You Must See It

We arrived back home yesterday to Kennedy Airport in New York, where my loving sister met us as we exited customs. She then drove us to her house, where we picked up our car that had been used and well taken care of by my niece and her boyfriend. We drove the four hours back home to our house and Dao Noi (our dog) and Sally and Peter, who, with their daughters, took such wonderful care of Noi and our house. Between a bout with some stomach issues and the usual haziness about what day it is, I found a good night's sleep and should be ready to head to work this morning.

• • •

While sitting around the pool in Bangkok, absorbing the dangerous rays of culture shock, I assembled this collection of Lao proverbs that also gives some insight into our trip. I started to comment on each and then decided to let each of the proverbs stand on its own. The only thing I will say is that I went back and forth about making number one number fifteen and number fifteen number one.

Fifteen things I learned in Laos told through Lao Proverbs:

1. A stupid man acts smart.

2. When you come to a village where people squint their eyes, squint your eyes.

3. If you are a tiger, you would be accused of having stripes
even if you do not have stripes. You may as well paint
yourself with more stripes.

4. If you like things easy, you'll have difficulties; if you like problems, you'll succeed.

5. When buffaloes collide, the grass is also damaged.

6. One has to cross upstream, higher up, to come downstream properly.

7. When you've heard it you must see it; when you've seen it make a judgement with your heart.

8. Beautiful only in appearance, not sweet-smelling when kissed.

9. Coming slowly is better than not coming at all.

10. When the water rises, the fish eat the ants; when the water falls, the ants eat the fish.

11. Keep a cool heart.

12. If you're shy with your teacher, you won't gain knowledge;
If you're shy with your crush, you won't have a wife.

13. You can live in a narrow space, but it's hard to live with a narrow heart.

14. It is easy to bend a young twig, but hard to bend
an old tree.

15. Happiness flees those who seek it.

More Elephants

I learned on Thursday night that my Aunt Ruthie had died. I read the email late at night, in the dark, under the mosquito netting. I loved her. She was 94, like her sister, my mom when she died. My Aunt Ruthie was a wonderfully loving aunt to me—forever supporting things I did that were creative. She applauded the dreamer side in me, and I will be forever grateful for that. She was a teacher, and she was quite amazing—until a few years ago, she worked in a prison teaching reading to the inmates. She had done that volunteer work for as long as I can remember. I hadn't seen her since September when my sister and I drove Chip out to school, then turned right around and stopped in Cleveland. It was a lovely morning. It is hard to be halfway around the world and lose people you love. I would have liked to be in Philadelphia, at the grave site with her daughters, my cousins, and their families. And, of course, we'd all go to lunch at the Country Club Restaurant near the Montefiore Cemetery in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania, not far from where Disty grew up, where my parents and grandparents and some great-grandparents and miscellaneous aunts, uncles, and cousins are buried. I will go and visit her this fall, if not before.

* * *

We decided to leave Oudomxay on Friday morning, in order to take a one day Mahout training. We joined five other people—two young ladies from San Francisco, a young couple from Australia, and a young German women working in Vientiane, Laos—on a fabulous day of riding real elephants at the Elephant Village just south of Luang Prabang.

Phil and Disty, riding the elephants

It was exhilarating. Sitting on top of the great big sensitive animals, trudging through the water, rambling on the dirt, feeding them, and washing them. My elephant was Mei Khammong. She was 47 years old. She was slow and deliberate. I rode her most of the day. Disty's elephant was Mei Khamhua (sp?). She was a younger, feistier girl. While we were crossing the Nam Khan, Disty's young lady let out a huge trumpeting cry, then proceeded to slap her trunk on the river and make huge canon-ball-like splashes. While we were in the river, we tried to stand on our elephants' heads. I fell off immediately; Disty stood up and stayed for about a minute, then jumped in.

After our training and riding, we went for a little boat ride up the river to a waterfall—a disappointing tourist attraction that had a magnificent quarry with a small waterfall. We jumped in and cooled off. After the boat ride back, we took another swim at the saltwater pool at the Elephant Village—beautiful and refreshing.

We want to go back next year. Who's in?

String Ceremony for Young Boy Who Died in Ban Thiao

The Meeting of the Elders of Ban Thaio

By the time everyone came back from the rice fields and got cleaned and the food was prepared, it was about 9pm. We are not allowed to help with the preparation of the food, serving it, or cleaning it up. I assume that is because they believe that a good host takes care of these things, but for Disty and me, it feels wrong. We are not sure how we can be good guests, but the Ajahn tells us that our hosts are sorry that they cannot spend more time with us. We are blessed to be spending time here with this family, and their kindness is overwhelmingly one-sided. We hope they can someday come and visit us and we can return the favor. But that is impossible. Besides the barrier of the money, the acquisition of a tourist visa for a Lao citizen is next to impossible.

