture was arranged in small groupings instead of rows and that there were some rudimentary displays about the rights of the child on the wall. Also in this classroom there was a clay water filter set similar to the one in Phnom Penh where I had been lodging. Remarkably, these simple, cheap $10 devices were not available in every classroom. Later I offered to donate the $40 needed to equip the remaining classes, but I was told that money was not the issue. It was about changing habits and perceptions. Many Cambodians don’t understand the link between clean drinking water and disease prevention and it was on the cards that all the other classrooms would receive a filter if this ‘trial class’ proved a success. If the children could be taught to fill the terracotta drip filter each day, maintain it and drink from it whenever they felt thirsty then other classes would be provided with theirs – it was also hoped that the message would be taken home to each family in the hope that they might purchase one for their home. Throughout the day several references had been made to peer tutoring and to the children taking simple health messages home from school and teaching their parents.

One of my PLAN guides and the classroom water filter
Then came the time for the ‘Great Football Handover.’ Never one to overlook a theatrical opportunity, I had spotted a dirty, deflated ball that was being kicked about the earthen school yard. I held it aloft and asked the assembled children, and a young teacher who had suddenly turned up, if this was a good ball to play with. Usually silent when confronted with a direct question, it took a while for one brave soul to make a face and gesture that said “No, it wasn’t all that great!” I think he knew there was something afoot. Then with a theatrical flourish I produced the gleaming red and white ball still in its plastic wrapper and string bag. I must admit to having had a few mixed feelings at this point. I could see that this ball would have universal appeal and that it would include the maximum number of children in a healthy activity than say the sweet giving (although I still had a large quantity of those to break the ice with), but I couldn’t help feeling like the “great white father” bestowing gifts on his less fortunate subjects, especially when the PLAN officials made us pose for numerous photos.

The official hand over of "the ball"
As we pulled away and I waved ‘Goodbye’ from the rear window of the PLAN 4 wheel drive I saw several of the larger children already in negotiation with the teacher – presumably to be allowed to become custodians of the ball.

PLAN is a global, non-religious, non-political community development organisation. For more information go to www.plan.org.au

An early start![i]

There is a school outing type buzz in the air. The 12 seater mini-bus is not quite full by Cambodian standards. We’re only taking 20 people plus the antiquated sound system and a few props and costumes. It is the day of the performance. A local festival is to celebrate a ½ Marathon that’s being run near a little village about an hour and a half away. The Marathon itself is a fund-raiser for a Charity that’s been working in the village for the past year to alleviate extreme poverty. We are the entertainment at the end of speeches and prize giving, but it’s fitting that Epic (another local Charity) should have the opportunity to spread awareness about what it does. Half the ladies from the cafe will be coming along after us in a slower tuk-tuk loaded down with cakes to sell! It’s like that film “Wages of Fear” where 2 truck transport nitro-glycerine across a mountain and jungle terrain, one false move or pot hole taken at speed and there’ll be carrot cake everywhere!

For us performers it’s the natural conclusion to 14 days of drama workshops and rehearsals. It wasn’t planned this way and the original brief had no mention of an expectation to produce any “product”, but I’m pleased and relieved that as well as raising skills in a whole range of theatre disciplines we have created 7 self contained mask/mime pieces, 4 of which will be getting their debut today.

The students are looking in decidedly better shape than we are. It wasn’t, perhaps the best night to go on a bender, but Jai had a friend down from Phnom Penh and it was Australia Day. We went next door to the Backpackers run by Hugh, the Aussie ex-pilot, ate and drank on the floating pontoon and had our ears assaulted by Aussie classics like ACDC (it’s obvious that Hugh has been here far too long and is picking up Khmer musical tendencies on the volume front.)

