A Karen wedding

“70mph. No, maybe 80” said the guy next to me when I asked him how fast we were going. We were sitting in the back of a pickup hurtling past banana trees, rice fields and blurred little villages. Just to make us feel more at ease we were told “we had a crash with this driver a month ago, and almost died.” Fantastic. We’re never sure how much of what we’re told is true – sometimes we’ll look horrified at something and then people will be pointing and laughing at us and finding it hysterical that we fell for it. Other times we’ll look disbelieving (“I was shot and the bullet just went right through”) and then realize that it’s been said in all seriousness.

It took about thirty minutes huddled in the back until we reached our destination. Abby and I had been invited to the wedding for the daughter of a prominent member of the Karen community.

The bride and best man were dressed exactly the same, and the bride and maid of honour were identical also. Kind of weird; we thought it was a double wedding of some sort. I’ve never seen such a nervous couple of people, they looked terrified. Happiest day of your life and all that. It was a cool ceremony with a jovial priest, and all their friends and family singing and passing guitars round. It ended with a meal of rice and curried dishes with the odd chicken foot or two. Karen weddings only last the morning; I think they maybe have a party at the parents of the bride that evening.

The journey back was worse, instead of six in the back of the pick up there were nine of us being flung around like sacks of tatties. Then it was back to work for Abby and I. Our typical day just now is: get up, have breakfast, lounge around for a few hours, email, do some lesson plans, marking, that kind of thing. Then it’s teaching from one till three. Then we come home and chill out during the hottest part of the day, read, sleep. Then before you know it it’s dinner time. We go out almost every night for food – it makes sense - £1.50 gets you a good meal for two and it’s much nicer than things that we try to make ourselves. We’ve noticed a distinct absence of the Thai fishcakes so prevalent at home – ‘a taste of Thailand’ should really mean a plate of boiled rice. Friends come over or we visit friends, watch a film maybe. It’s a nice way of life for people working here.