Chiang What?

I write again with a full belly. I like this trend :). This time it isn't due to any scary insects or meat products, but to six delicious dishes I whipped up in the Thai cooking class I took today. Before I talk about this, let me tell you how I got here:
I boarded a long "slow boat" last week and drifted away from lovely Luang Prabang, Laos an hour and a half past schedule. That's Laos for you. Just when you are caught up in the pleasantness of the relaxed atmosphere, The Westerner kicks you in the side and reminds you that you are in Asia. Nine hours later, I stepped off that boat with a camera full of beautiful scenic photos and an upset stomach. I (along with the hoards of other tourists making the same journey) stayed the night in a rural village- turned tourist mecca. Pakbeng just so happens to be the midway point between Luang Prabang and the Thai border on the Mekong river. Every boat docks here and passengers pick up another in the morning for the second half of the journey. Pakbeng was a small village on the river, but since the inhabitants realized they could charge a dollar instead of twenty cents for a kilo of oranges, many have changed from subsistence farmers to broken English-speaking guest house owners. The scary thing about this is that the surge of money could mean a surge of opium dealing. The Golden Triangle- Laos, Myanmar, and northern Thailand- has been known for it's opium production for ages. I hope that tourists and their dollars don't bring opium back to it's glory days of popularity. I just went to a hill tribe museum and learned all about this topic. Opium was a big money-maker for hill tribes in the Golden Triangle region because poppies grew so easily there. But enough about drugs.
I ran off boat number two the nest day, bound to get into Thailand before the border closed. The only thing separating the two countries is the river, but going from one to the other is far more difficult than a short swim across. We docked after another nine hour day on the water, peeled our bottoms off the wooden benches, and took off for step one of country change: checking out of Laos. About half of my boat wanted to get to Thailand that day, so we all made a mad dash for the tuk-tuk (taxi in the form of covered pickup truck) stand, rode the short way to the immigration office, and had our visas successfully stamped by the time they closed. Then we had to wait for the ferry driver to have a cigarette and a chat with his friend before shuttling us from one bank to the other. By the time we got to the Thai side, the immigration office had closed. About fifteen other backpackers, middle-aged couples, and I were officially stuck between countries. Our choices were to sleep on the sandy banks of the Mekong or do something I will only refer to as "money changing hands." We chose the latter. It just so happened that two border officials were standing around outside the office. For two US dollars a head, we were in. Now, there's a first for everything- bribing your way into a country, included. I made it to Chiang Rai that night, with just enough time and energy for some chicken satay and souvenir shopping at the happening night bazaar. Chiang Rai isn't much of a town- it is mainly a base for trekking and hill-tribe visits through the north. I stayed there only a day before catching a bus to Chiang Mai, the Bangkok of the north. I have been here ever since, wandering around and keeping an eye out for places with ice water. It has got to be 90 degrees plus in midday and I am in the middle of the mountains! I met a couple from California who had been in the south a few weeks ago. They live on the beach, but said they couldn't go more than twenty minutes in the sun before needing to get in the water. This is why Thailand is not completely overrun by tourists.
Chiang Mai is a cool city. It was a walled city, complete with moat which still remains. Only parts of the walls are still standing. it is packed with traffic which does away with any ancient feel. But, old temples and monks walking the streets are always welcome reminders of where I am. I think I would like the city more if there were fewer grey-haired men with pierced ears proudly sporting a busty, scantily-clad Thai girl half their age. Again, I must remember where I am.
To get out of the heat, I signed up for this cooking course today. I learned to make six yummy dishes from the most feminine, non-lady-boy I have ever seen. It was good fun and made me even more excited to visit our Asian grocery store when I get back so I can recreate (to the best of my ability) these flavors. Calling all Asian food lovers: feast at my house!

LAO EATS!

