Not quite what I expected

We decided on a mid afternoon visit to Ubon.  Nothing strange or unusual with that decision, except it was  a treat after three days working on the house in sweltering conditions.

The re-painting of Owerrrouse is almost complete - well at least on the outside.  I am certain we are going to paint inside as well, but one job at a time.  

So, on the motorbike and into Ubon.  Of course, in the west we take road safety very seriously and would not think about going out on a motorbike without a sturdy crash helmet.  The law is catching up in Thailand and it is now compulsory to wear a helmet whilst either driving a motorbike or as a passenger.  Except the law doesn't work in most rural villages and it is a common, often humorous sight, to see children as young as 12 or 13 riding a motorbike with great skill.  The bike looks twice as big as they are, and very often they don't even wear shoes, never mind a crash helmet!

The law is a bit more strict in the urban areas, so with due regard to our safety as well as the law, we comply.  However, there is a shortage of crash helmets in Owerrrouse, so we have borrow them.  Khamma's is new, looks good and fits her well and belongs to her nephew.  Mine is old, small and belongs to her cousin.  We find it on the floor of the porch covered in dust.  It is red and makes me look like an unlit match.  I think of myself as a Swan Vesta.  If something more severe than an ice lolly were to hit it, I'm certain it would crack my skull; the helmet not the ice lolly.  It is more a hindrance than an essential aid to one's safety.  It's no use complaining, I just wear it and sit on the back of the motorbike in a sulky silence knowing that I am complying with law, but in all probability if there were an accident, I am a goner.  Did I re-write my Will?  

I know next to nothing about motorbikes.  I do know that a motor drives a chain, which is connected to the back wheel.  This is how the bike moves.  Over time, the chain becomes slack and if left unchecked it will become slacker and start to make a clattering noise.  Today, the motorbike is suffering from what I describe to Khamma as a 'slack chain clatter'.  No, she didn't understand either.  However, we have a quick discussion and decide to call in at one of the myriad of roadside motorcycle repair garages.  Back in England I'm sure you would have to make a booking for about 2 weeks in advance, but in this part of world, you can just drive in and ask the man to fix the problem.

The man in question today I nickname after Kevin Webster from Coronation Street.  A cheeky grin, a sharp intake of breath and the words come out;

'Yer lookin at a big job 'ere pal.  It's goin to cost ya a bob or two.  Just sayin like!'

No sooner had I placed the top end of my Swan Vesta (the crash helmet) on the makeshift swing our Kevin had made out of old tyres, tow rope and an ancient motorcycle seat, than I saw two gleaming crash helmets in their dusty plastic bags.  It didn't long to convince me to buy one, and at 360 bhat (£7) it seemed a snip.

Meanwhile, Kevin (that's not his real name) was busy tightening the chain, which took him about 5 minutes.  He took the bike for a test drive, but his little daughter, who looked all of three years old, insisted on going with him.  She stood the bike, held onto the mirrors and Dad drove off, into oncoming traffic, round the block.  Luckily it was a quiet moment on Highway 2050 and they returned safe, both smiling, Kevin because he tightened the chain enough, daughter because she had been on ride with Dad.

Now here is where Kevin really impressed me.  Ever since we bought the motorbike (Honda Wave - what else?), the front nearside handle bar panel has rattled.  Experts and non experts alike have tried in vain to stop the rattle, but all have failed.  However, Kevin knew exactly what the problem was, and in less than two minutes dis-assembled the entire panel and located the issue.  An inner panel protecting the wiring for the lights, indicators and horn was not correctly fitted.  All it need was a thick rubber washer and the rattle was gone.  However, keen eyed Kevin also spotted some cabling that had become exposed.  This was confirmed by Khamma who said the indicators hadn't worked for weeks!  So Kevin wrapped some insulation tape around the cable, fixed the rattle, re-assembled the handle bar unit, tightened the chain and had the audacity to charge me 20 bhat - about 45 pence!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I get told off for not charging enough for a Will!