We walked with Ajahn Bounxay, the Abbot, and another monk, Ajahn's cousin from Thailand towards the Wat, making the left turn on the dirt road towards the bridge.
We had brought our flashlights, but I was not prepared to walk across the bridge in the dark. Fortunately, we made a left turn before the bridge into a little grouping of houses. Our hosts house was the second on the left, and the monks slid a bamboo rail to the right which revealed a secret entry to the house. By the time we arrived for the meeting it was close to 9:30, but we were not the last to arrive. It was a very lovely home: simple and well-appointed. Our host was a member of the Education Department, and was a high-ranking official. We all set around a table on chairs that are very typical for a upscale Lao household. They are made of wood and intricately carved with no padding and they seem perhaps a bit lower than the standard American variety. We were served water. A second elder appeared, and he took a seat to my left. Ajahn started the meeting, and told the story of why we were there and what we hoped to do. The discussion was centered on our building a library at the Wat in Ban Thaio on the other side of the river.

Once Ajahn finished telling the story, a third elder appeared, and Ajahn asked what the group thought about the library project at the Wat. There was no recap, but everyone, including the third elder seemed to already know and have an opinion about the subject.

They spoke quickly and emphatically about the subject. It was different from the quality of the conversations we'd had already during the day. There was no sense of support, only bit of strident anger. About which neither Disty and I understood.

Ajahn reviewed what they said: 1) we would need to go through a proper permitting process for the library through governmental authorities 2) we would need to provide complete funding 3) that the wetlands in front of the proposed site would need to be filled and 4) we would need to first build a new bridge which would cost $20,000.

We politely told them through Ajahn that we understood the tremendous need to build a bridge, but that we had come to build a library.

Their faces changed and they became a bit less strident. The monks suggested that if the building was built on Wat property, they could do the permitting and filling in of the wetlands. This seemed acceptable to the elders. Disty and I added, through Ajahn, that perhaps we could find funding for the bridge after we built the library, whether or not we chose this spot, because we had experienced first hand the need for a reliable, strong bridge from the village to the Wat. It would be a great gift for this wonderful community.

But as romantic as it seems to build a bridge in a small rice-farming community, there are other factors at work. There is a plan to build a bus station at the edge of Ban Thaio. Real estate prices are expected to rise, and inaccessible land made accessible will become more valuable. Building a bridge as they were suggesting that would carry vehicles across could be the very thing that would imperil the Wat and make the land around it prime for development. This is not a static economy. And, sadly, there are expectations that every landowner could become rich.

Disty and I left thinking that it would be far better to buy the land around the Wat first and donate it to the Wat, then build a sturdy bridge for people to go back and forth.

It was an interesting night that opened our eyes to the hazards of development and our little library project.

Picking a Place for Andy's Library

Disty and I have come to Laos to visit with Ajahn Bounxay and find a place in his home town of Ban Thaio, about 8 miles from Oudomxay, for a library. Ajahn Bounxay has picked there or four potential locations for the library—two in his town and one in the city—and he wanted to take us on tour to see these.

We have decided that a library project would be a fitting way for us to connect with the people of Laos and make a fitting tribute to Andy. Libraries have mattered in our family. From my father, I learned the importance of books and libraries. Throughout college I worked in the library, spent much of my time in the library, and moved the library from one place to another. I worked in a library after college. I even contemplated for a short time going to graduate school to get my MLS degree. I dreamed of restoring old books.

It was not a matter of coincidence that both of my boys would love to read and collect books. The boys and I read every night together when they were young, and those memories are very sweet. Andy was an avid collector of everything, but books were his passion. Circling his bedroom are the bookshelves that he and I built together that house his book collection. Afterwards, he went about organizing the books and the shelves in a cataloging system that makes it easy to find pretty much anything of interest. Andy loved libraries. They were a refuge for his soul, which thirsted for the wonder that flowed in the books he found: randomly or not.

Our driver, Ajahn Bounxay's cousin, and his young son were waiting for us in his pickup truck at the head of the driveway. The Abbott of the Wat in Ban Thaio, was waiting and was planning to join us for our tour. The pickup truck is lined with a grass rug and two plastic chairs are set up in the pickup area for the monks. They are seated and Disty and I get into the front. It is a stick shift and, as we head down the road, I mention to our driver that my car at home has a stick shift, as well. about half a mile up the road we make a right and head up a very rocky road. After about 100 yards, another truck is coming down towards us, and our driver backs down the road. Once the truck is past, we head up the road again. It is impossible to imagine cars or motorcycles or bicycles making regular use of the road.

I want to mention something that has been becoming more and more obvious the longer we are here. There is a lot of trash everywhere. Plastic bottles and takeout containers and bags and wrappers. It is endless. For a country that is so beautiful, that prides itself on its cleanliness, it is littered with trash. On the bus trip from Luang Prabang to Oudomxay, I thought that one project which might be good to do would be to bring people here, rent a truck, buy trash bags and walk from Oudomxay to Luang Prabang picking up trash along the side of the road. I tried to imagine how many trash bags it would be and what sized truck would be necessary. I am thinking maybe 50-100 cubic yards of trash. There seems to be nowhere to put the trash.

