Luang Prabang, Laos

Laos is a tiny country in terms of both size and population, but their are many beautiful and intriguing places to visit. One such place is the ancient capital of Laos, Luang Prabang. Situated in Northern Laos, on a point between two rivers, the streets of this charming town are interspersed with French colonial houses, a royal palace and more than 50 Buddhist temples! From the outside these temples are glittering displays of gold and deepest red with curved rooves and elaborately carved doors and windows, while on the inside, they boast Buddha images of every possible size and style along with wall paintings that tell the stories of the people who once lived in this place.

If you venture outside of the town limits (by elephant or by car) you'll find breathtaking waterfalls and tiny villages, home to dozens of different ethnic groups, each group with their own language, food and traditional dress. At night the villagers come to town to sell their handicrafts at the brilliantly lit night market. It's not too late to book your plane tickets to Laos..

When Steve was visiting from Bangladesh several weeks ago we had the opportunity to travel to this very special place, as did my parents when they visited in January. These are some of the pictures we took.

Generosity

It seems that so many of many stories this year revolve around motorcycles. Here's another to add to the collection.

I hadn't gone 10 metres past my gate when my motorcycle came to a sputtering halt. The gas tank was empty. I fumed inwardly for a moment, trying to imagine how my gas had been used up seeing as I had left it full the last time I had driven, but before I had time to do too much sulking a couple from one of the tiny rental rooms across the street came to my rescue. "Don't worry!" the young man called out to me, "We'll share the gas from our tank". Before I fully realized what was happening, he had pulled my motorcycle up beside theirs and was using a small piece of plastic tubing and a water bottle to remove some of the gas from their tank and then syphon it with his mouth into mine. I fumbled around in my bag and pulled out a few tattered bills but my two Samaritans merely smiled and waved my hand away. "We don't want the money," the young woman said, and after they had refused my offer two more times I thanked them both profusely and drove away.

When I looked down at the gas metre I realized that they had given me not just enough gas to get me to the nearest gas station but enough to take me all the way to work and back. Generosity. I can't remember the last time I was that generous to a stranger. As I turned the corner I called back to my two new friends over my shoulder "If you ever need help you know where to find me!".

Sabaidee Pi Mai! (Happy New Year!)

As I approach the school I am swarmed by a flock of my primary school English students wielding water pistols and dripping buckets, bottles and bowls of all sorts. "Big sister!" they call to me with the look of ravenous dogs in their eyes, "can we get you wet?" "Go ahead!" is my laughing reply, and before the words are even out of my mouth I am under fire. What ensues is the most intense water fight of my life; just me against 50 overexcited children, each one eager to ensure that their English teacher is as wet as wet can be. After I surrender, the children surround me once more but this time to offer me their water guns and old Pepsi bottles so that I can symbolically pour water on each of them in turn.

The water offers more than just relief from the sweltering heat; it is the beginning of the Lao New Year celebration and the water represents the blessings that the people hope to receive in the coming year. For the next week, the daily goings in of the country will grind to a halt as Lao people return to their natal homes to feast, pay homage at the neighbourhood temple, and of course, play with water. In the temples the devout sprinkle perfumed water on the Buddha images and the monks, while teenagers with buckets line the streets waiting for an unsuspecting passerby to douse with brilliantly dyed liquid.


Back at the school, my fellow teachers call to me to join them at their shaded picnic spot. We dine on spicy papaya salad, fried rice, barbecued beef and tiny, live "dancing shrimp" that do indeed squirm and squiggle all the way down my throat. (One problem with refusing the constant offers of rice whiskey is that I then feel compelled to overcome this rude gesture by eating anything and everything that is offered to me as food...) After our meal the teachers take it in turn to tie bits of string to each others wrists accompanied by their blessings for the new year. When it is my turn I am wished health happiness and a very rich husband in the year to come. This traditional bassie ceremony is common to Thai and Lao people and is held at every possible special occasion.

It's a special day for me too. Not only is it my 20th birthday, but today marks 8 months since I left Canada to start on this big adventure "Beyond the Mekong River". It's hard to believe that before 4 more months have past I will be home on the farm once again.