I am going back later this week so he can service the bike from front to back, top to bottom.  Customer service, first class.  I recommend Kevin from Yankerdow (the name of the village) for his workmanship. So we put on our helmets and began to look like proper bikers.  OK that's taking it a little too far, but set off again for Ubon.

Our slight diversion was at the expense of losing some daylight.  It goes dark in these parts at 6:00pm and it is wise not to ride a motorcycle in the dark.  The only thing worse is driving in the dark in a thunderstorm.  As we left Ubon the dark clouds of Issan assembled to rage their anger on the flat lands of north east Thailand.  It started to thrash with rain.  We bought cheap plastic rain jackets (like the old Pac-a-Macs) in the vain hope of keeping dry.  They were useful, but I can't think why; it just seemed the logical thing to do.  As we left Big C a shallow wave of water, only about a centimetre high, steady flowed into the car park like a tsunami, from the street.  Just outside the car park we were driving through a foot of water and in danger of drowning the bike.  Khamma's riding skills saw us through the worst, but not for long as stretches of the road, and the houses alongside it, began to flood.

We kept on going as it grew darker, rained harder and lightening struck in the distance.  My new helmet kept most of the water off my face, but my new cheap plastic rain jacket completely failed to keep me dry.  It was a difficult journey home, but Khamma has done this many times.

Now as I sit in Owerrrouse musing over the eventful afternoon, I marvel at the way the Thai people 'just get on with it'.  It being life.  They don't ask for favours, they are resourceful and very skilled with getting on with life.  Have we in the west lost touch with these skills and attitudes?  It is a bit like the bridge issue I wrote of earlier this week.  There's the problem, this is the solution, now let's get on with it and four weeks later everyone's life is better.  In the west we are too good at looking for problems, then forming committees to find a solution, listening to everyone from health and safety to regulation of standards and quangos, then deciding it is too expensive.  Result; the issue gets worse.  I know that's simplistic, but watching Kevin today made me a little humble and very thoughtful.  We have a lot to learn, still.

Two villages Two bridges

This is blog post about how two different villages go about fixing bridges.  I hope to be very impartial (difficult) and therefore leave you to make up your own mind on the issues.

Diggle

A small village in Saddleworth, northern England between Oldham and Huddersfield.  The village lies in a valley with abundant small water courses, including a canal.  It is not known as flood zone, despite an average annual rainfall of (approx) 47 inches because the water courses effectively carry the water quickly downstream to the River Tame.  However, to those who are blessed with a keen eye, you cannot mistake that on three sides of the village there are steep hills, with Huddersfield Road (to the north) being the most obvious as it exits the village.  Needless to say, flowing down the road is a fair proportion of the annual rainfall with Thorns Clough, the little tributary to Diggle Brook running parallel about 50 feet below in the valley base.

More or less at the bottom of Huddersfield Road (north) is Carr Lane.  This is a steep road linking the northern end of the village to A670.  It is short but steep, probably classed as a single track road and at its lowest point there is a bridge.  Thorns Clough runs under the bridge and at it widest I would say it is three metres, in full flow.

It took the best part of a year and half to rebuild this bridge!  Well, I said I would impartial, OK the walls and banking along the road have been reinforced, which was a considerable job and as modern dry stone wall examples go, I would say cannot be bettered, but all the while the bridge was under repair as well.

A fine piece of civil engineering

Even when the project was completed there was a temporary closure as a good deal of the annual rainfall fell in 24 hours and cascaded, as it has done for centuries, down Huddersfield Road.  As we know from school physics, water is susceptible to gravity, and in this case there was a convenient right turn down Carr Lane to the bridge.  The result was that half Carr Lane disappeared and ended in Thorn Clough.  The bridge was fine, but Carr Lane was a mess.