1. The Secondary School

This terrible road was no different. But it opened up to a place of incredible beauty at the top of the hill overlooking the surrounding villages. This was the first place we might pick for the library: the secondary school. This is a regional school, which brings together children from a radius of more than 30 miles. There are 180 students. Today, there is a group in the field marking out a building site for more classrooms. And there is a cow tied to the tether-ball pole in the middle of the school field. Behind us and to our left were some small free-standing bamboo buildings, we learned later that these are dormitories for students who live more than 30 miles away and that they were built by their families. This is a place for poor children who are getting an education.

Somehow, the people in the field were the very people we would need to talk with about building the library: the Provincial Director of Finance and Development, The District Superintendent, and The Provincial Designer. We took this not as a coincidence, but as a sign that this is the location for our library. These officials were there to place the first markers into the ground to indicate the footprint of the new classroom building they are constructing. They were also there with a tray of food and some Lao Lao (rice whiskey) to remove the Pi (evil spirits) and commemorate the moment. Ajahn Bounxay introduced us and explained why we are there. It turned out that the District Superintendent was Ajahn's teacher in fourth grade.

We discussed the library and everyone agreed that there is a great need for a library here and that the poor students from many areas would be very well served by having one. Currently there is a small room in the current classroom building that is used as a library. The new building they laid out today will have more classrooms and no library. A library is definitely needed for these poor students from the far flung villages. We have driven through these villages and we know how poor they are. In fact, I learned today that the Oudomxay district is the second poorest district in Laos. As we discussed how we might build a library here, the director of finance was very clear about how it would work: the district would decide what the library would look like and how it would be used, and we would give them the money in advance. They suggested we visit a secondary school in Oudomxay that had a new library.

We were offered Lao Lao, but Ajahn Bounxay, the Abbott, Disty, and I declined. Our driver, however, joined the others in a mid-morning celebration. Afterwards we took many picture of all of us, except the finance director, who had slipped away.

We hopped into the pickup and headed towards the city of Oudomxay. There we found a tuk tuk driver. It turned out that the driver was married to one of Ajahn Bounxay's cousins. He became our driver for the rest of our day.

Before we went much farther, we stopped for lunch at a restaurant that the tuk tuk driver took many people from out of town. He joined us for lunch and we ordered way too much food: laap gai, ga pow, soup. We packed up the leftovers and hung them in a plastic bag on one of the top rails of the tuk tuk to bring them home to our hosts.

2. Wat Phou That

After lunch we wandered up the many steps of Wat Phou That in Oudomxay. In Lao, Phou That means The Hill. The giant upright golden Buddha and stuppa of the Wat at the top of the hill soar into the sky and can be seen from many places in the city. We walk slowly up the stairs. There are many purple flowers overhanging the steps. I look back down the stairs, as we were about two-thirds of the way up. There was an overhanging flower and two butterflies were circling around it. It overlooks the city and the stairs and the view are breathtaking. What if this were a sign?

We got to the top of the stairs and go up another small flight. To our left was a cement picnic table and benches covered in ceramic tile. Sitting there, in a spot overlooking the city was a young man in shorts and a t-shirt with a computer. I thought: I could work here forever, in the Wat, overlooking the houses and rice fields and forests.

For a brief moment, here on the top of the hill at this Wat, I thought about Buddha disconnecting from his family and life of riches and privilege to find a release from Samsara. Desire and pain. This poor country that at that moment I was looking out on, needs so much and has so much. This country, where the oldest Buddha statue lives just a few kilometers away in Luang La, is the richest and saddest place on earth, for me, because everywhere I look I think I feel the spirit of my lost son. But it is connecting, not disconnecting. I realize, I do not understand the Buddha. And because of this I can never be a Buddhist. How could a man or a god abandon his wife and son to release himself from Samsara. I know people try to relieve their suffering by moving on. For me, there is no greater love on earth than that of a parent for a child. I spend my meager life, now, loving one and trying to reconnect with the other who is lost.

We walked up a few more stairs and took photos of the many nagas on the stairway and the statues of "Mother Earth" that are placed on either side of the stairs to the Stupa. The nagas are made of cement and I thought I might try to make a pair on our front steps at home. Around the Stupa are statues of Buddha in daily poses; each birthday—the day of the week you are born—is represented by a different pose. I made a donation to Wednesday. Disty made one to Friday, her day, and two for Thursday, for both of our boys.

We sat on the stairs of the Stupa overlooking the city. Next to us down the stairs is a building that is half complete. We look out on the villages below. Ajahn Bounxay points out the family house of a friend who runs a restaurant in Connecticut, whom we met at the Wat recently. Ajahn's grandmother, who is in her nineties, also lives in the village below.

The Ajahn and the Abbott suddenly stood up and around the corner had come the Abbott of Wat Phou Tha. The monks spoke for a while. Ajahn Bounxay introduced us and tells the Abbott our story and why we are here. He listened. He said that a library is very important, but first they must finish the building they are working on but can't complete for lack of funds. We took some photographs with the frail Abbott, who, I guess, may be in his 50s or 60s.

We turned around the path to some small houses at the edge of the hill. Ajahn Bounxay walked onto the porch of one, and we followed, removing our shoes and kneeling on a grass rug where Ajahn's master, Satu Pheng was seated with his legs crossed. We bowed down. And they chanted. He is a very revered man, and we were privileged to be in his presence. He is very charismatic and had a warm constant smile that made me feel very comfortable.

