Maren at the Queen Sirikit Textile Museum’s Symposium in Bangkok & The Amazing History of SE Asia’s Silk Trade

Posted on April 13, 2014 by josh

Maren at the Queen Sirikit Textile Museum’s Symposium in Bangkok & The Amazing History of SE Asia’s Silk Trade

Last November, I had the chance to attend The Queen Sirikit Textile Museum sponsored Symposium “Weaving Royal Traditions Through Time” in Bangkok, Thailand. What a blast! I met textile enthusiasts from all over the world, all of whom were enthusiastic about textiles and eager to share their knowledge and connections. Additionally, we were truly given the royal treatment, being shuttled to museums and private collections in police-escorted, air-conditioned buses, and fed delicious food and drink. As the kickoff event for the Queen’s Museum, this was an event to see!

1. In Bangkok, at private showing of collection of Tilekke & Gibbons Collection textiles – Maren at back left of audience. Photo courtesy of John Ang, Samyama Co., Ltd., Taipei, a fellow conference attendee.

Aside from the pampering and meeting fellow participants (including the renown authors of our most used and treasured books on Laos textiles!), was an incredible 4-day orgy of information on and viewing of SE Asian textiles, with the primary focus on Thailand, but also extending to Indonesia, Laos, Japan, India, Malaysia, and even to England!

I had not grasped, until this symposium, the impact of politics and trade on the location of and production of textiles in SE Asia. I often think of culture and clothing as being static from the point I first see them, but reality is constant change due to trade and imitating others’ work. I also tend to categorize, for comfort and reference, a particular pattern/material/color as belonging to one person/place/time, but the truth is more flexible.

The front of the Queen Sirikit Textile Museum in Bangkok. Photo courtesy of John Ang.

Now, some of the fascinating history:

400+ years ago, the predominant silk textiles in Thailand were saris woven in India delivered via sailing ships. These ships sailed south and east in one season and north and west in the other, following the prevailing trade winds. Due to the long trips, the merchants brought their religious advisors with them. Thus, India exported not only their textiles, but also their religion and culture to Indonesia, Thailand, and surrounding areas. Later, with steamer ships, came the ability to sail against the wind, speeding up trade throughout SE Asia.

Two of the Laos funeral banners from the Tilekke & Gibbons Collection. Photo courtesy of John Ang.

One of the women being dressed for the Khong performance in the brand new gold and red tapestries woven specifically for the dancers. Photo courtesy of John Ang.

Royal court textiles in Siam (now Thailand) were made of saris and shawls worn in the Thai tradition. That is why 7 meters of cloth (sari size) are used each for the traditional Thai skirt and pants. The cloth was greatly valued in the royal courts, and certain fabric was given as payment to those doing service to the King, after which it was required that those textiles were used exclusively in court appearances. Certain patterns and colors were restricted to royal use, and were forbidden to be used by the common people. These restrictions are no longer enforced. (Throughout this time period, local villagers continued to weave textiles, but without the direct support of the royal courts, wove only for themselves for their own clothing and religious purposes.)

A textile preservationist and her assistant at the Queen Sirikit Textile Museum showing one of the Queen’s dresses – made of gold-wrapped silk thread – gorgeous! Photo courtesy of John Ang.

The culture exported from India most predominantly seen in Thailand and other SE Asian countries due to this trade is the royal dance and costume from the Ramayama. Thus, while Thailand is a Buddhist country, the royal dance and theater is based on the battles between Hanuman and Garuda, and other Hindu Gods. I had always wondered why predominantly Buddhist and Muslim countries had such similarity of religious costume and dance expression to India – now I know!

A male dancer being dressed in his Khong performance clothing – the dancers are sewn into their clothing to ensure the textiles stay in place during the athletic performances. Photo courtesy of John Ang.

As a result of this trade, Japan was importing a great deal of the Indian sari fabric from Siam in the 1600’s, leading Japan to believe that the textiles were Siamese in origin. By the mid-1600’s, due to an influx of unwanted missionaries, Japan closed its borders to all but Dutch merchant ships. Thus, the Japanese never learned that the silk saris were made in India, resulting in the name given to them of Sayama, indicating an origin in Siam. The Japanese treasured these textiles, again for portions of royal court dress, and also used the saris to make covers for teapots, to cover boxes holding tea implements, and other culturally important wrappings. The Japanese also tried to duplicate these saris, but, as the Japanese were painting the silk, and the Indians were dying it, the Indian made saris retained their color much longer and so were preferred.

Textile production is also greatly impacted by economic/political decisions. For example, in the 1850s, Siam made a trade agreement to provide rice in exchange for textiles, and from that point on, the people in the center of Siam switched from weaving to solely agriculture. Even now, other than some people who have migrated into the center of Thailand, the area has a distinct lack of textile production. Again, economic drivers trumped cultural norms, though the long-range impact of the shift to solely agricultural production cited here amazes me.

One of the antique Laos textile ends from a shaman cloth which is part of the Tilekke & Gibbons Collection textile collection. Photo courtesy of John Ang.

Also, during much of this time, regions of Laos were under the auspices of Siam or China, paying respective tribute to their King or Emperor. Local rulers paid homage in return for the court clothing and protection of their respective royal patrons. This is yet another example of how fashion and textile motifs and designs spread.