A well engineered bridge to last until the next millenium

Disaster as the first flood washes the road away

If you are so inclined you can read more about the saga by following the link www.diggle-news.com/wp Photo above courtesy of Stuart Coleman - Diggle News

Now we move on:

Thamuang

A small village about 40 kilometres north of Ubon Ratchathani, north east Thailand, about 6 kilometres from Highway 2050.  The village lies on the flood plain on the River Sa, which eventually reaches the world famous River Mekong in about 50 kilometres.  There is a not a hill of any significance anywhere.  There is substantial annual rainfall of 60 inches (approx) most of which (55 inches) falls during the rainy season between May and September.  The problem arises when the river overflows.  The land is so flat, the floods rise without warning.  

The villagers have built houses on stilts to prevent flood water ruining their homes, or, as we have done, to raise the building land a couple of metres above the flood level.  

The main road into the village has to cross a small tributary that flows into the River Sa.  Without the bridge the diversion to the main road is about 20 miles (which is a long time on a Honda Wave motorbike).  The bridge finally succumbed and had to be replaced in August 2010 - the height of the monsoon rainfall.

The workman took about 4 weeks to replace it, and each and every one was a hero.  As I passed the temporary crossing, when it was available, they all waved a shouted out my name, a very friendly hard working bunch.

Construction of the bridge in flood conditions

A Just Do It attitude 

OK the water is warmer - but there's more of it

Temporary spans in place

Next day - more flood water

Serious construction work

The finished bridge

The finished bridge (Take 2)

As I have said, I want to be impartial in contrasting the two projects.  Therefore, I have summarised the prevailing conditions of both locations, the needs of each village and shown you how each working group performed and to some extent the results of their efforts.  

However, I must say the Thais have shown Oldham Council how to build bridges!  I received an email on 3 September 2012 stating the road and bridge are closed again for repairs - this is almost TWO years after the project started.

A quick visit to Laos - Part 1 The Journey to Pakse

I previously mentioned that on my birthday, Khamma and I were in Laos.  Actually, to be more precise we were in Pakse, which is in the south and about one hours drive from the Thai border at Chong Mek.

On occasions whilst waiting for a bus to somewhere in Ubon’s busy bus station (opposite Big C), I had an urge to jump on the ‘International Bus’ to Pakse and see what was going on over the border.  I visited northern Laos about five years ago and with Dave, where we travelled for three days on the river Nam Ou from Luang Prabang to Phongsali close to the Chinese border on local cargo boats.  It was a wonderful river trip into the heart of the Golden Triangle, and I spent most of the time thinking about the movie Apocalypse Now!  About the scariest thing to happen though was the trussing up of pigs for transport to market, although we did spot a local with an AK-47 slung on his shoulder.  Anyway, I digress….

The bus leaves Ubon at 9.30 in the morning.  You can only book your ticket at the time of departure and you obviously need your passport.  The ticket clerk enters your passport details into a ledger, and issues you with a ticket.  The cost is 200 baht.  There was plenty of room on the bus, but I think it gets crowded at weekends and holidays.

Once on the bus it is about one and a half hours to Chong Mek.  On the journey, it is worth filling out the immigration forms if the bus company hands them out, otherwise make sure you have your pen handy for later.  There is a great market at Chong Mek selling clothes, snacks and all the usual stuff, but you do not have time to wander round.  The Thai border station is in the process of being upgraded, and will be a fine building when it is finished.  The bus driver will ask you to leave the bus to enter Laos on foot.  Going through the Thai border is simple enough and is similar to the process at the airport, just a short queue and a patient wait (Ha Ha!!).

Walking through no man’s land, you can sense you are entering a country where the apparent affluence is not as great as that found in the country you are leaving, which is not exactly flush either.

The real fun starts at the Laos Border Control.  Signage is non-existent at worst and misleading at best.  But, that’s part of the fun.  As Johnny Foreigner, you are required to pay US$35 for a visa, and everybody has to pay 50 baht for an entry stamp in their passport.  Eventually, after a confusing fifteen minutes or so, you are free to walk into Laos and back on the bus.  There is a moment of panic when you think the bus might go without you, but the driver counts everybody out and everybody back in.