Ajahn Bounxay told him why we are there, and Satu shook his head as he listened. Satu told us that he also would like to build a library. We told him that we hoped to attract a monk to be the librarian, to have a room in the library where someone could come and stay to exchange language and culture with the people, and that it be a place that represents the importance of knowledge to everyone regardless of age or gender. He told us he has already picked out a spot. Would we like to see it?

We followed him around the corner and down the steps of the Stupa past the table where the man was sitting with his computer and down the short set of steps to where the long staircase begins its descent. To the right of the stairs is a cement area that overlooks the village. It was dreamlike: this place, this location, the satu. If I were sitting here, in Andy's library, overlooking this hill, I know that every sound of a gong or a broom sweeping, or the smell of the incense, or the sight of the young monks, or the feel of a book in my hands or the breeze through the banana leaves would bring me to a state of joy.

We took photos, exchanged information, and Disty and I each took a stone from the site. Then I took another.



3. Monk's High School, or, Wat Me Worry

We next went to the High School for the monks. It is a large sprawling campus. We pulled into the courtyard and in the center is a tree. On it, hang animals and fruit and leaves. At the top there are two reclining Buddhas. At the bottom of the tree is a Buddha with the face of Alfred E. Neuman. I now affectionately and will forever know this Wat as Wat Me Worry. But beyond the humor, the tree is magnificent. On closer inspection, I realized it is made of cement and everything is attached by wire. I meet the English and Geography teacher. He is anxious to speak English and he tells me the story of the tree.

There was a man in the village who had a dream that he knew his former life. He has sculpted and built the tree exactly as he saw it in his dream. He is still alive and still creating works for the tree. These are not for sale. It is his life's work. I believe we should all have such a life's work.

The teacher showed me the small library. It is a little closet where multiple copies of the textbooks the students use were laid on the floor.


4. Room to Read

We headed next to the Secondary School, mentioned by the officials we met in Ban Thaio, where the school has added a library. As we arrived, hundreds of students were pouring out of the gates by foot and on motorcycles. We have arrived on the last day. The school is quite large, built in a "U." On the right is a classroom building built in cooperation with Vietnam. On the left is a new technology lab that has been built with a loan from China. In the back left corner of the buildings is a new free-standing library. The plaque on the building reads: "This library was established through the cooperation of the local community with Room to Read. It is dedicated to Rachel and Noah Lesperance whose names and lives bring hope to others." It was closed. And we looked through the windows. It is a beautiful space with books around the walls and a tables and chairs in the center. Of course, the Director of the Secondary Schools was there to officiate over the final exams, and he wandered out to see what two monks and two foreigners might be up to. He met us at the library and we chat about what they are doing.  It is very impressive, and we realized that Room to Read is providing libraries to many schools in the area. In fact, we learned, their headquarters are right around the corner.

We got back in the tuk tuk and headed back after a long and extraordinary day. There is much to talk about. And the options are many. The pros and the cons. While we were traveling back, Ajahn tells us that we will have a meeting with the elders of Ban Thaio that evening to discuss locating the library at the Wat. We look forward to a little rest and a little food, before then. It is 6:00 pm and the meeting is at 7:30.

Over the Rice Fields and through the Woods

With Ajahn Bounxay, at 1:00 on Tuesday, after the ceremony, we went over the bridge from his town to his Wat. The bridge is about 200 yards long, 5 feet wide made of bamboo pipes covered with woven bamboo that has been washed out in places. Each year, during the heavy rains, the bridge is taken out by the swollen river. It is the only access the town has to the Wat and the Wat has to the town. Often, I am told, the monks are separated from contact with the village. Many plans have been developed over the years to build a proper bridge, but there is no money to make it happen. The monks at the Wat are often stranded during and after the monsoon season until the bridge can be repaired. The village all comes out to repair the bridge.

We stop at the Wat to pick up two monks who join us in the walk. We will be catching up with a group of novices, who have gone ahead and will meet us at the hot springs. We are prepared for a nice walk in the woods.

We began walking through the woods in a stand of towering bamboo. I have never been in a forest of this kind. As the soaring bamboo trunks wave in the wind, they made a distinctive crackling sound. It is beautiful in the bamboo forest.

We left the forest and forded a stream. The water was warm and the stones under foot were smooth and made a sturdy path. We climbed up onto a rice field and walked along the mud walls that divide the areas to be planted into distinct rectangles to be flooded as necessary or not. The walls are amazingly strong; they are handmade out of mud and there are miles upon miles of these wall throughout the village. I want to know more about rice farming. I know so little about the food that feeds much of the world. These fields are planted with sticky rice. In Laos, sticky rice is revered most of all.

We left the rice field and walked along a rock wall that divided the irrigation ditch on the right from a precipice on the left. Balance was everything here, and I kept my weight to the right so I didn't fall down the steep hill on my left. It began to make Ajahn Bounxay, Disty, and me very nervous, so we walked through the irrigation ditch. The ditch was filled with running water and amazingly true in its dimensions—about 3 feet wide and 8 inches deep, with a mostly silt bottom. My sandals, leather-thonged flip-flops, protected my feet from the occasional sharp stones. We walked along this way for 15 minutes or so, until we crossed another stream and climbed up and down rocks. It is difficult, but no impossible, climbing.

