How the 1% live: In very bad taste

Catch up if you can

I’d imagined Savannaket to be an industrial boomtown. A new bridge spanning the Mekong makes it a gateway for regional trade. Thailand is just across the bridge to the west and Vietnam is now easily accessed to the east.

It doesn’t look like an industrial boomtown. There are few signs of new wealth compared to Vientiane or Luang Prabang. I can ride on the roads without being run off by gigantic SUVs. There are still vast tracts of the city that haven’t been razed and rebuilt in faux French colonial or pink Roman-greco birthday cake style. Wealth doesn’t pour in through tourism and I don’t see big money in international aid. When I go to the bank, other people deposit money in wads like I do rather than from suitcases like I’ve seen in other cities.

This is my hypothesis. Without distortions of easy money, students and schools focus on education. I haven’t seen anything like it elsewhere.

Books have sold the quickest in Savannaket with more than 1,000 in four days. Only one school administrator so far has refused book promotions. I have never had so many invitations to help and teach and I have never met so many competent school directors with MAs from foreign universities.

Education is the big business here. People seem to understand that this is the most sensible and sustainable option. At the same time, it’s a game of catch up with neighboring countries and I’m not sure if that will ever be possible. With the Mekong corridor open, many students simply go and get a better education in Vietnam or Thailand.

I’m impressed when I see people doing their best. I like the sincerity and discipline of the Teacher’s Training College here, but in a few conversations, I can assess what they’re up against. I think they’re better managed than most places, but there are no computers available for the students to use. I repeat…… There are no computers.

Public Spaces in transition

Post-Getty Deconstructualism: Savannaket, Laos 2009 - …

Where is everyone?

It’s a Sunday in Savannaket, the second largest city in Laos. Everything seems shuttered and I don’t see many people. It’s a ghost town and I can’t imagine selling a thousand books here. I call the printer in Vientiane and make a very modest order for books. It takes three hours to find a guesthouse. I’m choosy because it takes at least two weeks to cover a new town and it’s a nightmare to get stuck in a bad place. Sometimes walls are thin and I have to listen to what people are doing all night. Quiet is my highest priority, but it worries me when an entire city is silent.

I finally have to ask someone. “Where is everyone? Why is there nobody here in the second largest city in Laos?” They tell me everyone’s gone to the rocket festival (a call for rain). I’m still dubious that people actually live in this city, but Monday confirms that it’s quite a normal place.

I can’t quote directly, but I bet the Lonely Planet Guide book describes Savannaket as nondescript. “Not much more than a transit point”, “Not worth more than a night”, “Go see the Buddhist temple and you’re done.” Local people bemoan their lack of attractions. Not much in the way of caves, waterfalls, Khmer ruins or anything else to pull in tourists. Savannaket is off the map.

I think it’s a blessing. Change will come slower and will be more manageable. In the meantime, people seem pretty content. Contentment translates into niceness. People are nice. People are very nice. I have not found a place in the entire country with nicer people. Within two days, I am completely won over.

Ambushed by Colonel Sanders

This is the south so the road is straight and flat. No plastic-bag gripping, stomach-wrenching rides like in the north. In fact, the VIP service between Pakse and Vientiane is a sleeper bus with fully reclining seats, sheets and a meal.

I’m going mid-way to Savannaket so the bus is just a local. It leaves pretty much on time, but the driver stops every hour for snacks, for energy drinks and cigarettes.

Bus rides are mesmerizing, especially when I can sit by an open window and suck in the warm air. The scenes flash by frame-by-frame; sugar palms, rice fields, truck stops and people lazing in the heat. Bus rides are hypnotizing and I usually end up in a drool-puddle doze.

The bus brakes and I wake up just in time to see a mob rushing the bus. Instantly the bus is filled with people shouting and wielding skewers of roast chicken, lotus seeds, termite mushrooms, fried bugs and palm pods. On a local bus, meals aren’t served on plastic trays and there is no beverage service. There is no need to put your seat in an upright position and you can throw chicken bones out the window.

Shake your linga

I’ve taken a day off (sort of) to come to Wat Phu, one of the major southern attractions and a recently designed UNESCO world heritage site. It’s special to me because it’s not mobbed. Today, I hid behind a ruin for a bit to let the French tour group pass on. After that, it was just apsaras and Hindu gods.

There’s a grove at the top. There’s the wind, there are birds singing and the sound of falling mangos. It didn’t register in my mind at first that these squashed and oozing fruit covering the paths were wild mangos. Some were tart like apricots, others were sweet like peaches. These luscious treats were literally falling from the sky.

The place is a Garden of Eden. Once upon a time, Eve offered Adam a mango and rather than saying how suddenly ashamed and inadequate he felt, he said, “That was really good. Let’s do it again.” After all, this is Wat Phu, the temple of Shiva in the kingdom of Lingapravata.