Before I talk about how wonderful Luang Prabang is, let me tell you about what I have been doing in the past two days. Well, I can sum it up in a word: eating. This may not strike you as anything out of the ordinary. If you know me at all, you know eating is my favorite hobby. But this was different and I want to tell you all about it. Forgive any spelling errors. This keyboard is stiffer than a stalk of lemongrass.
I was walking past an Australian-owned Lao restaurant with a sign for an adventure eating course they were offering. Of course I was interested. I loved all the Lao food I had tried so far, so I figured this would be a great education into the cuisine. Well, it was. I was warned that "adventure" meant the eater had to be bold because the whole dinner consisted of the weird things the chef found in the market that day. Well, if you read my post about Thai food, you know things can get pretty weird in Asia. I walked through the local market that morning to see if I could spot my potential dinner. I found small, live birds, dead birds, huge slabs of meat, sausage, blood, bats, curly things next to the blood that I could only glance at (for fear of getting sick right there), and other such scary things. I like to live by the saying, "when in Rome..." so I promised myself I would try everything. Here was the menu for the night:
Course 1: They started us off easy with bamboo baskets of sticky rice (eaten with most Lao meals) and a plate of mostly vegetable dishes. Each course was a sampling platter- one big plate with many small items on it. This one had two jeows (jeow is thicker than a stir-fry)- one made of roasted rattan wood (yes, wood) mixed with herbs and one made of a sour fruit called the Lao olive mixed with pork crackling and beaten into a paste. Pork crackling is pork that has been dried and fried and dried and fried ("good for the heart," as the owner said). There were several strange steamed vegetables (i.e.- earring flower), a simple stir-fry of pumpkin leaves and "curly vegetable," sticky rice and taro root steamed in a banana leaf, and three powders for putting on the rice instead of salt. I liked the one made of river moss. The biggest thing on the plate was a mixture of jackfruit, sesame seeds, and herbs steamed in a banana leaf (very popular method of cooking). FYI, "herbs" usually means coriander, lemongrass, basil, and garlic.
Course 2: This one was more strange. The chef took a fat stalk of bamboo, stuffed it with a ground chicken and herb mix, and pan-fried the thing until it was golden brown and as rich as a casserole. There was a whole, large frog steamed with herbs in a banana leaf. This was good. I ate a leg and thought it tasted like fresh white meat- not too scary. Then, there was a skewer of three small frogs roasted until extra-crispy. We were told to eat these whole, bones and all. I bit off each leg and crunched them down, nibbled the rest, and stopped there.
Course 3: The most difficult of the four. This was a lesson on the various ways Lao people prepare meats. The cured meats were preserved in a mixture of salt and ground rice and left for a few days. I ate part of a cured whole fish (really slimy), cured pork pieces in pork skin (not cooked), the same pork grilled in a banana leaf (thankfully smokier than the other), and salty cured fish intestines (went down easy). There was marinated beef that had been sun-dried and fried- tougher than beef jerky- and dried pork that had been brushed into floss form. It was like eating brown cotton candy with protein. And, strangest of all, were the fried moth cocoons, which ended up being a cream-colored goop with a little green worm inside. You take the thing out of the pod, tear off the outer shell, and squeeze the contents into your mouth like candy goo in a pouch. That was really strange.
Course 4: This one was meant to bring us back to our senses. It was typical Lao lettuce wraps with almost ten things to put inside. You grab a big lettuce leaf and fill it with any or all of the following ingredients: tamarind sauce, rice noodles, lemongrass, various herbs, peanuts, pork crackling, etc.
And to make you laugh even harder, I spend the entire meal eating and chatting with a very proper, travel-obsessed French-Canadian couple who told me about backpacking through India thirty years ago (India was a nation back then?), how Buddhism saved the Cambodian people from grieving their violent history, and that the people of Quebec drink more wine than the rest of Canada combined. I couldn't have been any more entertained, except by the fact that the husband excused himself four times to take a smoke outside. Why are French-speaking people so easily stereotyped? Oh, yes, because it's all true.

Day two of my eating was today when I took a cooking course at the cooking school of a different Lao restaurant. The two teachers (Neng Lee and Leng Lee) taught the whole class in good Engrish. I was the youngest of the bunch (who would've guessed?), and was joined by an Aussie couple, a Brit, another American, and an old French man. We started our day with a tour of the town market and had the vegetables that look alive and all those little colorful packets of dried things explained to us (Oh, so the brown one is dried buffalo skin. I thought so.). We returned to the school, watched two cooking demonstrations: Luang Prabang salad with special mayonnaise dressing and fried noodles with chicken and egg stir-fry. We then paired up and created both dishes on our own. I was with the Frenchie, who again, followed most French stereotypes I am familiar with. He took advantage of every break to take a smoke (and sometimes even during the cooking demonstrations), talked of how he missed his truffle omelettes, and took his time with everything he did. Now, I was in no rush to finish anything. I actually found his leisurely pace quite funny.
We cooked up the first two and ate them for lunch. Both were delicious and I cannot wait to raid our local Asian supermarket and tear up the kitchen at home Lao-style. Next, we had three cooking demos and were able to choose two to cook. From choices of chicken laap (herb-filled, sour chicken salad), Lao pork and egg casserole, and papaya salad, we opted for the first two. We put them aside, had a tea break where Jean-Pierre exhausted his lighter (yes, that is actually his name), then returned to the lab. The last of the demos were coconut-flavored eggplant soup with chicken and fried eggplant with pork. We chose the first, which was very simple to make, provided we had all the ingredients already waiting for us. We also had a demo on chili paste and sticky rice. Our last endeavor of the day was to feast on our creations. This was not a difficult task and we all left with a cookbook in hand, rubbing our bellies. So can you see why I love this town so much? Look what it offers! A chance to eat moth cocoons, learn about Lao cuisine, and defend every French stereotype you know. I think I am leaving too early.

