“Maxine McKew is being mobbed, ladies and gentlemen”

Great stuff about the election, I couldn’t be happier. And as my dad said over the phone the next day, it was such an interesting election, so much more dynamic than the last one. It really did make me feel homesick. I wanted to be there in the tally room. I wanted to be at a newspaper, covering it. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing? What am I doing over here at a time like this?
That’s what I was thinking on Saturday, anyway. But I know that one day I’ll get there. In the meantime, I’m just going to think about Christmas, when me and the Island head over to Aus. Can’t wait. A new beginning!

Wrinkles in time
It’s getting cooler, and my skin is all dry and itchy. But I do love this weather; I’ve busted out all my Light Cotton Sweaters that have been folded up in the cupboard all year. And scarves!
The End of Buddhist Lent boat racing festival has been and gone; we drank a lot, we all wore dresses, I went to bed with a headache.
Later, Mel and Gregory, who have both been here for almost three years, went through all their photos from the last three boat racing festivals. “Ha ha,” they said. “You’ve got older. All of us have. You too, Sally.”
I paid Mel back by stealing some of her Clarins Beauty Flash Balm last time I was at her house. Must remember to pick some up duty free on my next trip home. That, and some eye cream, or something.

Suburban karaoke
Of course, the End of Buddhist Lent means the start of wedding season. And I’m happy for all these happy couples and their happy families, really I am. I’m happy that taste goes right out the window during this period and people fill their backyards with pink and white plastic chairs and pink lacy archways and fluorescent ribbons. It’s great. But, you know, the speakers, the speakers! Why does the wedding need to take place in my living room when I’m not even invited? And why is it always the same music, and why are drunken guests allowed to take to the microphone at around 10pm? Cultural sensitivity? Pah! A drunk person who can’t sing is just that, and I think we should all be spared this, no matter what country we’re in.

Speaking of culture…
I had a small mystery resolved for me this weekend. Last week was this big Francophone conference in Vientiane, which was kind of a big deal, at least for the Lao government. The conference itself was pointless and nothing happened, but there were delegations from more than 60 countries here, and that meant curfews and lots of cops and new street signs suddenly informing that this or that street, for no apparent reason, is one way, so please pay this fine so we can go and buy lunch, etc - really tiresome stuff. Not to mention all the workmen chipping off the old street markings and repainting them, and the poor monks in their undergarments repainting the outer temple walls all day long…
Anyway, Le Renovateur, the French magazine that is part of my department (the Lao Press in Foreign Languages), which is a usually a weekly, did a daily edition all of last week, a task for which the staff were hopelessly unprepared. They brought in some French people to help. One was a lovely woman from Paris, who has been living and working for three years in Phnom Penh doing roughly the same thing as me. Then there were these other two guys who I’ve seen at the magazine and around town a million times and who never say hello to me, even though they know me and know that I speak French etc etc. Rude. Not that I really care, it’s not like I don’t have my own friends and all that. But I mean, really, it’s a bit naff, isn’t it? Being a French person and being rude?
I had a drink with La Parisienne after work on Sunday, and she basically confirmed that many French people working in Asia can be asses. So maybe it really is a French thing, rather than an imaginary barrier set up in our minds to explain why we don’t get along! I'm saying I agree with her, necessarily. I know many perfectly lovely French people, here and elsewhere. But they do have a reputation...and perhaps it's not that misplaced.

Lentil as anything
For the first time in years, or at least since I left Melbourne, I’ve finally started cooking, for various reasons. The main one is that the Island made us the best ork lam from Luang Prabang, one of my favourite Lao dishes ever, the other night. He said I had had to help him, so we went together to the 103 market, and I thought for the millionth time that I should just damn well start cooking while I’m here and can get all these fresh vegetables for next to nothing. Piles and piles of leafy greens and tomatoes and mushrooms - honestly, the other night I bought ingredients for a stir-fry, and it came to about 9,000 kip. That’s, like, 90c. I have to learn to appreciate this while I’m here. Now that I’ve mastered the stir-fry, the bean curry and ork lam, one of my friends, Nicola, has promised to tell me all she knows about lentils. I’m really getting into it. I love lentils.