Shiva is the god of creation and destruction and his fertility is symbolized by the linga, or in other words, a big dick. Wat Phu is at the base of a mountain, claimed to be understood by anyone who sees it as a very sacred big dick.

But you begin to wonder, at what time in religio-political history did the dick get sole copyright for fertility symbolism? Why don’t we worship the caves, the cracks and stone crevices found everywhere? I begin to suspect that Angkor Wat was built by a succession of rulers with very small members and that these monumental spires were challenges to any competitors who claimed to have a bigger one. Then, the slaves were exhausted, the natural resources were depleted and monuments like these became UNESCO sites. That sounds more like male folly than fertility

At Wat Phu there is a small museum, of course filled with stone penises. I found a curious answer there. One display panel tried to explain why Shiva was represented with such a svelt and smooth torso. It explained that Shiva was “androgynous” and pointed out that some sculptures have just one breast. Shiva was a lady-boy with an incomplete implant?

We’ll never know. All the best archeologists and all the best anthropologists can’t get into the minds and world-views of those who have left only UNESCO sites. The jumble of rocks are the last scraps in a big cultural puzzle. It only reminds us how myopic our own views of the world are and reminds us that the difference between apples and mangos is far greater than we ever imagined.

Pakse is planted

Pakse is just about done. I feel it’s been planted and it’s time to move north. There are still lots of bald patches, but I’ll have to be content for now. If watered properly, it won’t die. Apparently, the Lao way to talk about investing in the future is to talk about planting a mango tree. Plant it, water it, put a little fence around it so cows don’t eat it, pray for rain in March and if you can be patient and consistent, eat delicious fruit after a few years.

I can say that I have never seen my book in a garbage can, ripped up or scribbled over. That would be sad and I’m hoping that they are being used and valued. I must say that this whole book thing started when I once saw how a monk had used plastic adhesive covering to protect a little Canon printed booklet I had made.

In these last days, I peek around in bookstores to see if they’re selling. Funny, that if you’re growing a mango tree, you’d be happy to see it with more leaves, but in my case, I’m happy when I see empty shelves.

After they leave my hands, they’re beyond my control. That’s the free market. I’ve printed “17,000 kip” in big type on the book, but one place has wrapped them each in plastic and priced them at 20,000. Another place sells them for 30,000. It’s not their fault because some are buying from Vientiane or somewhere else along the chain and they get marked up every time. I’m still pretty much doing this on my own and I can’t keep up.

Sometimes I get complaints for pricing them so low. “Why do you put the price on the books?” I don’t always have time to explain the meaning of the title, “English for the Masses”, but since it refers to their system, they should know. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe we don’t know. Sometimes we forgot who brought us applesauce.

It's a market out there

Everyone has their place, but paths do cross in the market. You wouldn’t know it at first, but the Pakse market is where Southeast Asia intersects. The Lao sell vegetables and herbs on the outside, the Cambodians sell used clothing down one corridor and the Vietnamese sell everything else you’d need in the middle. I’m not sure if the gold shops are Chinese or Vietnamese.

Maybe it’s in small markets like this that the invisible hand works in the most peaceful ways. Maybe there’s a peaceful equilibrium established through petty trade. In the old days, not all people were in it just for silk or salt. Some probably just wanted a good excuse to get away from home, hang out, see the sights and have some fun. Of course there are plunderers, predators, exploiters, conquerors, imperialists and colonialists in the picture too, but in Pakse in think they ignore the small market. They’re busy with bigger things.

Here in this market, we have three major ethnicities literally rubbing shoulders in a hot and crowded place. Wouldn’t this supply the right chemistry for a race riot? What does it really take to make people fight and do nasty things to each other?

Here, everyone has their own products so there are no fights about undercutting cucumber prices. Everyone seems to have their own territory staked out and it’s rented so there aren’t territorial wars. People are paying, not praying so there’s no reason to get hot and agitated about religious differences. Language is neither a barrier nor something to wave a flag about so why fight about that either?

Maybe these are simple observations made in a good mood. There are ethnic complexities that I really can’t/won’t touch here.

Head in a basket

I didn’t necessarily have my head in a basket or in the clouds, but it took a long painful week to de-Balinize. It was physically and mentally hard for me to understand why I couldn’t look forward to hot Masala Chai tea and organic walnut-carrot cake with wifi in the afternoon. I couldn’t understand why 200 books hadn’t sold in the last two days. The reason of course was because I hadn’t been out selling. I’d lost the urge and maybe the ability to keep the books moving.

There was no particular impetus, but like a slumbering elephant getting back up on its feet, I started again, hitting all the schools I could find, including night classes disguised as elementary schools in the day. Bookshops aren’t listed in the yellow pages and at big hotels it sometimes takes some wrangling to talk to general managers so finding the right pockets is always a hunt best done on a bicycle. In the end, the best sales come from trying every shop along any street one-by-one.

I’ve mapped out the town. The ship is back on course and books are selling well. I wouldn’t mind taking a break in a basket, but I’ll wait until the books are gone.