A funny thing happened while I was finishing up my weaving class today on the outskirts of Luang Prabang. A woman came up to me in the open wooden building and asked if it would be okay if they filmed me for a Singapore TV documentary. I shrugged and agreed, forgetting for a moment my intense loathing of being captured on film, let alone on video. Then the television crew trooped in.
It all came back to me when they had me sitting on a box holding up my newly-finished scarf, one man dangling a huge microphone over my head and the other pointing the even bigger camera at my face. The woman held a large round reflector as she prompted me with questions such as "What have you learned about Lao culture from this class?" and "What do you like about Luang Prabang?" It didn't help that we had rehearsed the answers just moments before to make sure I would say something suitable. That goldfish brain of mine went even blanker than usual and by the third repetition (hold the scarf a little higher, say that bit about Luang Prabang again) my palms were sweaty and the fight or flight mechanism was kicking in.
It's all good though, or "bo penyang" (no problem in Lao), because they'll probably just edit me out anyway. My fellow student, another American gal, was much more eloquent as she sat behind her loom. We were both blown away by the class itself - throughout the course there was a Lao teacher holding each of our hands, watching the bewildering array of threads and strings and shuttles to make sure we didn't botch anything too badly. Those young women are truly amazing. At the ages of 19 and 21 they've been weaving since they were twelve, and it was incredible to watch the shuttle fly back and forth in their hands, feet working the bamboo pedals in perfect rhythm, and a beautifully patterned textile emerge centimeter by painstaking centimeter. I have a whole new appreciation for the people who do this as a living.
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