A lot's happened in the past week. Tuesday saw the arrival of Walter, a individual donor to Yaung Ni Oo who gave three computers to the boarding students among other things. What an arrival it was - books, food, clothes, more: Christmas was again upon us, and especially me and my students as we rifled through the many colourful and exciting books Walter had brought from Bangkok and Chiang Mai. Not just any books either - thoughtful purchases which will go a long way to help the kids take an interest in English and get a better glimpse of the inaccessible world around - if a fair way can be found to ensure the books find their way into their hands, and don't sit on some dusty shelf because the students are too scared to come and use them. This is the task for the NGSO now Walter has left: they have taken control of the library (initially set up by myself working late with another teacher to get something set up before Walter and I had to leave for a border), are administering it daily, and will be responsible for making it work or making it better. Walter and I are both happy about this - the children having control over what is (or should be) theirs. Fingers crossed all is going well at the moment.

Walter only had a few days in the camp but those days were jam-packed with activity. From the standard introductory tour of each classroom imparting perspectives in response to the children's questioning (where Walter became sensibly known to all as 'Water'), and performing in front of the youngsters, to trips to different sections, computer lessons with students in all three of the dorms and meetings with the NGSO and the teachers. We didn't spend too much time together but when we chatted Water struck me as a remarkably considerate and perceptive supporter - with the children's needs put before those of any given organisation. Much of our chatter - particularly on our departure from Mae La Oon on the Friday - centred around how to give the kids and other folks normally divorced from the making of decisions as much say in things as possible, be that in how they use the computers and books, what food they have to eat, handling their own finances, or how they can be involved in shaping their own school - all terrific opportunities to relieve those at the top of the school from all its decision-making burden and the understandable stress that comes with this. For me, this is exciting - to see resources going straight into the hands of those who are intended to benefit from them is great.

On the Friday I was leaving the camp with Water to head to a nearby border for another emergency visa-sorting-out session. We were outbound with a hired driver and his Thai soldier friend, on route to Miramou, the next-door refugee camp and maybe half an hour's drive, where our travelling hosts would stop for some lunch at about one. I didn't think too much when my subconscious saw three bottles of whisky accompanying us into the soldier's enclosure upon our arrival.

Feeling slightly ill at ease to be the guests of those who at times can make life for those within the camps almost impossible (but happy to be getting an insight into their world), I settled down with Walter as exhaulted guests for lunch - an added bonus. We were treated to some high-class cuisine too, for the camp captain was dining with us: pork curry, stir-fried vegetables, fresh fish grilled over an open fire and the kind of light Thai rice never found on the plates of refugees themselves. Boyed by our gastronomic indulgence and our conversations of broken English and Burmese with the friendly soldiers (and the particularly friendly driver), the two of us slipped easily into conversation about Yaung Ni Oo. It was only when Water informed me that the three men opposite us had nearly polished off two bottles of the brown 'happy water' that some tinkerbell alarms began to ring: the road back to civilisation features three hours of blind hairpins, cliff-face drops, and great bamboo-carrying juggernauts headed in the opposite direction not stoppin' for no vehicle - not best negotiated when inebbriated with hours of 40%-plus Thai whisky-drinking. Together we wandered off and discussed strategy. The situation didn't look good: we were in the hands of potentially hostile army, in a different camp, had no means to communicate with anyone we knew, if we ran for it we'd probably get shot, we couldn't tramp back to Mae La Oon because of the checkpoints (and quite frankly we'd get lost and end up being skinned by jungle animals or raised as their own in some kind of sadistic take on the Jungle Book). Biting the bullet and our dispropensity to glug back whisky in the middle of a boiling Thai afternoon (Water didn't like or drink the stuff and my aversion to anything but an occasional can of Hooch should be well known to the reader), we decided the best course was to take a sudden interest in their amber nectar (previously we'd been declining their kind offers) and finish the bottle for them, then head back out of sight for a walk (for like two hours), while our increasingly rosy-cheeked driver dozed off the effects of downing a whole bottle earlier.

