Saturday, May 7, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The Khamu Jacket
When we were in Luang Prabang, Laos this year, I paid not one but two visits to my favorite silk weaving establishment in the village of Xang Khong, Lao Textile Natural Dyes. I have been visiting this house since 2005; the original old teak house, the new air conditioned building across the dirt road that housed their collection of antique costumes and fabrics, again when the whole house was completely demolished, and this year. To my delight, the new house was built in the old style, new style concrete outside, but all wood interior. I was excited by the good supply of hand woven, naturally dyed silks in a variety of weaves. After amassing a large and expensive pile of new silks in solid colors, Veomanee reminded me that they had moved their collection of antique textiles upstairs and invited me to see them. Removing my shoes, I followed a young woman up cool smooth wooden stairs where she unlocked the doors to a large room that took up half the top of the shop house. It was very dark inside, and very cool, perfect for preserving fragile fabrics. I waited for my eyes to accustom to the gloom while she went from window to window, opening the exquisitely carved shutters to let in more light. The room was dominated by a large traditional bed frame hung with antique silk mosquito net borders. On top of the bed slats were piles of bedding and household textiles. Ranged around the walls were stacks and stacks of baby carriers, phasin (skirts), ceremonial shoulder cloths, jackets, shaman cloths, more bed sheets, curtains, blankets and wall hangings. She invited me by gesture to look at whatever I liked. When I sat down on the floor, she ran to get me a low stool and when she saw my interest in a certain item, she went around the room gathering more of that style. Things were arranged by use and tribal group. On another low pallet bed of wood were pieces of old textiles that had been removed from items that were too far gone to save. The embroidery or supplementary weaving examples were too precious to discard. Many would find their way into frames on walls, or as cartoons for young apprentice weavers to study. There were countless phasin borders, jacket trims, ribbons and ends of head wraps and shoulder cloths. Phasin borders are a specialty in Laos and are often removed when the body of the skirt has worn out. Lao skirts are made in 3 separate sections, waist or hip band, skirt body, and skirt border. I spent quite a bit of time looking through the beautiful hand work, asking about the identity of tribal groups they came from, and indulging a textile junkie's passion in all things made by hand. I didn't buy any old pieces that day. I left with 3 large hand made saa paper bags full of new fabric to use for my own designs back home.
Four days later I returned, bringing a new friend that I had infused (or should I say overwhelmed?) with my own passion and wonder. I met Ann Crittenden on our way up river to Nong Khiaw and I promised to take her to Xang Khong to help her buy some silk which she could have made into a blouse or two when she returned to the States. Veomanee was thrilled to see me again and even more excited that I brought a friend. I asked if Ann could see the treasures upstairs. Together we ascended the stairs to the almost mystical storeroom. Once again one of the girls scurried around, throwing open the shutters to let in the light. From one of the piles near the largest bed, Ann picked out an antique wall hanging from the far north. It was a classic black (actually dark dark indigo) and white geometric supplementary weave bordered by white cotton. I spent time with a pile of jackets against one wall, and revisited the distinctively woven antique silk phasin from the Sam Neua area. Veomanee told me his mother was the impetus for the collection. His mohter was from the Vietnamese border, near Sam Neua, and had traveled from one end of Laos to the other collecting old textiles and costumes. As we were getting ready to leave and go downstairs, I walked over to a rod hung from the ceiling where longer coats and jackets from the Hmong, Lienten, Khamu and Yao Mien hung. Among them was one odd, longish jacket. As I pulled it down and from the doorway, I looked up and saw Veomanee's mother watching me. Veomanee's mother was elegant. Her gray hair was pulled back neatly into bun at the nape of her neck. She wore an expensive cardigan over a traditional subtle striped silk Luang Prabang style phasin, complete with intricate, elaborate border. A very tasteful beautifully woven Lao shawl hung around her shoulders. She looked right at me, "Khamu". I turned to Veomanee with a questioning look. "It is Khamu jacket. From Khamu people, very very old." Indeed. I had been through Khamu villages further north, but I had never seen anything like this jacket, nor could I remember having seen it in any of my textile books. It was thick black polished cotton on the outside, lined with a coarser hand woven indigo hopsacking I had seen used for the long jackets worn by the Yao Mien. I looked more closely. Completely hand sewn, the two layers fitted together perfectly to make a heavy, warm jacket for the cold highlands where the Khamu used to live. Every seam was worked in such tiny stitches I didn't see most of them until I returned home to the US and saw them under the bright electric lights of my sewing room. They were worked in red thread. The side gussets were topped by a thin column of red satin stitch along the seam. The frog style fastenings were red cotton attached with green embroidery thread. Mother of pearl buttons were used as fasteners on one end of the loops. I fell in love with this jacket. I didn't pay a lot for it, not by Nordstrom standards, but for something I could not wear and something so unremarkable at first glance, it was an extravagance. Veomanee's mother motioned for the doors to the room across the hall to be opened, where even more wonders were arrayed, this time in more of a museum like setting. We ohhhed and ahhhed and were properly appreciative, but I had the Khamu jacket clutched under my arm, and Ann had already made her choices, so we went back downstairs to complete our purchases. As I walked into the main room, Veomanee moved toward me with a small folded piece of silk. "My mother thinks you may like this." I unfolded it carefully and held a piece of soft, aged mat mee in my hand. It was a gorgeous antique phasin. I knew immediately that it was very valuable. I had purchased one very similar on my first trip to Southeast Asia in 1990. I had paid $15 at the time and felt myself ill used. I brought it home and cut it into a loose overblouse. I knew that the $85 she was asking from me for this lovely antique skirt was a good deal. I could buy the exquisite phasin or the Khamu jacket. Not both. It was no contest. I would never find another Khamu jacket.