Backpacking Begins

I am writing from Luang Prabang, Laos, a French-flavored UNESCO World Heritage Site in the middle of the country. "How on Earth did I get here?," you must be asking yourself. Allow me to explain: I had originally planned to start my travelling in a temple-packed town outside of Bangkok and work my way north, hitting Laos at the end of my journey. Turned out a vendor at the market (friend of my Thai family and seller of stinky marinated shellfish) was headed north with her husband and sister-in-law in their green pickup truck for a long weekend with their fam. She wanted to take me with her, knowing I was on my way out of Chachoengsao and into Thailand's tourist scene. Through a series of translated conversations, I said I would go (she doesn't speak much English). Around 10:30 at night last Sunday, we pulled into the driveway after nine hours of not-too-scenic-because-most-of-the-ride-was-in-the-dark driving and only one stop at the mechanic. Our conversations were one big guessing game of who said waht. Most of the time, in response to such questions as, "Kat-e-leen (recall the switching of "r" and "l"), you America eat?," I would give a big smile ans say, "yes, yes, oh ok, yes." This became a great answer to even the most strange questions.
"Kat-e-leen, you go for twenty-five number?"
"Yes, yes, oh ok, yes."
I stayed with them in an unexciting northern town called Loei for two days. On day three, they were headed to the Laos border to do some duty-free shopping and dropped me off in town. This is a big tourist town because it is such an easy gateway to Laos. I checked in to a very hippie, yet clean guest house right on the Mekong River. It is the dry season, so it looks more like the wide Mekong sand banks right now. I booked it to the border the next morning. After a couple hours of bus rides and paperwork, I was buying baguettes from a street vendor in the capitol of Laos, Vientiane. You wouldn't have to know a thing about Southeast Asian history to recognize French rule in this charming city. Market vendors, outdoor eateries, patisseries, and just about every restaurant menu is stocked with baguettes. It seemed like they were more plentiful than sticky rice, which Lao people eat more commonly than steamed rice. A typical Vientiane breakfast is a baguette loaded with vegetables, various dressings, and a mysterious whitish-grey pate. I didn't ask what it was made of.
I spent about a day and a half just wandering through this laid back capitol. It's hard to believe it is the biggest city in the country, because it is so small! Physically, the downtown is fully walkable in about an hour (if you want to cover every street and stop for snacks). There are bike rentals and cheap guest houses everywhere, like it was set up for budget travellers. There is none of the hustle and bustle you would expect from an economic hub. This is a good indicator that Laos (the "s" is silent and it rhymes with "cow") has a lot of catching up to do if it ever wants to size up to it's sizzling neighbors- China and Thailand.
I caught a local bus north to Vang Vien on Friday. It was a scary, windy ride through beautiful, lumpy mountains, over glistening rivers. I was disappointed to find Vang Vien is mainly for tourists fond of watching Friends reruns all afternoon on a loud TV in a generic restaurant. Tubing down the Song River is the big activity and money-maker for the town, so you can imagine the crowd. Life there is appealingly relaxed. I stayed three nights at an organic farm two miles from the town. It provided all the quiet that I needed, with the welcome addition of being right on the river for a cooling swim in the heat of the afternoon. I think the days got up to 90 degrees- hot enough to make everything and everyone slooooow down. The working farm doubles as a guest house with a great restaurant. Some of the other guests were spending long days in the sun scrubbing picnic tables, sanding wood, and doing other such fun things in the heat aka volunteering. I took the days to chill out, ride a bike, eat starfruit, and soak up the scenery. I only got one leech while swimming, a minor price to pay for the refreshment the water provided.
I woke up early today and caught an "express" bus headed north to Luang Prabang. This ride made the one to Vang Vien look like a straight route! It was six nauseating hours of back and forth winding. Some of the other riders who "never get sick" popped Dramamine for the long haul. I wasn't medicated, so I had to stomach each turn as it came. Mind you, I was not hungry upon our arrival as I wobbled out of the bus, searching for the nearest trash can.
I have only been here long enough to enjoy the charmingly narrow streets and organized grid pattern of the city (India, take note). Well, that and the night market where I enjoyed an amazing dinner from a street vendor of, well, I'm not totally sure, but there was sticky rice and vegetables involved. The communication wasn't exactly on cue. That seems to be a theme here.

