A look into the real world of Buddhism: Past and present

January 16, 2015

I began the day by waking up in a different place from where I'd gone to sleep, which is unusual. But at least only one of the men had set his alarm early enough to watch me go through the process of taking my tent down again. I wondered if it could really be as entertaining in the daylight, but he seemed enthralled all the same. Then I was away to mightier adventures.

I retraced my steps to the main road and then on to Wat Phou, where I arrived at the 8:00 am opening time to avoid the tourist hoards. This ancient temple complex on the mountainside is said to be the Laos answer to the mighty Angkor Wat, but if that really is the case then I don't know what the question is, maybe 'What Wat is nowhere near as good as Angkor Wat?' The main problem that Wat Phou had was that it was mostly in ruins, but that's a problem with a lot of ruins, as I understand it.

Walking towards Wat Phou I was most impressed with the nature

Ah the trouble with ruins - they're in ruins!

Interestingly enough, this place was originally built as a place of Hindu worship, before being converted for Buddhism. I was a bit confused, then, to come to a statue of someone that, according to my information leaflet 'local history identifies as the legendary king Kammatha, to whom the construction of Wat Phou is ascribed', and find three Buddhists kneeling before him and praying. Presumably old king Kammatha was himself a Hindu and the information leaflet did not extend to revealing at what point he became worthy of Buddhist worship. Nor, indeed, did it do anything to inform me as to why the poor fellow had been dressed up like Mary Poppins.

King Kammatha, well known for his fondness of pink

But those Buddhists asked me to take their photo, and in doing so it was revealed to me that one of them, although of Laos origin, now lived in California. She explained in a loud, brash American accent that she was just visiting some of her family here. We then walked up the remaining steep steps together and it would have been nice to have a conversation with her and find out more, but the steps were sufficiently steep that it seemed it was difficult for her to say anything beyond "wooo-ee this is sure steep!" Finally we arrived at the main sanctuary atop a high terrace. Built in the 11th century this building was just about holding together okay for its age. Inside was something that looked a bit like Vishnu dressed up as Buddha, and the others went inside to offer up some more prayers. I didn't want to disturb them and so I left them to it, and walked around the surrounding area a little more. Here I found such exciting things as an elephant carved into a rock, and a holy spring, where water dripped down from an unknown source directly out of the rock behind the sanctuary. Once upon a time this water was channeled down into the sanctuary to make whichever God happened to be residing there at the time extra holy.

The others were taking their time in the sanctuary, and after a while I peered inside again and saw that they were done praying, and so I took off my shoes and went in to join them. I noticed that they had been using a long stick of some sort, and I was curious. At my interest one of the Laos men asked me "do you want to play?" I sure did want to play, although looking back now, I think maybe he meant to say 'pray.' The American explained to me how it should be done. I had to hold my arms out wide whilst holding the thin piece of wood, and stretch them as far as I could. At one side my finger lined up with the end of the wood and at the other there was an elastic band, that was rolled out to line up exactly with my other finger. The distance between the end of the wood and the elastic band therefore exactly matched my arm span.

"Now," explained the American, "you have to hold the wood in the middle, kneel down and wish for something. And then you say, 'if this wish will come true, make my arm longer than before', and then you stretch out your arms again to see if you reach further than the elastic band. And then, after that, hold it in the middle again and wish for the same thing again, but then say 'if this wish will really come true, now make my arms shorter than before.'"

I had to admit, there were some things about this religion I really liked. This was fun! I took hold of the wood in the middle as instructed, and knelt down before whatever God was in front of me. 'Hey, look, I don't know who you are, but if you are really some sort of God, that'd be great, because I've got a wish to make here. So, if you can make this wish come true, please make my arms longer than before.'

I made my wish and stretched my arms out. My hand went miles over the elastic band. The American squealed.

'Whoa dude, that is some freaky sh!t you got going on! What are you, David Blaine or something?! Sweet. Okay, this time if my wish will really come true, please make my arms shorter than before.'

I stretched my arms out. I didn't get close to the elastic band. "Yay! Your wish will come true!' cried the American. "Incredible" I said, "just incredible!"

I wished for an outfit as cool as this guys

After that the tour groups started rolling in and I rolled on out. Before long I stopped for breakfast in a restaurant and watched kids cycle past in school uniform. Then, once I resumed cycling, I soon found myself in a peloton of these school kids. This was not an uncommon occurrence in this country. In fact children in school uniform riding bicycles were such a common sight in Laos that by now I was wondering whether any of them ever actually went to school, or if they just spent the whole day cycling about.