I have been working on a pattern from this jacket. It's a sweet jacket, very flattering, but very very tiny. I realized part way through the pattern process that the jacket was probably for a man. That made sizing for a woman a little tricky. I love ethnic clothes. I love their deceptive simplicty, their use of the maximum amount of fabric with the minimum of cutting, their economy in using what is to hand, and their surprising, sometimes whimsical details. It soothes my sense of purpose and attention to make things that are one of a kind. The pattern may be the same, the intent and materials, never. I have included photos of the original and the one I just finished. The new one is done in linen/rayon hopsacking lined with Kaufmann cotton sateen...a fabulous find. I used DMC Perle cotton for the embroidery. The frogs were purchased in Bangkok and attached with a herringbone embroidery stitch. I tried to show the red embroidery above the gusset, but it is a little tricky and didn't quite some out in the photo
I changed a few things. The collar is not quite as long as the original and I will remedy that on the next go round. I put darts in the back and used one large side gusset rather than the two smaller ones on the original. I may change that as well. It still needs a few adjustments, but it is quite wonderful, and can be tailor made to fit almost anyone!
Four days later I returned, bringing a new friend that I had infused (or should I say overwhelmed?) with my own passion and wonder. I met Ann Crittenden on our way up river to Nong Khiaw and I promised to take her to Xang Khong to help her buy some silk which she could have made into a blouse or two when she returned to the States. Veomanee was thrilled to see me again and even more excited that I brought a friend. I asked if Ann could see the treasures upstairs. Together we ascended the stairs to the almost mystical storeroom. Once again one of the girls scurried around, throwing open the shutters to let in the light. From one of the piles near the largest bed, Ann picked out an antique wall hanging from the far north. It was a classic black (actually dark dark indigo) and white geometric supplementary weave bordered by white cotton. I spent time with a pile of jackets against one wall, and revisited the distinctively woven antique silk phasin from the Sam Neua area. Veomanee told me his mother was the impetus for the collection. His mohter was from the Vietnamese border, near Sam Neua, and had traveled from one end of Laos to the other collecting old textiles and costumes. As we were getting ready to leave and go downstairs, I walked over to a rod hung from the ceiling where longer coats and jackets from the Hmong, Lienten, Khamu and Yao Mien hung. Among them was one odd, longish jacket. As I pulled it down and from the doorway, I looked up and saw Veomanee's mother watching me. Veomanee's mother was elegant. Her gray hair was pulled back neatly into bun at the nape of her neck. She wore an expensive cardigan over a traditional subtle striped silk Luang Prabang style phasin, complete with intricate, elaborate border. A very tasteful beautifully woven Lao shawl hung around her shoulders. She looked right at me, "Khamu". I turned to Veomanee with a questioning look. "It is Khamu jacket. From Khamu people, very very old." Indeed. I had been through Khamu villages further north, but I had never seen anything like this jacket, nor could I remember having seen it in any of my textile books. It was thick black polished cotton on the outside, lined with a coarser hand woven indigo hopsacking I had seen used for the long jackets worn by the Yao Mien. I looked more closely. Completely hand sewn, the two layers fitted together perfectly to make a heavy, warm jacket for the cold highlands where the Khamu used to live. Every seam was worked in such tiny stitches I didn't see most of them until I returned home to the US and saw them under the bright electric lights of my sewing room. They were worked in red thread. The side gussets were topped by a thin column of red satin stitch along the seam. The frog style fastenings were red cotton attached with green embroidery thread. Mother of pearl buttons were used as fasteners on one end of the loops. I fell in love with this jacket. I didn't pay a lot for it, not by Nordstrom standards, but for something I could not wear and something so unremarkable at first glance, it was an extravagance. Veomanee's mother motioned for the doors to the room across the hall to be opened, where even more wonders were arrayed, this time in more of a museum like setting. We ohhhed and ahhhed and were properly appreciative, but I had the Khamu jacket clutched under my arm, and Ann had already made her choices, so we went back downstairs to complete our purchases. As I walked into the main room, Veomanee moved toward me with a small folded piece of silk. "My mother thinks you may like this." I unfolded it carefully and held a piece of soft, aged mat mee in my hand. It was a gorgeous antique phasin. I knew immediately that it was very valuable. I had purchased one very similar on my first trip to Southeast Asia in 1990. I had paid $15 at the time and felt myself ill used. I brought it home and cut it into a loose overblouse. I knew that the $85 she was asking from me for this lovely antique skirt was a good deal. I could buy the exquisite phasin or the Khamu jacket. Not both. It was no contest. I would never find another Khamu jacket.