Now, for the more modern influences that caused silk to rise as an economic and cultural phenomenon in Thailand.

When the current Queen Sirikit came to her position, the royal dress of Thailand was western – it had been mandated as such since 1941. When she traveled to NE Thailand in Isan when she was 23, she saw locals wearing skirts of their own weaving, and she commissioned them to weave her some of the stunning textiles. This was the beginning of her ongoing support of weaving in Thailand.

One of Queen Sirikit’s dressed worn on her European tour with the King in the 1960s – stunning cloths representing the best of Thai textile weaving and design. Photo courtesy of John Ang.

When she and King Rama IX toured Europe in 1969, She designed her entire wardrobe, half western and half her own design using traditional Thai clothing styles as an influence, with the assistance of several French and British designers. Her wardrobe became a worldwide sensation, landing her at the top of the best dressed woman list in 1965, the first Asian woman to ever make the list.

Due to the Queen’s efforts, and the ensuing efforts of Jim Thompson, who started the Thai Silk Company in 1960, Thailand is now famous for, to the point of being synonymous with, silk.

Thanks for reading, and for your continued interest in learning more about the people behind the textiles of SE Asia.

Phout of Houaphon Province, Laos

Posted on November 26, 2013 by josh

Phout of Houaphon Province, NE Laos

Our good friend, Phout, wearing one of her healing cloths (phaa phi mon).

We are in Houaphan Province in NE Laos, getting ready for a dinner with our weaving and dyeing friends. A dozen or so people are already at Souk’s house, the women chatting quietly while chopping garlic and ginger for dinner’s preparation, and the men sharing another bottle of Beer Lao. Then a motorcycle revs into the front, carrying Phout (pronounced “put” with a little bit of an “h” after the “p”) and her husband. Phout charges in, wrestles her too-small helmet off her tied-up hair, and, eyes glowing and teeth exposed, says something in a loud voice that ends with a high-pitched “ooo-eee”; everyone laughs, including us. Phout grabs Maren’s shoulders and gives a quick hug, then offers her outstretched hand to Josh and the boys for a firm deliberate handshake. She continues to talk quickly and loudly and again the room erupts in laughter.

Mai, who grew up with Phout and Souk (rhymes with “book”) but later learned English, offers us a quick translation for Phout’s paragraphs of gushing and animated energy. “She says” Mai manages through her laughter, “she says she is so glad to see all of you, and she wishes you to celebrate with us that we are together again.” There is a moment of quiet when the English is spoken. A dozen smiling heads bob as if hearing a toast. The room catches a breath and Phout reaches for a short glass of Beer Lao offered from her smiling husband. She raises the glass slightly in both hands, does a quick, honorable dip to acknowledge the celebration, and drains the glass quickly so, as tradition holds, it can be refilled and passed to the next person. She shakes her hand at the men pouring the beer and says something spiritedly – the tone alone meant “Get this glass moving. This party has officially begun.” And we all laugh again.

Sharing a meal at Souk's home. From left to right: Ari, Maen, Josh's mom Joy, Zall, Sukavit (expert weaver and village elder), Phout (blue shirt), and an edge of Souk's face.

Sharing a meal at Souk’s home. From left to right: Ari, Maren, Josh’s mom Joy, Zall, Sukavit (expert weaver and village elder), Phout, Mai (our translator, friend and a childhood friend of Phout and Souk), and master-dyer Souk.

Phout is an expert dyer and weaver. As is often the tradition in this region, the dyer is at the ‘’hub” of the weaving process. She obtains the raw silk, dyes it using only traditional natural dyes, and then distributes the prepared silk and pattern-templates to the area’s best weavers. A single piece may take a weaver several months to create. These weavers then return the completed textiles to, in this case, Phout, who will be responsible for getting them to a market. Phout is renown for her rich purples and vibrant color-play. She is also a savvy business-woman, ensuring that everyone from silk-raiser to weaver is fairly compensated. She is also eager to connect the regional talent and her silk products to a world market.

Maren and Phout have become, for lack of a better word, “sisters.” We all met in 2006 quite by accident as we were touring the region as a family. We fell in love with the area, and the textiles, and … well, the people as well, like Phout and Souk. Their honesty, warmth, and open friendship has enriched us so much. These women are also central to many of the highest quality silk weavings that Above the Fray – or anyone in the world for that matter – can offer.

Maren’s recent (as in two weeks ago!) trip to Bangkok and Vientiane brought Phout and her together again, this time in the urban setting of Vientiane, Laos’ capital, and here is her “friendship report.” [Maren promises more on the Textile Symposium itself soon!]

Maren’s Report from Laos, November, 2013: Celebrating with Phout in the City

During my recently-completed trip to Bangkok for the Queen Sirikit Museum of Textiles Symposium 2013: Weaving Royal Traditions Through Time, I took a side trip to Vientiane, Laos, where Phout met me for a few days of laughter, textiles, and local life.

Maren and Phout in Vientiane early this month – dressed for an event!

