A new photo gallery, "Muang Sing Market", is available for viewing on my photography web site

http://www.hale-worldphotography.com/Travel/Muang-Sing-Market/11495580_B6YHJ#808876502_aVSCi

Life Along the Water - It Is All About Water

It is already March here in Thailand. Today is a holiday - the start of Buddhist Lent. It is also the start of the four day Mango Fair in nearby Non Wai in Amphoe Nong Wau Sor. We will go to the fair later this afternoon.

February went by so quickly. It doesn't seem all that long ago that we were returning home from our trip to Luang Namtha. Perhaps because the trip was so enjoyable that our memories and thoughts over the past month numbed our consciousness to the passage of time.

Throughout our trip, I was impressed with the importance that water played in the day to day life of the minority people of the Luang Namtha region. For many of us, water is taken for granted. It is readily available and at our disposal by merely turning a faucet open in our kitchen, in any number of our bathroom sinks, flush one of our toilets, our bath tub or tubs, our shower or showers, and the valves outside our home for watering the lawn and plants in our yards. Many of our refrigerators automatically create ice from the water that is hooked up to the appliance. We have no reservations about pouring a glass and drinking straight from the tap. The water is always there. The water is always potable.

That is the way that it is in our world. We may have concern regarding the availability of oil and its associated products. We are definitely concerned about the price of oil and its associated products. Seldom and perhaps never, are we concerned about the availability or cost of water. But this is not the way it is in most of the world.


We can live without oil albeit not as comfortably as we do now but all people, all creatures as well as plants, must have water. Unfortunately, for many people in the world access to water is not often reliable, convenient or even potable. To address some of the water issues, many people have settled alongside sources of water.

Every village and settlement that we came upon in the Luang Namtha region was along the banks of a river, stream, or spring. These sources of water were heavily utilized. In the late afternoon, we could see the villagers bathing in the flowing water. Typically in the morning, clothes were washed in the water although some people multi-tasked by washing clothes as part of their bathing ritual. No matter the time of the day for bathing, buckets of water were gathered and carried back home. At the Boat Landing Guest House and Restaurant, small pumps take water directly out of the adjacent Nam Tha River and lift the water to elevated storage tanks to be used as required. In some of the settlements the source of household water was nothing more than a slow flowing drainage ditch between the road and the house. The same water used for washing clothes, and bathing is often is also used as a food source and for drinking water. The same water is often used by children as a playground. The same water is also used by the villager's livestock. What water is readily available is well utilized.

There was photographic opportunity that most likely will forever be fixed in my mind. Outside of Xieng Kok on the road back to Muang Sing, we came upon a mother standing in a shallow ditch in front of her home no more than 12 feet from the edge of the main road. She stood ankle deep in the water, having completed her bathing, wringing the water out of one side of her sarong that due to some semblance of modesty she was still wearing. Joining her in the ditch were three little boys and a little girl - all under three years old. Watching over the scene were three other little children. I often write about the lack of privacy here in Isaan but this scene often repeated during our Lao trip exceeds what is the situation in Isaan.

Once in Peru, my wife at the time remarked about the personal hygiene of the local people in Cusco, Peru. Shortly after she made that remark, I saw out of the train window, a small girl, perhaps 6 years old, struggling to carry two filled yellow Prestone Anti-Freeze containers of water from the small community water tap in the middle of a flat compacted bare earth area at the edge of the village. I pointed the scene out to my wife and remarked that the child was bringing water back to her home for cooking as well as bathing. I asked my wife how many baths would she take and further pointed out the water was cold. Again, for much of the world bathing is not as convenient nor as private as is our experience. Most people do not have the luxury of closing a door, turning a faucet or two, and enjoying an unlimited amount of hot water upon demand. Our Lao experience reminded us of our fortune - a fortune that we should not take for granted.

So today as I wind up reviewing and editing the photographs from our Luang Namtha journey, so many of them having water in them, I reminisce about the experience mostly of life along the river.

