arde Baghdad / burning Baghdad

Mientras en el libro que leo durante estas ultimas jornadas en Asia la gente se afana en acumular comida y objetos utiles en el Baghdad de los primeros dias de esta guerra interminable, yo me afano en hacer y hacerme con todas esas cosas que se que en Occidente no me puedo permitir.

Mi lista comienza con el dentista, para una limpieza, la ultima fue tambien en Bangkok. Visita a la optica para hacerme un par de gafas nuevas. Los cristales que puse en India a principios del anyo pasado ya estan absolutamente rayados. Arreglarme una falda que me viene grande despues de tanto trote y tanto arrocito. Y peluqueria y, por supuesto, masaje. Se acabaron los masajes semanales.

Hoy visitare un templo, Wat Thamkrabok, famoso porque llevan a cabo desde mas de 40 anyos planes de desintoxicacion de drogodependientes. Esa es otra de las cosas que estoy haciendo sin parar desde enero, Viaje Religioso. Que consiste en visitar cada templo que encuentro y sentarme a meditar por minutos, a veces, horas en otras ocasiones.

Y mirar y mirar a la gente, las cosas, las tiendas, los mercados... e intentar grabar en mi memoria todos estos colores, olores, formas, sonidos... Y todo esto lo hago mientras en Baghdad siguen aterrorizados.

*****

While in the book I am reading during my last days in Asia the citizens of Baghdad ply to store up food and other essentials in the Baghdad of the first days of this endless war, I ply to do and get all those things that I can not afford in the West.

My list begins with the dentist. Visit to the optician to get a pair of new glasses. The ones I bought at the beginning of last year in India are already spoiled. Have a skirt mended as it doesn´t fit me any more after all the travelling and all the rice. Hairdresser´s and massage, of course. No more weekly massages back home.

Today, I am visiting a temple, Wat ThamKrabok, famous around the world because of their drugs disintoxication programs. This is another thing I am doing since last January, Religious Travelling. It consists of visiting every single temple I come across and sit down to meditate for minutes, for hours, sometimes.

And look at people, things, shops, markets...and try to keep in my memory all these colours, shapes, sounds, scents...And I do all this while in Baghdad people are still terrified.

cajon de sastre (13)

¨Sabio es el que se contenta con el espectaculo del mundo¨. Ricardo Reis

¨She´s only happy in the sun¨. Ben Harper

morning shower

Every morning images like this one repeat everywhere along the Mekong river. People bath at dawn and at dusk in the river.

if

If it weren't because people still speak a language I can hardly understand. If it weren't because they are smaller and thinner than me. If it weren't because they keep on eating soups with chopsticks... I would say I am back in the West. But I am not, I am just back in Thailand.

Coming from Lao, Thailand seems so stressful, busy, modern...western. I am happy I am here so in the time I have left in Asia I can actually try to get used to many things that I will have to face very soon back in Spain.

Lao is such a laidback, easy going country, that it is difficult to go back to the stream speed. I think I am not going back anyway.

Left behind are the Irrawady dolphins and the boat trips. Left behind the hammock hanging in front of my hut. Left behind my particular french clown, he made me laugh so hard. Ahead only future.

meditating monk

french clown

His manners, those of an old fashion gentleman. Hanging from his neck, an indian necklace, a reminder of his beloved Mother India. His hair, curly and black. His brown eyes, deep and penetrating.

The very first glimpse of him, he didn't look like it. He, actually, looked like a very serious and taciturn person. But coffee after coffee he grew on me and I began to appreciate his marvellous show. He would go around the island on an imaginary horse and dancing at the rythm of a personal silent tune. And I would enjoy observing him as he used to say he observed life. "My goal in life is to stop thinking" he told me. I think my french clown is absolutely right.

pensamientos de hamaca

Solo el motor de una barca perturba la calma del mediodia tropical. Las chicharras sirven de banda sonora a la siesta en las hamacas. Alla, desde la ultima choza, llegan las notas arrancadas suavemente a una guitarra. El lento balanceo de mi hamaca es como una nana que adormece y tranquiliza. El chasquido de un mechero a mi lado, otro porro de marihuana.

Las palabras fluyen espesas como lava de volcan en erupcion. El aire es demasiado denso para dejarlas volar fugazmente. El pensamiento es lento, tambien.