I have been working on a pattern from this jacket. It's a sweet jacket, very flattering, but very very tiny. I realized part way through the pattern process that the jacket was probably for a man. That made sizing for a woman a little tricky. I love ethnic clothes. I love their deceptive simplicty, their use of the maximum amount of fabric with the minimum of cutting, their economy in using what is to hand, and their surprising, sometimes whimsical details. It soothes my sense of purpose and attention to make things that are one of a kind. The pattern may be the same, the intent and materials, never. I have included photos of the original and the one I just finished. The new one is done in linen/rayon hopsacking lined with Kaufmann cotton sateen...a fabulous find. I used DMC Perle cotton for the embroidery. The frogs were purchased in Bangkok and attached with a herringbone embroidery stitch. I tried to show the red embroidery above the gusset, but it is a little tricky and didn't quite some out in the photo
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Homage
Because I like the word. I am working with a 7 inch foam ball, bright yellow, that I got for a pittance (another word I like) and I am learning to needle felt...as an "homage" to Linda Sue. I met her when she first started to needle felt. I remember distinctly that she told me anyone could do this and that I should try it. It has taken me about 7 years to try, but I am fascinated by her work. Since I am not a scluptural type, it is difficult for me but I have to admit, there is something satisfying about stabbing that needle into a ball of foam and making wool adhere to itself. Now I have a large yellow ball with patches of soft wool roving stuck to it...
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Travels at Home
As I have discovered since returning from SE Asia, travels can take many forms. I am traveling through all sorts of new arenas...retirement, although I don't think I am really retired or ever will be since I didn't really have a job career...aging, my own and most pertinently, my mother's...creativity, and that is a huge journey that keeps unfolding in great massive swathes of cloth and wire. I now have two nice cigar boxes with glass lids that I had made up almost a year ago. I love their shapes and the fact that the glass slides so tidily on and off. I also found some wonderful "hopsack" linen/rayon that makes my heart beat fast, especially when I think of cutting it from the new pattern I made of the Khamu jacket from Laos. I also found lovely cotton sateen at a local quilt store. The colors fill my head with rainbows of linings...the linings are the best part of a subtle ethnic jacket since we in the northwest like to hide our sunshine. And I have discovered a whole new dimension in wire wrapping that has driven me to rip apart old earrings and whip up new ones, lighter, better, more outrageous...and I don't even care if anybody sees them! Hurrah for time on my hands!
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Picture Plethora
It has been a shock to be home. I find myself a bit more political than when I left, a bit less patient with all the nonsense of the US. We are rich and spoiled and very silly, not to mention wasteful and ungrateful. However, I am grateful for the water pressure in my shower, for the fact that I don't have to worry about drinking the water, and for my very decadent bed among many other things. I have been working on getting photos of the trip posted for family and friends and anyone else curious because I happen to think Mr. Muzzy is an extra-fine photographer, able to express the beauty and wonder of the world he sees with a camera. This is something amazing to me, something I cannot do, a little like needle felting for me. I admire his eye and applaud his company. I'm glad we found one another, both 36 years ago and on the bridge in Nong Khiaw. If you choose to look at the blog again to see the photos, be sure to check the archives because I started posting with our earliest blog from this trip and it doesn't show up on the first page. I still have 2 or 3 blogs to go. I am learning, learning, learning. Enjoy and if you have any questions, I haven't quite gotten the knack of putting captions with the pics, so just drop me a note and I can explain...
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Muay Thai, Fish Pan and Bangkok Farewell
Yup, headin' home in the morning. Spent 4 days in Bangkok and enjoyed every minute of it this time. Muz spent two days photographing the Muay Thai training gym just down some seedy alleys on the way to Kao San. On the third he asked me to join him "for something to do". Okay...off we went and I was pleasantly surprised to find a row of benches along on side of the alley just made for spectators like me. And what a trip! You can pay to train in traditional Thai boxing with real professionals. It's quite a site. While I was there the 10 time WORLD champ was working out...no pictures please as he glowered at Muzzy. Muz put up his hands and retreated to the other side of the gym. But I think he got some shots anyway. I have to say, it was impressive and I did enjoy these guys. It's almost like dancing, but a lot faster and much more lethal.
