News & Features
April 2006

TALES FROM TALL PAUL
Riding a wave, and making snow angels
By Paul Martin McNeil

It's Friday folks, Dec. 16, 2005.

Last weekend, I broke bread with a Brahman. I was invited to a Kiwi (New Zealand) Christmas party that celebrated the going away of Vicki, a Manilan from the Philippines. Suffice to say, it was great company, highlighted by a two-plus hour conversation about the Baghavad Gita with Aiwaiiya, a Brahman Indian who has been living in Vientiane for years while working for the communist-leaning city newspaper, The Vientiane Times. This man, apparently true to his Brahman blood, was very, very good at teaching. By the end of our conversation, which went by in a snap, I was left thirsty for much, much more about Indian culture, especially its religious motivations. And I now believe that every single action in India is religiously motivated. Aiwaiiya would argue that everything, inherently, is religiously motivated whatever country you come from through each human's spirit within, connecting us all. Listening to him was like consuming a narcotic. I was addicted to his ideas, in an I-could-quit-at-any-time-if-I-really-wanted-to sort of way. Every word was accented with those enticing little south Asian nuances: "Arjuna was presented wid a bery, bery imbordtant decision...listen do your art, or listen to da words of da gods speaking do your art?" (art = heart) It all reminded me of influence. Who will we allow to influence us and when should we take over that influence and turn it into our own self-disciplined karmic decisions? When all was said and done, when is anything ever really done? Aiwaiiya and I decided that a healthy balance is probably always the best decision.

50/50

The next night, an adult English class at Vientiane College invited me to a party (lots of parties seem to be happening this time of year for a culture that vehemently does NOT celebrate Christmas, or any real holiday season) for their teacher Candace, my friend from Oregon. Here is where I am introduced to "50/50". As the BeerLao rounds seem to flow like wine at a restaurant aptly named "Fong Beer Restaurant", with every new glass of beer, each of the cheerful adult learners would approach me, waiting for their turn to clink my glass and proudly proclaim, "50/50!" Now, I originally had no idea why this was being said and just cheered on the 50% squeals from the Lao men (so very many men here actually squeal as a general form of expressing excitement, pain, or just surprise starting low and finishing very very high very quickly...try it: WoOOOOOO!) as if I knew what I was saying. When in Lao...

Yes, go on? Turns out that (and this is still just a ventured guess) when your glass is half empty or less, the host must quickly fill it back up to its foaming brim. I liked this. This way, the glass is always, at the very least, half full. Optimistic, don't you think? A great night was had by all and the sun-dried squid strips were delightful.

Thursday I attended my very first let's-beat-the-pants-off-of-each-other-while-fighting-tooth-and-nail-to-score-only-to-find-out-that-all-of-the-blood-and-sweat-and-tears-were-for-a-try-while-still-somehow-calling-it-a-gentleman's-game practice. At long last after a semester in New Zealand and living with a brother who played university rugby alongside Prince William, (no lie; my 26 year-old brother Dominic was actually friends with the most recognized person in the world and aire to the thrown) before playing professionally in Scotland, I gave rugby a go.

It wasn't nearly as brutal as my pre-practice, shaking-from-nerves body thought it would be. That mostly has to do with the fact that we just played touch rugby-no tackling. The Vientiane Buffaloes just returned from a weekend tourney in Hanoi against the best Vietnamese side, victorious for the first time in over two years against the "Dragons." We were to take it easy on our bones. Thank goodness for that. I still haven't purchased a mouth guard. Does anyone out there have any idea how to say mouth guard in Lao? Sunday saw some more touch, as all rugby lovers from the city- male, female, ex-pats, and Lao- convene "across from the swimming pool" (most directions are delivered this way, as most streets here have names but none of them have street signs) and play a few hours of touch rugby, followed by compulsory rounds of Beerlao.

Here's the Upstate New York it-really-is-a-small-world moment...