This hike reminded me of hiking in Maine, something we do often with our cousins and friends when we are at our house in Mt. Desert. In fact, there is so much about this trip that has reminded me of Maine: our boat picnic to a Wat on the other side of the Mekong in Luang Prabang; a supportive village filled with cousins and extended family; and this walk through the woods. But this walk was turning from a lovely walk into one that was quite arduous. We've had these hikes before: a walk sprinkled with fear that we don't really know where we're going and that we may never return. We talk as we walk about many things. It is outrageously beautiful. And though I am reminded of hikes in Maine, I realize I am in the jungles of Southeast Asia. That is not lost on me.

We met a small river that seemed impossible to ford and we stopped. One monk jumped across the rocks with ease, but he seemed to fly—like Peter Pan or the heroine in Crouching Tiger. There must have been wires under his robe. The rest of us decided it was too difficult to try, surely one of us would slip into the rushing stream. We found rocks to sit on, ready to abandon the goal of finding the novices and the hot springs. It's been invigorating. It was not too hot. On the opposite side of the stream is a small waterfall. There are surprisingly few signs of animals or birds. As we are sitting on the rocks, I noticed the bag of one of the monks who is with us. It is a black hanging back with "Pirates of the Caribbean" written on it in silver and a wide chain that is half punk/half Barbie. He and the other monk have been hopping along the walls, ever sure-footed, agile. They are both in their twenties, are fit, and are game for adventure.

Disty tried the river and decided we should try to cross. The monks found a bamboo pole, and we all jumped in and crossed the river by holding the pole that was steadied by the two young monks. We continued our hike, which was getting a bit more strenuous as the trail was getting narrower. The monks ahead used a stick to machete through the path. Ajahn Bounxay stopped and pulled a 3-inch leech from his foot. This now became the nature of the walk: walk a few yards and take a small 1-inch or less leech from your foot or from between your toes. These little leeches would attach themselves quickly. They were slippery and hard to pull off. Also, once pulled off, they would attach themselves to your hand. I found that I needed to remove them by using a rock to rub them off.

It didn't get much better for a while, maybe half an hour. We were, of course, a little concerned that we weren't going in the right direction. I saw what looked like a dog track, and I asked Ajahn Bounxay if the novices might have a dog. They did, and I knew we were heading in the right direction. The monks would call out in a distinctive holler, and I suddenly felt like I was hiking with the Boy Scouts. There were no answers to the calls for quite a while, then from the forest the dog appeared, and we knew we were close.

A short distance along the path and we came to an opening where there were a dozen young novices frolicking in the small hot spring. I jumped in and it felt good. I was surprised at the muddiness of the small pool—maybe 8 feet wide and 6 feet across—and the softness of the water and the pungent smell of sulfur. I stayed in for a while and then clambered out . Disty was not really prepared for swimming, as she was dressed in her new simple sinh that she had made in Luang Prabang. She pulled it up between her legs and waded around in the hot spring. It was nice to be rid of leeches.

The way back was more arduous than the way there. However, we had our troop of novices guiding us and helping us. I got stuck in the mud a couple of times and was lifted out, like some huge semi stuck in quicksand being extracted by powerful tow trucks. One of the monks handed me a walking stick, and that was a big help. About five minutes into the walk, my left flip-flop had its thong torn from the sole. I pushed the thong back through the hole and tied it to itself, but the shoe was almost worthless. We struggled back, and about half-way home I broke the other sandal and did the same thing to it. When we reached the irrigation ditches, I took off my sandals, but the sharp rocks cut into my feet, so I alternated between wearing them and carrying them.

When we got back to the rice field, the sandals had failed me entirely, so I sat down to see what could be done. The monks jumped into action and Ajahn Bouxay set about to repairing them with vines and sticks, and then the monk with the Pirate bag took out a very sharp knife and proceeded to repair them with a piece of a tire that he had found. Good as new.

After passing through the stand of bamboo, we took a slightly different path to the Wat than the way we came. We passed through an orange grove and walked by a small dilapidated open house in the woods. Mother of the house was brushing her teeth while the five children played around the house. They were the poorest people we have seen. Mother had nothing but a toothbrush, as far as we could see, and the five children.

We arrived at the Wat, five hours later, tired and dehydrated. We sat and had a few glasses of water and went back on our way to Phoumy and Kham's. As we got to the bridge, a farmer was leading his water buffalo down the path. Disty paused and took pictures, but I was too tired to stop. Normally, I would have wanted to be near the animals. I headed across the bridge. I heard a shout and looked back and Disty had almost fallen through, her walking stick going through a hole. She was safe, but we realized even more than before that the village needed a new bridge if anyone was going to safely walk between the village and the Wat.