Life along the river, life along the stream, and sometimes life next to the ditch - I can almost hear once again the sounds of clothes being slapped against rocks, the soft ruffling of clothes being hand washed, the occasional plop of a fish as it reentered the water after catapulting upwards to snare a meal, the sharp staccato of rocks hitting upon each other as village women wade upstream overturning them in their search for food to bring back for the family meal, the sound of wet clothes being beat with a wooden club to clean them, the excitement as well as exuberance of young boys and girls exploring the banks together - each discovery evoking a conference as well an animated discussion with one child naturally evolving to be the group's leader, the sounds of community gossip in a six tonal language by village women as they congregate in mid-thigh high water to bathe, the soft crescendo of mono filament fishing nets being flung over the waters as the sun sets and a full moon rises ... Yes it is all about the water. - Life along the river in Laos.

We will hopefully never take our water for granted again.

Laos - Day #4 Xieng Kok to Luang Namtha

Outside of Xieng Kok, we stopped at a Vat ("Wat" in Thailand. The young Monks were busy preparing the Vat (Temple) for the start of the three day festival commencing the next morning. They were putting a new coat of gold paint on the chedi. Upon climbing the long concrete stairway from the dirt road up to the Vat level, we came upon several Monks. The oldest Monk appeared to be 20 years old and the youngest Monks were approximately 9 years old.

Four Monks were standing upon bamboo scaffolding that surrounded one of the two chedis. Each of the Monks had a paint brush and a small plastic pail of of gold paint. As they busily painted the concrete surface of the chedi, the young Monks were busy chatting to each other as well as keeping an eye on the 3 falangs (foreigners) who had appeared in their sanctuary. Another Monk, about 8 years old, was painting a small statue at the corner of the chedi foundation.

Several other Monks were involved in mixing some more of the gold acrylic paint. They were pouring the vicious paint into a small plastic bucket and adding water to it to create a more spreadable mixture. Three young boys, who were not Monks but I suspect were related to some of the Monks, intently observed the mixing operation. Just as we observed in the Khmu village with the blacksmiths, there were plenty of people watching and giving morale support to the few that were actually working. The tradition of observing work is acquired and embraced at a young age.

When we first arrived at the Vat, the Monks were a little shy with us and definitely camera shy. Across the dirt road from the Vat, the Lao People's Army is building an outpost on top of a small hill. Loud music was blaring from within the "complex". In this communist state the music was not state martial music, or music extolling the virtues of the workers, or even music praising the universal brotherhood of the proletariat. They were broadcasting mahlam lao and mahlam sing songs - some of the exact tunes that are currently popular in Isaan and are played at every concert show. When my favorite song started playing, I showed the Monks some of my Isaan dance moves - much to their delight and amusement! After my "performance" the Monks were neither camera shy or leery of us - not even weary of us either.

Jorgon and I spent a great deal of time photographing the Monks painting the chedi. Helga and Duang, no doubt accustomed to our obsessions, did not seem to mind and patiently waited. At one end of this level of the Vat's grounds local women were erecting bamboo poles to form the framework to hang tarps to create booths for the upcoming festival. The booths most likely would sell local food specialties or just as likely some type of game of chance. Unlike Thailand, games of chance or rather "gambling" is legal. In fact upon crossing the border out of Thailand going into Laos, Thailand has posters advising people that if they lose their money gambling in Laos, the Thai government is unable to help them. Favorite games for all ages are throwing darts at balloons or tossing bamboo rings around the necks of empty beer bottles.

Back on Highway 17B, the dirt road back to Muang Sing, we stopped in an Akha village. We had spotted some women sitting outside in front of their home alongside of the road caring for children and babies. It was a scene composed of three generations - baby, mother, and grandmother with the women wearing traditional Akha clothing but also topless. As we approached, the grandmother came to us and was obviously demanding money to be photographed. My experience in Thailand, Vietnam, and on our previous trip to Laos, is that this behavior was typical of the Akha people. The opportunity for what could be some excellent photographs was too tempting to dismiss her demands. I thought that she wanted 5,000 Kip for "modeling fee" and I thought that it was a fair price. I paid her the 5,000 kip and there was immediate confusion - through our driver we found out that she actually wanted 50,000 Kip. I told her jokingly and very animatedly in Thai, which she understood, that for 50,000 Kip I would want to take photos of "nome falang yai, nome falang one - may ow nome Akha lek" (Big foreign breasts, fat foreign breasts not small Akha breasts). She started laughing and Duang as well as the driver were laughing like crazy. When it was translated for Jorgon and Helga, they laughed too. Duang told me that when we got back to the hotel I could take pictures of her breasts and pointed out they were bigger than the Akha grandmother's. We all laughed for a good long time as we continued down the road. This encounter was a topic of conversation for the remainder of our journey back to Luang Namtha as well as to this day. I suspect that the women were accustomed to being paid for being photographed but had never been rejected like that before.