We spent our last day in pursuit of the fish pan. If you are unfamiliar with my quest, I saw a young man in Chiang Mai at the Walking Market making small fun fish-shaped waffles filled with luscious things and have been searching for one of his cast iron waffle makers ever since. Yesterday sitting in traffic, I looked out and there was a fish waffle maker...not the round one I wanted, but still...so today we retraced our steps in Chinatown at the edge of Pahurat, and found the store. There it was. It is a row of 5 fish shaped impressions to make waffles but it is attached to a box to which is attached a hose hook up for butane or whatever. It's not heavy, but awkward. Not expensive, and totally do-able...but...we are leaving tomorrow and I didn't want to spend today boxing it up and sending it to myself at great expense. I have the card for the store, the price, the location and I am hoping that Sarah and Don will decide to come to Thailand SOON. I will give them the money and they can send it to me...or is anyone else coming this way??? So near and yet so far...
Regretfully we left the fish pan and took a metered taxi to Wat Pho...41 baht...wandered my favorite wat, Mr. Muz took more photos, and we each had an hour and a half massage, 550 baht. Heaven...and a great way to end the trip. Took the river taxi back to the New Siam, Jok Pochana for dinner tonight...Leo beers, more duck, glass noodle salad with woodear mushrooms and minced pork, some pak boong and we're done...
Regretfully we left the fish pan and took a metered taxi to Wat Pho...41 baht...wandered my favorite wat, Mr. Muz took more photos, and we each had an hour and a half massage, 550 baht. Heaven...and a great way to end the trip. Took the river taxi back to the New Siam, Jok Pochana for dinner tonight...Leo beers, more duck, glass noodle salad with woodear mushrooms and minced pork, some pak boong and we're done...
Monday, February 14, 2011
Pahurat, Chinatown and the Chao Phraya
The Chao Phraya runs through Bangkok like a giant ribbon of not quite set jello. We stepped onto a yellow flagged river express to get to Chinatown and the water bubbles and burps and laps in big sloppy waves all over the place. The determined river ferries are like those flat water bugs that sort of sit on top of the water, moving back and forth and side to side with amazing speed. They shoot up and down the river and dart from one side to the other rapidly taking on and discharging passengers, at this time of day, just before noon, lots of white farangs taking in the sites...Wat Po, The Royal Palace, and Chinatown. Our mission was Pahurat, on the edge of Chinatown. It is the Indian district complete with spiffy new Sikh temple and the India Emporium which contains "everything Indian" in air-conditioned luxury. This is the cloth section of Bangkok and the wonders of Sanphan Lane...with various spellings.
Unfortunately the Express boat didn't stop at the Memorial Bridge pier and let us off at the official pier for Chinatown, whose name escapes me right at the moment. It is quite a hike in the heat, confusion and uncertain street names from the pier to Pahurat, so we hired a convenient tuk tuk for a paltry fee and were dropped off right across the street from the India Emporium. Hurrah! We headed down the block for the walkover bridge and I was silently thanking god not to have to play dodgem' cars to get to the other side. I had a Chinese frog button in my pocket, determined to find the Frog Mecca I remembered from lo those 20+ years ago. After showing the frog to several stores full of Thai formal wear and dance accessories, they all seemed to be mumbling something that sounded vaguely familiar...samphaeng lane? And they pointed in the direction of a vast covered alley between two tall buildings...yes, it was familiar. We headed in, and I mean headed in, for it is an interminable warren of haphazardly covered stalls down an alley full of Valentine's merchandise, fabric, toys, more alleys leading off in spokes of stalls and I kept showing my frog and they kept pointing me further on and we kept walking and it was hot and every once in a while we stood in front of a fan or a store would be air-conditioned and then vendors started setting up for lunch...mee krob with red bows, cherries from the US, strawberries in little cones and finally...a store so full of "notions" that I thought my eyes would explode. A young woman led me to a center post around which were drawers and drawers of frogs every size, shape and most colors! And trim! Trim! Trim! Woo hooooooo!!!! We even found a bank, icily air conditioned, and cashed the last of our money. Only two days to go and we are counting down.
Leaving Samphaeng Lane, we headed to the India Emporium where we had an unusual dim sum lunch and numerous glasses of iced weak tea, perfect for the heat...then grabbed the nearest tuk tuk back to the pier. it was while sitting in the tuk tuk trying not to inhale the exhaust of the delivery truck in front of us and listening to Rod Stewart in concert on the blown tuk tuk speakers that I happened to glance over at the side walk, noting the shiny new kanom krok pan in front of a shop that was selling waffle irons and other industrial cookware and .... THERE IT WAS! THE FISH PAN! Now, it's not EXACTLY the fish pan I was looking for, but....IT WILL DO! So, now we have to figure out a way to get this fish pan back to the US....and tomorrow is our last day here...
