Valves

Whoops.

What I learned today is that individual water lines, such as one to a faucet, do not have individual shutoff valves. How I learned this is by bumping into the blue PVC faucet poking out of the wall in my bathroom, the one that's about knee height that fills up the flush bucket. So I whacked it with the plastic tub where I was washing my clothes. Not that hard, but still, I whacked it. And, well, yeah, it's made of blue PVC and it's held together with something like airplane glue. And, yeah, I guess it just kind of broke off, pretty much right where the pipe comes out of the wall. And I suppose a bit of water came out, rather a lot actually, rather quickly. So I had to get Grumpy to switch off the pump that pressurizes the water for the whole building. Grumpy's unfriendly at the best of times; I hesitate to think of the reception I'll get when I return chez moi this evening.

I should have listened to Peter's old italian super. Don' tucca da' walves. Simple as that.

Got an audience with the head monk of the whole country today. Sounds pretty fancy, but it was only so-so. But one great image for the ever-growing series of reenactment photos I'm going to stage: Lao script written in charcoal on tree bark as the monks continued their teachings in the forest when buildings became unavailable, mid-war.

Also, at the ever-productive Hash House Harriers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hash_House_Harriers) run, the father-in-law of one of the runners is an old soldier who might be willing to do an interview. Spent some time talking to him througha translator to pave the way last night, then making an official request today. Things go tranquilo in Laoland. Not so big on the rushing into things around here, they aren't.

So as I said, I've realized that a portrait photo of a person you interview only goes so far. Meaning they're quite boring much of the time, except in cases where someone is just really striking looking, like Mr. Phouvieng here. Hence, historical reenactment in the offing. That I'm thinking like it's a documentary only makes sense, since that's actually what I'm more qualified to do.

Mr. Phouvieng, Phonsavanh, Xieng Khouang Province, Lao PDR, August 2004