Happy Thanksgiving

I am thankful for my family, my friends, food, my house, my health, my animals, and the chance to be in Laos. Today, we were given a baci ceremony at the hospital. A baci ceremony imparts good wishes and luck on the honorees, and we were blessed, as we have been for the last two weeks by the people of Laos, the hospital staff, and the doctors and nurses with whom we are working. My wrists are covered by the strings tied to them by each individual who wished my good health, happy journeys, wealth, and that we come back again next year. The ceremony was attended by 100 people and at the beginning Disty, Chip, and I were called up and the Hospital Director and our leader dedicated the two weeks we just spent to Andy. I weeped. I think it was probably not culturally appropriate, but I am giving myself a pass on this one. Each of the 12 volunteers was given a personalized handmade tray with his and her name woven in, a handmade metal ornament, and a certificate.

I miss you all and wish I could be there or you could be here to share this day. But we are safe in Laos, as are the turkeys who live up the lane, whom Disty caught in the picture above. Happy Thanksgiving.

To Napa Kuang Resort

We arrived in Vientiane at the Hongkham Hotel. There we were to meet up with most of our fellow trainers: Phoumy, Reba & Cam, Billy & Julie, whom we had not met before, and Bill and Suzie, whom we had met a month earlier in Boston. We had known them as voices on the phone, and it will good to put faces with names. They all had arrived the day before, after crossing the Friendship Bridge, and had spent the night at the Hongkham. We will be returning to this hotel in two weeks, after we finish the training at the Lao-Vientiane Hospital and come back to the city, where Disty will teach at the University.

Our fellow trainers had gone out for a walk and had not yet returned, so Chip and I wait in the lobby, while Disty went off to change money. I realize I should take this opportunity to do something productive, so I ask at the desk in my best Lao (not good): Excuse me, but where is the bathroom? If the lobby bathroom is any indication, this new hotel will be quite comfortable. One curious feature, for fellow bathroom aficionados, the wall between the men's and women's room was a half wall and stopped about seven feet up.

The hotel is located a few doors down from the hotel where we stayed three years ago when Andy, Chip, Disty, and I were here last. It is curiously not hard seeing these places we shared with Andy. They bring up very warm feelings of being all together. In my previous post, I forgot to mention the toll booth we had passed on the way to Vientiane which seemed curiously funny and random on the dirt highway last time we were here and curiously like home to me this time. The places here in the city where we were all together are familiar; when we get to the countryside, it will be new and different, with no memories of being with Andy, which in some ways may be harder.

After a few more minutes, our group arrives back, and we meet them all, load the two vans and one pickup truck with the six Rubbermaid tubs we brought filled with books and t-shirts and medical supplies and the fourteen tubs brought by the West Coast contingent, minus one that was missing at the airport and two that were still in route, filled with more books and supplies, everything we needed for three weeks of training.

Bill and Suzie joined us in our van with Keo and Sone, as we headed toward the Napa Kuang Resort, whatever that meant. The road was familiar. It was the same road we had driven south from Luang Prabang to Vientiane three years ago, but now we were heading north, into the province of Vientiane and to Bon Thalot.
Along the way, we stopped at a roadside market, where we bought fried banana chips, which we ate on the ride.

We spent the ride getting to now one another, better. Swapping stories about our most amazing experience traveling. I chose to tell the story about being in Thailand in Tamafiwan in the Lao-speaking part in the north. We had come to visit Andy's friends, Ouie and Anat. We were staying at Ouie's house. One late afternoon, we went to visit, Luong Bob, Andy's 70ish, ex-pat friend and former employer at the organic farm there. He was too ill to come outside and so he spoke with us from the second floor of his house, wooden shutters open, he sat at the window, as if he were in a stage production of Romeo and Juliet. We all sat on the ground under his window as the sun was setting and then said goodbye. Andy had already arranged for his friends to show us a sustainable house they had built on the grounds of a Wat nearby. As we left Luong Bob's, each of us hopped on the back of a motorcycle. Mine was driven by a man named Tao I had never met before. We drove on a rutted dirt road and into the woods along a rooted path. We came to a wooden bridge as the evening light was darting through the forest. The light was a golden brown as we crossed the bridge and suddenly came into a clearing of perfection: immaculate buildings at the edge of a circular road that bordered a flowering pond. Coming towards us all in white walked a solitary Buddhist nun, bathed in the muddy light. She radiated purity.