Friday, February 11, 2011
The Overnight Bus
The only way to get to the island of Koh Phayam is to take the overnight bus from Bangkok to Ranong, a funky little place perched at the point where Myanmar and Thailand meet. We took the deluxe 24 passenger VIP overnight down and the deluxe 36 passenger VIP back. These were both booked BEFORE we realized there is now a plane that flies to Ranong...why is this a surprise? It was only a matter of time.
Let me tell you about the VIP buses, if you don't already know. These are massive, double decker behemoth road sailing vehicles complete with toilet, attendant and goodies when you get on board. The seats (when they are working) recline to nearly horizontal and are equipped with footrests (when working), blankets of assorted fabrics and pillows. It seems to be a rule in Thailand that when something breaks, it stays broken...except for motorbikes...so the glamour of the bus is somewhat of an illusion. From the outside, the buses are quite festive in the evening. Fuchsia and lime lights twinkle gaily, festoons of curtains line the windows, green and pink scallops with little balls bouncing from the edges, and the headliners seem to have stepped straight from the 1970s...sort of disco meets psychedelic. The overall effect is a rolling party, or the Cash Cab on steroids. It is rather disconcerting to be herded in a large group of farangs, mini-vanned to the Northern or Southern bus station, and then try to figure out which of these giant vehicles will be your home for the night. The stations are massive and the buses loom over you like automated elephants, slowly lumbering back and forth in a comfortable swaying motion. Inside the air conditioning never stops and your only hope is to close off as much of it as possible with the little adjustable vent over your head (when it works). My first attempt at this was met with some rough German guttural swearing from the passenger in front of me and the statement "zat is too much!". It was okay, I had my blanket, and I just did like the Thais do, I tossed it over my head and made the best of it. As we embarked, the attendant, clad in a snappy little uniform, pointed out our seats and handed us bottles of water and juice, as well as a small brightly colored package of something very puffy...perhaps an extra pillow? No...a treat...something spongy rolled up. I had come supplied with my own snacks from the 7 Eleven at the bus station; chips, oreos, and rolled up coconut things that come in two flavors, coconut and a snazzy garlic chili. 7 Eleven is everywhere in Thailand now and sells appropriately Thai snacks that look like the snacks in the 7 Elevens at home.
Once you are under way, there is at least an hour of adjustments to your seat, the air conditioning, your blanket, your neighbors, and then all the lights and the TV go out and its time to sleep. That is, unless the old man and young woman in the back seat decide to take a couple of cell phone calls. The woman politely covers her mouth and then speaks louder, but the old man makes no attempt to exclude you from his call and they go on and on and on...cell phones are annoying in any language. On the bus going down, the handle that made my seat recline was broken and if I moved just right, it dug relentlessly into my thigh until I woke up and readjusted. Fortunately on the way back it was only the cell phone capers that interrupted my sleep. By the trip back to Bangkok I was an old hand and knew what to expect.
There is a stop 3 hours in to the trip to change drivers, no matter which direction you go. These way stations are quite a wonder. You have a chance to use a larger, less odoriferous bathroom with actual sinks, and stock up on more snacks. On the way back from Ranong the stop is in Champhoun...it is a southern transportation hub...trains, planes, buses...and the bus rest stop is worth a visit all on its own. It was sort of a cross between a rest stop and an amusement park. There were lines of facilities, a restaurant, fried snacks of every kind in puffy bags, and long rows of colorful Muslim women at carts making roti...all kinds of roti...savory, sweet, breakfast, dinner, whatever you wanted. Even though the price list stated 20, 25 and 30 baht, Muzzy's savory curry roti was an aggressive "40 baht!" Oh well, I consider the buck and a half the price of admission.
Let me tell you about the VIP buses, if you don't already know. These are massive, double decker behemoth road sailing vehicles complete with toilet, attendant and goodies when you get on board. The seats (when they are working) recline to nearly horizontal and are equipped with footrests (when working), blankets of assorted fabrics and pillows. It seems to be a rule in Thailand that when something breaks, it stays broken...except for motorbikes...so the glamour of the bus is somewhat of an illusion. From the outside, the buses are quite festive in the evening. Fuchsia and lime lights twinkle gaily, festoons of curtains line the windows, green and pink scallops with little balls bouncing from the edges, and the headliners seem to have stepped straight from the 1970s...sort of disco meets psychedelic. The overall effect is a rolling party, or the Cash Cab on steroids. It is rather disconcerting to be herded in a large group of farangs, mini-vanned to the Northern or Southern bus station, and then try to figure out which of these giant vehicles will be your home for the night. The stations are massive and the buses loom over you like automated elephants, slowly lumbering back and forth in a comfortable swaying motion. Inside the air conditioning never stops and your only hope is to close off as much of it as possible with the little adjustable vent over your head (when it works). My first attempt at this was met with some rough German guttural swearing from the passenger in front of me and the statement "zat is too much!". It was okay, I had my blanket, and I just did like the Thais do, I tossed it over my head and made the best of it. As we embarked, the attendant, clad in a snappy little uniform, pointed out our seats and handed us bottles of water and juice, as well as a small brightly colored package of something very puffy...perhaps an extra pillow? No...a treat...something spongy rolled up. I had come supplied with my own snacks from the 7 Eleven at the bus station; chips, oreos, and rolled up coconut things that come in two flavors, coconut and a snazzy garlic chili. 7 Eleven is everywhere in Thailand now and sells appropriately Thai snacks that look like the snacks in the 7 Elevens at home.
