Naughty artist

In the beautiful crumbly historic section of Savannakhet, some delinquent didn’t have spray-paint so opted for charcoal. It’s Lao graffiti and a defilement of a historic building. On the other hand, nobody really considers this a significant building so maybe it’s art. I think it’s art. It gives me great pleasure and that’s why I took this picture.

Today, I did a little teacher training. I was asked to compare Japanese and Lao students. I was told that Japanese are all smart. My response was that there’s “smart” in terms of people who do perfectly what they’re told and there’s “smart-smart” in terms of people who rebel against what they’re told to do and in turn do something magnificent. Like anywhere in the world, you can find both types.

I was told that Japanese are healthy because they live until 100. Of course there’s “healthy” in terms of living until 100 and then there’s “healthy-healthy” in terms of living vigorously to any age.

The Lao don’t need to compare. They have great potential for learning languages. Most people are bilingual or trilingual considering all the minority languages, dialects and the fact that they listen to Thai girls screaming on Thai TV dramas every day.

The Lao are talented communicators and can make sure you’re not treated like a stranger. Formal education doesn’t tap into this talent, but rather smothers and chokes it to death in a cloud of authoritarian chalk.

I asked the teacher if she liked teaching. She said she didn’t. I asked why. She said because she’d rather work in rural development. I asked why. She said because that’s her mother’s wish and she’d love to fulfill her mother’s intent. I asked why her mother wants her to work in development. She said because her mother is a teacher. Aha! See! All roads go back to the same source.

It’s how we define words like teacher, student and school that determine if we’re talking about art or defilement. I felt today’s “teacher training” was successful because the teachers understood the spirit of it all. I think they know that there’s joy in watching a flower bloom especially when you’ve been a part of it. Likewise, it’s not much fun to watch shrinking violets die because they’ve been told they have no worth.

High tide

Sometimes I look at a calendar to check that I haven’t missed Thanksgiving or Christmas or New Year for that matter. It’s easier to keep track of time by noticing when pineapples are in season or when the Mekong is high.

The swelling and drying up of the Mekong are dramatic markers of time. In the dry season, you can practically walk to Thailand. Big bushes grow on the sand spits and you’d forget you’re even looking at a river. In the rainy season, it turns into a big brown swath of water that can easily be seen from an airplane or rocket. In this season, if you tried to swim to Thailand, you’d probably be swept down as far as Cambodia.

Many people like to ask how long it took me to finish the books. I could be poetic and say it took four rainy seasons or 49 phases of the moon, but I usually just say around three years. That’s not an exaggeration when I think about the time it took to learn how to type Lao. I didn’t know anything about InDesign and made mistakes like throw away all the links.

I figure you just have to keep moving. I will not get stuck, even on books. Laos will have fiber cables and broadband in five years and I’m going to get ready for that. There will be a day when schools won’t be necessary either. That’s what I think.

I’m happy that I’m 49 and I can still move. There are bureaucrats who would resist changing the position of their desk and I can’t really imagine how they’ll ever be useful to anyone else. 

Magic handlebars

There is a solar energy company in Laos. They use German technology and try to make it affordable for the rural Lao. They have lots of magical things like a solar powered water pump, a solar powered water purification machine, a solar powered water heater and a solar powered refrigerator. They also have an electric bicycle.

I took one for a spin. They look like normal shopping bikes, but with a slight twist of the handlebar you move silently forward with a surprising jolt. They say it’ll take you uphill.

What would life be like if I were coasting up hills? I could load 120 books and cruise around with no sweat. The thought is tempting and it’s hard to forget the sensation of twisting that handlebar.

I know it’d be hard to go back. It would be hard to get back on a regular bike and pump again. A regular bike would feel slow and ponderous and I’d never want to accuse a bike of such things. 

A bike is a bike is a bike and it can still do wonderful things. The other day, I swung into the temple school to bring books. I heard the novices murmuring, “The book seller’s here. The Japanese-on-a-bike-book-seller’s here.”

There was a small group of novices buying pickled fruit from this man. His handlebars don’t have magical propulsion, but they serve well to display his products. I’m sure when he too sells out, he cruises on home feeling light and happy.

Not a shabby breakfast

Yes, it’s been more than two months. Is Martin slacking off? No, not really.

It’s almost a year since the first books were printed, so momobooks and the board of directors convened for an annual assessment. Future strategies need to be hammered out. In reality, momobooks inc. still consists of one person, so the board meeting was pretty much a solitary night of tossing and turning.

The decision is to forge on. A complete curriculum is more convincing than a handful of books and if the dry rot is to be attended to, a new structure must be built. Most people agree there’s dry rot and most people agree that a nice house would be better, but most people don’t know where to begin. My job is to pick up the hammer.

It’s easier to keep hammering when I can imagine what the house is going to look like. There will still be more bent nails along the way, but the job will get done. These days, it’s not so hard to wake up to another day and appreciate a good breakfast.