Removing the Bad Spirits

We woke up very early. I think we have arrived at just the wrong time for our hosts. They will spend the next five days planting rice in the rice fields. This morning they woke up at sunlight and dressed for work in the field. The family owns 5 or 6 hectares of land. They mostly grow the rice to feed the large extended family, and everyone under the age of 55 helps.

The rice fields are beautiful. They are in the back of the house, extending as far as one can see left and right, butting up against the beautiful green mountains, with forests and golden brown earth. Perfectly centered in the view from the stone wall at the back of the house where I sit, about 1000 yards away in the center of the rice field is a small grey-brown wooden open house with a rusting corrugated tin roof. It is balanced by two soaring bamboo trees. The highest mountain is slightly off to the left, but centered above the little rice house is a cell tower, broadly striped in red and white.

Kham, Ajahn Bounxay's oldest sister, and her husband Phoumy's house reminds me of Andy's friend Oui's house in Tamafaiwan, Thailand, which we visited in 2007, but it is quite a bit more upscale. It shares a property with Ajahn Bounxay's mother's house, a simple wooden house at the front of the property. To access the property you need to go through a metal gate that holds in the dogs and chickens and ducks and the three little children that belong to Ajahn Bounxay's sisters. The first floor of Kham and Phoumy's house is one open room and, as you are facing the house, a stairway turns from the middle of the left side up the left side wall to a landing in the front left corner. The steps are not uniform in height and the top two in particular, require me to use the carved mahogany balusters on the railing that surround the stairwell to get myself up the stairs. When you arrive on the second floor, there are two bedrooms to the left and a closet that runs about 10 feet x 3 feet wide across the front middle of the house. As you pass the closet and rooms, the entire right side of the upstairs, about 30' x 10' is open. We are sleeping the open are towards the rear of the house on a pair of mattresses on the floor. At night it is protected by mosquito netting, though I haven't seen or heard many mosquitoes. It is a private space with a reciprocating fan on the ceiling and floor. There is a computer set up on a table on the closet wall where, above it, all the electricity is located on a board on the closet wall.

They have set up a table in the open room on the first floor, where they insure that we are adequately fed. They are attentive hosts. This morning, we had a breakfast of fish soup, small birds, a dish of fish cut into one inch squares that were covered in gelatin, pineapple and mango, and, of course, sticky rice. Everything is delicious, although the head of the small bird had been tucked under the wings, and it crunched in a way that made me a bit uncomfortable. So I didn't eat the head of the second one.

Our language skills are not ideal. There is no English. All communication is in Lao. There is very little actual information passing from us to our hosts that is essential, because we neither understand nor can be understood. We are learning the names of the foods. We are learning a bit about the family, but the conversations so far have been unessential pleasantries that must be exhausting for our hosts. And usually, even that requires the use of a dictionary.

After breakfast, Phoumy comes and asks me something. What I think he said is "Let's go the the river." We are game. Disty and I join Phoumy and walk quickly down the road about 1/4 mile, chasing Kham, turning right at a small road, and cutting through a house with lots of children sitting in the underneath area of the raised wooden house. I thought that they were there for school, but I knew that everyone is home this week for the rice planting. Rather than going to the river, we were going to the ceremony for Ajahn's young cousin, who died on Saturday.

We headed up the wooden stairs of the simple house and entered a room filled with adults, mostly elders. There were two other rooms at the back, where the parents and grandparents of the young boy sat. We were asked to sit in a place of honor along the back of the house, where the monks would later sit to perform the ceremony. We were given water and Khao Dome. There was a bowl of sunflower seeds sitting in front of us. Phoumy received a white blessing string and left, letting us know that Ajahn Bounxay would be coming at 10. It was 9. Disty and I looked at each other and I could see reflected in her eyes what I was feeling. An hour can be a long time.

To my right was Mai Phom, who explained that his name is a high tone, not to be confused with, phom, the lower tone word for hair. He is an important member of the family, with a charismatic way. Disty sat to my left. To her left was, Mai Thong, an ex-monk, whose son is a monk in Thailand but is home for a few weeks on vacation. Mai Thong later led the lay part of the funeral ceremony. After about 30 minutes of watching people come in and out, we were moved to the opposite side of the house. We were given pillows to sit on and tea. We were seated amongst the elder women: two sisters of Ajahn Bounxay's mother and some aunts.

Near us now, was the room where the family of Bounsong sat, and Disty went in and spoke with them softly. She was speaking with a young man. She was in there for quite a while, and I watched her with admiration as she navigated across culture and language to heal. Behind us on a table alongside the wall, was a television that was playing a video of Indiana Jones dubbed into Thai with Thai subtitles. Every once in a while the original German spoke in the film appears. While we waited for the Monks, people were watching the most thrilling parts. Magically, a basket of Bounsong's things appeared. His belt, a pair of pants, a vial of something that may have been cologne. His little brothers came by and stared at the basket. The older of them couldn't stop looking and had a look on his face that I've seen on mine when I find an object of Andy's that brings back his essence to me.