Once you are under way, there is at least an hour of adjustments to your seat, the air conditioning, your blanket, your neighbors, and then all the lights and the TV go out and its time to sleep. That is, unless the old man and young woman in the back seat decide to take a couple of cell phone calls. The woman politely covers her mouth and then speaks louder, but the old man makes no attempt to exclude you from his call and they go on and on and on...cell phones are annoying in any language. On the bus going down, the handle that made my seat recline was broken and if I moved just right, it dug relentlessly into my thigh until I woke up and readjusted. Fortunately on the way back it was only the cell phone capers that interrupted my sleep. By the trip back to Bangkok I was an old hand and knew what to expect.
There is a stop 3 hours in to the trip to change drivers, no matter which direction you go. These way stations are quite a wonder. You have a chance to use a larger, less odoriferous bathroom with actual sinks, and stock up on more snacks. On the way back from Ranong the stop is in Champhoun...it is a southern transportation hub...trains, planes, buses...and the bus rest stop is worth a visit all on its own. It was sort of a cross between a rest stop and an amusement park. There were lines of facilities, a restaurant, fried snacks of every kind in puffy bags, and long rows of colorful Muslim women at carts making roti...all kinds of roti...savory, sweet, breakfast, dinner, whatever you wanted. Even though the price list stated 20, 25 and 30 baht, Muzzy's savory curry roti was an aggressive "40 baht!" Oh well, I consider the buck and a half the price of admission.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Luang Prabang to Chiang Rai
So we ended up in Chiang Rai after all. And since we ended up with 2 days in Chiang Rai...
3 countries, 3 border crossings, 3 lengthy river passages, countless kilometers, several Lao anti-massages and a handful of Thai REAL massages, river boomtown boat landings, intestinal fortitude breakdowns, Chinese New Year celebrations with artillery-sized fire crackers rendering us deaf for half a day, we found ourselves at the doorstep to the Pie Lady's pie case on the Mae Suai river about an hour southwest of Chiang Rai...and voila! We ate pie!!! One for Shelley, one for our French American ex-pat friend Denny, one for Sun, the hired driver and one for me. Mmmmmmmm....nothin' like a piece of $6000 pie to brighten our day. We found her, photographed her, spoke with her..."No photo!" She was kind of like the Pie Nazi at first...Muzzy said, "I traveled a long way to have your pie..." "What pie you have???" "Uhhh...I had the Choco-mud, Madam had the mulberry, our driver had the mulberry and our friend had the choco-mud..."No photo for you!" "But, I read about you!" "What magazine?" "Sauveur..." "Oh?" "Please, I traveled all the way from America." "Oh, okay." She's a toothless 88 year old spirited woman well in charge of her pie domain and keenly aware of her pie-rock-star status. Her gray-haired son works the counter with her, she has an army of pie-cutters and servers and she oversees the whole operation with an iron fist. It is an extremely popular place filled that day with 2 tour buses full of Chinese and Thai tourists because of the long weekend, Lunar New Year (of the Rabbit)...so...mission accomplished!
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Food Glorious Food...Khao Niaw and Aw-Lam
Mr. Muzzy and I spent "one of those days" yesterday...in our room, on a forced fast...which gave us pause to think about food.
One of the things I noticed right away upon arrival in Luang Prabang was the plethora of traditional Lao food available at all the restaurants, even the ones along the notorious Sisavangvong strip that has been laden with pizza joints, American breakfasts and European fare. It is really nice to see. Those who claim Laos has no cuisine, I beg to differ. It is not like Thai food. It is simpler, sort of sampling fare and quite tasty. Usually there are two or three main dishes, a soup (aw-lam is a soup/stew with beef, flavored with the bark of a particular tree that lends a pungent, slightly spicy, sour flavor...don't eat the chunks of wood, please), a vegetable dish (stir fried) and perhaps a salad (the ubiquitous laarb...minced meat mixed with cilantro, rau ram, mint, sometimes bean sprouts, chilis and lime juice...yummmmmm) or a shredded bamboo shoot mixture with various additions. To this is added the jeow...pastes of various flavors and origins...our particular favorite is jeow bawng (various spellings but essentially a sweet paste, very spicy, with a dried buffalo meat base...mmmmmmm). There is an eggplant jeow, a thin sweet spicy dip, a tomato based jeow and several more. The jeow are set on the table with the main dishes and the typical small baskets of khao niaw...sticky rice. You take a small ball of sticky rice, dip it in a jeow and add a bit of a main dish...the stir fry or salads, and pop it into your mouth. The soup is served in small bowls. It's a communal kind of meal...everyone eating from the same bowls with the rice as the conveyance. And then there is the Mekong seaweed. This is gathered when the rivers are low...great veils of bright green algae, similar to nori, it is sun-dried in flat sheets dusted with sesame seeds and served fried very quickly in oil as an appetizer with a jeow...usually jeow bawng.