I love border crossings.  As we entered Laos, we quickly saw the similarities and realised the differences.  Khamma was pointing at the rice fields and the houses and said ‘same Thamuang’, but there was less sparkle about the temples and the roads were not quite as good as Thailand.

We reached Pakse and the sight of the Laos-Japanese Friendship Bridge across the wide river Mekong.  The building of the bridge in 2003 has created a trade route into Thailand from southern Laos and transformed Pakse into a vibrant commercial city.

Even so, I thought Pakse presented an air of promise that something was about to happen, but of what it was not sure.  It was like an actor frozen on the stage and staring into the footlights, knowing he should be doing something, but for the life of him could not remember.  First impressions are often wrong, as were mine on this occasion.

Once off the bus, we had to find the hotel, but first we needed money.  The Laos currency is kip and there are about 13,750 of them to the GB£.  Unusually, the main currency exchange is the Western Union money transfer office rather than the bank.

With a fat wallet containing nearly 1,ooo,ooo kip (I wished it were GBP) we caught a taxi to the Champasak Palace Hotel.

It was at this point that Khamma realised the local dialect was the same as hers and should speak quite freely to the locals.  A fantastic asset to have that would save lots of bother during our stay.

Our Friendly taxi driver.  Passengers sit on a seat under the canopy.

The magnificent Champasak Palace Hotel

Getting out of the Comfort Zone - Part Two the Day After My Birthday

The day after my birthday, we returned from Pakse on the 15:30 bus to Ubon.  It arrived on schedule but sadly, the last bus to Trakan had already disappeared along Highway 2050.  We turned to the new TaxiMeter service, but the taxi driver thought it was too far to drive to Thamuang.  I greeted this astonishing piece of news with a mild remonstration, but, nobody was listening except a gang of Thai youth who may have agreed with me, or, more likely, found it amusing that a farang had dumped on, again.

We decided to stay with Pell, Khamma's daughter.   She has a small room close to the university, where she stays during the week.  After a quick phone call, Pell arrived and shuttled us back to her room.  Within half an hour, Khamma's sister had telephoned, and hearing our plight, invited all three of us to a karaoke restaurant.

The Thai's love a good singsong and by the time we arrived, the party was in full swing.  The restaurant has private dining rooms complete with a karaoke equipment and the facility to choose the tracks to sing-a-long to.  This arrangement reduces inhibitions and embarrassment so that instead of standing up in a room full of strangers and making a complete fool of yourself, you do so with greater intimacy in front of your friends.  It is that simple, and it gives the allusion that you have some control, whereas, in fact, in makes no difference to the end result, which remains an unpolished performance.

However, as the farang, the Thais perceive me as the novelty act.  I feel a shockwave of pressure coming towards me from the twenty odd people in the room who vocally demand that I sing.  I decided there was no escape, except because all the tunes were in Thai, I might be excused of assaulting the Thai language and music.  The crowd, to some extent respected to my plea, but the techie (there is always one) in the group found a range of English songs and the pressure upon me intensified.  I had no escape; I had to get on with the act.

I admit I am shy to performing in public.  Even though I can blast out a few tunes on the harmonica, and bang out some beats and rhythms on the bodhran, I find it embarrassing to unleash my talent on people I do not know.  There was no way out of my comfort zone - again - two days in a row.

I sang Song So Blue with my old mate Neil Diamond, the Green, Green Grass of Home with king of the music hall - Tom Jones and Oh Carol with Neil Sedaka.  Most of the Thais said they enjoyed it, except about half of them who chose the moment to visit the toilet. 

I actually quite enjoyed the experience.  I only did what everybody else was doing with ease; I joined in the fun and had a laugh, with good food, good company and a good glass of Beer Leo. 