What a kick! Phout’s daughter, 4 months pregnant with her first child, and her husband, Nan, kept us company the whole time. Nan, who works for the Laos PDR Ministry of Labor and Social Welfare, took a day off from work and he and his wife spent two additional evenings off from their lives to translate for Phout and me. We spent a day having lunch that Phout cooked – lovely plain boiled chicken, greens, sticky rice, and jhao – spicy dip – with all four of us at Nan and Phout’s daughter’s house. Then several hours of looking at some new textiles from Phout – how could I resist! I even bought a very fancy skirt from Phout of her recent design – ask to see it at our events! I got a few more healing cloths and love tokens from her also that I couldn’t resist…

Phout’s mom also accompanied her to Vientiane for some dental work. Her mom wanted to sell me her blanket that she wove at age 12 (she’s maybe 70 now?) in silk with natural dyes and handspun cotton border and backing. Having a treasure such as this, that survived the Vietnam war and the bombing of Laos for 9 years, is the curse of the business side of Above the Fray. No – I could never sell it. Such rarities really belong in museums. I even have a photo of Phout’s mom, also named Mai, wearing the blanket to complete the textile’s documentation.

Phout’s mom, Mai, wearing the cloth she wove over 50 years ago.

Phout’s daughter’s husband’s father’s neighbor’s daughter was getting married on one of the days I was with Phout. They asked if I could attend, and the answer, of course was “Yes!” I was the only “falang” (foreigner) invited to the 300+ person wedding at a fancy hotel – sit-down dinner with Johnny Walker Black and soda served to all with a live band and traditional Laos dancing – I was dragged onto the dance floor by Phout’s son-in-law, his dad, and by Phout herself – what fun!

The next night we went to the main temple in Vientiane where an annual ceremony was centered for two days later – the one where people make boats out of banana leaves and float them down the river with a candle lit in them to send wishes to the ancestor world – as depicted by the “wax naga boats” on many Laos textiles. Boy was it a wild party! In addition to monks accepting donations in return for the tying on of “basi strings” for good health and good fortune (I got two!), there were multiple (six plus stages) full of music and dancers, loud sellers of Chinese clothing, cars, motorcycles, ferris wheels, kids rides, and copious volumes of sustenance, including quail eggs, chestnuts, fried dough, barbequed dried squid, and other delicacies. Phout and I held hands the whole time. So sweet! I am honored to be considered a good friend of such a talented designer, dyer, and weaver.

Dancers from the Lawae culture dance at the celebration in Vientiane.

Xam Tai’s Floating Bridge

Posted on November 20, 2013 by josh

Xam Tai’s Floating Bridge

The Xam River, after crashing through the steep canyons of the virgin jungle of the Nam Xam Nature Reserve in western Houaphon, Laos, finally emerges into the exquisite Xam Tai valley, where it meanders lazily for several miles before tumbling again downhill, across Vietnam, to the Gulf of Tonkin. The town of Xam Tai nestles the river in this valley, sitting luxuriously amid the green rice fields, a haven from a crowded and noisy world (although I will note that the Vietnam War years were a bit noisier…).

The valley widens to reveal lush rice fields and the wonderful village of Xam Tai.

To go beyond Xam Tai requires crossing the river. Perhaps twice a day, an ancient rusted barge will hand-cranked across the river using a pulley/cable system; it will lug any 4 or more wheeled vehicles across the small river (slowwww-ly) so they may continue on a single lane dirt road to Ban Tao and other small villages. Luckily, most people are on foot or motorcycle and can avoid the cost of the ferry by crossing right in town, next to the kid’s swimming hole, on … well … on a floating bridge.

The hand-powered crossing the Xam River. It’s the only way to get anything with 4 or more wheels across the river. A truck on the opposite side will wait until there is another vehicle or two to split the cost of a crossing.

The concept is simple – strap together this strong, hollow, freely available, rot-proof plant – bamboo – and just walk across it.

We were dubious at first – being a little “heavier-set” than the locals. And the bamboo platform did sink a bit, with water splashing an inch up the sides of our shoes. “Walk faster,” crooned Zall. Sure enough, a good pace assured nothing sank too deeply into the cool wet.

The same rule of physics works for motorcycles. Once we had tippy-toed across, here come two motorcycles, one from either side, who gunned their motors in a rush to dash across. Stopping would have been an assured soaking, so each driver focused on maintaining appropriate momentum and balance until reaching terra firma. I could not exhale until each was safe.

Rush hour.

“You’d think they’d at least have railings,” said Ari. Maren asked aloud, “I wonder how many people have had to go fishing for their motorcycle?”

Another motorcycle zipped across, water rooster-tailing from the rear wheel. He wove around a woman carrying a backpack basket full of firewood; the bamboo planks splashed and rolled a bit.

We sat at that viewpoint for an hour watching the local traffic use this essential link. And no, despite our anxiousness with every crossing, no one got wetter than a splashed ankle.

“It looks just like something you’d only find in Laos,” Zall commented. And we all nodded.

Finding a Peak in Cotapaxi, Ecuador – by Zall, age 17

Posted on October 8, 2013 by josh

Finding a Peak in Cotapaxi, Ecuador

This summer, Zall spent 8-weeks immersed as a volunteer in a small rural village in the Cotapaxi region of Ecuador through the “Amigos De Las Americas” Program (similar to Peace Corps). Living with a local family that only spoke Spanish (and Kichwa), Zall organized and led an after school educational program for kids ages 4-16, organized the construction of a needed school out-building, practiced his Spanish all day every day, and was “wowed” by the beauty of the land and resourcefulness of its inhabitants. Here is a first report:

Two water bottles were filled and contained 2 drops of chlorine each and a vitamin C packet. The two water bottles perhaps made my backpack four times as heavy, but necessary when on an all-day hike at 12,000 feet in the sun. Today was a Tuesday, and that meant that a representative from PLAN* International was in Yanhurco, the town of 600 where I volunteered this summer. On this particular day, a hike was scheduled to a “nearby” ridge where we would sit and talk about today’s PLAN-based topic, sexuality.