Have we lost you yet? We ate at Dyen Sabai the other night across the river. It is a Lao French collaboration and they serve up nice sample platters with a little bit of everything and explanations and good beer and a decent happy hour, all while lounging on pillows in a teak sala under stands of artfully lit timber bamboo. We have enjoyed the Lao food...especially the seaweed and laarb, but foreign water being what it is, we spent last night eating pizza...and damned good pizza too! BREAD! They do that well in LP...hot crusty French baguettes that are pure heaven. And we found a place that makes delicious lemon and chocolate tarts (each, not together). So we are back on the mend...coffee and sweet milk for me, cafe dam (black) for Muz. Other gastronomic pleasures include freshly picked som (oranges), sweet little delights with an easy peel, tiny bananas and papaya. Unfortunately it is not mango season and the cashews that Muzzy so dearly loves fried as an appetizer tend to come from the fridge and are a bit chewy..but...we had excellent fried peanuts with lemongrass the other night...and Beer Lao tends to make it all more jolly.
The morning market still serves up a veritable zoo of delights....dozens of tiny frogs tied together at the ankles...the larger frogs are in an enamel basin all fighting to escape...the highly colorful crab baskets...this is hard to explain, but a handwoven bamboo circle at the bottom of which are woven in 5-count 'em- 5 freshwater crabs each about the size of a French piastre (silver dollar)...a box of small furry rodents that are too adorable to think about much...pre-cooked bats ready for re-heating, small rats, the occasional civet cat, and the other day a small pig (live and unhappy) in a poke...trussed up in a loosely woven bamboo carrying basket just the size of the pig, about 50 pounds. I didn't wait to see the man carry him off. We like to think he was on his way to be a stud pig in some village. There are good smells of herbs and lemongrass and cilantro and mustard and wonderful long beans and dozens of types of eggplants in different shapes and sizes, piles of wondrous mushrooms, some familiar most not, and pans of eels, tiny tiny fish that you see in aquariums at home and mountains of greenish snails that go into the local version of somtam (not-delicious local papaya salad) (much better in Thailand!) and on and on.
However...we have reached the halfway point of our wanderings and yesterday woke up chanting "NO MORE RICE!" Thus the reference earlier to the great pizza.
We are off to photograph the oldest Wat on the peninsula...it is a beautiful place with artful mosaics recounting the journey of the Lao peoples to this magical peninsula as well as tales from Buddha's life.
Bon appetite
One of the things I noticed right away upon arrival in Luang Prabang was the plethora of traditional Lao food available at all the restaurants, even the ones along the notorious Sisavangvong strip that has been laden with pizza joints, American breakfasts and European fare. It is really nice to see. Those who claim Laos has no cuisine, I beg to differ. It is not like Thai food. It is simpler, sort of sampling fare and quite tasty. Usually there are two or three main dishes, a soup (aw-lam is a soup/stew with beef, flavored with the bark of a particular tree that lends a pungent, slightly spicy, sour flavor...don't eat the chunks of wood, please), a vegetable dish (stir fried) and perhaps a salad (the ubiquitous laarb...minced meat mixed with cilantro, rau ram, mint, sometimes bean sprouts, chilis and lime juice...yummmmmm) or a shredded bamboo shoot mixture with various additions. To this is added the jeow...pastes of various flavors and origins...our particular favorite is jeow bawng (various spellings but essentially a sweet paste, very spicy, with a dried buffalo meat base...mmmmmmm). There is an eggplant jeow, a thin sweet spicy dip, a tomato based jeow and several more. The jeow are set on the table with the main dishes and the typical small baskets of khao niaw...sticky rice. You take a small ball of sticky rice, dip it in a jeow and add a bit of a main dish...the stir fry or salads, and pop it into your mouth. The soup is served in small bowls. It's a communal kind of meal...everyone eating from the same bowls with the rice as the conveyance. And then there is the Mekong seaweed. This is gathered when the rivers are low...great veils of bright green algae, similar to nori, it is sun-dried in flat sheets dusted with sesame seeds and served fried very quickly in oil as an appetizer with a jeow...usually jeow bawng.