Eventually, at about 10:30, Ajahn Bounxay and two monks, one of them Mai Thong's son, and three novices appeared, taking their seats along the back wall. They began the service, and it was much more chaotic than services we have attended at Wat Buddhabhavanna back home. It was a long service, with much chanting and bowing and candle lighting and sitting. At one point, I thought the ceremony was over and I was really uncomfortable and switched my position to sit on my knees. At that moment everyone turned and looked at me, and I was very embarrassed to have disrupted the ceremony. A chair came out for me. Then one for Disty, just in case. As we special guests sat there, above the others, it was clear that the commnity was only concerned for our comfort and happiness. But I felt that, perhaps, it was at the expense of the dead boy. That somehow we were bad spirits that manifested ourselves in the room. At one point the wind blew the windows open and blew out the candles. I could not shake the thought that our karma had negatively impacted the village. But I also felt that we were there for a reason. Bounsong's mother was sitting in front of us, and I felt like putting my hand on her shoulder, as others had done for me, to let her know that I understood what it was like to lose a child. But between language and cultural divides, I decided against it, and I am not sure she will ever know.

After the ceremony, the monks were fed lunch. They left about noon, and we were asked to move back to the position we were in when we first arrived. I sat next to Phom, again, and as we ate he taught me the names for the foods. It turned out that almost everyone there was avoiding the spicy food—a signature of Lao cooking—because the spiciness made their stomachs hurt.

After eating, too much, we politely said goodbye. And as we left, ready to head up the road to Kham and Phoumy's, someone called out to us and led us to Ajahn Bounxay, who had been waiting to take us to see the Wat and the hot springs, deep in the forest.

In Ban Thaio

After a long and bumpy bus ride, Disty and I made it to Ban Thaio.

We sat with Ajahn Bouxay's extended family for a few hours. One of Ajahn's young cousins died yesterday morning of a sudden illness. We will go in the morning to visit the young cousin's parents.

Hopefully, I will be able to update the blog over the next few days, and I will try to provide the details of our trip, as well as the progress of our project to help build a library in the village.

Finally, in Laos

When we got to the Lao Airlines check-in counter, early on Thursday morning, it felt like we had arrived home. And though we only speak a little Lao, the language and the people felt surprisingly comfortable and remarkable to both of us. As we checked in, one of the agents placed on each of us a colorful green sticker with a white and yellow dok champa (plumeria) flower, the official flower of Laos, in the center and "LPQ" in big blue Helvetica letters. We wore these stickers proudly through the airport.

As we were sitting having a small breakfast an agent came up to us and told us we were late for boarding. Perhaps, she had notes, like the waiter we once had who called me Mr. Zuckerman. When I asked him how he knew my name he pulled out a card on which the receptionist had written: Mr. Zuckerman and Ms. Pearson, man with mustache and salt-and-pepper hair and lady with colorful scarf. As we hurried along to the gate, Disty suggested perhaps she had those notes. We both knew, however, it was the stickers.

When we arrived at the gate, I got to use on the gate agent one of the few Lao sayings I know: ma sa sa digwah bo ma (Coming slowly is better than not coming at all). She was unimpressed. In fact, I'm not sure she knew I was speaking Lao. Or, maybe, I hope, she was Thai. Anyway, not a good start on the trying out the language skills. We handed over our boarding passes, went through the doors, and board the waiting bus. We waited a while longer for the rest of the stragglers to board, then headed to the plane for the 1.5 hour flight to Luang Prabang.

When we arrived, we paid the US$36 for our entry visa. I paid an extra dollar, because I didn't bring along an extra photo. Chip was waiting on the other side as we went through customs. He had come with a tuk tuk driver and we grabbed our luggage and headed to the tuk tuk. We drove to a few different places, buying vegetables, barbequed duck, sticky rice. The the driver brought us to our hotel: Hotel au Fils du Mekong (Mekong Riverside Hotel). We checked into our beautiful room on the second floor overlooking the Mekong. The tuk tuk drivers were playing cards across the street.

We grabbed our food and went to a restaurant down the river a block or two. The restaurant staff brought us plates and glasses and we ordered drinks. There, we sat and ate and talked. I had a Beer Lao for the first time in three years. The moment was so reminiscent of when Andy and Chip picked us up at the airport, we went to the guest house that Andy had found, and we went to the river and ate Laap and drank Beer Lao.

Lanxang—A Million Elephants

Our house outside Boston is filled with elephants. They are quite mischievous. The six two-foot-high ceramic elephants who stand guard by winter in various rooms and by summer oversee the pool were definitely responsible for the burst washing-machine hose that flooded our house in the summer of 2008 when we first brought them home from Western Massachusetts. The elephants had been imported from Vietnam by Luy Nguyen and his wife Trai Duongat owners of TrucOrient Express Vientamese Restaurant in West Stockbridge, Massachusetts (add link). The remarkable couple slipped out of Vietnam and came to the United States in 1975. One summer night in 2008 we ate there with our friends Marjorie and Myles, and we found two elephants awaiting us on their wooden deck, a deck filled with ceramic and wooden pots, planters, sculpture, etc that they had purchased the previous winter and placed into a container that they shipped back to the United States.