Beauty

“Ugly,” she says. “Jessie you are ugly now. You were beautiful when you came but now your skin is dark like ours. You are ugly.” I laugh first at the irony of the situation. I think of all my peers back in chilly Canada who pay hundreds of dollars each year to artificially acquire the tanned skin that eight months of tropical sun have given me. When I describe tanning beds to my Lao friends their mouths gape open in disbelief and disgust. Forget J-Lo and Angelina Jolie, Lao girls crave nothing more than to look like the pale skinned, rail thin, delicately featured, silky haired Thai pop stars they see on TV.

But later that night, when the conversation runs through my head again, I’ll admit, I start to cry. No, my host sister’s comments have not offended me (such matter of fact statements about appearance are an every day occurrence here), but it suddenly hits me hard that our world has taken the concept of beauty and twisted and contorted it until it has become an instrument of torture. Why is it that young Lao girls smear bleach based whitening creams on their faces and hide behind thick layers of clothing every time they step out into the sunshine? And likewise why am I tempted to suffer severe sunburn and skin damage in the hopes of maintaining a golden glow? (Tempted dad, only tempted.)

When I begin to compare and contrast the characteristics of beautiful people across cultures, it’s easy to see what a social construction the whole concept is. Somehow, beauty has evolved over time away from the appreciation of the exquisitely, intricately and uniquely Created beings that we are and into a Platonic Form (represented by the “beautiful” people we see in our society’s media) of which we will always fall short. We will never be light enough, dark enough, thin enough, fat enough, tall enough or short enough to be beautiful, so why not love our bodies just as they are right now?

I should make a confession: it’s easy for me to say these things in writing, but somehow this Form of beauty seems to be stamped into my brain in permanent ink. Even here in Laos, when I should be worrying about the very real issues of injustice rather than wasting mental energy fretting about my appearance, there are still days when I wake up feeling that my zits are too big or my hair too frizzy. I’ve come a long way in the last few years in the journey towards loving myself but I’ve still got a long way to go.

As I walk alongside young people in this country (and in Canada), on our shared path towards a more peaceful world, I realize that we will be able to do very little to build peace with the people around us until we gain the sort of confidence and inner peace that comes from accepting and loving the person we are, frizzy hair and all.

Building Peace One Brick at a Time

On the grounds of the little primary school where I teach, there is a friendly and intriguing mud brick building. Known to all as "the Mud House", this little building is the center of operations for Ponsinuane Volunteer Group (PVG). It all started in 2002 when some visionary local youth decided to get involved in their community by organizing clean up days, neighourhood festivals and much more. As time went on, more and more young people got involved. Here was a way in which they could help the community around them while also being part of a strong social network. By 2006 PVG had grown so large that the tiny space from which they functioned in the village chief's office was no longer enough. With the community's blessing, the PVG worked together to build their Earth friendly Mud House one brick at a time.

And with the Mud House as their base, the PVG has only continued to flourish. Volunteers run after school programs at the primary school each day ranging from traditional dance, to gardening, to "inventions" made out of recycled materials. The volunteers themselves continue to do community outreach as well as participating in personal development activities.

Now, two years after the completion of the first mud building, it's time for the PVG to grow again. The Mud House is no longer big enough to house an ever expanding library as well as the PVG's office and meeting space. It's time to start making a new batch of mud bricks! This new building, however, will be more than just a library, it will also be Laos' first ever center for peace education. The PVG never did like to dream small. And it's not just about the end result. Through this building project "the volunteers are learning to be confident leaders," says PVG Program Coordinator Somsack Souvannalath. "They are learning how to live and work as a group and how to adapt to new or uncomfortable situations".

So, if you happen to be in the neighbourhood on a Saturday this spring, stop by Ponsinuane Primary School and lend a hand... or a foot. Who knew that the catch phrase "peacebuilding" could ever be taken so literally?

The Brickmaking Process

After digging a large pit, we fill it with water as well as special soil taken from the Mekong River.

Mixing the mud with our feet is our team's favourite part of the job. It's 40 degrees celcius by midday but volunteers put up with the heat of their jackets in an effort to keep their skin pale. A visitor from Bangladesh (A.K.A Steve) adds interest to the long day's work.

After the mud is properly mixed we scoop it out of the pit with our hands and pour it into a mold.

Next we remove the mold and leave the bricks to sun dry for one week. Rain rain stay away!

By 4 o'clock we're exhausted but we've made close to 200 bricks. We'll need thousands more before we can start building and the goal is to finish by the time rainy season starts in June.

After we've all cleaned up a little, enjoying a traditional Lao meal together is a good way to relax and celebrate our achievement.