Further down the road we came upon an extended family building a new home on the side of the road. The home was being built on the side of the road but their materials, equipment, and children blocked one-half of the narrow road. We spoke to the people, mainly the young husband who was Lanten. His wife is Akha and the house is being built in her village. As we found out later during our trip to Laos, new homes are typically "relocated" existing houses rather than "New" as in built from scratch houses. The houses are heavy timber framed structures using notched as well as mortise and tendon joints. The heavy investment in labor and I suspect the inability to easily or cheaply obtain similar heavy timber today necessitates recycling the houses. The man informed us, through Duang, that he does not say his wife's name and she does not say his name because if they were to, the person would die. Animist beliefs play a very large part of daily life in the minority peoples of Laos as well as in Isaan. He offered each of us a shot of the volatile locally made rice whiskey to show his hospitality and to wish us good luck on our trip. We gave him a few thousand Kip, but not 50,000 to express our gratitude. We happily continued down the bumpy road laughing about the Akha grandmother once again due to the hospitality of the Hmong husband.

We stopped at a Hmong village and I got out to photograph two little boys on a hill overlooking the road. The sun, as so often it seemed on this trip, was in the wrong location for effective photographs. While I ws in front of the van taking photographs, Duang started yelling at me from within the van. I walked back to see what the commotion was all about. I got to the open sliding van door to find Duang, Jorgon, Helga, and the driver, Mr Kompack all laughing like crazy. Duang pointed out to the top of the hill to the left of the boys I had been photographing and explained what was happening. On top of the hill was a little boy around three years old completely naked, dancing like crazy and shaking his backside at us. Duang said that this little boy had clothes on when we arrived but as I started to photograph the other boys, he took off his clothes and put on his "show". I have no idea why he did it but we all got a good laugh at this entertainment or act of defiance - such are the surprises along the back roads of Laos.

At one home alongside the road we saw a mother and 7 children all younger than 5 years old. The mother and 4 of the children were standing in what was essentially a large drainage ditch alongside the road. The mother was wearing her sarong pulled up to her arm pits and was wringing part of it dry with her hands. The four toddlers were completely naked and were enjoying their combination bath and playtime. This ended up being a familiar sight in Laos - people washing clothes, washing children, and washing themselves in whatever body or source of water was convenient.

We stopped at the Lanten village of Ban Pakha. The village was a bee hive of activity. People were preparing for the Lanten New Years Celebration on 31 January. Women were preparing home made sausage for the party. Outside of one of the homes, a woman was cooking meat in a very large wok. The wok was basically sitting on the ground - atop a mound of clay. The inside the clay mound had been dug out to form a fire pit. A fire of bamboo and some hardwoods had created a healthy amount of coals for cooking. Inside the home, past the women and children milling outside the door, another woman was stuffing pig's intestines with chopped up meat and other things. Banana leaves were spread upon the well compacted dirt floor to provide a large work place. While I was busy photographing the scene, Duang was engaged in conversation with the women and ended holding a very young baby. I was not allowed to hold the baby, but I did provide some entertainment to the women as well as children - they were fascinated with my hairy arms and once they overcame their initial reservations amused themselves patting, stroking, rubbing and pulling on my arm hair. I felt it was a very fair exchange for being able to photograph the village people.

The people invited us to return on the 31st to attend their New Year Celebration. I told them through Duang that we would seriously consider coming back.

Further along the dirt road we saw some people bathing in the river. The adults turned away from me when they saw me. I got quite a different reaction from the children. Although I had stayed a comfortable distance away from their bathing area, the children quickly descended upon me either by running or riding their bicycles. It was wonderful. They were curious and inquisitive. I had a great time photographing them and showing them their pictures on the camera's LCD monitor. It made the children even more excited and willing to be photographed. Up on the road, Duang, Jorgon and Helga were getting a kick out of the sight of me and the children interacting. I also saw two women walking along in the river upturning stones and rocks in their search for food. They were not as willing to be photographed but I managed to take a couple shots.

