Cultural Adventures

Cultural Celebration

Upon reading Silk Weavers of Hill Tribe Laos last month, my brother expressed surprise—and gratitude—that our “textile book” shared stories and personalities. He commented that he truly felt like he was “soaking up the village scene” and sharing time with the locals, which in turn made their history and art seem that much more approachable. The following week Maren’s mom, past president of the Seattle Weaver’s Guild, expressed appreciation for our meticulous descriptions of the silk raising, weaving, and dyeing processes and the depth of ethno-historical information. She was drawn to our book’s precise and supportive detail.

Phout of Xam Tai at her loom. Photo by Joe Coca from Silk Weavers of Hill Tribe Laos.

Our publisher, Linda Ligon, wrote last month in “Weaving off the Beaten Path” that we had told her we wanted to author a book that “would not be like any other book Thrums had ever published.” (Thanks for being undaunted, Linda!) That is, we wanted a fun-edged telling that introduces story and personalities to lure the cultural enthusiast and armchair traveler into the ever-more-tantalizing details (just as we were pulled in). We also wanted to present clear and relevant facts and description to satisfy the punctilious textile enthusiast, while still intriguing that reader with a rich and supportive cultural experience. We wanted a book that engaged the curiosity of both my brother and Maren’s mom.

We also wanted a book—and here we can celebrate the entire line of Thrums Books publications—that supports the relationship between culture and craft, craft and artist, artist and appreciator (i.e. the marketplace), and appreciator and culture, as the health of this cycle ensures the relevance and vitality of human creativity and traditional arts. So a special thank you to Thrums Books, for allowing us an opportunity to share a tale of a most amazing people and their inherited art-form.

We hope everyone enjoys the story. Oh, and the details, too!

The cover of our publication, now available (autographed!) at www.hilltribeart.com or your favorite bookstore.

Maren and I have just returned from an amazing set of adventures in both the far NW and the remote NE of Laos. We found ourselves often in villages where the residents had never met white-skinned people (although they’d of course seen such on TV and in photos), and we were consistently impressed with the textile arts and the open welcome of the people. As we prefer, we nearly always traveled with a local translator helping us facilitate the great pleasure of sharing conversation (and meals!) with the locals.

The new district capital of Meung Kuan: from a sleepy village of 60 thatched-roof homes to a modern platted city in 3 years, complete with a new hospital, secondary schools, covered marketplace, sealed and well-drained roads and several new government buildings.

Efficient gas-powered rice threshing machines are available in all villages.

Our largest take-away from this trip is the evidence of the incredibly rapid pace of development in even the most difficult to reach places. Graded roads, electricity, and access to education and knowledge is flowing into these remote regions at an unprecedented pace, and every year we witness vast changes in their lives.

While we recognize that some things are lost in this modernization, such as traditional animist beliefs and a required devotion to subsistence farming and cloth-making, we recognize that the vast majority of those experiencing this new-found modernity are grateful and eager to participate in a more global world. More specifically, the advent of regular electricity has brought phones (wired technology is completely being bypassed, and even the most remote villages can have excellent reception and wi-fi), washing machines (saving people several hours of grueling work each week), the light bulb (extending time to weave, study and otherwise earn a living), refrigerators (changing food preparation and storage), and allowing the introduction of such luxuries as blenders, television and karaoke (ok, I could do without that one!), electric motorcycles, fans and more.

A new road in Houaphon Province brings electricity and access to villages that have traditionally beenvery isolated

We had a long chat with Mai, an 88 year old weaver in Meung Kuan in Laos, who is ecstatic that her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren now have access to nationalized schools and possible college, that the market is full of a variety of excellent fresh and packaged foods, that people can travel to other towns back quickly (so she can visit with her businessman son who lives in Laos’ capital), and that hospital care is accessible. And to note – she was also very grateful that all 11 of her granddaughters know how to weave on a traditional loom and thus could earn a respectable middle-class income using their culture’s traditional skills (sand selling their textiles in an urban marketplace. Such conversations give me greater optimism about the future.

Motorcycles are the preferred method of transportation for anyone within reach of a road.

As developing nations such as Laos, Vietnam and rural China gain access to information and, their voices can be better heard and basic needs met. We cannot help but notice that the vast majority of the diverse peoples we meet are kind and generous, and they are eager to connect not just with the tools of modernity, but with the hearts of the people of the world. The family unit is still strong, and mutual respect and cooperation is treasured.

While we can find myself sometimes caught up in the arguments of politics, such ventures reminds us that what is most vital for our daily lives is found in our personal relationships, the respect we share with and for others, and the gratefulness we should treasure for having food on the table, the comfort of a warm home, and the affection of family and friends.

This weaver, before meeting us, had never seen white people outside of television and other media. While still very remote, the region is modernizing at rapid pace.

Our schedule is now set for the 2017 year (visit www.hilltribeart.com/events), and soon we will be crowing more loudly about our upcoming book (available this Fall) published through Thrums Books: Silk Weavers of Hilltribe Laos.

Maren and Josh share some time with a 72 yea0-old Akha elder in the far NW Laos.  The red of her lips is from chewing betel, a jungle nut.  Her clothing is made of locally-raised, handspan, hand-woven cotton. Her head-dress  is of silver.

