alms giving: an ancient tradition

One morning last week, Bruce and I arose at 5:15am in order to observe the Buddhist monks collecting alms. It's part of the tradition of being a monk.   Each morning long lines of teenage boys dressed only in orange robes, each carrying a metal bowl, emerge from their temples to proceed on a route where observant Buddhists, mostly women, are ready with food to donate to them. If I understand correctly, this tradition allows the monks to devote themselves to meditation and study without having to earn a living. It also demonstrates their vows of poverty and humility. For the devout, it means that they can "make merit" which brings goodness into their lives. It is a somewhat serious, quiet, and meditative process which has been rather sullied of late by disrespectful tourists who intrude by taking photos, talking loudly, etc.- you know, all the things that tourists are known for.

Bruce and I were sure that we could maintain a respectful distance from the process, taking only the most subtle of photos. It was dark when we slipped out of our bungalow garden and across the bridge spanning the Nam Khan River. The occasional street food vendor was beginning to light her fire for the day. A few motor scooters with headlights on zipped past us. The air was cool, and I was glad that I had my long sleeve shirt on top of my blouse.

Right in "our" own neighborhood, just beyond the bridge, we first encountered middle-aged women with sticky rice baskets, sitting in neighborly clusters along the sidewalk. I was rather excited at this evidence that the ancient tradition really did still take place. We pushed on, not knowing for sure at what time the monks made their rounds in the center of the city, where most of the temples are located.

As we scurried down the nearly empty main street, still in darkness, a Lao woman scooted up beside me, asking if we were looking for the monks. Thinking that she wanted to be helpful, I quickly said, “Yes.” Bruce was trying to ignore her, and he had not slowed his pace. In the next instant, I realized that she wanted to sell me some rice to give to the monks, as she deftly pulled out a basket already full of warm sticky rice and a plastic platter with bananas. I was holding them both by the time that she asked for several thousand kip. I told her that I had only Thai Baht. No problem! She shot back with a price of 100 baht. I did the math surprisingly quickly, for me, and calculated that I was being pulled into this experience for only $3US Dollars.

Bruce was far down the sidewalk by now, frustrated at my fast collapse to the sales pitch. Meanwhile, my alms-giving mentor was ushering me across the street, pointing to where the monks would pass. She pulled out a large rattan mat for me to sit on, added a few banana leaf-wrapped treats to my platter - and then fluttered around close by, trying to make another sale. We waited about ½ hour. The sky turned pink. The café across the street opened its large French doors and turned on Western music. Minivans began parking nearby, emptying themselves of tourists. A small group of Chinese tourists, with their well-informed guide, settled on mats not far from me.

Getting ready to give alms in the early morning dark.

I sat quietly for a while, wondering if what I was doing was respectful and basically ok, hoping that I wasn't overstepping my bounds. I said a prayer for God’s blessing on ALL of His children, especially those who are looking for themselves, for love, for personal peace. After a while, I spotted Bruce directly across the street from me. Soon four small, ragged children with empty plastic baskets sat on the curb nearby, clearly waiting for the monks. I decided that they needed bananas as much as the monks and got up and quickly put a banana into each of their baskets. In a few moments, I caught a glimpse of bright orange just beyond the Chinese tourists. I was a bit nervous. Would the monks feel that I was an interloper?. However, I told myself that it was ok to be doing this, that giving food to anyone who is hungry is a good thing. I stood up to make it easier for the monks to reach the food. Almost immediately, my smiling mentor gently indicated that I should kneel and reach up to place the food into the bowls as the monks passed.

I carefully dropped a small handful of sticky rice into each bowl, looking into the face of each young man, which is probably also verboten but did not seem all that disrespectful to me. After all, the previous day a couple of monks had approached Bruce and begun a conversation in a peaceful wat compound.

In front of me, the children held out their baskets and plastic bags to the passing monks, obviously hoping for their own small supply of food. A bedraggled old man had joined them. Out of that long line of devout young men, only a very few shared their food with these needy neighbors. I guess their own grumbling adolescent tummies got in the way.

