Still along the Nom Ou, I met traveller Derryn, an engineer from New Zealand, who I decided to go village trekking with. We headed into the hills, passing a cool cave and staying the first night in a village of roughly 30 families. Upon walking the village, we were both fascinated to watch the local blacksmith pounding and forging knives into shape. In the evening we had dinner and headed to a campfire surrounded by older women who were chatting and keeping warm. As we had seen many of the village men leave with long rifles for the evening hunt, Derryn was ok being the only man at the "granny fire." We would have sought a more masculine fire, but were warned not to wander at night lest the town dogs bite us. Wtf?!
The next day we headed a few hours walk to a larger town. The homestay in this town was run by the village chief, Gil, an outgoing man who spoke good English and was perhaps a bit too excited about the lottery. Derryn and I bought tickets, choosing our numbers based on animals associated with them. Sadly, my peacock-monkey was a lose.
At the homestay we helped cook dinner with Jen, Gil's wife, and then ate in the kitchen on small squat stools around a woven table. Gil taught us how to eat with sticky rice and our hands, and after dinner we again found a local fire surrounded by villagers. This fire tradition was so communal and felt a lovely way to discourse with neighbors and family each day. I asked Gil if the tradition continues in the rainy season, when hydropower from the local river allows television to be watched! To lose the communal fire to individualistic evenings would be a loss, truly.
The next day we woke most likely around 4 am, when my least-favorite villager, the rooster, decided to be an asshole and crow for 3 hours in a call-response game with all the other town roosters. I tried to sleep through it, but ended up day-dreaming of delicious fried...rooster.
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