Our last day in Brasil Chugging across Brasil and a quick return to Blighty (where therell be no laundering of the packs). found us in our most favoured of habitats, a locals boozer. Here the indulgent management blessed their rare gringo visitors with a – lengthy - Celine Dion medley on the jukebox. We were touched and not too traumatised, but still thought this weird. Fast forward eight months to yesterday in Laos. Teaching was over for the day and wed just polished off our fish dinner when Khamlar came we go. Where? Along with the elder children we piled into the back of the and off we sped into the sticky night. The throbbing neon lights that greeted us did not suggest a two year olds birthday party, but that it was for the stocky bruiser that is Mario (yes, a further name we can pronounce). Another member of the extended family, who is often present around Sipasert, Mario simply adores Ali and he has been known to throw a paddy when a parent attempts to extricate him from her charge. Anyway, immediately on arrival we were presented with duck noodle soup (a rather good variant with a spicy coconut milk base – but wed just eaten) and the first
and clinically nothing had changed here, with no new Covid cases in six weeks. There were now no restrictions on internal travel and the buses were once again running. Aside from no mass gatherings and use of face masks on public transport all was pretty much as (the old) normal. To Alis possessive chagrin westerners began to reappear in Tad Lo.
Nearby in Cambodia, Thailand and Vietnam, not to mention China, things were equally benign. Antipodean talk was of an air corridor enabling Australia and New Zealand to transit freely between their countries. I started to envisage a South East Asian bubble with a of borders between Laos and our neighbours. However, this certainly wasnt imminent and thus – for us – there was no fevered necessity to get on the move, wed visit those unseen Laos destinations (and we had already travelled extensively in the north years ago) when the possibility of subsequent departure was far closer to reality. Plus, we had our teaching responsibilities to consider; and a carp to catch.
On a recent fishing trip the action on the longer ledgered lines was slow so I fashioned a bastardised roach pole, a long light rod from which I could merely flick the bait out and swing the fish in with. The unanchored bait wafts naturally downwards through the water column and – hopefully – proves too tempting for the small fish present to ignore. And so it proved. Immediately I was whipping out a succession of tasty morsels (Mr. man Akai Three weddings and a tweeting cockwomble* would have been proud). A young unknown boy was loitering behind us and after a few minutes observation he scuttled off into the bush only to emerge with his own wand. This he offered to Ali. She declined, and we duly kitted him out with line, hook and corn to try out himself. The young rascal was soon me and on his departure he left with a large bag of fish to present to his mum.
man (we do – should - know his name but its a real stinker to remember), apparently a friend of the family and perhaps, maybe, the security guard of dubious vigilance – hes often fast asleep when I
gather beers from the shops fridge - continued to make regular, startling in the depth of night, appearances on our balcony. He speaks not a word of English but is very fond of singing, typically by some unique dance moves. He may deliver a monologue that, presumably, he thinks we have of before helping himself to a fag and/or pouring himself a beer (Nareshs bag of Chuppa Chup lollys were equally fair game) before ambling off. That said he has, over the months, often just materialized and left in his wake a very much appreciated gift.
And now a snippet (at last I hear you cheer) and it is a one: the 30th of May saw, for the first time since the outbreak, closed cases surpass active cases.