                                     Collecting alms



Before long, the bananas were gone from my platter and my sticky rice basket was empty. My mentor tried to sell me more banana leaf bundles but I protested firmly and she stopped. I returned the basket to her with thanks and found Bruce across the street. We watched together as more groups of monks filed by until, finally, the line seemed to end with a boy of about 10 years old. I hope that other merit-makers had some food left for him.

Cruisin'

Our trip down the Mekong was quite an experience! After spending Friday night in the border town of Chiang Khong, in northern Thailand, we crossed the Mekong River early the next morning with many other folks in long, low open motorboats. There was no dock. The boats had been pulled up on the sandy bank of the river. I felt like a refugee fleeing trouble as we scooted across the river in what seemed to be an overloaded boat. Luckily it was not far across, and I assured myself that I could swim that far in an emergency.

Getting ready to cross the Mekong from Thailand to Laos.


The few hours that followed gave us a glimpse into the apparent disorganization of a "developing" country. Going through the Lao immigration process took 4-5 hours. It was a mob scene, with hundreds of travelers from around the world trying to run this gauntlet at the small office on the banks of the Lao side of the river. Our passports were surrendered for scrutinizing to the anonymous and mute officials behind a barred window, leaving us feeling uneasy and unable to communicate. At least, unlike refugees, our lives were not held in the balance! Finally, after quite some time and scores of other applicants later, my passport was held up to the crowd silently from behind the window, while a sympathetic nearby tourist read the print and called my name. I paid the $35 fee and retrieved my passport. Bruce did the same. That was the first step!

The multinational mob scene at Laotian Immigration or 'what have you done with my passport?'


Suffice to say that, after more waiting and more scrutinizing by the police, we finally made our way through the town and down the riverbank to a "slow" - and LONG - boat. By this time, around noon, the two boats were jammed with travelers. Signs had forewarned us that there was no food on the boats. Not to worry, I never go far without my own supply of food! We also had heard that the boats might be rather primitive, with hard bench seats. Cushions were being sold on both sides of the river. However, we were pleasantly surprised to discover that the seats were similar to bus seats, with no extra cushions needed.

Bruce makes his way down to our "home-away-from-home" for a couple of days, our slow boat.


Each boat held about 70 passengers. Most were young foreign nationals, although a Laotian family congregated at the end of the boat, sitting on the floor where their small children slept, stretched out next to a brown, wrinkled little grandmother.

That first afternoon passed with a sense of adventure in the air. People chatted, drank their own stores of beer and hard liquor, read books, took photos of passing scenery. The boat, despite its name, was not exactly slow and kept a steady pace, slowing only to negotiate its way around rocky outcroppings with tricky currents. (The term “slow” boat is used to differentiate it from the “fast” boats, small motor boats that go extremely fast and are said to be quite dangerous.) The scenery along the riverside was very rural, with water buffalo walking in a single file along a path, reddish cattle resting in small groups, the occasional village perched high on stilts up on the side of a hill, small plots of land planted with crops, fishermen working alone or in pairs from small open boats, but mostly forests and hills of varying heights.

Water buffalo on the banks of the Mekong River.

A lone fishermen plying the Mekong River.


As the day began to fade away, we wondered how long it would be before we arrived at the small village of Pak Ben where we would find our own accommodations for the night. Before boarding the boat, we had succumbed to the offer of a pre-arranged room and had paid for it. We had been told to look for a man holding up a poster for "the Bunmee Hotel". Little did we realize that we'd be doing this on the banks of the river in the dark!

Bruce and I had planned that, when we arrived in Pak Ben, I would jump off and find the hotel guy, while he tried to retrieve our one suitcase, stashed away on the other boat, which hadn’t arrived yet. So, I was the first one to walk the narrow plank, set a little precariously on some jagged rocks. Our hotel guy was easy to find among all the others touting their rooms, including ours, now reduced in price from what we had paid! No matter, we had peace of mind for the afternoon, knowing that we had a room.