Zall embraces the highland views. He lived at 12,000 feet and, although he was on the equator, he wore gloves every day to fend off the sharp cold and relentless wind.

My volunteer partner, Rachel, met up with me at the scheduled 10 a.m. outside the front gate of the school and, being on Ecuador time, the youth in the community showed up around 11 a.m. and the PLAN representative, Pablo, at around 11:30. Hitching our backpacks of water, we began our ascent on a dusty road winding from the back of the town. It was a rarer day in Yanhurco when the sun split through the sky and bathed us in something other than dust, cold, or wind.

Zall leads his young “campamentos” group in a discussion on the village school’s playground. It was cold every day!

By the first 30 minutes, I was sweating profusely, my face was covered in several layers of dirt and the scenery surrounding me had left a permanent sense of awe that was highly visible on my face. The older youth had all run ahead, but walking at this altitude was a feat by itself.

Zall’s “campamentos” group, eating their snack at the walk’s end, just before the talk on relationships and sexuality.

Up and down hills and mountains we went, over streams and through crops for hours. I had just rounded the corner when Pablo looked back at me with a large, childish grin and said in Spanish, “That’s where we’re going to stop!” I followed the direction of his finger and laughed. He had pointed to a large rock on a nearby mountain that seemed at the time like it might have actually been in Peru. My laughed ceased as I realized with utmost dread that he was serious.
And hour or two later, just as my lungs and legs were about to collapse, I fell onto the rock face where we would end our hike for the day. Pablo pulled out a piece of bread for all the youth that had come and I inhaled a liter and a half of water. We all cooled down and the local youth flirted back and forth. As the last bread crumbs were licked off our fingers, Pablo pulled out bracelets and packets of information for everyone as well. The packets were full of useful information about general sexuality, menstrual cycles and pregnancy; the bracelets were black with neon highlights and blazoned on them were the words Habla Serio: Sexualidad Sin Misterios (Real Talk, Sexuality without Mysteries).

Zall’s homestay family, with the dad behind him. Rachel, in the wool hat, was the other Amigos volunteer immersed in his village.

We didn’t get very far into the talk. Just a few minutes after we received the bracelets, a kid had come down from a higher part of the rock and yelled that he’d found bushes of arándanos (wild blueberries). Thrilled with the news, the twenty kids all ran up the rock and gorged themselves on the small, sweet blueberries.
As we sat on top of this rock, picking blueberries in the midst of Ecuador, I had one of those wonderful travel moments where I realize how unreal a situation is. I was on top of a gigantic rock, hours from any substantial settlement, the wind blowing its usual gale, picking and eating blueberries with Kichwaen youth. That’s what I was doing, really!

By the time that we had filled ourselves, it was time to start the journey back to Yanahurco. There would be plenty of time to finish the talk next Tuesday.

I want to send a big thank you to the Above the Fray fans who donated to the Amigos de las Americas Program to help me afford my volunteer effort. I am confident I made a difference for many people n Yanahurco; I know that these same people made a difference in me I will treasure, and expand upon, in the years ahead. A big thanks also to Amigos de las Americas for the training and set-up so I could be a more effective teacher and community organizer. Mucho gracias!

*PLAN International is a worldwide organization that aims to achieve lasting improvements in the quality of life of deprived children in developing countries.

Above the Fray: Traditional Hilltribe Art Takes a Step

Posted on October 7, 2013 by josh

Dear Friends,

Welcome to Above the Fray: Traditional Hilltribe Art’s Blog: On The Fringe

For our regular readers, Above the Fray is excited to introduce some design changes. Our website just got updated, and we are also modifying our communications by moving from our “Quarterly Newsletter,” which for years has been available by “snail mail” and email pdf, to this new blog, aptly titled: On The Fringe. We hope you will continue to connect with us here for our stories and photos – please feel free to friend us on Facebook as we will be investing more time in our social media communications as well.

Maren and Josh traveling up the Nam Ou (River) in Phongsali Province, Laos.

Also, we are excited to welcome a newer audience as Above the Fray reaches out to expand contacts and interest. Two exciting events will draw some curious eyes:

First, the Textile Museum of America (in Washington DC) is in the midst of a brilliant southeast asian textiles exhibit, and next week it all culminates in a conference where the folks who “Ooooh” and Ahhhh” the most over these textiles – like Maren – will be to share their passion, information and company. Maren (and a good friend from the Seattle Weaver’s Guild) will be eager to learn and share with some gifted experts.

Two weeks later, the famous Queen Sirikit Museum of Textiles in Bangkok is holding an international symposium on royal and other traditional textile arts of Thailand and greater SE Asia – Maren just got her plane ticket yesterday! The world’s greatest experts in these textiles will be presenting, and it gives Above the Fray a chance to put a “real face” forward internationally. We know we have much to share, especially since we have “in the village” experience (and pictures, and textiles!) and well-developed personal and business relationships with many of the artists who today represent the highest level of expertise.