Some of the students had a sleep over in the rehearsal room of the Cafe last night as they live too far out of Kampot to make this 6.30am start. When presented with this problem on Friday I had a minor panic as Jai wasn’t around to help translate, but as we discussed that night it was a very ‘Barang’ reaction. We had forgotten that this is Cambodia and in Cambodia the family rallies around. The deaf community of the Cafe is like a small close-knit family and some of the more senior members volunteered to leave their families for the night in order to stay over in the cafe to supervise the younger ones.

Once we are underway the breakfast is broken out – Khmer style bacon and eggs – strips of pork on a bed of rice with chilli sauce to lubricate each mouthful. A great hangover cure! As we arrive at the venue, after a final 30 minutes of bumping down a potholed road amidst water buffalo, rice paddies whose stubble is quietly burning and the ever present sight of children running past shouting ‘Hello’, we discover a large assortment of locals and foreign NGO types gathered together. It’s the finish line for the ½ marathon and the first runner is coming down the road. It’s just gone 8am.

Of the 96 assorted Marathon runners, 10 km Fun runners and bike riders, there are about 4 Khmers. The rest are European or American. They have all paid $50 for the privilege of getting up at the crack of dawn on 2 consecutive days to run/cycle the distance in 2 stages. Added to this, each has raised an additional $250 as part of the deal. It is uncomfortably hot even at this time of day. The local Khmers must think we are truly a strange race of people.

The performance goes well despite us waiting around for almost 2 hours before we are on. The stage space is ½ the size of the one we rehearsed on and the CD player mysterious breaks down during the 3rd of our 4 pieces. (I have a theory that the Music Gods were unimpressed with my subtle use of the volume knob!) But that’s touring for you!

I've worked with better equipment!

The audience of mixed Khmers and Anglo-Saxons are visibly attentive and appreciative, but it is the Khmers who laugh the hardest and whose smiles of recognition are the broadest. The stories are fairly basic, the Masks easily comic and I feel that my ‘theory’ about the universality of body language has been proved in the field. There is a clear recognition of injustice in the piece about the boss who favours one worker over another and pays him twice as much for half as much work. Then laughter and nods of approval as the ‘underdog’ finds a priceless pearl necklace on the way home and is able to reverse the ‘taunting’ he has got at the hands of the first worker. Quite political when you think about it – I’m left wondering if my simple comic Masks could tackle something more ambitious like... police corruption or whether satire would land you in prison or worse. I was told a story the other day of a friend’s cleaner whose house was burnt down because she voted for the ‘wrong’ political party. May be I should stick to the simple Chaplin-esque routines.

On the way home the atmosphere is euphoric and even prompts some singing (not the signed version of “100 Green bottles” -although I would love to see that) but some half tuneful wailing from some of the more extravert types. But generally it’s quite. A quality of the deaf that would make most hearing teachers quite envious. They disappear into their own head spaces separated from the world by a wall of silence.
The other day Jai was making some props with some of them as I rehearsed and she remarked how she loved the quiet focus of the deaf kids as it was a state she gets into herself when absorbed in a ‘making’ project. I know exactly what she means. The task she had them engaged in was counterfeiting 10,000 Riel notes for the piece about the under-paid worker. She had photocopied and enlarged the real thing in a local shop – no questions asked and despite the concern from one of the kids who signed that ‘she could go to prison’ she had a production line going in one corner colouring them in. The results were frighteningly convincing and were it not for their comic size might have fooled the odd, visually challenged shop keeper.

The counterfeiting sweat shop[i]

The only thing of note about the return journey (apart from the serene silence) was seeing the largest load I’ve ever spotted being carried by a motor bike. The poor driver was crawling along in the dusty gravel that is regularly used as an escape route when some bigger vehicle honks you off the road and in the space where a pillion passenger would sit was balance a precarious mountain of furniture - wardrobe, bed frame and dining room table. Goodness knows how he got started or indeed how he intended to stop. The 3 ‘Barang’ on the bus spoke animatedly in disbelief. The deaf children and the driver didn’t bat an eye lid. Seen it all before!