It was amusing that the taxi driver's refusal to take us home resulted in a cracking night out, and me facing my fear of being outside the comfort zone.  I had conquered another fear, but was somewhat deflated that they only wanted to hear three songs from me.

Next morning we squeezed into the bus with about 60 other people and returned to Thamuang, smiling and pleased with our week’s adventures.

Ubon Ratchathani Zoo

I am not a lover of zoos.  This does not mean I am against them, because if they are managed correctly they do add to our understanding and education.  However, to see animals in their natural habitat is much more exhilerating and unpredictable.  I have seen lions in the wild on two occassions where I was able to get within feet of them as they basked in African sunshine after a successful night's hunting.  The excitement of finding a leopard on the plains of Africa makes the blood run fast through your veins, and being chased by a matriarch elephant is another close encounter you don't get in a zoo.
My visits to Africa include Kenya's Masi Mara where I went walkabout in the bush with a local Masi tribesman.  It includes a couple of days in the unique Ngorongoro crater, which some say is the Eighth wonder of the natural world, and Samburu where we ran the gauntlet against the 'Shifta' gangsters and required armed guards to protect the camp.  I have travelled on the Okavango Delta in Botswana, visited Namibia's Etosha game reserve where we punctured a tyre in the middle of nowhere! The wild remote environments of the Botswana's Makgadikgadi Pans and Namibia's Skeleton Coast, only add to my perception that animals kept in zoos are deprived from their natural habitats and climates. 
Anyway, zoos are zoos and with nothing better to do on a rainy Wednesday we decided to visit Ubon Ratchathani's Tiger Kingdom and Zoo.
Like most places in this area, it does not exactly have a clean welcome appearance, but looks can be deceiving so we paid 30 baht each and wandered in as the first visitors of the day.
The first animals to be seen are the tigers.  There are lots of them, about fifteen or sixteen, and are kept in individual cages. 
We found leopards, a baby tiger, a black bear, a python, crocodiles, deer, various birds and a variety of monkeys.  There is a pond with large ravenous fish you invited to feed for 10 baht a bag.
Curiously there is a cow with five legs.  I kid you not.  It was quite comfortable lying on the ground, but quite clearly you could see a fifth leg coming out of its back.
I want you to make up your own mind about the zoo by watching the video;

Tesco banking - Every Little Hinders

Yesterday we decided to designate to sorting out jobs requiring a visit to Ubon Ratchathani.  First on the list was to change the ADSL splitter, which had not worked since TOT (Telecoms of Thailand) had condescended to replace the router after one month of failure due to a previous thunderstorm.  Eventually Khamma's fury scared them into action, but alas, only half a job was completed.  We called into the TOT office and without further ado; we exchanged the offending piece of plastic.  Simple really isn't it?

The second job was to exchange the shorts Khamma had bought me as a present.  They were too large, I am pleased to say, but the stall in the entrance foyer at Tesco Lotus was not open due to another shop opening somewhere across town.  Other stallholders informed us that the owner would return after lunch.  This did not really cause a problem so we rode on to job three.

Job number three was to service the motorbike.  It had a bald front tyre, squeaky brakes and a slack chain.  It was, I suspect, waiting for me to arrive in Thailand so that I could rescue it.  We called in, un-announced to the main Honda dealership in Ubon.  I was a bit stunned as Khamma drove straight through the plush show room into the service area at the back.  When I caught up with her I was immediately impressed with the employee's white uniforms and spotless workshop area.  It was like the pits in a Lewis Hamilton Formula One Grand Prix.  Khamma drove her bike to the end of the queue; a reception person wrote down some details, gave a quick estimate of the cost and told us to come back in two hours.

Honda Ubon - Clean, Efficient, Professional

To while away our time we had a coffee at the Black Canyon Coffee House and a wander round the shopping complex in which it is located.  After leaving here, we called in at 'Big Buys' and looked at air con units and fridges, both of which are much needed in Owerrrouse.  Khamma's face was a picture when she found out how much they cost!  Leaving there, we returned to Honda to pick up the bike.  It was ready on time, at the exact cost estimate, and it rode much better for a pint of oil and a bit of TLC.  Amazingly, it had cost only £22 and including the new front tyre, a new chain and the usual bits and pieces of a good service.

