Dinner Before Dark
September 15th, 2008
Laos – After over two months in Southeast Asia, I’ve spent most of my time in more developed areas and though I’ve taken in the mountains and jungles, my feet barely touched the soil. Now it was time to trade the flip-flops, which had replaced heels when I left New York, for sneakers. Here in Luang Prabang, I set off on a 2-day trek with an American girl, Natalie, I’d met on the bus from Vientiane. Our first day, we trekked for 5-6 hours passing through jungle, sticky rice patties and small villages. Along the way, our guide Samailee snatched up leaves and pea eggplants for our dinner, pointing out that the jungle produce was organic, while produce used in Luang Prabang’s large Western restaurants was full of chemicals. As we made our way through the seemingly remote forest, we came across some villagers carrying local cucumbers as large as Italian eggplants in baskets on their backs and bought some, stopping shortly to enjoy the crisp and delicately sweet cucumbers.
By the time we reached Huay Yen village, populated by the Khmu, one of Laos’s 49 recognized ethnicities, our shoes were soaked through and our legs covered in streaks and splatters of mud, a stark contrast to the still relatively white shoes of our guide. The village itself, with its thatched huts and clean-swept dirt ground, was a continuous light, woody brown hemmed in by green trees, mountains and grassy fields. Walking past villagers’ homes, we were met with waves and shouts of sabaidee (hello in Lao) from the young ones, whose parents had called them to see the passing foreigners.
While Samailee started making dinner, we walked around the village as families showered and ate before total darkness set in. Our dinner was Lao, rather than something eaten by the Khmu, who subsist mostly on sticky rice, local vegetables, and the occasional village chicken. Samailee prepared a huge spread of beef laab (meat salad), sautéed jungle greens and pea eggplant, a soup of boiled greens, and a grilled, slightly bitter jungle vegetable that had a slight resemblance to an aloe leaf when raw. Of course, no meal is complete without sticky rice and ours was no exception.
And then there was the Beerlao – one for me, one for Natalie and three for our slight guide. For Lao-style drinking, one glass is filled and emptied by one person and then passed on around the group, whether there are 2 people or 5. Natalie and I were so abysmally slow that our guide quickly gave up on Lao-style drinking with us, getting individual glasses after a round or two. By 7 pm, without streetlights or electricity, it was completely dark, we were full with simple, salty Lao food, and Samailee was hyped up on Beerlao, regaling us with stories on the wrongs of his trekking company, the power Lao men have over Lao women, and reasons why Thais aren’t to be trusted. After taking the occasional polite sip, it was time to retire to the cabin and we crept under mosquito nets into bed leaving our trusty guide to his glass.
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