Last Week in Chachoengsao

January came quickly and left even quicker. Before I knew it, it was the last week with my family in central Thailand. Those 7 days were packed with funerals, parties, planning, packing, and signing autographs. School went on as usual, with students and teachers saying sweet sentiments like, "I think you" and "you go?" Wanida took me to two funerals in two days. The first was for a distant cousin and was well-attended by members of the family and community. He was a police officer, so many fully-uniformed policemen were walking around. I thought it was just high-security until I saw the altar adorned with a large gun and pictures of the deceased in uniform. The second was for the janitor of the school's father. This one was well-attended, too. The members of the local government even made an appearance. A Thai funeral is a short affair, lasting about a half an hour. It begins by doing the traditional greeting (hand together in front of the face)- known as the wai- to everyone lingering around outside and inside the temple. Family members dressed in white hand out flyers. Kids are running around like it's recess. We go inside and sit in a plactic chair in front of a stage. A man begins speaking through a microphone, then four monks enter the temple. They take their places on the stage in front of their individual microphones. The audience puts hands in the wai position and the monks begin to chant. They stop three or four times during the ceremony for a quick breather, then start up again. The audience puts their hands down during the breaks. The first night I was very interested and watched carefully, only slightly distracted by the colorful towels hanging on the walls. I have yet to find out their purpose. The second night, I drifted in and out of a light sleep (think history class last period). After the monks finish, the man who started the ceremony gives them gifts. Then, family members come around with bowls of soup for everyone. Unidentifiable soups are usually dangerously loaded with meats products Westerners DON'T eat, so I didn't sample. Both nights I was given something small for good luck and to keep bad things away. Night one: a twig from a pomegranate tree. Night two: a tiny red thread. I can now say I have seen two Indian weddings and two Thai funerals.

Wednesday was a bit of a change of pace when we pulled up to a restaurant on the river after school instead of driving home. I knew something was up when one English teacher blatantly said, "tonight there is surprise party for you around 5:00" and another English teacher said, "party you." The latter doesn't actually speak the language she teaches. Turns out, Wanida and the director of the school organized a sunset dinner cruise on a river boat for me! The crowd was about fifteen teachers from the school and some other poeple I had never seen before. Of course there was karoake, so most of the time everyone couldn't figure out why I was laughing so hard. At one point, a teacher with the nickname "Panda" began dancing to a Latin-flavored Thai pop song. I'll let you use your imagination on that one and no, there was no alcohol served. The food was all fresh fish- fried, souped, or stir-fried. It was great fun and I was actually surprised.

Thursday was a mad rush to the mall when I realized I needed to get gifts for some teachers at school who had really helped me out. The whole family (minus Wanida's parents) decided to tag along, which is just as much fun as it sounds, especially with the welcome addition of the 9 year-old niece who hasn't yet learned there are other tones in the voice besides the whine. We finished up around 10 and had to stop for noodles on the way home. Then we drove past a temple festival, which was a must-stop. Temple festivals are a mix of sounds from every food vendor, two big stages, and various motorcyles with stereos in the parking lot. The whole thing slightly resembled a cheap version of Disney World: all the sensory overload with none of the charm. I went to bed late that night, yet still managed to have energy for the festivities of Friday. They had a farewell ceremony for me during assembly, which consisted of singing a song Wanida wrote and various teachers giving short speeches in Thai. After school that day, my loyal following of sixth-graders held a party for me with all my favorite Thai dishes. This explained the repeated question of "what food you like?" during the course of the week. We munched on som tam (spicy papaya salad), yam (lots of seafood with chopped onions in a light, flavorful sauce), and fruit while making basic conversation. It was really cute. Afterwards, there was a birthday party for a teacher at a remote river restuarant forty-five minutes from school. I slept on the way there and the way back. It was a great week, exhausting in a very good way.