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NIGHTS IN A TEAK WALLAH’S HOUSE |
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Floating on delicate stilts amidst freshly swept gardens; their wooden shingles and roofs tapering, the old Teak Wallah’s houses look like something out of Maugham. Glassless windows shuttered at night keep out bats and other unwanted nocturnal flyers while we sleep blissfully under mosquito nets. Gazing out the windows, I watch the villagers taking their evening bathes in the river. The patina of polished teak floor and walls glimmers red gold in lamplight. The heady scent of night flowers equaled momentarily only by the enticing aroma of dinner brought by smiling lads speaking in the caressing tones of Lanna Thai.
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Travelogue