We arrived in Vientiane August 1968.  I was 5 years old. For 6 weeks, we stayed at the Lanxang Hotel, while our house on Rue Tha Deua was being prepared for us to live in. During that time, my Dad started his job at the British Embassy, where he was the commercial attaché. My brother and I attended the International School, led by John and Valerie McLean (who currently live near us in Manchester). I missed my grandmother terribly and I struggled in the heat, but I had a lovely, eclectic group of friends from Germany, Korea, the U.S., UK, Thailand, and of course, Laos. I remember my Lao friend Boun, with his crazy hyperactivity, exuberance, and affectionate madness. There was also a beautiful Thai girl to protect me when Boun was going full swing. The war was never far away. Mum and Dad trained us and drilled us on hitting the deck if the car came under fire enroute to Luang Prabang. Sometimes, the Royal Lao Army troops guarded our school gates. Etched permanently …