It all worked out well. I rode in the back of the pick-up truck with 8 or 10 other passengers to the rustic hotel perched on the side of the hill overlooking the river. Bruce arrived soon after with our suitcase. He had been offered marijuana and opium in the dark - but had declined! Our room was "serviceable" with a clean bathroom and a double bed but was missing the usual essentials, like towels and toilet paper. Ah, well, it was only for one night.

That evening we ate dinner on the porch of the restaurant overlooking the Mekong. Through the darkness, we could see a large bonfire across the river. We invited an “older” German couple (older than most other travelers, not older than us) to join us for dinner. I had seen them early in the day, she bossing him around in a frantic voice amidst the mob scene at immigration. They were calmed down by dinnertime, and we had a delightful meal exchanging stories. Despite the slightly scruffy surroundings, the food was delicious (chicken and cashew stir-fry. I’m sampling local versions everywhere).

Delicious pineapple crepe breakfast on the porch in Pak Ben, overlooking the river.

The next morning got off to a much better start, and we were ensconced on the boat early. The crowd of youthful vagabonds was quite subdued. The boat stopped at sandy ports along the river, distinguished only by a small group of Laotians gathered on the beach. As more and more people boarded, it began to feel like we were on a water-borne Guatemalan chicken bus where there was always room for one more passenger! Our craft became pretty tightly packed, with some luggage stored on the tin roof of the boat, just like the chicken buses! No chickens ever appeared, however!

Laotian travelers waiting for the slow boat.

The scenery was similar the second day. We saw villagers beating palm frond on the sandy banks, a young woman washing her long black hair in the river, kids swimming, a tiny regal goat perched on a promontory, bamboo fishing poles stuck in rocky crevices, waiting for their owners to put them into action. As the day wore on, more beer came out and voices rose. The backpacker crew began to play card games and charades. As we passed fishermen, I'd notice their slightly startled look and their gaze that followed us, returned by a few ship-board gazes, two worlds connected momentarily. For the most part, however, I had the sense of a western bubble floating downstream, oblivious to and totally disconnected from the centuries old life-style that was passing by.

Riverside scene

                                         Our mostly young boat-mates.

Just before we arrived in Luang Prabang, the boat pulled up onto a sandy beach and the Laotian passengers got off and were greeted by waiting relatives. We were a little alarmed when we saw the captain remove many tanks of propane gas that had been stored right under our feet!

The tourist stop was next, and was slightly more developed, with a long cement incline leading down to the beach where the boat was pulled ashore. Thankfully, it was not yet dark and we were able to get a tuk-tuk to take us to the Bellevue Bungalows, which had been recommended to us by Vicky and Simon. It had been a delightful, relaxing cruise on a small part of the mighty Mekong River, that is such an important presence in Southeast Asia.

Love at First Sight

OK, so it's only been 24 hours and 40 minutes, but I'm in LOVE with Luang Prabang! It is so peaceful and beautiful in an antique, colonial, slightly down-at-the-heels (but only SLIGHTLY!), charming sort of way (my favorite kind), rather like Antigua, Guatemala, only Asian and, like Antigua, also a UNESCO Heritage Site. There is an obvious French influence which, of course, endears it to us, but it's calm - and, unlike anywhere in Guatemala or Chiang Mai, it has great sidewalks, wide and level and freshly made with bricks :).

We are staying in a guest house with small bungalows that are built two together. To walk to the center of the city, we must cross a footbridge that we first did in the dark last night. In the light of day, it might scare a nervous sort, but it seems safe, high above the Nam Khan, a tributary to the Mekong, Beside us, in a different section of the bridge, bicycles and motor scooters zoom along, but no cars or tuk-tuks are allowed.

                                  Footbridge over the Nam Khan River in Luang Prabang

We sampled some true "street food" last evening, under the practiced guidance of our young German friends, one a nurse and the other a naturopathic doctor. They should know what is healthy. It was delicious and very cheap. This evening we'll meet them again so that they can give Bruce some antibiotics that they happen to have on hand. We'll see if that will clear up his continuing bronchial problems. It's been a long siege. He decided not to buy any marijuana or opium that was offered to him on the riverbank one evening during our cruise!!