We arrived back at the guest house after dark and weary from a long and enjoyable day. As we climbed up the wood stairs into the reception area I heard a voice say "Well you made it back alright." I was surprised to see it was our friend Kees. Kees and I had met through the Internet. His wife had discovered my blog and photography site. She shared it with him. We corresponded by email and then Facebook. Kees and Dorothy visited our home late last year. It was from and through Kees that I became aware of the Luang Namtha area. He has taken many wonderful photographs in the area and participated in the development of tourism in the area. He had gotten a last minute email to photograph a wedding as part of ongoing tourism development for a government agency. Unfortunately, Dorothy was not able to accompany him on this trip. We ended up having a wonderful set dinner with him at the Boat Landing Restaurant. It was a treat to be able to visit with him so unexpectedly and to introduce him to Jorgon and Helga.

It was a very fitting conclusion to a very satisfying and full day.

Laos Day #4 - Xieng Kok Market

One of the places on our agenda to visit was the market at Xieng Kok. The market is open on the 14th and 28th of each month. Xieng Kok is a river port on the Mekong River. Across from Xieng Kok is Myanmar which was and in some places still referred to as Burma.

We got up at 4:00 A.M. to be ready to leave in the van at 5:00 P.M. with Jorgen and Helga. I twas a typical morning in the region for this time of year - foggy and at times a mist. However you can almost set your watch to it disappearing at 11:00 A. M.

The first leg of our trip was to retrace our previous journey out to Muang Sing. Traveling in the van made a world of difference. Whereas I was concerned the other morning that our driver was driving much too fast and we arrived in Muang Sing, on this trip we were quite comfortable and arrived in 1-1/2 hours. It was too early to get something at the Muang Sing market so we took the fork in the road that leads to Xieng Kok. After aways down the road we stopped at a small village market and had some breakfast. We didn't need to buy too much because Helga had brought along some muffins from a bakery in Luang Namtha.

Xieng Kok is another two hours by dirt road, Lao Highway 17B, southwest of Muang Sing. By the time we got to Muang Sing, the sun had rose and we were able to view the countryside as we bounced along. We passed through many villages and a beautiful countryside. There was a good sized banana plantation where bananas on the stalk were draped in thin blue plastic.


Every where broom plant was being harvested. Often both sides of the road were flanked by harvested broom plant carefully laid out to dry in the sun. Once it is dry it is bundled together into sheaves and transported to central locations to be weighed, and loaded onto large trucks for transport to China. For the larger fields, the large semis drive into the fields. There is a tent made out of an old tarp where some of the farm workers camp out to watch over the harvest through the night. Whether in the large fields or small settlements, the broom plant sheaves are weighed on a small portable spring scale most likely 25 kilogram (50 pound) capacity. The sheaves are stacked in groups upon the scale. To accelerate the weighing process, sometimes boards are placed on top of the scale to allow the stacking of more sheaves each time. A scribe sits in the shade and records each weight in a notebook, the paper kind - not the electronic kind, as called out by the weigh master.

Sheaves that are not loaded directly onto the big trucks are transported by all other means - strapped to the backs of woman with sheaves almost as long as the women are tall, some women haul the sheaves in a woven bamboo basket strapped to their back with the large fluffy heads of the broom plant bouncing up and down above their head as they trudge along the road towards their destination. Some men carry sheaves balanced atop one of their shoulders. Children are also part of the migration of the harvest from the remote fields to a central gathering location.

Small farm wagons pulled by 5 HP diesel engines are sometimes used to transport the harvest from scattered locations along the road in the middle of nowhere to a tiny village closer to some where. Some larger Chinese olive drab farm trucks, powered by perhaps a 10 HP diesel engine and using fan belts instead of a metal drive shaft carry even larger loads.



