Village Life

Life in the village is a lot of things, but quiet is not always one of them.  I know what you're thinking, how much noise could rice make whilst it is growing.  Not much really and it requires a great deal of training in the art of doing nothing to hear it.  No, it is other sounds of village life that punctuate the stillness.

Cicadas for example.  For a specific example, cicadas directly outside the rattan shutter of ones small bungalow just at bedtime.  These amazing insects are about the size of your thumb, or a big bite for a large tokay.  When they are in the mood to do so, they can produce a high-pitched and sustained thrumming squeal that rivals a heavy-duty drill motor reaming holes in loose sheetmetal.  The cicadas, in turn, excite the Tokays who want to eat the cicadas.  It is akin to the various sections of the orchestra tuning up and then randomly joining a performance with no conductor and no agreed to key signature.  

More or less, it goes like this:  Overture:  Crickets at varying distances.  Movement One:  Crickets continue, accompanied by staccato dog barks.  Dogs begin howling as one section.  Movement Two:  Five roosters, annoyed by the dogs and crickets, join in an exchange, tempo changing to a legato.  Movement Three:  Cicadas burst in like an army of angry piccolos intent on stealing the show.  Tokays chorus back in an imitation of very slow but rising oboes.  Crescendo:  Everything above happens at once, with the addition of the Tokays running across the thatch of the bungalow roof.  The Tokays eat the cicadas and, almost at once, everything falls back to the overture of the crickets.  

"Ah," you say, rolling over into the lull of the crickets and the promise of sleep.  And, if you require silence, a promise is all that it will be.  Just as slumber slips upon you, Movement One starts again and it's back to the races Bucko.

Not really germane to the noises of the night, but it was time for a foodie pic.  Left-over Bamboo soup with omelette, Som Tam and sticky rice.  

My pal Bida, who is one of the quiet dogs, bless her fuzzy heart.  Best Thai dog ever.

"So," you might ask, "The nights may be a bit on the noisy side, but surely the mornings are quiet and peaceful, what with rice growing and not much else happening?"  You might very well ask, beloved Friends and Neighbors, but you would be so very wrong.

Mornings in the village, very early mornings.  In fact, very dark and early mornings.  Dark and early mornings that are oh so not quiet.  The first sound that drifts into ones consciousness is that of roosters.  Really loud roosters.  Really loud roosters that have no sense of time and could not tell sunup from sundown if one threatened them with a big sharp shiny cleaver.  And I would oh so very much like to do more than threaten them.  There is one rooster who sounds as if he has a stone stuck in his nasty gullet.  He crows with abandon only to have his warbling end with a horrible clattering rasping sound as if someone were suddenly throttling him.  If only it twere so!

Once jarred by the roosters, a poor traveler trying vainly to cling to sleep will be assaulted by the dogs. The dogs in Thailand only sleep during the day.  Whenever it is dark they bark.  That is their job.  Bark-ity Bark Bark-Bark.  At anything.  At nothing.  At both.  At each other.  

One of the few animals not making noise.  The crabs keep their own counsel as they look for the diminishing watery places.

Following the roosters and the hounds, it is time for the village headman to make his good morning pitch.  No later than 6:30 AM, the loudspeakers crackle to life.  Thai music blares over the landscape, echoing back on itself in a fine imitation of a bad stadium sound system.  Once the music has jarred any remaining sleepers to a state of full wakefulness, he begins his harangue of the morning.  Following the morning announcements there are usually chanted prayers courtesy of the village monks.  One morning during our stay the headman started the show with a good long burst of Techno Music.  The Techno almost put our host, Bunloed, over the edge.  I suggested that I could take the headman some music from my iTunes, perhaps The Clash (the only band that matters.)  "London Calling" would make a great morning announcement lead-in.

Yes, well, you get the idea.  No rest for the wicked, either by night or by morning.  

After breakfast we walked through the neighboring rubber tree patch.  This land is owned by Bunloed's family and worked by the family.  Here, one of Bunloed's many relatives is making a fresh cut in the bark of the rubber tree.

The white rubber sap drips silently into the cup.  One of the few quiet things here in the village.

Alas, our time here in Ban Kham Pia had come to a close.  Hugs and goodbyes, last tickles of Baby Rose's Toes's.  With two scooters we ferried each other and our packs to the little 212 highway.  The hope was that either a min-van or the mighty 224 bus would stop, eventually, and bear us to Nong Khai.  

A blazing afternoon along the 212, waiting on the bus to cometh.  The rainy season has ended, it seems, with a punctuated "click."  The cool season has not begun.  It is hot and steamy, without rain to cool things down.

Within 25 minutes the bulk of the mighty 224 bus loomed on the crest of the far hill.  It loomed, slowly, for a very long time before reaching us.  The driver flashed the lights in response to my arm held outstretched and palm down.  The 224 heaved and belched to a stop.  We clambered aboard and began our next segment of the 212 trail.

The bus lulled us into a torpor, the kilometers moved by slowly, and night fell 'ere we reached Nong Khai.  175 kilometers traveled in 3.75 hours for a blazing speed of 46.66 Kmph or 28 mph average speed.  This was a good bit faster than the previous incarnation of the mighty 224, but we were still happy to set foot to pavement.  

Nong Khai, gateway to Lao over the original Friendship Bridge, a busy town with a big ex-pat community.  There is no shortage of Farrang here, including the old Farrang men with their "temporary" Thai girlfriends.  A weird vibe and one we are not used to.  In Nong Khai, we are directly bisecting the tourist trail.  Once we head a bit west, it will be back to solitude.  For now, we are ensconced in the Mut Mee Guesthouse, home to those on visa runs to Lao or just back from visa runs.  It is a bit of a culture shock to be here and to be back on familiar ground trod years ago.  Today it is time to enjoy easy things, sit in the shade of the garden, smoke, drink good coffee, and listen to the polyglot of languages from the other terraces.

Tomorrow we will head back into the less traveled parts of Isaan.  Until then, I will bid you Ciao for Now!