Electrical Health and Safety in Ubon

Stop number four was the drum shop.  I am looking forward to playing in the village Glone Neow (Drum Band) at Ubon's annual Candle Festival in July. Yo is training up the dancers so it is a family affair.  I was looking for a bodhran type drum.  This type of drum is becoming popular in Irish music, but has its roots in the Middle East.  Anyway, I am become very fond of bashing out reels and jigs, and, if I say so myself, I am becoming quite good at it.  Meanwhile, unsurprisingly my optimism was not upheld by the news that the drum shop does not stock anything approaching a bodhran. 

After a diversion to Ubon Watsado, the Thai equivalent to B&Q in England, to buy some electrical bits and pieces, we returned to Tesco Lotus where we ate lunch and exchanged the shorts.  Lunch was fantastic.  For 138 baht (about £2.70), we each had copious pork noodles, a dessert I cannot start to describe, and a Sprite.

The shorts exchanged we entered Tesco Lotus so Khamma could purchase cosmetics and I could look at fridges and compare the cost with Big Buys.  We soon realised there was some bargains to be had and we decided to buy a Samsung 12 litre capacity fridge for around £250.  I have noticed in south East Asian shops that sometimes there as many assistants as there are customers, and on a slack Monday afternoon, the ratio increases twofold.  Nevertheless, the deal was struck and the long laborious process of confirming delivery and payment began.  On the good side, Tesco charge only 70 baht to deliver the fridge (that's about £1.45!).  The not so good side was the increasing frustration I felt in trying to pay for it.  It is at this point where our cultures meet and I am reminded of the cliché where east meets west at the Bosphurus bridge in Istanbul.  Here in Tesco Lotus, Ubon Ratchathani the struggling Asian economy of Thailand meets the equally struggling western economy of United Kingdom head on, and neither, it appears, is willing to give way.

I wanted to pay for the transaction with my Tesco Clubcard Credit Card, which logically should keep the Tesco shareholders in each country quite happy.  I inserted my card into the card reader and waited whilst the modem dialled up the UK Tesco computer to complete the process.  It failed once, twice and thrice before the slightly embarrassed cashier returned my card to a very embarrassed card owner.

On the back of the card is a 'reverse charges Tesco Credit Card Helpline' number.  I called it only to be told by a computer generated message that reverse charge calls cannot be connected directly from Thailand.  I have to contact the telephone operator in Thailand to do this for me.  My next problem was that nobody knew who or what a telephone operator is or was.  It is a concept not used in the lives of those people who surrounded me.  I was stuck.  Reluctantly I used another credit card, but I know from previous experience that that card is now frozen until I contact the fraud department to explain that it is really me using the card in Thailand.  Anyway, face not quiet spared but at least not contorted or grimaced, my Egg credit card completed the transaction.

Determined to regain some face and respect, I returned to the shelves to buy a few things and pay for them with my Tesco credit card at another terminal.  My hunch was right; the transaction went through without a problem, suggesting the amount of the first transaction is the likely cause of Tesco’s rejection.  I proudly displayed my new purchase to the doubting cashier at the first terminal, and she just smiled, as Thai people often do, in that 'OK no problem' manner they have.

However, I still have an issue with contacting Tesco to let them know it is really me trying to use my card.  If I cannot dial the number directly and there is no telephone operator in Thailand to place the call for me, I can at least email a business colleague in England to call Tesco Credit Card to tell them to call me on Khamma's mobile.  That is proactive thinking, but I am still waiting for the call.