                                        Freshly grilled fish served at an outdoor food stall

Down a Lazy River

Tomorrow, Friday, February 17, Bruce and I will be setting off for a big adventure within an adventure! We will leave Chiang Mai and go to Luang Prabang, Laos. To get there, we've decided to take a "slow boat", requiring one day in a van to get to the border town of Chiang Khong where we'll spend the first night, and then 2 days on a slow boat, floating down the Mekong River to the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Luang Prabang. The second night will be spent in the small town of Pak Ben, Laos, at lodging that we'll find ourselves.

Mind you, 4 months ago we had never heard of Luang Prabang. But, Brittany, our housemate in Guatemala,  and then our Kiwi friends, Simon & Vicki, plus a few other folks, all urged us to visit Luang Prabang. Everyone speaks of it with a touch of reverence. We decided we had to go.

After including it in our itinerary, we needed to figure out how to get there from Chiang Mai. The options were a very long bus ride (perhaps a bit tedious), an airplane ride (apt to be pricey) or a slow boat (a little primitive but offering a BOAT RIDE, beautiful scenery and relaxation, as well as a certain timelessness). Being children of the 60's, just the name, Mekong River, holds a historic and intriguing place in our psyches. In short, the river called to us.

So, as evening descends here in our dorm room in Chiang Mai, we are all packed up. We've left one bulging suitcase under Barb's desk at CMIS, (full of cold weather clothes for Scotland), mailed home one small box of stuff we don't need, and stocked up on snacks and water. At 9:30 am, we'll drag our baggage a few blocks away to where the van driver can easily find us and then head north.

We'll let you know how it was when we get there!

More Than Pad Thai

Since we've been busy for a month volunteering at Chiang Mai International School on a regular work schedule and since we have finished our commitment, Monday of this week was our first real "vacation" day since our arrival in Chiang Mai. I had plans!! Weeks ago I had registered us to take a day-long cooking class at one of the many, many cooking schools in Chiang Mai. Lonely Planet, our veritable guide to all things Thai, calls Chiang Mai the "undisputed cooking course capital" of Thailand. We had collected lots of cooking school brochures and finally chose one, The Thai Kitchen Cookery Centre.

At 10 am, the school's sorng-taa-ou (which means 2 rows because of the 2 rows of benches inside the back of the truck) came to pick us up and take us to the food market. There we met the other 6 students signed up for the class. They were all young and friendly, and from such places as Finland, Holland, and Australia. All spoke English flawlessly.

At the market, we first were asked to select the dishes that we each wanted to prepare, followed by a quick tutorial in the fresh ingredients that would be needed. They included such things as 3 types of basil, 3 types of ginger, regular limes and bumpy, deep green Kaffir limes, as well as Thai eggplant, lemongrass, garlic, scallions, Chinese kale, long green beans, crispy bean sprout blossoms, and chili peppers (the smaller, the hotter!). We also watched a one-woman operation as she prepared fresh fish for grilling, first pulling a live fish from a tub of water beside her, clubbing it to death, then gutting and scaling it, before flopping it onto her hot grill.

Lots of wonderful fresh ingredients at the market.

From water to stove to plate - all in one spot!

Soon we were back in the sorng-taa-ou and on our way to the school, amidst introductions all around. The school classroom consisted of a large space, open on the sides to the fresh air, and filled with two rows of gas burners and woks, as well as big work tables - and a couple of hand-washing sinks, I was pleased to note. We were all given aprons and were grouped according what we had chosen to cook. Naturally Bruce and I had chosen different dishes so that we'd learn more. For a full-day - and full-belly!! - we could select 5 dishes to prepare and eat.

                      On your mark, get set, COOK!

My dishes included Thick Fried Noodles, Masaman Curry with Chicken, Fried Cashew Nuts with Chicken, Green Papaya Salad, and finally, last but surely not least, Sticky Rice with Mango for dessert. Ooh - la - la! What a delicious line-up! For each dish, a tray of ingredients was brought to each student, some all ready for the wok, such as cut-up chicken, while some required a bit of chopping and slicing from us. For some dishes, such as the curries and the papaya salad, we used mortar and pestles to mash spices and chilies, etc. Surprisingly, the small garlic cloves were minced with the skin on and cooked like that.