After going south for a bit further on the paved road I cut back east to get back on the lovely dirt track that I'd been on the previous evening. Now this was really something very, very special. The dusty single-lane track had almost no cars on it as it followed the bank of the Mekong. To my left was that river and to my right a continuous line of stilt-houses, underneath most of which families sat in the shade. "Sabadee, sabadee, sabadee!" The greetings were at an all-time high, even for Laos it was crazy. I was saying hello every few seconds here. It was wonderful.

Then I met two other cyclists, a Belgian couple, that were coming the other way from Four Thousand Islands on a ride from Singapore back to home. They told me that on Don Det, one of the islands, they had met TWENTY other touring cyclists. I made a mental note of that. They also told me, on the subject of sleeping, that it was sometimes possible to sleep in temples. I made a mental note of that too.

The Belgian woman demonstrating how quickly you can attract attention when you stop around here

I arrived at a river crossing across a tributary of the Mekong where there was no bridge, a natural road block which explained the lack of cars on the road. I saw that there was a small boat coming across from the other side loaded with school children doing their wandering-around-in-uniform-without-actually going-to-school thing. There were motorcycles on board, so I assumed there was no problem to take me, and once it was emptied I rolled on along with a motorcycle. We then crossed the river, simply by means of the boatman pulling on a cable to which we were attached, with the motorcyclist helping things along by using his foot as an additional paddle.

On the boat, using a foot as a paddle. I would've helped but I was too busy taking photos

And off it goes again. I think the kids knew I was taking this one

It had been a most excellent day, one in which I felt I had got closer to the real Laos. Away from the main roads on this dirt track I felt so much more in touch with people, and the people were so friendly and the atmosphere so pleasant that it was impossible to do anything other than fall even more in love with this country. The only problem that I had now was finding a good place to sleep. There were houses and people just about everywhere, and even if I did find somewhere that was alright for wild camping I didn't fancy being woken up and moved on by the territorial army again. Then I passed a temple and I thought about what the Belgians had said and, at that exact moment a monk called out to me and beckoned for me to stop.

He was loitering outside the front gates smoking a cigarette looking for all the world like someone standing outside on a work break, and he said hello and asked me where I was going. When I told him that I was on my way to Four Thousand Islands he told me that it was too far, and that I must sleep here and then go there tomorrow. Seeing as the sun was already setting it was an idea that I was 100 percent in favour of.

Son Pot, for that was the old monk's name, threw away his cigarette stub and welcomed me into the grounds. I thought I would be camping somewhere on the grass beside the temple, but instead I was shown to a small ornate building next to the main accommodation hall. Son Pot lit another cigarette as he welcomed me inside. It was a guesthouse for visitors, with two beds, an en-suite bathroom, even a television set. And for this night it was all mine, free of charge.

Well, not *all* mine. Good job there were two beds

I put my bags inside and then went out to find my chain-smoking monk host. He was back at the front gate, smoking again. About 60-years-old, Son Pot said he was in charge of this wat and it seemed that most of the other monks were very young. I tried to ask him about it, but his English wasn't so very good. I think maybe the youngsters just came here for a short time to live as monks before returning to their families. Possibly for two months, although the fact that months sounds like monks left us both confused.

Two men were working fixing the gate in front of us. One was welding it. I'd seen someone earlier doing some welding with the very makeshift protective gear of a pair of sunglasses and a balaclava. This man wasn't going to look so silly though, and wore no protective gear at all as the sparks flew out at him.

"We have to keep the buffalo out" Son Pot said. A very loud bell chimed and I asked Son Pot why.

"Because it is time to pray. At 6am and at 6pm the bell is for all the people to know that it is time for us monks to pray."

"Oh. Are you going to pray now?" I asked.

"No," he said, "not in the evenings. I am busy." He took a drag on his cigarette, and pointed at the men doing all the work.

"Oh. Ok. Are the other monks going to pray now?"

"No."

I wasn't sure that Son Pot was a very good monk, but he was a very nice one, and that was all that mattered in my book. He didn't seem to like talking as much as he liked smoking though, so I wandered away over to the other side of the track and stood alone and looked out over the Mekong, now so very wide. The air was still and had that empty freshness that comes at dusk. There was not a cloud in the sky and the first stars were beginning to shine through. Behind me in the fading twilight was this impressive Buddhist temple and in front the great river. I thought about how very, very far I'd come, and how very, very nice this place was, and in this moment I was once again completely in love with my life on the road.

Today's ride: 56 km (35 miles)
Total: 35,871 km (22,276 miles)

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Andrea BrownThat section of the Mekong was very special and a highlight of that trip.
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