We arrived in Xieng Kok and observed some workers offloading coconuts from a large river boat. Across the rapidly flowing Mekong River, we could see into Burma - a large mass of hills and dark green vegetation. Other than the swift current there appeared to be nothing to stop anyone from going into Burma (Myanmar) - if you wanted to or leaving Burma. I don't know what would happen if you got caught in Myanmar without proper documentation. This area was once a hot bed for opium cultivation and production going back to the days of French colonial rule. Opium poppies are still cultivated in the area but obstensibly to supply drug manufacturers literally and possibly figuratively in China. Myanmar is also recognized as a source of much of the amphetamines that find their way into Thailand. The Xieng Kok area is one of central points to smuggle the drugs into Laos on their way into Thailand. This could go part of the way in understanding the people's shyness at being photographed at the market.


The market was smaller than I anticipated, perhaps one acre total. The market did have just about anything for sale. It was very busy. Outside of the entrance to the market there were two tables set up with hand cranked machines that shaved blocks of ice that was served with various flavored syrups in small plastic bowls - Lao Snow Cones (Bowls?). The vendors were doing a landmark business. The twice a month market was an obvious treat for the children as well as the adults.



The women, mostly from the Akha minority, filled their woven bamboo baskets with their purchases. The baskets were worn on their back like a backpack but had a rope from each side of the basket bottom up to a wooden yoke on the woman's shoulders. The middle of the yoke was cut into a semicircle to allow clearance for the neck and to allow the yoke to rest fully as well as squarely upon the shoulders. A rope from each end of the yoke rose and was attached to either a cloth or braided band across the woman's forehead. What ever the mother or grandmother could not carry in this manner, their daughters carried in their basket. Girls, as young as 8 years old, were participating in market day in this manner. Quite often younger girls, 6 or 7 years old, were carrying their baby brother or sister in a sling over their shoulder resting against their hip. It seems that the shaved ice treat had to be earned. Childhood in the villages of Laos is a short term experience. Everyone has a contribution to make to the success of the family.


When we were about ready to leave, a man arrived with four cases of tangerines or mandarin oranges to sell. He was immediately surrounded by a horde of woman reminiscent of the film clips of the wedding dress sale at Macy's in NYC. I thought that fights would break out. The decibel level increased dramatically. I could see that every piece of fruit was being meticulously inspected, selected, and argued over. I focused my photography efforts on woman in particular. She had an attitude which was enhanced by the large wad of betel nut that she was chewing in her mouth - staining her mouth a deep red. Perhaps it is a masterful negotiation strategy - who wants to upset or argue with a woman who has a mouth full of red saliva and organic matter? In 15 minutes all the fruit was sold and the vendor was gone. There is no need to worry about shelf life at the Xieng Kok market.

Some of the young Akha ladies were looking at silver ornaments to wear on their hats, ears, or clothing. They also used their time at the market to socialize and catch up on gossip. I also saw some flirting between some young women and young men. It was an intensive 1-1/2 hours at the market. Jorgon and Helga were terrific travel companions. We enjoyed their companionship immensely. The 12 hours that we spent traveling in the van reinforced our initial impression of the "travelers" - They are definitely "Khun jai dai" - Nice people. People with good hearts.

Our long day was half over but there was plenty of additional adventures and encounters to write about - subjects of future blogs.

Forest Cemetery - Laos - Still Day #3

27 January, Wednesday, although a rest day for us on this journey turned out to be a busy as well as a productive day for us. Besides our visit to the Lanten village of Baan Soptud, the Khmu village of Sopsim, and the Tai Dam (Black Tai) village of Ban Pasak, we or more accurately I visited a Tai Dam forest cemetery.

On our way back to the Boat Landing Guest House and Restaurant we stopped at a forest cemetery between Ban Mai and Ban Pasak, another Black Tai village.

When Tai Dam people die, they are buried in the forest beneath small raised houses. The houses are about five feet above the ground. They are miniature replicas of actual homes complete with porches, porch railings, windows, and either a corrugated metal or wood shingle roof. The houses are about 6 feet long, 3 feet wide, and 3 feet high. They are located inside of individual plots of land in the forest. The plots are about 12 feet wide by about 20 feet long with a narrow drainage ditch around the perimeter. A fence constructed of woven strips of bamboo surrounded the plot very similar to the homes in the nearby village. The fence as well as much of the houses were succumbing to the ravages of the forest environment. The fences were falling down, Vegetation was attacking the structures. Rain and sun were bleaching and breaking down the house walls and roof. Inside the houses, outside the houses were items that the deceased would need in the afterlife - baskets, bamboo stool, fishing nets, plates, cups, candles, articles of clothing, and some decorative items. There were remnants of offerings around the houses.