Surprisingly, phase one was successfully achieved, with us tipping back the stuff quickly and cleanly and without undue shudder (helped by adding water,of the watery not human kind), and Water the human cleverly ensuring the captain's bamboo, er, glass was the one to be filled to the brim and the driver's comparatively empty. With phase one over, and feeling proud if giddy, we turned and headed down the hill to a good out of the way spot overlooking Miramou. Maybe an hour and a half passed as we chatted easily about the intricacies of school life within the the camp and alternate solutions to our predicament if they were to continue drinking (the best was our plan to sit in the back of the pick-up - thereby better able to throw ourselves clear when falling at speed down a cliff into the valley floor hundreds of metres below), after which I felt the worst of the effects must've worn off and we could think about finally moving on (it must have been 4 by now). Unfortunately, thinking back, I had a distinct memory of seeing three, and not two, bottles of whisky gracing the carrier bag as we offloaded the pick-up on our way in... And so it proved, and then some - as three bigger bottles now took pride of place on the increasingly inebriated table. Slurred speech and rosed cheeks protested that he was nearly ready to depart, so following emergency discussion (and looking at the by now nearly unconscious captain before us) we took a stand, pretended to be vigorously enjoying the experience of the encampment, and asked to stay the night and fend for ourselves car-wise in the morning. Thankfully, the captain woke up enough to agree, and then there was little more for us to do but to pull up a pew, sake a seat, and enjoy the best of this military hospital and lickered revellry - all with added Water, of course. So it was that slowly but surely two slightly hesitant and, under the circumstance, quite a-retentive white men came to relax into the heddy world of this unfamiliar soldiers’ kitchen.

Three or so hours later, with a significant amount of secret information gleaned and traded (I had to buy a pair of climbing shoes for the captain, the soldier who had been in the car was a medic and had operated with the UN in East Timor, the other higher-ranking soldier liked exercise, had a nice watch and taught me how to say 'good' in Thai, the captain was sure to be a colnoel within months, and the driver wouldn't ever dream of drink driving because he was responsible), we stumbled to our prescribed dust-ridden hut for the night and retired, thankfully but happily for the night. The driver had by this time been convinced to sleep over by his mates, and we'd continue where we left off early the next morning, all as happy as larry. Considering the state of the driver that night, how early we weren't quite expecting – the ability of Thai and Burmese men to shake off a day-long binge consistently surprises me. I went to sleep chuckling though – that afternoon the first serving of fish had been delicious – the second, a tell-tale orangey-grey, was enthusiastically greeted by the unseasoned border dwellerWalter – not realizing its potentecy he reached for the stuff and bit in - his face telling the rest of the story and his wish to be anywhere but exactly where he sat with something revolting inside his mouth. Over the next half an hour a secret battle played its course: Walter’s hilarious attempts to hide the half-eaten kippery thing (under napkins, beneath food and plates, eventually onto the floor I seem to remember…) and the kippery thing’s steadfast refusal to vanish from the eyeshot of our five armed and drunk Thai escourts. Priceless.

Our hosts for the night we were lost to the world. Whisky bottles to the left and right. Camp commander on far right eyeing up my carabeener, of all things.

Our fee-waived arrival in Mae Sariang at seven in the morning after a three-hour bumped-up journey (how we were happy we hadn't decided to take the plunge in the drunken darkness the night before...) was met shortly after with an inbound vehicle from Mae Sot, where a new ABSDF office is being set up. Being the sight of the main border crossing with Burma, and a place of significant democratic and nationalistic activity, and as I now needed to get out of Burma in two days because of our unplanned stopover, I was packed onto this pick-up and was off again just sixty minutes later..

The hour had passed with very exciting parcel and letter unwrapping, brief emailing, Yaung Ni Oo Walter and I's conspiratorial expenditure planning, and detail-swapping, photos and goodbyes. Before I boarded the truck we shook hands, both cognisant of the evening of bizarre shared hilarity that had gone before and smiling all the more because of it.

Post-Script

The alcohol adventures didn't stop there. My young escourts to Mae Sot also went the happy water route and got increasingly drunk as we neared the town, where on arrival they took me to a restaurant for more alchohol 'on them'. After drinking premium beers and then asking me to foot the bill, I angrily left with both in toe (and significantly poorer) - and was dropped off in a slight mood at my chosen destination. Later that night one of the lads was dragged in half-unconscious after continuing his binge through the lazy afternoon.

Post-Post-Script

I think he bore a bit of a grudge against me too. The next day, on once again returning to the office a little water-happy (okay, absolutely lashed), he proceeded to piss into my bag and over its entire contents as I slept (thankfully no electrical equipment was inside, but the next morning’s sodden cornflakes were’nt the best I’ve tasted.).