I completely understand how Tesco want to make sure that nobody is using my card without my permission, and I know Tesco try hard to keep on top of credit card crime, but why don't they know that tourists in Thailand cannot call directly to them to explain.  In addition, if you think this is a problem in Thailand it is bound to be the same in the rest of South East Asia.  Tesco have succeeded in tightening up credit card crime, but they have also scored spectacular success in making it infinitely more difficult for the humble cardholder to contact them and confirm everything is ok.  If you think it is just Tesco, then Nat West and Egg are the same.  In the past, I have held long discussions with Nat West about creating a simple message system on their secure website so that at least the cardholder leave a number for the fraud department to telephone back their client.  Not everybody takes their mobile with them to countries like Thailand where the roaming charges are prohibitive.  I do not understand how they have lost the ability for human contact between customer and service department.  A technocrat’s flow chart has succeeded in creating a closed loop system at the expense of isolating the client.  Worse still is that it appears Tesco have not even bothered to test the system to see if it works!

I checked on Google and found out how to speak to the Thailand Telecoms operator.  For future reference (?) dial 100.  The voice at the other end informed me they are not allowed to place reverse charge calls and gave me a number to dial that would put me in contact with an operator in England.  The number is 001 999 44 1066 - I like the logic '999' the UK's emergency number, '44' the UK international dialling code and '1066' the last time the UK was invaded by enemy forces.  The problem now is that the computer voice at the other end wants me to enter my British Telecom account number - WHAT!!!!!

Therefore, I am no nearer solving this than I was yesterday, except the problem seems to be reaching greater proportions like trying to scoop an overflowing jelly back into its cup. 

If anyone one can help, please leave a comment.

Back to Owerrrouse

I arrived in Ubon Ratchathani late on Wednesday night and was greeted by Khamma, Pell, Yo and Ying (another of Khamma's multitude of cousins).  After a meal at the very same restaurant we visited after our wedding, we drove home where the dogs, Cherlon and Kitty (!), barked a symphonic reception and jumped up at me as if it was the return of the Irish Rover.

Nothing much has changed around Thamuang, people come and go whilst wanting to know your business, but it is easy to just drop into the slow pace.

For the first three days I just relaxed and fought off the jet lag, which hit me pretty hard this time.  We ventured on the motorbike to Trakon Phutpon on Friday.  A serious mis-calculation found us sheltering from torrential rain with thunder and lightening thrown in.  Needless to say we arrived home cold and wet.  The weather is, apparently, mild but to my sensitive English disposition it is humid, hot and horrible to relax in without dissolving in pools of sweat.

About three months ago we, or rather the house and the kitchen in particular, was attacked by termites.  There was no warning sign, they just appeared and destroyed what lay before them.  Copious spraying of insecticide seemed to send them away, and we have since injected the floors with some of 'termite-icide', in the expectation (or hope in my case) that the little blighters will die!

Termites idea of a meal

On Saturday I had a little wander round the farm and found Bung, my brother-in-law, busy ploughing a rice field, the new cows, a new chicken shack and young boy ploughing the family rice field ready for planting this year's seedlings.

My brother-in-law never stops working

The new cows

Happy chickens in their Five Star Chicken Shack

A young lad spending his Saturday morning tilling the earth

It never ceases to amaze me just how hard these people work in conditions that are beyond anything we have to endure at home.  I couldn't last ten minutes doing what Bung does, and I ashamed that his fourteen year old son leaves me for dead as well.  It is best just admire from the sidelines, but show an interest and have a go by all means, because that attitude endears you to village, and actually makes the locals proud to show you what they can do.

Bung is so resourceful.  We have not had water for two days because lorries keep breaking the mains pipe about two miles up the road.  Bung and his family live next and for some reason get their water from another source, which is not affected.  He somehow configured our pvc piping to connect to his supply, and hey-presto we have water.  We filled the bath and several 'Ali Baba' type monster pots and we have enough to shower and drink until our pipes are fixed - maybe tomorrow, but who knows?  If this was Saddleworth we would be phoning the emergency services.......