Travel bugs
Here’s something that shits me to tears (what, another thing?): a woman at my work has just found out that she has been offered a place as a PhD candidate at a Swedish university.
This woman, in her 30s, has studied in Australia and Sweden already, though god knows what she actually learnt during that time, because she sure as hell can’t speak, read or write English for shit. She must have had an awful lot of ‘assistance’ while there. Either that or she has simply ‘forgotten’ everything she learnt since coming back to Laos.
She can’t even write a proper paragraph, much less a clear article! And she refuses to admit it, hence my waves of anger and frustration that it’s her, and not someone else in the office who can actually write, who gets the chance to do a PhD.
A lot of donor countries like China and Sweden think overseas training is the way to go. I think they’re wrong. It would be more efficient and cost-effective to send experts over and train them on the spot. Most of the people in my office have travelled more than me, but you’d never know it to talk to them. They’ve all been on so many press junkets, attended so many conferences and undergone so much ‘training’, in Asia, Europe, America and even Australia, and yet most of them retain nothing. They are for the most part completely unworldly, and when you ask them about their trip, usually the most you get is something about the weather, and the cost of living in relation to their per diem. One guy I worked with last year went to Japan for three weeks, and all he could say when he came home was that his per diem hadn’t been nearly enough and he hadn’t been able to save any of it. Japan! Another kid is currently at a conference in Tehran- imagine! How exciting! He didn’t seem remotely interested- you’d think he was off to a team-building exercise at a local conference centre.
Obviously it takes away from the experience if you’re just sent to a place whether you want to go or not. It’s not as though people in the office are ‘rewarded’ for their good work by being sent overseas – it’s simply a case of taking turns. And a lot of the people in my office have young families, and don’t even want to go away, so it becomes and extra burden for them, rather than a golden opportunity or the fulfilment of a dream.
It’s different if you work towards something- save money and dream about a place.
As it is, I think it’s just a waste. But that’s just curmudgeonly of me, isn’t it? I’ll shut up now.

Coffee shop
I’ll never stop discovering new places in Vientiane. My latest is an old new discovery, dating back almost a year but sorely neglected – the Roasted Coffee House on the Tamarind Road in town. This Japanese woman has a little coffee shop all painted white with cane chairs and navy blue cushions and meticulously chosen glasses and crockery. And the coffee, well! The girl goes out and handpicks the beans and dries and roasts them herself! And serves it all up in these chic, Japanese-minimalist cups. And sometimes some scones. Only, don’t go there too often- she has a thing about publicity and would really prefer the place to be empty most days. So she says…
On the other hand, last night I abandoned the cooking regime and had dinner at Vong. Vong? What is it about Vong? It's a typical Lao restaurant selling typical, cheap, MSG-laden Asian fare. Not close to anything, not too far away. Just Vong. I've yet to find anyone who's been here long enough to remember when it wasn't the most dearly beloved dinner joint in the Vientiane 'burbs. It's even in the Lonely Planet, but only because it's apparently 'loved by expats'. Anyway, it was pretty good.

Time marches on
I watched Michel Gondry's The Science of Sleep last night, which I considered a constructive way to spend my Monday evening, especially when I have no other inspiration around me. I mean, Charlotte Gainsbourg's sweaters alone... On the other hand, after reading that great piece about The Wire in the New Yorker, I started watching the show, and realised pretty quick that the article was more worth my while, time-wise. Sure the show is slick and has lots of cool, creative swearing in it, but I simply can’t dedicate that kind of time. The first series is 13 episodes – each one is an hour long!
I would rather sit in front of my laptop and try in vain to write something. You know, like a real writer.
I have all these ideas, but I keep thinking there will come a time when I will be able to write about that, but not right now. But it’s silly. Not that long ago, I told myself that I just had to start being person I wanted to be, rather than waiting to become her. It worked, more or less. Athough I am a bit bored at the moment. It’s Tuesday morning, and everyone is out or away, including the Island who has this intense new job and has had to travel to Luang Prabang for two weeks, and tonight I’ll have to cook for myself like a loser, and, you know, it seems a bit lame.
But it’s times like this I always think back to Parul, my housemate in Montreal in 2000.
“Dude, romanticise what you do,” she always used to say.
Ok Parul. I’ll do that. Off to work.