About an hour later, we came to a fork in the road. Sone pointed to the right and said the hospital was that way and that we would be going left towards the Napa Kuang Resort. We made the left and drove a few kms into the marketplace of Bon Thalot—past the bus station, where you can get a bus back to Vientiane every hour each day—into the impossibly crowded streets of motorcycles, pedestrians, trucks, dogs, cows, chickens, cats. There they are building a newer, more spacious market to alleviate traffic congestion. I think that it may be good for them, but I am still not sure that, for the people of Laos, all "progress" is good. They are a poor country, by many standards, but it is a rich, beautiful, and happy country to the eye and ear. A few moments later, we drive through the gates to the Napa Kuang Resort and into a large parking area surrounded on three sides by outbuildings.

Getting to Laos

The flight from Hong Kong to Bangkok was short. Once on the ground, we picked up our tubs, put them on three luggage carts, rolled through customs and immigration, and went to meet the greeter from the Floral Shire Hotel. By the time we stored our tubs at the baggage check, changed some money, and took the short ride in the van from the airport to the hotel, it was 7:45 pm. We tried a little Lao on our driver, but he spoke only Thai. After turning off the airport access road, we were surrounded by the sights and smells of Bangkok, and memories of being here with Andy in 2006 came flooding in. Every motorbike brought a pang of fear: be careful young woman, family, father, mother, child. Why do some survive; where is the equity in that? The tuk tuk drivers, the markets, the street food: all "ahan dta,"  a feast for the eyes. We turned down a narrow street, where even more details of peoples lives were packed into even smaller spaces: cars in kitchens, dogs in restaurants, a snooker table in a garage that had become a night club. We pulled into the Floral Shire, a fairly new and attractive building at the end of the street. The room was clean and fresh; the hotel obviously well cared for by Floral, the young woman who ran the place. We were put into Tulip 4, a two-floor suite with a circular stair and a blacony (from which we could smoke, accoring to the sign). We were in the three comfy beds by 8:30, asleep by 9, and I was awake by 11:30 pm, ready for the day. What day? It would turn out to be a very long and unsuccessful night in Bangkok trying to get some sleep.

Morning finally came, and we went downstairs to breakfast in the garden. At 7 am, it was already getting hot. We had an hour to eat and get back in the van for the airport. Breakfast was American: a fried egg, toast, frankfurter-like sausage, fruit, an unnamed lunch meat, tomatoes, cucumbers and a carafe of Nescafe.

Off the airport to fly to UdanThani, Thailand, pick up our tubs, check them into Thai airways, head through security and onto the short 55 minute flight to UdanThani, near the border crossing at the Friendship Bridge. Although we didn't know it, we had a celebrity aboard the flight—teen idol Zoomi, and when we landed and rolled all of our luggage outside the baggage area, his fans were screaming, shooting pictures, carrying electronic placards with his name in neon lights. Amidst all of the excitement, Sone, our guide into Laos, was waiting for us when we arrived. We loaded our tubs into the van, and our driver Keo and Sone took off for Laos. Along the way, we chatted in simple Lao and more complicated English. Sone, or Sonny, who was born in Laos, lived in Germany for over a decade. Keo, the driver, said very little, and I presumed he spoke no English, but it turned out that he and Sone are neighbors and had lived in Germany together. Sone had been hired by our NGO to help with arrangements on the ground, something he is very good at.

About forty-five minutes after we were picked up, we got to the border of Thailand and Laos which is the Friendship Bridge. The Friendship Bridge spans the Mekong, the natural boundary that the French and British used to demarcate their colonial interests. This created the divide between countries but not people, as there are more Lao-speaking people on the west side of the river, in Thailand, than there are in all of Laos.

Sone made the border crossing easy, as he guided us on where to stand and what forms to fill out. In the meantime, Keo drove through the border with our tubs and other bags, leaving us without any customs issues. All we had to do is smile and say "Sawaidee" "Kup Kuhn Kup" on the Thai side and "Sabaidee" and "Kop Chai" as we entered Laos.