In between these two world-class events we will have our first showing in San Francisco, at the “Textile Bazaar” sponsored by The Textile Council of the Museums of San Francisco (on Sunday, November 3rd). We’ll post separately about that event!

Above the Fray will also continue to hold its “Fine Silks and Tribal Arts” Events in the Pacific Northwest, and dates/locations for this upcoming season’s events in Portland and Eugene will be announced in the coming days.

Please stay in touch! And onward to Zall’s newest venture below:

Report from Maren: Dancing through Laos

Posted on May 3, 2013 by josh

Maren recently returned from a month-long solo trip through the hilltribe regions of NW Vietnam and NE Laos, staying with many of the friends and “business contacts” we have developed over the years. If there’s one thing we’ve learned: hilltribe cultures value friendship as centrally as they value family and community. As the following excerpt from her weekly “home-report” reveals, kindness and company are the greatest assets anyone can share.

Vandara stirs a pot of anatto in the village where she is training women to dye.

March 3: I’m in Vietnam, in Sapa, having arrived this morning by train. My friend and “sister-in-all-but-blood” Vandara from Luang Prabang, Laos, has come with me to see how Sapa does selling in their market, and how the materials are made and distributed. She runs the guest house we stay in in Luang Prabang, has her fingers in an overwhelming number of projects supporting traditional Laos materials production, and is on several government task forces to help the Lao people find ways to ensure healthy, self-supporting, traditional activities. With her, work and pleasure are one and the same. Wonderful woman, and a force of nature.

The tow truck sets up to pull the bus out of the ditch, and men shovel the drier dirt.

But to fill you in on the last week: We did manage to get to Phonsavan (in Xieng Khuang Province, NE Laos), but had a couple of mishaps. The road from Xam Neua to Phonsavan (8 hours) was closed for several hours due to a rainy spell the previous night that had turned a section of the road into a slip-and-slide. A bus slid off the road into a ditch, and no other vehicle could get by. Everyone was OK, but it took a huge crane/tow truck to pull it out of the ditch, with chains looped around nearby trees to stabilize the tow truck while it pulled. Once the bus was out of the ditch, the next bus to come down the road did the same thing. A long day at that bend in the road. Our driver got out of the car, along with the rest of us watching, and proceeded to shovel drier mud onto the road to provide some traction. With the help of 6 young men pushing, we were able to make it around the curve, barely missing the ditch ourselves. Two hours later we stopped for lunch, and, looking down, I saw there was a legitimate reason for my squishy-feeling foot; the squish was coming from a sandal full of blood. Apparently I picked up a leach while observing the bus being pulled out of the ditch! I didn’t feel a thing until the squish. My first leach in all these years of travel! My friend Mai (our translator and good friend from Xam Neua) was quite concerned that the leach had dropped off in the van, but we never found it.

The bus in the ditch from the slippery road, and the towtruck men in the trees bracing the truck for pulling on the bus.

Phonsavan was great – had dinner with Mai at her friend’s house. Spent the next day in Napia gathering more aluminum articles, spoons, bracelets, etc., made out of pieces of American bombs recovered from the soil after we dropped the bombs on the Laos during the “Secret War” portion of the Vietnam “conflict.” (See the next article for details on the impact of the war.) On a cheerful note, I spent several hundred dollars on a family in Napia who make spoons, bracelets, bottle openers, and other items from the leftover aluminum. The money we make selling these items will all be donated to MAG (Mines Advisory Group) to clear unexploded ordnance.

Maren and the very pleased Napia couple who sold her the aluminum spoons, bracelets, etc.

I also went to a local Tai Dam village where I found skeins of handspun, naturally dyed cotton and lengths of woven cotton, and distributed the dozens of photos we took there last year. The women were really pleased to see me again and were more than eager to sell their materials.

Tai Dam cotton raiser, ginner, spinner, and dyer holds her skeins.

Then my guide, Khen, who was our family’s guide last summer, took me as his “date” to a friend’s wedding – a very strange event. The men and women danced in a group, rotating slowly counterclockwise, while the women shifted their hands – first left facing themselves and right facing their partner with fingers together in Thai-type poses, then, 4 steps later, reversing the order. The group vibrated up and down about 2 inches with each step, and a very slow-motion dance ensued, all to deafening karaoke music. The crew was quite inebriated, of course, as is required at a Lao wedding. Over 150 people were there, complete with food, beer, lao-lao, dancing, dogs, children, and chickens.

The Newlyweds!

Off to Luang Prabang (Laos’ second largest city), where our friend Vandara was busy with a class of 17-25 year old local women learning embroidery techniques from a Hong Kong group, for whom Vandara was providing translation services. Vandara was exhausted from the 6-day seminar, and I only saw her for a couple of minutes each day. I ended up spending a lot of time with Marie, a French woman who also adores Vandara, wandering around town to visit our usual contacts. We ate dinner at different places each night, accompanied by a Dutch woman who, with her partner, were creating a butterfly and orchid garden near Vandara’s second guest house that would include a bakery and cafe. The most interesting westerners end up populating Asia! The three of us had a blast together though, spending each dinner in hysterics.