Una foto robada, un cachito de mi que se fue con su disparador. El instante de la muerte. Me tienes, muerta.

Espanta moscas con las manos y la voz acompanya de repente a la guitarra.

Si me dijeran que es absurdo hablar asi de quien nunca existio, responderia que tampoco tengo pruebas de que Lisboa haya existido alguna vez, o lo que yo escribo, o cualquier cosa, sea lo que fuere.

Fernando Pessoa

noe

Noe tiene 10 anyos, es la prima de la duenya de la guest house donde me alojo en Don Det. A Noe le gusta pescar y maneja su barca de madera con la misma destreza que cualquier adulto del lugar.

Noe se levanta la primera de toda la familia, al alba, justo antes de que aparezca el sol por el este con sus rayos abrasadores. Enciende el fuego con carbon. Pone a cocer el arroz y mientras las brasas cogen fuerza y los primeros huespedes llegan para desayunar, Noe barre el restaurante, vacia las papeleras y ceniceros. Friega los platos. Cuando llego a tomar el primer cafe del dia, Noe ya tiene el agua hirviendo y, muy seria, me sirve mientras lee en el menu lo que yo le senyalo que quiero comer. Noe no habla ingles. No todavia.

Hacia las 8, si tiene tiempo Noe va al colegio en su vieja bicicleta. Cuando vuelve a las 12 del mediodia, con el sol en pleno apogeo, Noe va a por agua. No esta lejos el rio, tan solo a tres escalones, pero la tarea no es por ello menos ardua. Hasta 10 cubos sube para los lavabos, los pollos, la cocina... para todos nosotros. Cuando deberia estar de vuelta en su pupitre, a las dos, Noe esta cortando ajos y cebollas. Cocinando.

Por la tarde, en las pocas horas de calma del restaurante, Noe coge la barca y sale a pescar. El otro dia me llevo con ella. No pescamos nada pero nos lo pasamos muy bien y vi, por fin, la sonrisa infantil que Noe no quiere o que no le dejan mostrar. Noe tiene tan solo 10 anyos.

*****

Noe is ten years old, she is my guest house owner's cousin in Don Det. Noe likes fishing and she handles her wooden boat as skillfully as any adult.

Noe is the first one in the family to wake up, at dawn, just before the sun appears on the East with its burning rays. She lits the fire with coal. She puts the rice to cook and while the embers gain intensity and the first guests arrive to have breakfast, Noe sweeps the restaurant, empties dustbins and ashtrays. Washes the dishes. When I arrive to have my first coffee of the day, Noe has the water boiling already and, very serious, she serves me while she reads on the menu what I point at that I want to eat. Noe can't speak English. Not yet.

Around 8 o'clock, if she has time, Noe goes to school on her old bicycle. When she comes back at 12, with the sun high on the sky, she goes to fetch water. The river is not far away, only 3 steps down, but the task is nevertheless arduous. Up to 10 buckets she carries on her shoulders for the toilets, chickens, kitchen... for all of us. When she should be back at her desk, at two, she is chopping onions and garlic. Cooking.

In the afternoon, during a few quiet hours, Noe jumps on her canoe and goes fishing. The other day she invited me to go with her. We didn't catch any fish but we had a great time and, for the very first time, I saw her childish smile which Noe doesn't like or is not allowed to show very often. Noe is only ten years old.

el pais de los pequenyos placeres

Ir descalza por la calle, comer con las manos, sentarse en el suelo, viajar al borde de la puerta abierta de un autobus, lenta, muy lentamente, apreciando todo el paisaje y disfrutando de cada parada, paradas gastronomicas.

Dormir la siesta en una barcaza en el rio al calor del mediodia. Observar la vida despertar con la aurora y volver a dormir con la puesta de sol.

Caminar despacio, al ritmo que marcan los grados del termometro, al ritmo tropical. Beber cafe caliente a la sombra de un arbol con los lugarenyos y jugar con sus ninyos maravillosos juegos: lanzamiento de palillos, perseguir una bolsa de plastico movida caprichosamente por la ligera brisa caliente...

Escuchar mil y un saludos de ninyos y mayores y admirar sus calidas sonrisas.

stupid questions to ask in Lao...

...that, of course, I have also asked...

When does the bus leave?