From the Friendship Bridge, it was a short ride to Vientiane, where we were meeting the rest of our team. As we neared the capital, Sone decided it would be best to stop and have a little lunch at a restaurant along the roadside not far from the Beerlao factory. One of our Lao teachers back home, Ajahn Wern, has a brother works on a farm near here, and I think we must have been close to his house. We had brought along a pair of hiking boots, a few shirts, and a jacket for Ajahn Wern's brother. We will be delivering these to a Wat in Vientiane, when we return in a few weeks.

We walked into the restaurant, which was filled, according to Sone, with people from the city who had come to have a great meal at a great price. As we walked in, we stopped at the entrance and washed our hands in the sink and sort of dried them on a towel that had probably been there since the restaurant opened. We sat down at a table overlooking the farmland with a large pond or lake next door. Goats were playing on the other side of the water. Sone ordered us fe (soup) and he and Keo and I ordered some Beerlaos. Ahh, Beerlao. There is something about it that makes it taste better than any other beer. Light and cold, drunk with ice, it is the perfect pairing for spicy Lao food. The fe and beer were delicious, and all the memories of being here with Andy came flooding in. The smells, the sounds, the sights, the people. Who could not love this country? There we were sitting down for our first meal, connecting, finally, with the place that Andy loved.

We crossed the main street, carefully avoiding the motorcycles and cars, and got back into the van to head into Vientiane proper and meet up with our soon-to-be constant companions and take the ride into the province to our site.

List of Publishing-Related Things I Want to Figure Out or Do in Laos (Take 1)

Not necessarily in this order...
1. Can I help? How?
2. How much of health care need is due to lack of health information? What are the other needs?
3. Is electronic distribution of content a possibility to remote areas? How best?
4. What are the language barriers? How many languages? Written or oral? Literacy?
5. Is it Health or Culture improved content delivery can most help? Or something else?
6. Is there a use and place for a POS (Print on Site) device like the Espresso? What about power, maintenance, supplies?
7. What percent of the population have cell phones? In rural areas?
8. What electronic devices will be widely available in remote areas?
9. Meet people in the Minister of Culture and Information's Publishing and Libraries Department
10. Meet Madame Dara and David Wharton and learn about the Palm Leaf digitizing projects. Think about digitizing. Visit Atiz in Thailand on way home?
11. Spend a lot of time at Dokked Books and meet Duang Duane.
12. Meet Peter Kovet. Other writers. Colin Cotteril?
13. Think about translations into Lao. Meet Ajahn Siri at the university.
14. Find out more about Sasha's Big Brother Mouse project.
15. Honor Andy.

String Ceremony

It is 2:12 am Lao time. We are passing over Godhavn after passing Godthab in our Cathay Pacific  Flight CX0841 from JFK->Hong Kong. I will look these godly places up when I am able to get online when we arrive in Bangkok this afternoon.

We have 10:28 left in our flight, and I have had brunch and watched the Pixar movie Up and read a few stories in a collection of short stories, Mother’s Beloved published by Silkworm Books, with an introduction by Peter Koret , written by the late, most prominent Lao author, Outhine Buonyavong.

In strict opposition to everything that is right in the world, we are blessed with seats in business class, thanks to our American Airlines Citibank MasterCard, with which we have freely bought groceries and other goods over the last decade. The MasterCard racks up an airline mile for every dollar spent; we used the miles to buy our tickets and had enough to fly Business Class one way. That’s probably enough food to feed a Lao village for a lifetime; but, nonetheless, it is a very cushy ride. We will take our usual rightful place in Economy Class upon our return home to Boston on December 12.

There is a camera under the wing of the plane that I can select on my personal monitor in my pod. It looks desolate out there. Perhaps we are flying over Greenland or the Arctic, now. The camera quality is not good, but there’s also an interactive map that lets me see where on our flight path we are. I am listening to the track “Mesk Elil”  on Souad Massi’s Honeysuckle album, and everything in the cabin is dark, except the reading light and the video monitor and my computer. If you could find the track and play it while you read this, you would understand my mood.. Someday , books may look like that, bringing in visual, audio, and textual components to create literature of a sort, with different more salient leitmotivs that allow someone like me to manipulate my audience. For now, all I can do is tell you that I keep replaying the song.