My tray of ingredients for thick fried noodles.

                                        Mashing the masaman curry paste.

We would then move to the woks to cook our dish, after which we'd take it to a low table where we ate the fruits of our labor, together with our classmates. It was all amazingly well orchestrated to have us finish our dishes at about the same time so that we could eat together. Of course, lots of sharing took place, not only of food, but also stories and travel tips. It was a delightful day! When we finally finished at 3pm, we waddled out of the class, carrying cook books and certificates verifying our new status as cooks of Thai cuisine. Cooking group, get ready!

                              Now for the really fun part!

My new favorite dish: green papaya salad. It's crunchy and sweet and sour and salty - amazing!

I never would have guessed that this dish (mango and sticky rice with coconut cream sauce) could be so yummy!

Chiang Mai Birthday

February 6th was Bruce’s birthday. He celebrated by arising in the dark, at 5:30am, and, map in hand, making his way across the Nakon Ping Bridge and along the Mae Ping River to the Empress Hotel (former location of the British Embassy). There, a crowd of Americans was gathering to watch the Super Bowl game. Naturally, Bruce wanted to watch the New England Patriots, if possible. He had been pleased to learn from a fellow passenger on the van to Mae Sai (see previous post) that there were at least a couple of venues opening very early in order to broadcast the game LIVE from Indianapolis. Sadly, as you all know by now, the Patriots lost – and to Bruce’s frustration, there were religious presentations made at half time. Quite a contrast to Madonna’s performance, needless to say!

Later in the morning, Bruce had hoped to get the paperwork done for our visa application to India. Another frustrating situation. Apparently the office at the Indian Embassy processes these applications only at certain hours on certain days – and it requires all but your first-born child. (Just today, after leaving our passports with the Indian embassy folks for a week and paying a total of $300, we got our visas for India!)

A sports bar where the Super Bowl will be shown - not the Empress Hotel!

US Embassy along the Mae Ping River (Bruce would have passed it on his way to the Empress)




Happily, Bruce's birthday dinner in the evening was great! Even though the setting was not as wonderful as we’d imagined after reading about it on-line - on a tiny little soi, about 3 feet from passing pedestrians and motor scooters scooting by, with a tablecloth that had seen quite a few diners already and music that was rather blaring at first - despite all of this, we loved it! The food was FANTASTIC and the service was efficient and friendly. The music got better and soon we didn’t notice the tablecloth. It was a small place with about 4 tables on one side of the soi and 4 on the other side. The wait staff would dash back and forth. Most of the diners seemed to be quiet Western couples of a certain age, perhaps ex-pats who knew a good thing.

What follows is meant for the foodies among you. We began with an order of fresh spring rolls and a pomelo salad. Pomelos are a large grapefruit-like fruit that we have fallen in love with here in Thailand. This salad was so delicious that the memory will leave our mouths watering for a very long time! It had a warm dressing of ground cashews, lemon-grass, garlic, and an itsy bit of red pepper (maybe other ingredients). Fabulous. Bruce went outside of his usual pad thai range and ordered a spicy beef salad which he enjoyed, and I ordered pineapple and cashew fried rice with cherry tomatoes that was unusual and yummy. Of course, red wine for me and a Chang beer for Bruce. This was a celebration, after all.

Bruce's birthday dinner

After dinner we walked back across the moat that surrounds the old city, where the resto is located, and down Prince Street, across the Nakon Ping Bridge along Narawat Road to Bud’s (love the name), an ice cream place that advertises its roots as being in San Francisco. They also display a quote from Time magazine, touting their ice cream as the best in the world! Wow! Who would have thought? Have those Time folks tasted Beals? Bud’s in Chiang Mai is pretty unpretentious-looking – and very western, with bright lights and “air con” and formica table tops. Think Friendly’s. Quite a contrast to our dinner spot. I really appreciated the glass of water that arrived without asking – just like at home. Bruce’s one-scoop cone of espresso ice cream and my lime sherbet (with bits of authentic rind) were delish and a perfect ending for a 69th birthday. We wonder how we’ll celebrate his big 7-0 next year (God willing). Yikes!