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:

Breakfast of Champions

As always happens when establishing business relationship and friendships in Laos, you get invited to a meal.  This was the case with Mr. Vilay and his wife.  We had offered them a ride from Luang Prabang to Xam Neua, a 10-hour van ride or a 13 to 20 hour bus ride (depending on whether the bus breaks down or not).  So, since we were hauling so much stuff with us for the business, and it is extremely hard to fit in a bus, we decided to rent a van from for the drive.  We had two more seats and offered them to the couple.  Of course, when we arrived in Xam Tai, they immediately invited us for a meal at their house.

Anticipating my first bite of hairy water buffalo tripe!

The next morning, we got up early and headed down to the Vilays’ house.  While we admired his wife’s shop of textiles, Mr. Vilay spent over an hour laboring over a big pot cooking outside above a fire.  After a long and hungry wait, we were led into the house and plopped down in front of a traditional ankle-high table.  After a couple minutes of waiting, two big steaming bowls of a clear-brown soup came in and were put on the table, followed by dishes of chilies and cilantro, which my father loves, but everyone else has troubles with.

Water buffalo parts in all their glory!

Then the last dishes came out, big piles of juicy… well, two different kinds of buffalo stomach (one was hairy, one looked like a brain), buffalo liver, and small amounts of fatty meat.  I was handed a large piece of the hairy stomach first, which looked like a curled up giant white worm. Since Ms. Vilay presented it to me with her chopsticks, I of course had to eat it.  I gave our hosts a big smile and bit half of the worm.  It didn’t come apart with my first bite, so I continued to bite it – again, and again, and again. It was the slipperiest, chewiest, most rubbery thing I’d ever eaten (and that’s saying something).  I managed to cut in half after the tenth bite and chew it up until it was in about four pieces.  I could feel the little hairs against my tongue, and I knew I either had to swallow it or throw up. My brain made the decision for me and I managed to choke it down.  I could feel the relief spread to my face.  I gave Ms. Vilay a smile and a nod and went directly for the sticky rice.

“I know,” I thought, “I’ll try the soup.”  Usually I expect soups to have vegetables – we have been treated to many soups in Laos made from spinach and other greens.  It smelled a bit funky, but I scooped my spoon into the shared bowl.  It tasted like – uh … intestines.  Which made sense since it had been made, my dad said afterwards, by squeezing the inner lining of the intestines into boiling water.  My dad looked at me and squiggled his eyebrows.  I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or not.  I restrained myself, swallowed quickly, and delved back into the basket of sticky rice.

My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Vilay, and our translator Ngot around the fancy, new, metal table.

Upon looking up from the rice, here comes Ms. Vilay again with her chopsticks, and a big thumb-sized piece of boiled liver.  The lining from the saggy liver draped across the gut like an old plastic bag.  I took a polite bite of the soft meat, and again put on my best smile.  My stomach rushed up to my throat, and I put the remaining morsel on the side of my plate.  I just got the mouthful down thanks to another handful of rice.  I couldn’t manage to eat much more; my stomach was now quite completely upside down.  Instead we moved onto the beverages.

Our hosts brought a bottle of lao-lao –  traditional, and powerful, rice whisky.  Let me remind you that this was at about 8:30 in the morning.  Mr. Vilay poured himself a shot of lao-lao and raised his glass and thanked us in Lao (“Ngoc!”) for coming to his home and hoped that our friendship can continue for many years to come (at least that seemed to be the gist of his toast).  The shot glass went all around the room (once for me, three times for everyone else).  Next, instead of something like orange juice, he brought out 2 big bottles of Beer Lao (tastes like regular beer) and he poured everyone, including me, a big cup.  Everyone was expected to empty their cupful immediately and hand it back to be refilled for the next person.  Around the cup went – once, twice… Needless to say, after a while, we had to politely tell him that we couldn’t drink a lot (more) in the morning.

After lunch with Sukavit (right) and her niece, Phut.

After several goodbyes, smiles and handshakes, we departed to visit our next hosts.

We headed next to Sukavit’s (a long-time business partner and friend) house for more shopping and lunch.  My stomach rumbled dramatically for a couple of hours as my parents looked at and bought many of her things.  Then came another traditional Lao meal.  A narrow tarp was rolled out across the floor, and out came bowls heaped with plain boiled chicken, sticky rice, spicy chili sauces, fresh vegetable soup, and plates of steamed unseasoned greens.  I could have bowed down to Sukavit.  She had remembered our desire for bland food, and, full of pride, she even remembered that we prefer “bo peng neua, bo ghena” – no monosodium glutamate, no salt (do they love their salt!).  I wolfed down a teenager’s worth of lunch, gaining the smiles of Sukavit and her family, and breathed a big, full sigh of relief.

I realize now that my teen-age tastebuds are pretty well set in their ways.  It’s a challenge to open up my mind (and throat) to new flavors and textures, and sometimes just the thought of a new food sets me up for not having an open mind.  For example, the buffalo stomach didn’t really taste bad at all – it was the rubbery texture and the thought of it that was most challenging.  Sometimes I wish my mind wouldn’t override my stomach!