I have been thinking about music and its effect on me as a trigger for bouts of sobbing. I am worried that recently I have become like (or returned to being) a seventh-grade girl (sorry to any reading this) as I drive in my car and listen to the same songs over and over that all take on new meaning of loss. Like “Dreams on Fire” from the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack, which I have taken to be about Andy:

You are my waking dream

You’re all that’s real to me

You are my magic in the world I see

You are the prayer I sing

You brought me to my knees

You are the faith that made me believe

Dreams on fire

Higher and higher

Ashes burning

Right on the pyre

But then again, the dark secret of my musical taste is that I have always been a sentimental listener, feeling a cosmic emptiness through music that makes my voice quake as I belt out my falsetto versions of my favorite dark sentimental songs that I embue with my own meanings. I only do it when I’m alone. Don’t tell Disty. Perhaps it’s healing.

But, I got sidetracked, what I really want to write about is the ceremony that we were invited to attend on Wednesday night by Ajahn Bounxay in an email he sent us on Sunday. He said that the monks at Wat Buddhabhavana wanted to have the ceremony to give us good luck on our journey.

The monks have been our teachers over the last six months, teaching us Lao language and Lao culture and Lao Buddhist practices. They have invited us into their community and have opened their hearts to us. In Laos and other Buddhist places in the world, the monks have a very high status. In Lao, there are special pronouns and words reserved for use in speaking with monks, they sit higher and eat earlier than others.  They make Buddhism seem very appealing, and there are probably some of my friends and family think I will become a Buddhist. I am not sure I could ever be a Buddhist, because I have this issue with all religion. Nevertheless, I love these monks and the community around the Wat and they have loved us back as evidenced by the invitation. We are connected to them, and through them to Laos.

By the way it is now 4:40 am—8:13 left in the flight—and I haven’t gotten to my point—the string ceremony. We left the house tired and stressed and arrived at the Wat at 4 pm on Wednesday. In the sala (sanctuary), everything was ready for us and they sat us in plastic lawn chairs that had been setup for the meditation class that was scheduled for later that evening. Jason, a novice monk, was asked by Ajahn Wern to fill a metal dish a third full with water.

Seven monks were there, including Ajahn David, an American-born monk, who explained with patience and detail the ceremony and its meaning. First saffron-colored, string-thick, long tapers were cut  for each of us: the circumference of each of our heads, another the distance between our throats and belly buttons, and another the length of the tip of our fingers to our elbows. These represented us. These tapers were intertwined into one long braid.

After responsive chanting about Buddha, Dhamma, and us, the monks drew a spool of string from the hand of Buddha through the hands of the monks and around our necks. Ajahn David suggested we relax and meditate on the auspicious chanting. As the monks chanted, Ajahn Bounkeau lit our tapers and I became transfixed by the fire and water. He found a way to make the flames dance in the water, as the monk’s chanting vibrated inside me. I was in this state until Ajahn Bounkeau took out a brush and sprinkled us with water. This is a common ritual and every time it happens it startles me. And each time I vow the next I will not be startled. But I am.

We were then presented with bracelets and blessed. It was quite moving. I wanted to make a speech thanking them, but all I could get out was: Thank You for opening your hearts to us. I hope they all know how important they have been to me and what a blessing they have bestowed upon us.

5:10 am. 7:44 left, and we haven’t even had lunch, yet. I hope I don’t run out of time.

Getting Ready to Go

Spent a busy day getting all the last minute details finished. Tubs all packed and weighed; filled with newly printed books, t-shirts of hearts and lungs, certificates, blank paper, suturing material, Resusci Annes, catheters, some miscellaneous clothes, shampoo, contact lens solution, razor and shaving cream, etc. Hopefully, we will be able to check these 49 pounders all the way through to Udan Thani. Flight leaves at 6 am. Our friend and Disty's running partner, MJ, picks us up at 4:15. Stay tuned; with 24 hours in the air, there will be time to reconstruct the events of the last few months.