The cemetery that I visited had two of these miniature houses. I had read about these forest cemeteries and wanted to see one up close. This burial practice is not related to Buddhism but originate with the Animist beliefs of the Tai Dam. Many of these beliefs are retained by Lao Loum people in Isaan. The strong belief in "Pii" ghosts or spirits was sufficient motivation for Duang to remain in the taxi truck parked on the edge of the road alongside the forest.

The burial houses that I visited were located about 300 feet inside of a heavily forested area bordering the dirt road. The forest, considered to be a sacred forest by the Tai Dam people, separated some plots of rice that had been harvested back in late November. The forest floor was covered with many varieties of small plants. Sunlight form the late afternoon sun was filtered and diffused by several species of tall trees. Vines ascended from the forest floor high up into the tree canopy. There were a couple of large spider webs with small spiders on them along the narrow trail to the houses. I did not see any snakes despite looking - looking very carefully. I really did not want to find any so I was not disappointed. I did find some large red ants scurrying up and down a hanging vine in the center of the very narrow footpath. Based upon my unpleasant experience with red ants in Isaan a year ago (blog entitled - "Ants In Their Fish, Ants In My Pants"), I gave them wide berth, preferring to risk an encounter with an unknown snake than repeat with known red ants.

At the end of each of the burial plots, there was a sort of tombstone. Both of the stones were rather weathered and rapidly advancing into a decayed state. One of the stones had a photograph of a man attached to its surface reminiscent of the tombstones that I saw being carved in Hanoi where an actual photograph is incorporated into the stone. Burial sites are marked to indicate the sex of the deceased. A single flag flown from a tall pole signifies a man's grave. A circle of flags signifies a woman's grave. At one site I found the remnants of a very tall bamboo mast with attached flag that had collapsed the ground. At the other site I found what appeared to be several flags with poles laying on the forest floor. I was curious to investigate further but out of reverence I did not. I am fairly certain that there was one male and one female grave. On one the end of one of the houses, some one appears to have written the birth and death date of the deceased. It had been less than two years since the burial.





Now that I look back, my decision to risk an encounter with an unknown snake rather than the known red ants was consistent with decisions in my former career. Once in preparing to do a project in California, I learned that the Site Manager was hiring a person that a former client, years ago, had requested that we remove from the job, which we should have done without their direction. I reminded the boss of that incident and he responded that he knew this person and was familiar with his performance (lack of performance?). I said that rather than repeat a mistake, I would rather go to the bus station and hire someone new. I believed that I could pick some one there and obtain better performance than rehiring the "familiar" person. In the end the familiar person performed poorly and the Site manager had to explain and apologize to the client why there were 2 surplus 30 inch valves. The familiar person had needed one valve but had ended up requisitioning three valves over the course of the 3 month job. It is so important to take responsibility for the direction of our life. I made a conscious decision to avoid the ants at the risk of the unknown. The unknown is not always to be feared or avoided. Embracing and exploring the unknown as well as the unfamiliar leads to education and enlightenment. This trip like so many other trips taught me a great deal about cultures, people, and about myself - a journey into the unknown, - the unfamiliar but so rewarding.

The Village Blacksmith(s) - Laos Day #3

The Village Blacksmith

"UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man. ... " Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

On our "leisure" day trip on Wednesday, 27 January, we encountered the village blacksmiths in the Khmu village of Baan Sopsim. Lacking a spreading chestnut tree, the blacksmiths toiled under a thatched roof lean-to that was attached to some one's home. Outside of their smithy shop, women tended to babies and kept watch over the older children who were occupied with their play. The wood stairway leading up into the home made both a convenient seat and observation post for two of the mothers. Off to the side, a grandmother stood crocheting a fine meshed nylon bag typically used for holding fish or snails gathered in the nearby river.

When we first arrived in Sopsim, we did not see the blacksmiths. Our attention was drawn to some woman and children. The woman were sewing and doing embroidery. The children were busy running around and playing - agitated by the arrival of a foreigner. We started to hear sounds of metal banging upon metal in an almost rhythmic cadence from across the dirt road that bisects the village. We crossed the road and investigated.

