(Alfred: Rarely in the annals of recent human
history has a more heinous act been perpetrated on an innocent, kind,
personable gentleman than was visited upon Ruairí today.
Walking down the street towards the Joma café, his thoughts focussed on the
impending possibility of purchasing a cafetière, savouring the rush-hour aroma
that perfectly blends the aroma of sewage with the fumes of leaded petrol and
observing the bevy of primary schoolchildren being collected from school, his
progress was rudely interrupted by an agonizing pain in his groin. Turning, he
saw the face of a diminutive Lao mother sitting on a motorbike with two small
children, a face that initially registered consternation but a consternation
that rapidly bubbled over with hilarity as the surrounding crowd of parents and
children roared with laughter at the sight of the falang (foreigner) desperately trying not to hold
his testicles in front of the assembled
spectators. The woman had been attempting to throw her leg over the back of the
motorcycle and had not seen the approaching figure, thus neatly burying her
heel in his groin in a manner that would have drawn applause from Jackie Chan enthusiasts
the world over).
Yeah, it
was an interesting experience. For those of you out there who have ever
suffered a sharp blow to that particular region (all hurlers please raise your
hands) you will appreciate that the initial instinct when unexpectedly struck
in the groin (Alfred: Unexpectedly
?As opposed to expecting to be struck there?) is to cup and then gently
massage the area until the pain has dissipated. When surrounded by about fifty
small schoolchildren and their parents, that instinct is countered by the more
obvious fear of being thought … well, you know, especially by anyone who may
have missed the initial incident!! So I strode (Alfred: STRODE? Limped bowlegged more like) onwards, smiling gently
at my assailant to reassure her that I was OK and grinning inanely at others who
had missed the original incident but were having the story related incoherently
to them by parents whose tears of laughter made the telling somewhat difficult.
Neighbours (animal and human)
The sweet soft strains of Lao karaoke are wafting through our new house - presumably a neighbour having a party. As they were last night and will do for the next few nights (this weekend is a major festival and Monday is a public holiday). However, even for those who are not lovers of the eastern art of badly mimed music, this is the least of our auditory worries. With large families on each side of us, and an incredible concentration of dogs, cats and cocks (Alfred: I think 'cockrels' is more suitable in this context, in case of any unfortunate misunderstandings), leaves being blown along corrugated iron roofs, mosquitos humming by like low-flying B-52 bombers (Alfred: Steady on!), sleep has been a commodity in short supply. (Alfred: Oh, and what is this idea that raising your voice in anger is frowned upon in Lao society? Would someone mind passing that on to 'les voisins'?). And, of course, the heat. (Alfred: And let's not forget your snoring. At least I am out in the other room, unlike your unfortunate spouse who actually has to share the same bed!).
For the first few days, the neighbours seemed to pretty much ignore us completely which was, to be absolutely honest, a blessed relief after our experiences in Africa. The front of our house is a wooden fence with large spaces and the house beside us has three small children but not once have they stared in or called or anything. Then, two days ago, as I walked out, one neighbour come out on a motorbike with a Chelsea tracksuit top on! So, instant bond! (Alfred: Hmmm, not sure about 'instant'. Ruairí pointed at the guy's chest in what must at first have appeared a rather threatening gesture and then mimed a love of the Chelsea football team. How did he mime this? Well, he ... em, you kinda had to be there. Ruairí seems to forget that people sometimes just buy stuff with logos on them and are not always devoted to the organisation, team or brand of coffee that adorns their clothing). But the language is a problem - we are definitely going to have to learn some Lao and soon if we are going to be able to be properly polite to these - or any - neighbours.
 |
| They said there would be a mouse? |
Living with cats
The house came with two cats who we have christened Asterix and Obelix. I like cats and Martine likes them even more and I am used to them when visiting my mother's house but living with them is a very differnet experience! Asterix (on the left) has a fondness for climbing the papaya tree at the front of the house, a tree that is approximately seven to eight metres high and from which we have already had to rescue him twice. But they are great company and a lot of fun. However, we have been told that Lao aren't really keen on having cats as pets (Alfred: Unlike dogs - every house seems to have at least three!) - something about their being close to the spirit world and therefore being respected but not necessarily seen as pets.
No comments:
Post a Comment