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.

Back to the Books

Here is another example of how the inner radar or gyroscope helps us to be positioned at the right place at the right time.

I rode to Pakse in southern Laos from the Thai border. I didn’t think 45 km would be much of an effort on a new bike, but the heat sapped my energy. I got into town and had time only for a quick shower. I had to trace where the books might be. They’d been sent the night before from Vientiane by bus, but as things are done in Laos, if you’re not right there when the bus arrives at four in the morning, you often have to go to the bus driver’s house or find out where he’s sleeping. In this case, I had to cycle 20 minutes to some intersection as instructed over the phone. So, I’ve found the bus and I’m told that someone took the books away in a truck that very morning (900 books). One voice in me said, “You’re screwed” and then the more sensible voice said, “The printer probably asked his friend in Pakse to pick them up.”  It was confirmed and the next step on the treasure hunt was to track this man down in a store somewhere in Pakse. Of course the third voice that actually spoke whined, “nobody told meeee.”

I’d already had enough for a day. An iced coffee didn’t help and I had decided to go back to the guesthouse for a nap before chasing geese again. On the way back, I saw a large stationary/copy store and decided that I needed to buy some invoice sheets and carbon paper. I walked in and right there on my left was a complete shelf of momobooks. Not just one or two, but five tiers and five rows making an impressive display. The effect was just as I had imagined once in Luang Prabang when I was trying to convince some lady to replace her rack of postcards with my books, just for a week’s trial of sales. But I wasn’t in on this plan and voice #1 in my head said, “This is not possible.” Wiser voice #2 said, “Well, you’ve found the store.” Audible voice #3 didn’t convince the shop guy of my serendipity.

What’s the moral to this story? Maybe, “What we’re looking for has already arrived.” It’s back to the books, not only in the sense of selling them, but also in the sense of learning more how this mysterious world works.   

Role of the dice

In high school, I knew someone who was a genius at math and physics. He said that when watching dice fall, he’d automatically calculate the probabilities. Calculating probabilities or calculating luck? Or simply anticipating how a dice will fall?

A dice falling is just a blur to me, but sometimes a blurred state can be very accurate. I was in Hua Lamphong station in Bangkok. I’d gone to the last car to load my bicycle and instead of going back directly to my seat, decided to look for the pineapple on sale that I remembered seeing near the first car. The pineapple was gone, but guided by an odd intuition I decided to walk through the train cars rather than on the platform even though that would mean maneuvering through a cramped corridor. That’s where I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in more than five years. 

That wasn’t the first time on a Thai train. I’d been more accurate before when my reserved seat was directly facing someone I knew – knew from the past, but of course didn’t know he’d be on that train . Or so I think.

A friend tells me that some things are determined in our lives. They’re determined at birth because we pop into the world at a specific time and place that will never be repeated again. The only accurate measurements of such time and space are the positions of the stars. At the same time, we have volition and will. If the car is our fate, the way we drive it is our free will and we are wisest if we try to know what kind of car we’re driving so that our destinations are realistic.

In essence, we’re watching the dice fall at every moment. Sometimes it happens too fast for rational judgment to be useful. Sometimes the results look like luck, but maybe it’s just lucky that we had insight into that moment.

On the edge of the world

Some people say the world has ended. The more exacting say that what has ended is the world as we’d known it. In other words, the world isn’t flat after all.

Someone told me that Hindu tradition dictates that in the latter half of life (post-50) we should either becomes a hermit or an itinerant teacher. Is it possible to do both? I don’t have a cave, but I’m very, very satisfied to spend an entire day silently working on texts. I also realized the other night that the room I found was so satisfying because of the thick concrete walls and ceiling that blocked out any sounds from neighbors. And being an itinerate trader counts, doesn’t it? If possible, I don’t want to be a “teacher” anymore. It’s too pedantic. Teachers who have taught too long tend to stand on podiums rather than converse. Anything you try to express to them ends up being a footnote for their exposition. These days, I just want to disperse books like Johnny’s apple seeds. Throw and grow. Shake and bake.

I’m not sure if it’s a Hindu tradition, but another friend told me that after 50, it’s important for humans to know what their material requirements are in life. I think what that means is that time is up and we can’t enjoy chasing our tail anymore. There’s a limit to material desires. It’s antithetical to traditional economic fundamentals, but maybe those under 50 can do enough consuming and chasing to keep the world spinning.

I know what I can’t live without at this point. I can’t live without my laptop (hermit) and my bicycle (itinerant trader). There are a few other things, but they generally fit into one bag.

I’m not saying I’m a guru or something silly like that. I’m not saying other people should do the same thing. I’m just saying that if the world that we (know)(knew)(had known) has ended, it’s our chance now to peer into other worlds, ones which are sometimes richer and many times more rapturous.