Our source for some of our simple handwoven silk scarves picked me up at my guest house and took me to her house where I perused high piles of silk, choosing the colors and styles that I think will work – who knows if I’m right – and was fed, watered, and returned to my guest house with all of my chosen textiles left behind at her house, with a pile of her friends/relatives labeling our choices to meet customs requirements. The next day they were delivered to the guest house (even though I hadn’t paid for them yet) as I only saw the scarves on Saturday, and the banks were closed until Monday. Talk about trust!

Our talented wood hanger carver carefully cuts the outline of the cragon hanger on his homemade jigsaw – no finger guards!

Monday, the man who carves the wooden hangers we carry picked me up at my guest house on his motorcycle, and he took me to his home where his wife had lunch waiting. I took pictures of him carving the hangers to have available for our customers, made my final selection of hangers – most made of rosewood – and then he drove me back to my guest house in his tuk-tuk so the hangers could come with us. He was so sweet, spoke excellent English, and we shared philosophies on child rearing on the trip back. Zall and Ari – he is as conservative as your parents are – even more, given Laos culture, regarding the freedoms allowed his children. So there! We’re not the worst parents in the world!

He carefully carves the dragon-shaped wooden hanger with hand tools.

I managed to get all of our items labeled, packed in bags and boxes, and put in a bus to be sent to our shipper in Vientiane – he e-mailed me that he received everything in good shape, and our shipment is ready to go as soon as I pay him. I love the trust relationships here.

The Red Dzao doll-maker wrapping the man doll’s turban.

Tomorrow Vandara and I will peruse the Saturday market here in Sapa, then take motorcycles with Tea to to her mother’s house where her family has an assortment of handwoven, naturally dyed, handmade Hmong bags ready for me. Sunday we go to another market several hours away, and then Monday, to my Red Dzao friend Ta May’s village, to visit some other friends and pick up the carved wooden dolls made in that village by a really nice, cute, talented elder from whom we have ordered dolls before. They are all hand-carved, with moving limbs, and wearing traditional clothing made from real handwoven, hand embroidered and dyed with indigo and other natural dyes. Lovely.

Our good friends Tea (Sho’s sister), and Ta May in their traditional Black Hmong and Red Dzao clothing.

Tea’s sister Zha models her shoulder bags made for us, and her little boy!

Monday night, the train back to Hanoi, then Vandara and I will spend the day seeing some business contacts and friends in Hanoi, then she goes back to Laos. After she leaves, I get to spend the remaining time in Laos doing the joyous work of labeling, creating invoice and packing lists, packing, and getting the final items off to our Vietnam shipper. This is when I really miss Josh…. I am starting to look forward to getting back home.

Leading My Own Journey – by Zall, age 16

Posted on May 2, 2013 by josh

Leading My Own Journey – by Zall, age 16

I know – usually you turn here looking for my reaction to some bizarre insect meal or the quirks of travelling with my parents, but in this newsletter I’m looking at the future.

Zall, ready for a new adventure.

It’s been eight years since my first trip to South-East Asia. I’ve interacted with a multitude of different cultures, eaten a plethora of things that some would consider inedible, and discovered parts of this world I never knew existed; eight years go by so fast. Now, having only a year left before going to college, I find myself upon the springboard of my own journey.

For quite some time, I have been searching for an appropriate volunteer program (much like my brother Ari experienced several years ago on his public service trip to Ghana), that would be independent, broad, and an experience that will change my life and more importantly, the lives of others around me. Eventually, I stumbled upon an incredible opportunity to do some volunteer work of my own. The “Amigos de las Americas” program has accepted me as a volunteer this upcoming summer in Cotopaxi, Ecuador in a mountainous, rural Kichwa community.

Amigos de las Americas is an international, non-profit organization that “empowers high school and college students to develop leadership skills and increase multi-cultural understanding through training and community service in Latin America.” I will be working in collaboration with PLAN and FEPP, two humanitarian organizations whose main goal is to improve the welfare of communities through the support and motivation of youth in less-developed countries, like Ecuador. I will be completely immersed in a Spanish and Kichwa-speaking community and living with a local family, and will be expected to develop, participate in, and even lead community service projects that best fit the needs of my specific community, such as repairing classrooms, building latrines, and engaging local youth in environmental health, gender equality, and human rights projects. My three years of high school Spanish are really going to be appreciated!

Cluster Munition Legislation: The Good and the Bad about the Ugly

Posted on May 1, 2013 by josh

Cluster bombs have an unusual wartime characteristic: the harm they cause, thanks to poor design, extends long beyond the conflict. Of the 260,000,000 fist-sized “bomblets” that the US covertly rained down on Laos between 1964 and 1973, some 80,000,000 did not detonate, and they remain, 40 years later, as deadly UXOs (unexploded ordnance). A farmer’s plow, a child’s curiosity, or even a step in the mud has the potential to kill. Today, Laos suffers a reported casualty every other day from this old ordnance.

Cluster bomb casings support the shed room under which a loom is located.

In Vietnam’s Quang Tri Province, 7000 civilians have been made casualties by UXO’s since 1974. In Lebanon, in 2006, two months after the cease fire, 3 to 4 civilans were still being killed daily by UXO’s. In Kuwait, over 1200 innocents have died from UXO’s left from 1991’s hostilities. Wherever cluster bombs have been used – Croatia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Chad, Syria (in 2013) and some 30 other nations – the civilian populations are made to suffer long-term consequence of the 30% of “bombies” that do not explode upon impact. And of the deaths caused by all cluster munitions since 1964, 94% of casualties have been civilians, and 40% have been children.