Buses leave any time between the scheduled time and the you-never-know time. So sit back, open your eyes and observe life going on.

When do we arrive?

We can arrive either in time, on the scheduled time or long after the scheduled time. We arrive when we arrive. On the way we can have a breakdown, an accident or a tyre punch, even everything in the same journey. So sit back, relax and enjoy.

attapeu

The Sekong river in the oven of midday.

sticky rice containers

savannakhet, la ciudad mestiza / mixed race town

Savannakhet, the second largest city in Laos (75.000 people), is one of these great places where "there's nothing to do", just the pleasure of a stroll by the Mekong at sunset or the taste of a sweet coffee in the early morning with the oldest ones who refresh their french with the few falang who are awake at this time of the day.

In Savannakhet the french flavour is stronger than in other places in Laos, not only can you feel it in its architecture but also in the food, the skins, the eyes... Many locals have french ancestors and that is noticeable in the physiognomies.

Colonial buildings are collapsing everywhere you look, this imprints the city a decrepit atmosphere that I adore. Long ago splendorous maisons are now empty and falling apart or reconverted into barber shops, restaurants or houses.

In this scenery it seems bizarre to contemplate the Buddhist monks in the almsgiving ceremony, they look out of place, because Savvanakhet has above all a caribbean air.

marketing

Phonsavan Market. Eastern Laos. One of the most heavily bombed areas in the world.

Secret War

un pais al borde de un rio

Jugando a la petanca en Luang Pra Bang, volvi a mi infancia de nuevo. Recordaba aquellas fotos que mis padres, especialmente mi padre, me mostraban de la pequenya Monica apuntando, muy seria, antes de lanzar la bola, todavia con un parche en uno de mis ojos intentando corregir un estrabismo incorregible. Fui una pequenya campeona de petanca durante veranos y vacaciones varias en el camping donde soliamos pasar los fines de semana y demas fiestas. Y me gusto mucho comprobar que no he perdido mi toque magico.

Jugar a la petanca en Laos, es como en Espanya, el billar. El juego esta abierto a todo aquel que pase junto a la pista, al borde del Mekong. Este tipo de juegos, populares, en que cualquier desconocido es bienvenido producen un efecto de companyerismo en toda la concurrencia. Todo el mundo opina y participa aunque solo 4 esten lanzando las bolas. Todo el mundo se lo pasa bien.

Jugamos en parejas. Ponsi, un guia turistico de la ciudad con un magnifico ingles, y yo contra otra pareja de chicos que, por no hablar, no hablaban ni en Lao. Mis primeros lanzamientos fueron timidos, inseguros, dubitativos. Pero a medida que el juego fue avanzando mi mano derecha gano confianza y Ponsi y yo hicimos un par de juegos excelentes.

La verdad es que se monto un buen alboroto, al borde del rio, con la falang jugando a la petanca.

khao niaw (sticky rice)

Souligna Vongsa united the LaneXang kingdom between 1673 and 1694. He made the distinction between Laotian people and Vietnamese as such. Those who build their houses on stilts and eat sticky rice and Padeck are Lao. Those who build their houses on the ground, eat with chopsticks and wear large pants are Vietnamese.

If in Thai language the word for "eat" means literally "eat rice", in Lao language the word "eat" means "eat sticky rice".

"This is Lao culture" ;-)

thai dam headwear

Thai Dam women wear this type of headwear once they get married.

magic

Just when I was beginning to feel pretty fed up with the "touristic approach of Luang Pra Bang", you know what I mean, 10.000 kip to enter this temple (UNESCO declared World Heritage), 20.000 kip to go into the museum, 2.000 kip to pee, 4.000 kip to cross the bamboo bridge, 50.000 kip to breathe......

Just then, magic appeared. Yesterday I was invited to the ceremony for the reincarnation of the deceased parents of a Laotian Lady who has been living in France for the last 30 years. The ceremony was held in a temple and consisted of two magnificent hours of chanting in Pali language. Nine monks plus all the villagers, the lady's neighbours, and I chanted along for almost two hours.

There's something in the Buddhist chants. They trance you, they wrap you up, even that you don't understand what they say, they still put a spell on you. They help to meditate. After the ceremony, we all ate together inside the temple, "this is Laotian culture" I was told.