On this Sunday Buffaloes training, I met a woman from, of course, Buffalo. She grew up in upstate New York and just graduated from Yale last year with a focus in historical studies. Well, history I guess. Amy's "Yale" lacrosse shorts were what tipped me off. She was also wearing a t-shirt that said "Orono" on it. That's just cool. Maine, Ivy League, and B-lo all wrapped up into one. Amy has been here for a few months and will be here for about six more, working through a very cool sounding program out of Princeton University on environmental development. We talked over some drinks after a very good sweat about our respective stories and reasons for being here- every westerner here seems to have a really interesting reason for being here.

Upstate New York moment number two...

Biking by during our talk are two of Amy's friends from work, Chris and Sash-a couple from Australia. Hobart. They are from Hobart, the capital "city" on the southern island of Tasmania-or, Tazzy.

A recap of U.N.Y.i.r.i.a.s.w moments in this twenty minute span: Vientiane Buffaloes, Amy from Buffalo, and Chris and Sash from Hobart.
And that was it for U.N.Y.i.r.i.a.s.w.m. that afternoon.

This week my family has served me river clams (they look a lot like small oysters), duck in red Jell-O, and grilled chicken that did not have the flu. I ate it all, and it was all delicious. The duck was surprisingly tasty, but it begged the question--why not the new blue Jell-O? The Lao government has tenaciously gone after Bill Cosby to do a cameo promo for duck pudding pops and Jell-O jigglers in five new "Qwacky!" shapes. Bill has not returned calls, but he did attend UMass.

I rode my first Lao "wave".

On Tuesday afternoon, my mother and father and I ventured into the city, exchanged my money into American dollars and together, as an impenetrable team of trans-pacific bargain hunters, purchased me a brand new Honda Wave S 100 motorbike, navy blue with front-end basket. (It's actually not a real Japanese Honda at all. It's a Sinco-Chinese company- with wicked cool Honda stickers on it). For one easy payment of $390 U.S. I got the bike with a license plate, a red sun-visored helmet, and 10,000 kip worth of ruby red Ocean Spray looking fuel already in the tank. I will apparently get 45 kilometers to the gallon on this bad-boy.

The bike has only needed to be repaired 4 times in the last 2 days and the helmet (which looks exactly like the type of helmet that would have a disclaimer sticker on the inside warning you that "this product is not for actual use") didn't completely break until a good day and a half after the purchase.

My family has kindly brought it to the temple behind our home where my 11 year-old monk brother Kham studies and the monks blessed the bike for safe journey by tying beautiful white strings to its handlebars (though I am not sure if the good luck starts when the strings naturally fall off or if the falling off would be a sign of bad luck...will I have to refuel the blessing? Can I do that at a gas station? How much will it cost to "fill it up"? Does my fake Chinese imitation motorbike run on regular, unleaded, or premium white strings?)

I have been cruising slowly, carefully, and safely ever since...with a new red helmet.

Yesterday evening, as my family finished eating dinner, Ricky (my 2 year-old nephew here) did something I don't think I'll ever forget. The beautiful red and gold straw mat that we all sit on when we eat meals was still lying on the floor, empty. I was caught in one of those "my life is so incredibly different than I thought it was going to be when I was a kid" moments, thinking about the heat I live in and the snow my home is now covered in back in Spencer, Massachusetts. Just like that, Ricky (one of the most adorable boys in the free world with my man Samuel Lee Hampton III and the hopefully very, very soon to be-for Ruth's sake- baby Manny taking the McNeil cake) decided to dive onto the floor. Knowing how to tuck and roll, quite impressively actually, he got up and did it again, laughing the whole time. He was laughing so hard he was drooling. But then after one dive onto the straw meal mat, he just laid there...on his back. Looking up to the sky, he started to slowly wave his arms like a bird. Simultaneously, he was opening and closing his little Lao legs. He did this for a few minutes.

Thousands and thousands of miles away from New England, my home stay nephew Ricky was making snow angels in Laos. I was breathless. He just knew.

So when you are all double and triple layered with fleece and down (what's with ducks today?) and lying on your back with the cold on your face and neck making snow angels in actual snow this week, look up to the sun or the moon and think of a little boy named Ricky, smiling and laughing and warmly looking back at you. I hope all are well and excited for the wonderful week ahead with family and friends. 'Tis the season to be so very grateful for all that we have and all of the love we share.

50/50-
Mr. Tall Paul