On the bank of the Nam Ou river is where it all happens; boatmen jostle for business, children splash about and women natter whilst washing clothes, hair and lettuce.
In Meung Ngoi we simply kicked back in our bamboo bungalow and absorbed the rhythm of village life.
Until, that is, we found ourselves drilling "I see mountains and trees" to a classroom of teenagers. For a few lessons we were the guest English teachers in a school tucked in the jungle and overlooked by limestone karst mountains. In break-times we walked and kayaked to explore this sleepy backwater, alarmed to discover boats, benches, flowerpots and gateposts fashioned from old American bomb shells dropped in Nixon's 'Secret War'.
Once school broke up we joined the dog's dinner of holiday celebrations before floating further downstream to again join the mighty Mekong.
In Meung Ngoi we simply kicked back in our bamboo bungalow and absorbed the rhythm of village life.
Until, that is, we found ourselves drilling "I see mountains and trees" to a classroom of teenagers. For a few lessons we were the guest English teachers in a school tucked in the jungle and overlooked by limestone karst mountains. In break-times we walked and kayaked to explore this sleepy backwater, alarmed to discover boats, benches, flowerpots and gateposts fashioned from old American bomb shells dropped in Nixon's 'Secret War'.
Once school broke up we joined the dog's dinner of holiday celebrations before floating further downstream to again join the mighty Mekong.
No comments:
Post a Comment