Have we lost you yet? We ate at Dyen Sabai the other night across the river. It is a Lao French collaboration and they serve up nice sample platters with a little bit of everything and explanations and good beer and a decent happy hour, all while lounging on pillows in a teak sala under stands of artfully lit timber bamboo. We have enjoyed the Lao food...especially the seaweed and laarb, but foreign water being what it is, we spent last night eating pizza...and damned good pizza too! BREAD! They do that well in LP...hot crusty French baguettes that are pure heaven. And we found a place that makes delicious lemon and chocolate tarts (each, not together). So we are back on the mend...coffee and sweet milk for me, cafe dam (black) for Muz. Other gastronomic pleasures include freshly picked som (oranges), sweet little delights with an easy peel, tiny bananas and papaya. Unfortunately it is not mango season and the cashews that Muzzy so dearly loves fried as an appetizer tend to come from the fridge and are a bit chewy..but...we had excellent fried peanuts with lemongrass the other night...and Beer Lao tends to make it all more jolly.
However...we have reached the halfway point of our wanderings and yesterday woke up chanting "NO MORE RICE!" Thus the reference earlier to the great pizza.
Bon appetite
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The Adventure Continues...
So we found one another in the middle of the Nam Ou on a bridge to the rice paddies. Accommodation and the mood of the villagers being what it was, we chose to travel back to Luang Prabang the next morning by slow boat. Not a big boat, mind you, but small worn cushions on small straight backed stools. I couldn't see the pilot because the luggage of dozens of French people was piled in the front space. Fortunately my bag was on an outside edge and I had kept my toilet paper in my purse...always a good policy when traveling in Laos. The boat beached itself twice...once for a pee stop...bless that pilot!...and once for portage because the river was too low to allow us to stay on...we walked in a crazy line, dozens of French people and Muzzy and I wandering hopefully on a path alongside the river. We rejoined the boat quite a hike further on and having my bag on the outside afforded me the opportunity to forage for two of the nut bars I brought just for this occasion. Never were nut bars so welcome!!! Side note: it has been rare to see Americans on this trip...mostly Germans and French though we did meet 2 Greek boys at dinner the other night.
Our friends Ann and Denny continued on to Muong Ngoi. Denny is an ex-pat living in Albi, France since the Vietnam War. Ann Crittenden was a war correspondent for Newsweek during the Vietnam War in Hanoi and Luang Prabang. She told us about the last days in Hanoi and her visit to Luang Prabang when the Mekong was heavily mined and it was a dusty, rural, sad village on hard times. She is an author and playwright who lives in Washington D.C. I promised to meet Ann on Monday at her guest house in LP and take her to the weaving village...yes...Muz and I spent 100,000 kip on a tuk tuk to the old weaving village where I am happy to say the house that was so charming and had been torn down is now restored to former glory complete with a gorgeous upstairs full of antique fabric and costumes. I found my yardage...exactly what I was looking for...and the nice young man who speaks excellent English remembered us because we contributed greatly to the economics of the village on our last trip and did so again this time. I got a free scarf and two glasses of water and many "wais" as I toted my 3 bags of silk back into town...this was after having it confirmed that there is now a bamboo foot bridge over the Nam Ou that feeds directly from LP to Ban Xong Kham...the weaving village...no wonder the tuk tuk driver took a contented nap while I shopped.
Anyway...LP is prospering, changing but in a nice way. It is still charming and the people are still wonderful. The night market is on hard times but still optimistic. Laos is still the nicest place to be and I am grateful and lucky that we are here. We have booked a boat trip on the very cushy Luang Say boat back up to Houayxai and into Thailand...two days on the Mekong, an indulgence, but half the price we were quoted to go the other way when we were in the States. So we will end up with a couple of days in Chiang Rai...can the Pie Lady pursuit be far behind? (Muz felt so bad, Cris, that he changed our entire itinerary to continue the search) We had to refund our Lao Air tickets to Bangkok on the 5th and that is another story...
Suffice it to say that we are having a good trip. We have moved from the back rooms at the Xieng Mouane guesthouse to a front one again...I will be able to open my shutters and watch the monks in the morning. Muz was up early to catch the monks on their morning passigieata and practice his "blurry shots". We will try to post photos when we return to Thailand. Nong Kiaw was a whole story alone...past times, not as nice as up north in previous years, and a little too late to visit now, I think. But...the river trip was amazing and will be again.
Until next time...
Sok Dee (good luck, happy journeys)
Suffice it to say that we are having a good trip. We have moved from the back rooms at the Xieng Mouane guesthouse to a front one again...I will be able to open my shutters and watch the monks in the morning. Muz was up early to catch the monks on their morning passigieata and practice his "blurry shots". We will try to post photos when we return to Thailand. Nong Kiaw was a whole story alone...past times, not as nice as up north in previous years, and a little too late to visit now, I think. But...the river trip was amazing and will be again.
Until next time...
Sok Dee (good luck, happy journeys)
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