Issan Village Life   =   Chapter 8.   Food Fest with a bit of Colour

I woke to the muffled sound of the temple gong being struck for breakfast. Waan had been up some time, already cooking rice in the steamer, and now in the lane with some of the villagers donating food to the monks. Everyone stops to watch the routine they have seen a thousand times; passers-by, neighbours, dogs are all agog at the spectacle that happens in every village every day. It reminds me of my childhood when the Sally-Ann (was the nickname in those days for the Salvation Army) used to march down the steep hill past my nan's house to the hall before the end of the street every Saturday morning. All the kids would rush to the windows and pinafored mums would stand in the street to watch the marching band go by as if they had never before seen such a thing.

No matter where you are times don't change, they just get watered down. Expansion doesn't bring choice, it ruins culture. Migration doesn't bring variety, it dilutes society. And in Thailand I make the most of appreciating it before it is washed away.


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