Mortars, bombies, and cluster bomb casings on display outside the tourist office in Phonsavan.

The good news is that 111 nations have now joined the Convention on Cluster Munitions; 77 have fully ratified its provisions. The bad news is that the US is not a signatory. Last month, U.S. Senators Dianne Feinstein (D-Calif.) and Patrick Leahy (D-Vt.) introduced the Cluster Munitions Civilian Protection Act, a bill to restrict the use and deployment of these dangerous cluster munitions that leave a legacy of death long after being dropped. Jim McGovern (D-Mass.) introduced companion legislation in the House. We at Above the Fray encourage you to contact your representatives and urge them to support the need for significant restrictions on the design and use of these munitions, starting with the provision in the law that requires a 99% detonation-upon-impact rate.

Aluminum bomb & war refuse wait to be melted to make spoons in Napia.

Above the Fray donates 15% of our profits to Mines Advisory Group, a Nobel-prize winning organization that helps civilians recover from the atrocities of war. In Laos and Vietnam, MAG educates the locals about UXO’s and leads teams that eliminate UXO’s from high-risk areas like school yards, tourist centers, and farmer’s fields.

Zall at work photographing defused mortar shells and other bomb scrap.

Report from Maren, February 17: An American Breakfast in Houaphon, Laos

Posted on March 17, 2013 by josh

Hello, friends. Maren left two weeks ago for Laos and Vietnam, eager to reconnect with our friends and contacts and needing to replenish our inventory after a busy holiday season. She left Eugene with three immense bags of treats, gifts, and more to share – at this rate we should get an import license for going to Laos! A quick note: In order to respect the privacy of the people we introduce to you, we are choosing to call this village “Ban” which, in Lao, means “village.” This is the first report we received here at “home-base.”

Report from Maren, February 17: An American Breakfast in Houaphon, Laos

On our last trip, during one of the many meals made for us, Josh and I told our weaving friends in Ban, Laos, that we would have to make them a meal – an “American” meal – the next time we came to visit. So, this time, although traveling solo, I brought an American “farm breakfast” to share.

Maren hold the coffee filter while Phut stirs. Traditional Lao coffee, which is not readly available in the north, is sweet and thick, very different from our breakfast java.

First was deciding on Snoqualmie Falls pancake mix – one that did not require fresh milk or oil to be added; neither of these are readily available (or fresh) in rural Laos. I had scoured our local Goodwill for a pancake turner,a stainless steel frying pan and a dozen forks, and also bought a package of paper plates, as Lao peple usually eat from bowls. I bought three packages of bacon, froze them with 8 small flat ice packs wrapped in layers of insulating newspaper within a securely-taped box. Of course, I also invested in a quart of real maple syrup. Customs checked the bacon package, as I imagined they would, as it was re-taped with customs and border patrol tape. As a precaution, I had written on the box ”Contains bacon, 8 freezer packs, and a handful of ice pops (I didnʼt have enough freezer packs). If opened, please rewrap carefully to keep frozen”. It worked! The bacon arrived in Ban, 3+ days after leaving home, still somewhat icy.

Souk, a master-dyer and weaver, cooks up the bacon. The smell brought the village calling!

So, breakfast morning, a fire going, I laid out strips of bacon in a large wok and the heavenly smell brought everyone to the fire – soon other women from the village joined us – and the pancake mix was opened. Another fire was lit. The old Revere Ware frying pan worked great over the fire. Mrs. Bunkeo and Sukkhavit (see Newletter #5) were in charge of one pan of pancakes, greasing the pan each time with lard. Souk cooked the 4.5 lb of bacon in 3 batches; Mai, Phut, and others took care of the fruit salad; Phuey cracked and wonked up the eggs for scrambled eggs. Everyone laughing, participating, having fun – boy isnʼt that the way to cook! Then, Phut and I made coffee – a pound, ground, of our usual French roast from Market of Choice in Eugene, and then she and I served coffee with sweetened condensed milk. The men stood outside chatting (and sniffing) while the women cooked.

Mai (center), our dear friend and translator, grew up in Ban with Souk and other silk weavers and dyers as her best friends. Mai was the one able to go to college, learn English, and engage in a “Western-style” career. Her son, Bingo (right) and Sukkavit, Maiʼs aunt and a village elder, help with fruit salad. Mai visits Ban rarely, and thus her presence assures a celebration.

Serving time: I had put forks on the big table, and had to stop Soukʼs husband from putting bowls out for everyone at their places. “Bo, bo, bo” (no, no, no), I said. Surprised look. I pointed to the paper plates, and all of the food on one side table, and had Mai translate that they were going to eat American style. Everyone laughed. “It is like this table is in America,” they said. They each served themselves, buffet style, with scrambled eggs, fruit salad, bacon, and pancakes, and I poured maple syrup on the first few peopleʼs pancakes for them. I donʼt think they really believed the maple syrup came from trees.

The townʼs key weavers (and husbands) thought it was hysterical that they were expected to eat with American table manners and a fork. Perhaps an IHOP would do well here?

