Muang Ngoi Travel Blog› entry 37 of 100 › view all entries
February 3rd, 2007 – by: jimcowdrill
H passed by the restaurant where I was drinking after a while. She and her room-mate were going to the beach to chill out; did I want to come? Yeah, sure. We took a few beers down to the river and sat doing not very much for a bit, before going to a restaurant for lunch. It was early and I'd had three bottles of Beerlao already so I was going to get a coke with my meal, but Ben was goading me. You're not going to let a German guy drink while you're on the soft stuff? Hell no! Rule Britannia! Blood, sweat, toil and beer!
I'm an idiot.
Anyway, the upshot is I got pissed.
Hangover-free the next day (I'm rock-hard, see), I walked up to the Ban Huay Bo again. Ate at the same restaurant, where they still had no meat. The owner of the place came and sat with me while I waited for my food; he got a load of Beerlao bottletops and set them up on his checkered tablecloth, and we played draughts.
He had reasonable English, this guy. Apparently he was taught the language by a Frenchman who came and stayed with him for nine nights or something. (He had a mattress on the floor in a hut for twenty-five pence a night.) He was still learning, though. Brought me an electric light-bulb and asked me what it was called in English. "Light bulb," I told him.
"Loight boolb!" I give up. You know how strange it is when you hear your own voice on tape? This Lao basardization of my Brummagem twang was even stranger; the aural equivalent of a fun-house mirror. Anyway. I walked on from his restaurant, uphill through the jungle. I was aiming for a waterfall, but by about half three a local managed to convey to me in sign language that it was too late, and I'd have to go back. Oh well. I left Muang Ngoi two days later.
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