On human suffering. Mine, mainly.

I have been a little unwell over the last few days and so have abjured the active life. Truth be told, I have lain on a bed in an air-conditioned room and watched the awesome spectacle that is Non-Stop Action Wrestling and reruns of Battlestar Galactica on cable. For a while there, I thought I might have caught some fabulous tropical illness. What a coup for the memoirs that would have been. For better or worse, I’m bird-flu free and unless a sore throat is a symptom, I don’t have malaria either. I have recovered. True to the Scotch blood that courses through my system, I have endured my suffering in uncomplaining masochistic silence. True to my inner drama queen and hypochondriac, I have already exaggerated the extent of those sufferings.

When we are ill, our sensitivity to our own frailty is immediately heightened. It is an act of human defensiveness that our sensitivity to the frailties of others is thus heightened. Although I found myself swooning like a Victorian debutante, I did not entirely lose my appetite and left my guesthouse when the sun was low to eat, to take a constitutional stroll through the quaint streets of Luang Prabang and to shake my head at the frailties of others, protected by the moral immunity of the self-proclaimed invalid. Listening to the baloney gushing forth from the mouths of some of my fellow travellers, I’m astonished that some of them were able to find their way out of the womb. Forceps and caesareans explain a lot. Anyway, sitting in my fragile state, I seethed particularly at the expression or embodiment of the following philosophies.

Dire Poverty is the Harbinger of Great Happiness!

This noxious creed is being peddled all over South East Asia. It goes something like this: ‘The people here all seem so happy and yet they have so little. Look over there, that sweet little woman is wearing nothing but rags and there she is, smiling away. Oh, and look, all those darling laughing children playing in that dirty water. They’re having the time of their lives! Maybe (nods in a meaningful fashion) we in the so-called developed world could learn a thing or two from these people.’ I’ll concede that the contribution of affluence to happiness is one that warrants consideration. And yes, the relationship between material circumstances and spiritual uplift has preoccupied many worthies. But the whole ‘let’s just forget about our plasma screens and designer clothes and get back to simpler things like cholera and high infant mortality rates because it is obviously working so well for the Laotians’ school of thought really irks me.

If I Speak Louder, People Will Obey Me.

This one is pretty self explanatory, isn’t it? This widespread practice has meant, for better or worse, that I have had access to the dinner orders of the loud, obnoxious, and intolerant. I’ve also been forced to bear witness to the bargaining habits of the rich and assertive and observed a corollary: if I wave the cash that I’m prepared to withhold around in the air, I will not get ripped off. It’s not often that I refer to the Old Testament but I believe the good old book of Proverbs holds many maxims readily applicable in such situations. As I monitor such behaviours, I am reminded that meekness is, after all, a delightful character trait.

If I Ain’t Been Eatin’ It All My Life, I Ain’t Gonna Start Now.

Surprise surprise, most Lao food has chilli on the side or inside. Why do people travel to S.E. Asia and find themselves outraged by the ubiquity of chilli? Why do people take it so personally that not all the dishes on the menu are familiar? Fine! Order pizza. I have never suffered acute pizza cravings but I can sympathise with those who want to satisfy an overwhelming desire for a favourite food. But eating what looks like really bad pizza every single night when there is a glorious local cuisine to investigate? People do this. I know I’m not in the majority on this one, but anyone who craves Maccas is absolutely beyond my understanding. Still, it helps to separate the sheep from the goats.

I’m a Vampire. Exposure to Garlic Will Kill Me.

I’ve never had much time for people who consider onion or garlic to be somehow socially compromising. If your social circles/date can’t cope with onion or garlic, get rid of them. I firmly believe in the healing powers of garlic. The only reason I’m fit to write this is because I have consumed hefty doses of raw garlic washed down with sweetened lime juice. Gee, I’ll have healthy, happy kids… Anyway, Lao food contains lots of raw and just-cooked onion and garlic. It’s spectacularly good and yet people order these dishes and then just pick out the onion and garlic. Or worse, people will order – at high volume – a stirfry without garlic or a la ap salad with no onion or something equally moronic – and then proceed to regale everybody within a thirty metre radius about the great injuries and personal losses they have suffered as a result of eating garlic, ‘honey, I bloat…’, to express their doubt that the stirfry will arrive garlic-free, ‘you know what these people are like’, to get suspicious that maybe the waiter wasn’t impressed by the order, ‘ but after all, who’s paying the damned bill, huh?’... And so it goes on.

For my part, I can say that my garlic rations have really hit the spot. I’m cured and will be prepared to walk an extra mile or seven to dinner in Hanoi if it gets me away from the hordes described above.