And this morning, it happened again. After refusing to pay another 10.000 kip to go into a temple and see another Buddha image and bla, bla, bla... I came across a little "handicrafts' work corner", this is the best way I find to describe it. It was basically a small wooden table and two Thai Dam women plus some children making bracelets, the bracelets that they sell afterwards at the Night Market in Luang Pra Bang. These bracelets are made of tree seeds, coloured-crystal balls and pieces of Coca-cola cans.

I sat down at the table with them and after buying one of these pieces of art, I asked them to let me make one. And this was the starting point. They put me their traditional headwear, they took pictures of all of us with my camera and we chatted while making the bracelets for nearly two hours. In that time I managed to make 4 bracelets. In the market these bracelets will suppose a total of 90 cents of a US dollar earnings.

monastery life

The monks leave the brooms at the entrance of the monastery after the morning sweeping.

luang pra bang

Rice cookies drying in the sun. They are everywhere around the city.

french heritage

Les baguettes!

villager

We crossed our ways early in the morning. I was going to visit a cave where villagers hid out during the war from the american bombardments. I asked her if I could take a picture of her and she smiled broadly showing her golden front teeth and agreed.

nong khiew

El aire tiene el inconfundible olor de la lenya quemada, el olor de la montanya. Los lugarenyos de Nong Khiew pasan la mitad del dia entrando en calor y la otra mitad, intentando no perderlo, entre medias, llevan a cabo sus tareas diarias: cortar lenya, cazar...

La pequenya aldea de Nong Khiew esta situada entre el monte de la Princesa Durmiente, Phu Nang Nawn, y el rio Nam Ou, un afluente del Mekong. La vida de la aldea pasa toda por sus aguas. Por la manyana temprano, el rio es carretera flotante que transporta personas y mercancias rio arriba y rio abajo. Por la tarde, en las horas que van del mediodia al atardecer, las horas calientes, el rio se convierte en lugar de recreo para los mas pequenyos y en lugar de aseo para todos. Por la noche, el rio es reflejo de la aldea tranquila. Solo unas luces, las hogueras, los grillos y las ranas.

uxo

Unexploded Ordnance. Between 1964 and 1973 the USA conducted "secretly" one of the largest sustained aerial bombardments in history, flying 580.344 missions over Lao and dropping 3 million tons of bombs (US$ 2.2 million a day). Around 30% of the bombs failed to detonate, leaving the country with unexploded ordnance.

For people all over eastern Lao this is a part of their daily life. Between 1973 and 1996 there were 11.000 UXO accidents and even agriculture has been afected by the people's inability to use the land.

The British Mines Advisory Group began clearance work in 1994. Only a tiny percentage of the ordnance has been removed. At the current rate of clearance it would take more than a 100 hundred years to make the country safe.

*For more info visit the British Mines Advisory Group webpage.

petrol stations

The bus rides in South East Asia, especially in Lao, are a proof of one's patience. They take not only an unpredictable number of hours on the road but also an undetermined number of waiting hours before the bus departs.

One must arrive at the bus station at least one hour and a half before the scheduled departure time. Buses are always packed with people and they sell tickets not only for the number of seats on the bus but also for an undetermined number of places on plastic chairs, placed in the middle alley, and any spare spaces on the floor or on bags and any pieces of luggage. The price for any ticket, no matter where you finally travel, is exactly the same. Therefore you arrive one hour and a half beforehand.

After all the waiting at the station, when one hears the engine start, one thinks the journey is starting but there's one more step to take. The petrol station. No matter where you are or where you come from or where you're heading to, the first stop is always the petrol station. This is usually a few metres away from the bus station what always makes me wonder why they do not bother to go before all the passengers have boarded the bus. My guess is because they use all the money from the passengers' tickets to fill up the tank.

luang nam tha views

This morning I went out on my orange bicycle and these above are some of the things I saw.

On the left it's the pum pao, a game that you can find on every laotian road. You pay around 1.000 kips and you have to throw three darts to the balloons, if you are lucky enough to reach them then you get a prize that is usually some food or drink. This morning I didn't do too bad, I exploded 2 balloons therefore I got a couple of rice cookies. Delicious!

The next image is a picture of the "candies" the kids were having at the fair around a temple. They were crazy about them, every one had one and the lady who was cooking them had the largest queue in the whole fair.

At the bottom a young white water buffalo. The white ones are more bizarre than the black ones.