An Afternoon Walk in Sam Neua

Was it really only a two hour walk? As I walked up the street in search of the weaving house, several children called out greetings in English - “Hello!”; “What is your name?”.

One preteen in a group of three boys was particularly brave and so I engaged him in conversation.

Boy - “Where are you from?”
Me - “Canada. Do you have relatives in Canada?”
Boy - “No.”
Me - “Do you have relatives in America?”
Boy - “Yes.”
Me - “In which state?”

At this point he was stumped and circled trying hard to remember the name of the place, but without success.

Me - “Where are you going?”
Boy - “Home.”

Several groups armed with super soakers, water bags and cups of water, were getting a head start on the annual New Year’s Celebrations. Thankfully on this walk I avoided being completely soaked.

The weaving house was not what I anticipated, as for the most part they were not weaving typical Hua Phan patterns (province in north east Laos), but instead were weaving for an order from Singapore.

The next destination was the market. As I neared the market two pre-teen girls on a pink bicycle road past, the driver carrying an umbrella to protect them from the sun and possible rain, and the passenger carrying a silver bowl filled with water and flower petals. As they came close I knew there was no way to avoid their New Year’s water blessing, and so I stretched out my hand, offering a focal point for their blessing. Having “thrown” water at me, they cycled on and I was left thinking how sweet. Water with flowers, I can accept.

In the market I moved through the narrow aisles keeping watch for local textiles. An engaging vendor modeled her traditional “sinhs” (fabric to make a traditional tube-like skirt) and reminded me how Hua Phan weavers are known nationally for their weaving.

In the end I purchased a cotton sinh with Lao silk patterns. Perhaps a gift? Perhaps an addition to my wardrobe.

Then it was off to the food market. Having discovered “Rice Krispie” bars earlier in the week, I returned for this familiar treat. Minus the stickiness of the marshmallow added to North American “Rice Krispie” bars, they were otherwise the same.

Always intrigued by local markets, I wandered through observing the local fare. All varieties of local greens and endless vendors selling bamboo shoots were the common sight. As usual the vendors carry on about my beautiful white skin, and as usual I respond with how beautiful their coffee coloured skin is and we laugh understanding that each of us wishes for what the other has.

I head towards the guest house, exhausted and ready for a pepsi and chips.