Coming attractions

Judge a book by its cover? 

You bet. 

I make the covers when the end comes into sight.

They're getting dressed for printing. 

Eight to be exact, though several more are in the works. 

Of course there are many intimidating details to be worked out, but the intention is simple; 

they must be done.

All in a Day’s Work

This is my typical workday, now that I’m not selling books. I’m concentrating on preparing the next set of texts so it takes some discipline. I wake up around 5:30, go for a bike ride and try to get some writing done before breakfast. Work will continue right up to lunch if there are no errands to do. An afternoon coffee will keep me going until evening and into late night with just an evening exercise and a dinner break. A good day is ten hours of writing.

OK. There’s a catch. I admit it. I’m in Bali. The 5:30 morning wakeup call is done by a rapturous chorus of excited fowl. Every morning in Bali is exciting because its creation re-created. A bicycle ride actually means riding through monkey forest where the thick canopy of Banyon trees hide the dawning of a pink/powder blue sky morning. When the sun comes up higher, bits of gold hit green.

Back to the guesthouse, I can settle down to work on a veranda chair. A simple breakfast is served and I can give my eyes a rest by filling them with the garden view, lovingly and meticulously maintained to supreme beauty. When afternoon coffee calls, there are endless choices in Ubud and now that it’s slow season, it feels like I have the whole town to myself. The final luxury among luxuries is the silky quiet nights giving me time to get down another few pages. I know, pitiable me.

Aid for Laos, buy a doorknob

Wattay International Airport in Vientiane. It’s small, but nice, but a little eerie. It doesn’t feel like Laos, it’s Japan recreated down to the last detail. That’s not a wonder since it’s been funded and built by the Japanese along with bridges, schools, roads and just about anything else in Laos. This airport feels like Japan because everything apparently is from Japan.

I know because I’ve seen these exit signs, the particle boards, the duty free shop shutters, the plastic chairs, the floor tiles, the Seiko wall clocks, the air vents, the blue vinyl benches, the switches, the lighting fixtures, the window knobs, the blinds…. No, the newspaper rack looks local, though all the newspapers on them are Japanese. The toilet sign has Lao script, but only that makes it Lao. I recognize these things because I spent so many years in Japan. Japan has been recreated here in excruciating detail and it’s not even supposed to be a theme park.

It’s a pretty nice gift, an entire airport basically exported from Japan. Isn’t it amazing that airports can be exported? That means all the concessions are contracted in Japan servicing all the people who make shutters and doorknobs and particle boards. There are formalities for bidding for these contracts, but I’m sure a good amount of money is exchanged for these sweet deals. It kind of captures the whole essence of the development industry, “We’ll do something nice for you, but we’ll certainly make sure we profit in the process”.

Speaking of airports, this was written in the Thai newspaper The Nation (March 30,2009 9A). It’s about the Suvarnabhumi International Airport in Bangkok. “…Bt 1 billion contract for ground services awarded to a Singapore-registered company whose owner was traced to a derelict house in the Bangkok suburbs; Bt 4 billion for wiring and ducting to a company with no track record; half a billion for luggage trolleys of unbelievably chunky quality; Bt 5 billion for operating security guards; Bt 3 billion for limousine services; an allegation that Thaksin’s sister demanded a bribe of Bt 300 million for the car park concession; and advertising concession to Thaksin’s son; and a Bt 8 billion contract for building drains allocated to the family of another minister. (Exchange rate 36 baht / dollar – you get the point).

So the next time you donate tax-exempt money to a charity that claims to build schools for illiterate minority children who are vulnerable to malnutrition and human trafficking, consider that your money might go to retirement benefits for staff who’s full-time job is to canvass for donations, or maybe it goes to the government official consultant who needs not a jeep, but a mini-hummer to do surveys upcountry because everyone else has the same kind of vehicle parked in the ministry lots. In other words, you might be buying a very nice doorknob.

This is what 30,000 books look like

Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Preparing for books is one thing. Paying for the printing is another. Printing thirty thousand books is one thing. Selling them all is another. I try to count sheep to go to sleep, but I end up counting books and that keeps me wide awake.

Years ago, it started with classroom handouts. After Xeroxing came a Pixma Canon printer. Then, the first order from a real printer was 500, then 3,000 and now it’s not worth counting anymore. I asked the printer what he thought would be a profit-making volume and he said 300,000 a year. Well, that’s still only 5% of the Lao population.

You may think it’s getting out of hand, but …but.. what’s the metaphor? It’s like, if you need 7 eggs, you might as well buy a dozen. If you need a new faucet, you might as well buy a new sink. No, those aren’t good metaphors. Anyway as I see it, if I’m going to try to do the job of getting good texts out there for Lao students, try to really make a difference in the way people learn, I might as well try to cover the whole curriculum and the whole country. Then, I can call it a good day.