Window on Southeast Asia:
Listening to the Rice Grow: A Journey Up the
Nam Ou River in Laos
continued
The road to Nong Kiaw.
In this case the destination was the village of Nong Kiaw. It's really only a small ethnic Lao village, but it's on a crossroads so it has many visitors, including falangs (Thai for foreigners). I decided to stay at a guesthouse across from the bus station. It's run by an elderly couple who are wonderfully friendly. After I settled into my room the owner invited me to sit facing the door. He sat down also and I figured he wanted to talk. I soon realized that he knew almost no English. I had already noticed that sitting was about the only thing going on when we arrived. That made sense as the sun was fierce. People just seemed to sit and stare out the door. Nong Kiaw is a great place for that as it is surrounded on all sides by soaring cliffs, some covered with jungle and some just huge black outcroppings. In any direction you look the view forces you to stop in your tracks.
As I sat there I remembered an old French saying from the time when France controlled Viet Nam, Cambodia, and Laos. I don't mean to imply that this rather bigoted saying is the truth, but from what I've seen of Laos and heard about Viet Nam, there seems to be a grain or two of truth in it. It goes, "The Vietnamese plant the rice, the Cambodians watch it grow, and the Lao listen to it grow." Indeed, the Vietnamese and the Lao seem to have a different attitude toward work. Vietnamese people I know tell me that their parents and grandparents can't stand to see anyone not working. I remember a Vietnamese lady telling about how her father used to sweep the doorway to his shop in Little Saigon (a Vietnamese community in Los Angeles) if there was nothing else to do, even if he had swept it 10 minutes before. Travelers who have been to Viet Nam often tell me how shocked they are about the hyperactive pace of life there as compared to the rest of southeast Asia. The Lao, on the other hand, rarely see the value of sweeping a doorway that isn't dirty, or any other form of work for its own sake. That doesn't mean that Lao people won't work hard if they have to, but they also value the simple slow pleasures of life. Westerners and other outsiders have different ways of viewing these two very different people. Some say that the Lao are lazy while the Vietnamese are industrious; others say that the Lao are content with what they have while the Vietnamese are workaholics. It all depends on how you view it.
Well, there seemed to be nothing better to do than to listen to the rice grow, so I decided to sit awhile. Regrettably, the nearest rice field was at least a kilometer away, and even if the sound of rice growing had reached that far it would have been drowned out by a radio playing Chinese music in a nearby shop. It must have been on batteries because there was no electricity except from 6 from 9 pm, and it was only 1:30 pm. After a while a storm seemed to be approaching and the temperature dropped rapidly. A wonderful cool breeze swept through the village as huge clouds began to pour off the cliff I was staring at. The sound of rice growing, had there been any, would soon have been replaced by thunder. This wasn't just any thunder; it echoed off the many cliffs making it seem much more powerful. After listening to the rice grow and the thunder roll for about an hour, I finally went back to my room and took a nap. When I awoke I found that the storm had just missed Nong Kiaw but the temperature was still pleasant. So I went for a walk around the friendly town.
Nong Kiaw.
There are few concrete buildings in Nong Kiaw, just bamboo or wooden houses with people eager to return the "Sabai Dii" (Lao greeting) of passing falangs. Children are everywhere in Lao villages and Nong Kiaw was no exception. Several came up to me with their hands extended for a handshake which they took great delight in. They've probably seen it on TV. After dinner I walked the other way toward the bridge. There I found several people, Lao and falangs, just staring straight ahead. I went to see what they were staring at, only to be dumbstruck by the view from the bridge. Had there been no other attraction along the Nam Ou other than the view upstream from the bridge (complemented by the gurgle of the river,) then it might have been worth the journey just for that. I won't insult the view by attempting to describe it. Below the bridge the river was lined with gardens separated by bamboo fences. On the other side of the river was the village of Muang Ngoi. There several children were tossing some sort of fruit into the air and trying to catch it in their mouths. The wanted me to try and I did. (Well, I made them laugh anyway.)
