Weekends in the Wild
The end of the school week was here! Auntie and I were squished together in the back of a pick-up truck/taxi with covered bench seats full of other students and their nannies. We were with other sweaty passengers enjoying the warm wet breeze blowing in as we rode towards home. Auntie and I were excited to get ready for my first trip visiting our family rice farm since my return from America. I had been there before as a baby, but my MaiYai, Noi's and Auntie's mom, had passed away two months before I was born. Noi's oldest brother, my LoungVatt, lived on the family farm with his four sons and wife. We would be staying at the family's bungalow situated eight hours by bus ride NE from Korat.
During our long bus ride towards the family rice farm in Kiset Waset, I slept the entire morning only waking up when I smelled smoked meats being peddled by on board traveling local chefs. Plastic baggie packages of sticky rice and grilled beef, pork, and chicken were hawked alongside rubber banded plastic bags of colorful juices and ice coffee. Noi was buying each of us breakfast bags of grilled sweet Chinese sausages speckled with glimmering bits of fat accompanied by a baggie of sticky rice. We each also got a baggie of iced coffee with a straw sticking out of it somehow. The dangling iced coffee baggies hung from our wrist with the rubber bands as we quickly drank before it got too warm to enjoy. It took me only five minutes before I was completely done with mine, and trying to take over my Auntie's and Noi's iced coffees! The grilled red greasy Chinese sausage paired so well with the sticky rice. The greasier your fingers were, the less the sticky rice would stick to your fingers! The greasiness from your fingers handling the sausage transferred nicely to the rice making it sweet and salty. Spiciness was not readily available on the bus due to limited bathroom breaks. Instead, we looked forward to Uncle Vatt's dinner awaiting us on arrival in four more hours.
The bus eventually stopped and we unloaded ourselves onto a very long dirt road that lead to our family rice farm. Uncle was waiting for us with his oldest son Cousin Nong who was a year older than me. Nong helped to carry my bags. Auntie and Noi were so happy. They hugged Uncle constantly teasing him about how many sons he had. Uncle remembered me as a baby and impulsively gave me big bear hugs all weekend long. Uncle became my favorite along with Auntie! I was so happy with all those hugs and bonding over that long special weekend. We walked down the dirt path until we reached our family homestead surrounded by lush fruit plants and animals everywhere. Chickens skittered about with dogs constantly chasing them everywhere causing constant commotion. The water buffaloes were standing in their large pens chewing on grass. Uncle introduced me to his Wife. I met the rest of his three boys that were all still basically pre-school age that immediately understood my broken Thai speech. Nong and I became quick best friends who seeked out adventure all weekend.
I learned to ride a water buffalo that weekend and not to wear red around those huge calm beasts from Nong. I swam in the flooded rice paddies; and accidentally stepped on buffalo dung coating the ground helping it to nourish the land. You weren't suppose to step down but keep floating and swimming, but the joke was on me when I found out too late what was on the bottom. My cousins had a good laugh on their citified American speaking cousin! Cousin Nong taught me how to speak the Laotian slang dialect that was different than the Korat city dialect. The 'country' dialect was unique to this region of NE Thailand. Upon hearing in the city, people always referenced the famous spicy papaya salad and sticky rice unique to here.
The farming village consisted of three parallel dirt roads full of relatives. Uncle's in-laws lived alongside us with their beef cattle living next to Uncle's water buffalo in their barns built next to the bungalow. The farm bungalow sat on fifteen feet high stilts and had an indoor kitchen. The bathroom was still in the traditional outhouse My boy cousins were very friendly and patient with my broken Thai speech. The monthly visits to the farm would eventually help me to regain my fluent Thai again and I grew quite close to my Uncle and his family of boys.
Our meal that day was a special homecoming occasion full of local Issaan cuisine. All the cousins visited bringing many food dished that I had craved during my years in America. Nothing could replace the sweet coconut creations made with rice flour and palm sugar.Uncle decided to slaughter a pig for the special homecoming meal. The pig squealed and Auntie explained that was how we ensured our family's survival. Auntie taught me to be grateful for the food from the land. The older folks had a bloody pig salad while us younger folks enjoyed Issaan's traditional pork larb salad dish.The squeal of the pigs were not forgotten, but we understood survival. During the leanest times in Thailand's history, bugs of all types were the only protein that Noi had been able to eat. To this day, I still remember trying red tree ants for the first time with my cousins as we played along the dirt road and visited more family.
The ant nest was in a tree and Nong climbed up and brought down the nest. The younger boys reached in and showed me how to scoop with your hand the white little eggs inside the nest. As the red ants climbed about, you had to quickly eat the eggs before the ants climbed out and bit your mouth. The ants were crunchy and sweet like their eggs-which were sweeter. The red tiny ants were harmless but did nip! The experience is still one of my very favorite personal times alone with all my four cousins where my broken Thai speech wasn't necessary. Only giggles and squeals of pain from being pinched were heard. The universal child language of playing and snacking sealed our family adventure that hot sticky day amidst fields of rice farms that had provided for us over many generations. The weekends in the wild taught me about my maternal family's culture of being part Laotian. Being in the country helped me to return to my roots and the pain of leaving America no longer haunted me.
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