There were several men engaged in making new knives and spears for spear guns. There appeared to be just as many men watching as well as socializing with the workers. This is typical in Laos as well as in Isaan. Manchester United Football team's slogan is "You Never Walk Alone" A similar slogan could be adapted for Lao culture - "You never work alone" You may not necessarily have someone helping you but you will most certainly have some one watching you.

There was a charcoal fire about the size of a small Campbell's Soup can where the steel was heated in and over. Next to the fire was a round cylinder about 8 inches in diameter which appeared to be wood and about 18 inches long with two 1/2 inch diameter pipes coming out of its side and running underneath the small fire. One end of the cylinder was completely sealed off. The other end of the cylinder was sealed with a membrane that had a small diameter metal rod penetrating its center. At the exposed end of the metal rod there was a wood "T" handle that a young man diligently grasped as he continuously drove the the rod back and forth into the cylinder. The in and out motion of the rod caused air to be forced into the fire to create the higher temperatures necessary for forging the steel. The home made forced draft "fan" or quasi-bellows was very similar to the device that I had recently seen on television related to ancient Chinese technology of over 1,000 years ago. Absolutely fascinating - air was forced into the fire on each push as well as pull stroke of the rod. We watched for quite awhile. Duang asked if I could work the bellows. I made a crude remark about having to place my hand around the rod in a different position to stroke the rod. I used the Lao term for the action (practise?) and the men laughed like crazy. Unfortunately the laugh was not at my expense but at the expense of the young man who had been stroking the rod for so long. He became embarrassed with their teasing and left for a short time. His friend took over but quickly turned over the task to the first young man when he returned. It was all very good natured teasing like you would expect amongst family members or very good friends.



One of the men was alternatively heating some thin steel in the fire and pounding upon it with a medium sized ball peen hammer to turn it into a knife shape. His "anvil" was a spike shaped piece of steel with a 3 inch square head driven into a large diameter hardwood log that was laying on its side underneath the thatched roof.

Next to the anvil a man was busy cutting a small diameter steel pipe. He did not have any electric tools. He did not have a hacksaw or even a hacksaw blade. He was using a file and a heavy knife along with the ball peen hammer to cut the tube. Further back, a man was preparing to put a hole in a piece of wood. He did not have a bit and brace. He did not have a hand drill. He did not even have a twisted drill bit. He was using a red hot steel rod to burn a hole in the wood. Wisps of smoke rose in spirals as the hot steel burned its way into the wood while he twisted the rod.


Another man was carving a piece of wood to be the knife handle. The tapered end of the knife blade would be driven into the hole at the end of the wood handle. Throughout this Lao trip, we saw men walking along the roads and into the forest with their long handled knife strapped to their waist in scabbards made from woven bamboo. The people are very much self sufficient and quite adapt at making do with what resources are readily available to them.

Another blacksmith was occupied in forging parts for a spear gun or rather more accurately a "spear pistol". We had seen several young men walking near the river carrying pistol sized guns that shot spears made out of 3/32 inch metal rods. The devices are used to catch fish.

While he worked on the spear gun, the other blacksmith, was sharpening one of his new knife blades on a piece of sandstone. The sandstone was a piece of rock that had been struck and cleaved to form a fairly flat raw surface that he poured some of the water from the wooden tempering trough to lubricate, cool, as well as create a slurry that he rubbed the steel over and over. Besides creating a cutting edge on the knife blade, he rubbed the backside of the blade to smooth the edges and square the side.


"He earns what'er he can

And Looks the whole world in the face,

For he owes not any man ... "

Recently I was asked how is poor defined in this culture. I responded that the people do not have many material possessions but they are able to care for themselves as well as their families. In this culture spiritual well being and happiness are also considered measures of wealth. Rather than pitying these people for all the material goods that they lack, I am awed by their ability to survive in the conditions that they find themselves in. I joke with Duang that I would be dead in two weeks.

Rather than being poor they are wealthy in the sense that just as Longfellow's Village Blacksmith could they too can look the while world in the face for they owe not any man.

How many of us are that rich?