The first few people sat down at the table to eat. “Bo, bo, bo,” again, I said to Phut, who was eating her pancake using her fingers. “In America, we eat only with forks, not with fingers” and I showed her how to cut her pancakes with the side of her fork. I had to correct several other people on fork etiquette before the meal was over. All was met with hilarity and jibes at the person caught with Laos instead of American tables manners. The volume of conversation and laughter was so high, I told Mai it seemed like the coffee was working on everyone like lao-lao (the local rice whiskey). More gales of laughter, and Soukʼs husband was all the more grateful that I gave the extra ground coffee to him. Everyone cleaned their plates. Several people went back for seconds, including Phutʼs husband, who had a full second course. Everyone said they loved the meal. One person said, and others agreed, that they had eaten American food before and not liked it, but they really liked this meal. One person said that he would like to eat like this every day. I told him, no, he wouldnʼt like that because it would soon make him very fat. Again, hoots of laughter.

Sukkavit melts lard in the Revere Ware pan in preparation for more pancakes.

They insist now that we bring more meals to them. I asked Mai to tell everyone that Josh and I would bring a dinner next time, which prompted her to tell everyone that this was breakfast food, and lunch and dinner food were different, much to the amazement of all. Mai knew that other cultures ate different food at different meals, as she had been to Japan to get her Masterʼs degree, but no one else knew that. In Laos, the same food is eaten at every meal, depending only on what is in season and currently available in the market or garden.

All in all, an excellent cultural experience for our Laos friends and for me; quite the difference from the previous dayʼs meal which had included raw fish laap, a plate of “pig eggs” (a pig had been butchered that day, and I really didnʼt want to ask too many details about what “pig eggs” consisted of…), and other local delicacies. After it was over, Mai claimed the frying pan, Souk claimed the pancake turner and forks, and requests (orders?) were made for additional utensils to be brought next time. Needless to say, we ran out of syrup….

A Basi, Some Chaos, and Common Ground by Zall, Age 16

Posted on November 2, 2012 by josh

A Basi, Some Chaos, and Common Ground by Zall, Age 16

A night to remember – if you can.

In my left hand I am holding, zooming, and focusing my camera – desperately trying to get one picture of the chaotic scene. Grease is running from the chicken neck that had been pressed into my right hand and an old lady is chanting prayers way too loud and far too close to my face. The woman is tying the traditional orange basi strings to my right wrist and the vice-governor is tying basi strings onto my left hand controlling the camera and I have no idea how I seemed to have gotten into this situation. Sounds like a perfect travel moment.

The “old lady” who is the Vice Governor’s mom, and who, as the elder and the mother of the man who had invited us to his home, led the chanting for the basi ceremony.

15 minutes earlier, the situation had been under control. We were about 8 games of petanque. 3 songs, 5 dances, and many toasts into the night and we had been invited to the ex-governor’s house for a late meal and celebration – of what I have no idea, but that didn’t seem to deter the merriment. As we stepped into the ex-governor’s house, a boisterous man that I had never seen before reached out, shook my hand, and brought me into the kitchen with a ceaseless smile.

The post-basi meal being set out for consumption.

We were all plopped in front of a giant jar of lao hai. The clay jar, perhaps two feet tall, had been filled with fermenting rice and, some hours earlier, water. The tradition is that the host pours a buffalo horn-full of water slowly into the top of the jar while those sipping through the tall straws slurp fast enough from the alcoholic bottom of the jar so that the jar doesn’t overflow. We all shared a turn filling our gullets with the light sweet beer-like alcohol to the encouragement, laughter, song, and dance of the fifteen or twenty people around us.

Our Lao friends laughing and chatting around the lao hai jar.

Before I knew it, we were whisked off again in a hurry and I was offered a floor pillow next to an ancient, bent-over lady. The elder first turned to my mother and grabbed her hands. They talked for a while with little common language, but with complete understanding. There was something wonderful and real about the connection between the two mothers – language barriers didn’t matter in the least. The elder then turned to me, grasped my hands, and stared into my eyes. She may have said something or not, but I knew what she meant regardless.

The ex-Governor – a man greatly admired in the region, was also invited to the basi.

Mom and the Vice Governor’s mom bonding without need of common language – see the orange basi strings on mom’s arm?

The next thing that I know, 20 people are packed into the room with a dinner platter of gigantic proportions – chicken, soup made from greens, bowls of vegetables and jheow (spicy, garlicky condiments for dipping), and, of course, mountains of sticky rice. Before I could grasp what was happening, the basi ceremony had begun. The elder next to me starts a loud monotone chant which Mai translates to be about “good health, happy life, future prosperity, best wishes, etc.” My memory becomes a blur at this point, and so do my photos. A woman firmly presses a cooked chicken neck into my hands, chanting what I assume means something like “good wishes”; the warm grease drips down my wrists and onto my camera. Several adults and every kid reach for clutches of orange and white strings; three more people grab my busy arms and tie several basi string bracelets around each wrists, with every string being loudly blessed by the person tying it on. Four months later, those strings still decorate my wrists. There were more toasts, more glasses of Beer Lao were passed around. My plate was never allowed to be even half empty before some mom-aged adult reached over and shoveled more onto it. Appetites and generosity certainly are a cultural universal!

From left to right, the Vice Governor, Souk’s husband, and Mai – toasting is an important part of any basi cermony.

After several hours of partying and laughing, and the entire group standing up to sing a traditional “good-bye” song, we stumbled home from the former governor’s house and toppled onto our beds in exhaustion.

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