Get drunk and drink blood

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Get drunk and drink blood. Ok, the title is a little bit just for the shock value, but when could I ever title something that way again? The reason will come in a little bit - ok not a little bit the email turned out to be long, but if you normally erase the emails try getting at least half way through this one. Sorry they always turn out so long, its just that I want to share so much. Please feel free to send me equally as long of emails rambaling about nothing.

For the past 4 days I have been in a town called Vang Vieng. It is the most beautiful place I have been to yet on this trip. The city itself isnt a sight, but the natural setting for the town more than makes up for it. There is a river running through the west side of the town and father west are these jagged green mountains. They are perpetually veiled in thin layers of clouds, making them mysterious and inviting.

I have been living and working on an organic farm. The past 3 days have been the most painful and yet satisfying experience I have had yet. I was working in the rice fields along side 30 other Lao people. Rice is a pretty labor intensive plant. First they plant the rice. It grows for a month. Then you rip the plant out and replant it in water. It grows for 3 more months and then its time to harvest.

So the first day of work I did the Asian squat thing ripped out rice plants and tied them into bushels with bamboo. I was exhausted, hot, thirsty and in pain. I couldnt imagine how people did this for their whole lives. I kept thinking about the people in Cambodia who were kicked out of their houses in 1975 to work in the rice fields for 3 years. It would be the same. City people with no idea of farming, like myself, trying to become farmers. Luckily I didnt have the threat of death on me. And I could eat as much as I wanted when I finished working. Plus I only worked an 8 hour day (8:00 to 5:00 with an hour lunch siesta), not 12 or more.

The second day I went back and worked at planting the rice in the water. This day was a little bit better. I was still pretty much a joke to the Lao people though. The first day the only word that I learned in Lao was falang, which means foreigner. I would do something wrong, or be extra muddy and they would all laugh and laugh. It wasnt mean spirited, I didnt ever feel unwelcome. I was just something new in the daily routine. But on the second day I learned a song in Lao (about a sweaty farmer), huan li (very hot) and how to count to 99. They all loved to make me repeat what they said and to test my counting ability.

I had one friend in particular who had taken me under her wing since day one. Her name was Consovan. I always stood next to her, would eat with her, follow her and take a nap with her after lunch. She was the loudest and funniest one in the group. She was very patient everyday and showed me again and again what to do. Whenever someone wanted me to do something they would tell and and she would try and explain it to me. Consovan knew the most English. Her vocabulary consisted of eat, sleep, come, dance, and what your name; which can only get you so far in a conversation. However this didnt stop us from laughing at my stupidities. As she taught me to count, I taught her to count in English.

On the third day I was feeling much more at home with the people. However four new falangs came to work in the field also. I didnt realize how after 2 days and 16 hours of sweating over the field, I felt like the fields were my territory and the people were my friends. When they came all the Lao people turned to me and told me to teach them. I guess it was easier for me to explain in English then for them to have to repeat what they did to me. I think the new people made me look a lot better too. I had caught on quickly because of Consovans tututelage. However there was so many of them that they stuck together and talked amongst themselves instead of teaming up with a local person. The other falangs complained and complained. They didnt last very long with out needing breaks and they left at lunch time.

After eating lunch I managed to kick a knife with my barefoot. Everyone took care of me imimmediately. They ran to the woods to pick some leaves. They chopped them up mixed them with water, put them on the cut and wrapped my foot in cloth. After about 10 minutes the bleeding had stopped. Everyone came to make sure it was ok before I went back to work. At around 3:30 we finished. We had planted 2 hectares of rice. I felt so proud looking over the land and I know all the Lao people did too because we had a bit of a celebration.

For lunch they had killed a goose and chicken for soup. They had collected the blood from the animals and made a soup more or less with it. The blood was mixed with water, lime juice, salt, hot peppers and cilantro. Everyone watched with anticipation as they prepared the soup. While they were making it a man went around giving drinks to everyone. The drink was the local brew called Lao Lao - kinda like whiskey. The men drank a lot more, played cards and gambled. The women prepared food or just relaxed. Then we sat in circles and drank the soup and had sticky rice. No one would accept my refusal of the soup, so my curiosity got the best of me. Because of the way it was prepared it tasted like salsa. It wasnt bad, but I couldnt get out of my mind that it was blood. It does make sense to use all of the animal instead of waste it, but I wasnt raised drinking blood so it seems weird. So we got drunk and drank blood.

After the celebration of finishing the planting, Consovan invited me back to her house for dinner. Her house was the typical Lao house made of bamboo and built on stilts. Under the house was the kitchen, bathroom and chicken coop. The whole house was maybe 20 feet by 20 feet - thats a guess. Inside the house was one large room and two small bedrooms just big enough for two beds. The one room was for Consovan and her husband. The other was for her three kids. There was no decorations in the house. There was one piece of furniture. A cabinet with papers and photographs inside. On top of it was a small TV and VCD player. The VCD player was to watch Thai karoke videos.

When we walked in she showed her son with pride the $4 that her husband and her had earned that day from working. ($2 each for 8 hours of work). Then she prepared the meal and had me play with the children. It was so strange to see her in her home because I had come to think of her as always laughing and working in the fields, but here she was a good mother. Some of the other people I worked with stopped by to say hello also. They might have wanted to talk, but I couldnt really say anything. For dinner we had mushroom soup, omelet and sticky rice. Then after dinner she walked me back to my guesthouse on the farm.

I feel so lucky to have been able see what her life is like. I know whenever I eat rice again I will remember the people I worked with. I will remember Consovan sweating and laughing at the foot of the mountains and Laos. I cant imagine all the people all over the world that have to work this hard their whole lives to feed rich people and their families. I know that I needed a massage after working for only 3 days. The massage cost me $3.50 and lasted an hour. I dont think I would be walking today if I hadnt gotten it. But Consovan will probably never be able to afford a massage. I think that rice, and all food for that matter, should cost more so that the people who work hard to produce it can afford to live a little bit better.