Bud's of San Francisco Ice Cream - in Chiang Mai!

visas and chestnuts

On Saturday, February 4th, Bruce and I took a van ride north to the town of Mae Sai on the border of Myanmar (Burma). The purpose of the trip was to get an extension on our tourist visas. As a tourist, Thailand allows you to stay for only one month, if you arrive by air, which we had done. Our month was nearly over. In order to extend the visa, we could either leave and return by air again, for another 30 days, or leave and return by land - for only 14 extra days. Bruce had been talking with people, researching on-line, and debating with himself for quite some time about the most cost- and time-efficient way to acquire more time here. There were MANY considerations! Suffice to say that it was complicated. He finally decided that taking the van to Mae Sai was the best option. That would give us a week to finish our commitment to the school (ending on Friday, February 10), plus nearly a week to do some touristy stuff before we leave for Laos on the 17th.

At about 8am, a van arrived for us at our dorm. It was full of 8 other folks also trekking north to get visa extensions. The next 4 hours flew by as we zipped through the mountains and the countryside, past wet rice fields and dry corn fields, through towns with golden temples, until we pulled into the market town of Mae Sai. We were surprised to find that it was so large (20,000 people). It was bustling with shoppers on this sunny warm Saturday (they all are sunny at this time of year). We learned later that many of the products come down from China. The main street ends in a large, pale blue, official-looking building that stretches across the entrance to the concrete bridge leading to Myanmar.

Our van driver pulled off this main street and entered a small soi (narrow street), barely wide enough for the van and crowded with stalls and shoppers. We made our way slowly along, managing to avoid injuring anyone, and ending finally beside a lacy golden temple. I had a flashback of the markets that take place on the plazas in Guatemala, overshadowed by large churches.

                             The narrow soi in Mae Sai, Thailand

The beautiful temple beside which our van parked.

Just before we had arrived in Mae Sai, we had begun chatting with our seat mate, John, and discovered that he had grown up in Westwood, Mass, a town where Bruce had lived for a couple of years as a child. John had made this visa run two weeks previously, so we followed him when it was time to make our way through the border process. The van driver had given us 1 1/2 hours for all of us to complete our business and meet back at the temple for the return trip to Chiang Mai.

The border bridge leading to Myanmar.

Lots of people were crossing the border on foot, as we were. The Thai border official took a look at us and sent us through one narrow gauntlet. Locals carrying bags of vegetables were herded through another pathway. Almost immediately we were through and onto the bridge. The river below was not deep but rushing quite quickly. We looked down and noticed a young boy laughing while wading to the Myanmar side, a fairly short distance. Old buildings hung over the river on the Thai side. A beautiful pale pink and blue temple rose on the Myanmar side, a lovely first impression.

Little boy splashing his way to Myanmar.

                                                                      
                                              Burmese temple and flag

The immigration facility in Tachileik, Myanmar, just at the end of the short bridge, was a pretty primitive affair.  We were shepherded into a small room that held 4 uniformed officials at desks. I could barely squeeze in with the other folks, but the door was flexible, since it was simply a heavy curtain. The officials took our photo and our 500 Thai Baht (about $15). We could have left our passport with them and toured Tachileik but we don't like leaving our passport with strangers so headed right back to Mae Sai.  Besides, we had a date with a van driver.

The Thai guys stamped our passport and clipped our little 14-day visa onto it. We were good to go for a couple of more weeks! Back on the streets of Mae Sai, vendors were cooking big woks full of chestnuts which smelled so tantalizing. When another van mate said that's what many people come to Mae Sai for, I decided to try a bagful, also some roasted broad beans and something else that was roasted and bean-like. They were all pretty good - and no unpleasant repercussions!

                             Bruce looks over the selection of hats.


We did some chatting with John on the way back. He seemed like a nice guy, and Bruce ended up making plans with him to watch the Patriots play in the Super Bowl game early on Monday morning, his birthday. We were back in Chiang Mai in time to have a nice dinner - and were legal once again!

Mountains and corn fields