Ever since we had been to Ernest Hemingway’s House in Key West, Florida, Disty had been looking for a ceramic elephant bench to stand by the edge of our pool. However, the only ones we could find online were over $1,000 and that was out of our price range. We were not prepared for the relatively low price of Trai’s beautiful elephants, well under $100 each. And because of that, we ended up buying another four that were stored in a garage in the back of the restaurant property. After loading the first two elephants into the backseat, I drove our car over the back lawn about 300 yards to the storage building, Trai and Myles leading the way with flashlights to illuminate the grassy path. Seventyish Trai disappeared into the building and returned, and one by one, passed to Myles and me the four others as if she were handing out a piece of paper, each elephant weighing about thirty pounds. As we loaded the elephant benches into the backseat, four across and two on the floor, I noticed that each was slightly different. They all had a similar height and look, coming from the same mold, perhaps, but each had been painted by hand by a different hand, with slightly different hues and textures—by women, children—of what circumstance I only began to imagine.  Because we were concerned for the safety of our new pachyderms, we made sure they had their seat belts on. It was quite a scene, as we drove the 2.5 hour trip back home late at night: the elephants safely tucked into their seats in the back. Just like a long trip home in the middle of the night with our children tucked in their seats in the back, the elephants were strangely silent; but unlike those trips, whenever I glanced back at them in the rearview mirror, the elephants just stared eerily, straight ahead. It was then I first noticed some had their trunks swung to the left, some had their trunks swung to the right.

From the moment we brought them home, a number of things went wrong, and I held the elephants responsible. First the flood, then a variety of problems with the pool and, finally, in the Spring, Andy died. I still wonder why these elephants were brought to us.

* * *

I made our reservations at the Anantara River Resort in Bangkok without knowing much about the hotel. As it turned out, it was a perfect choice. Elephants are everywhere at Anatara.

* * *

After our plane landed in Bangkok and we took the train to the elevated rail that we took to the dock where we were picked up by the ferry to the hotel, we were greeted by elephants. Large planters with images of elephants surrounded the dock and, after we exited the boat and walked up the carpeted ramp, further up, big brown stone elephants stood guard. Around the corner a number of light brown stone elephants were seated holding light poles; further in, a pair were on all fours standing on large light brown pedestals protecting the outdoor restaurant overlooking the dock. We were lead towards the registration desk by an employee named Sam who was on the 7:30 am hotel boat with us. She tells us, of course, that she is from Philadelphia, from the town next to where Disty grew up. She is new to the hotel, having just come from working at another Anantara in the Maldives. As we walk quickly to check in and find some sleep after our marathon day or two of travel, we enter an outdoor hallway lined on our left with small elephants of all sorts, each about ten feet apart from one another, all about the same size, standing on pedestals along the path surrounding the pool. It is very beautiful. The first elephant is a dark green ceramic sporting a beret with white spats and flowers painted on its shoulders and long curving white tusks; next, a primitive squat brown wooden elephant with cracks at its shoulders and small diamond carved eyes; third, a green metallic elephant with trunk upraised and two hooded riders sitting on a saddle blanket patterned with perhaps ficus leaves on its back, both riders holding up spears, one with a very large leaf on its end; then, an old worn sandstone-colored elephant standing on a pedestal carved from the same piece of stone; fifth, a brown chipped clay elephant with head slightly bowed and hind slightly up, its ears like lemon wedges, the flat edge facing rear and a repair to its right rear leg; the sixth is holding its trunk high, one foreleg off the ground, moving forward, trunk upraised, wearing a dark brown saddle blanket and seat studded with a brass floret; then, a yellow brown elephant, like a pitcher with its move open in an "O," head high, hind low; the eighth is an ivory glazed ceramic with brown glaze for its halter and shading, its trunk forming a backward "S," a curve of its trunk resting on its head; ninth is a brown and white elephant with a large decorated passenger basket on its back and in its trunk is perhaps a lotus flower or eye of Buddha; then, an old sad worn brown stone elephant showing its wear, this may be my favorite, but that may be because I was feeling like him; then, a majestic gray metallic elephant who made eye contact with its whimsical eyes with beaded hat and beads that run down its slightly upraised trunk; then, twelfth, a white ceramic tusked elephant on a green base, holding a large red flower in its upraised trunk; the thirteenth is a praying old stone elephant with a large star in a circle carved into its side, I want to look this up, it is a symbol no doubt of something noteworthy. I am told later from one of the staff that "anantara" means "never ending," but I find "anantara" is probably a Pali word that means "without interval."

We check into our beautiful room overlooking the pool and the Chao Phraya River, or "the river of kings."  It is early and we go get some breakfast overlooking the river then walk to the health club. I check in for tennis at 4 pm, and we head to the pool for reading, sleeping lightly, and just being. It is a cloudy day and there is a very light rain on and off that does not deter us from lounging.

Throughout the day, I keep discovering new elephants. The bar is called the Elephant Bar, with trophies and photos of Elephant Polo matches and a poster announcing the forthcoming 2012 King's Cup Elephant Polo, which we will unfortunately miss this year.

What is it about elephants and Anantara? When I ask the concierge why there are so many elephants at the hotel, he tells me: “The Thai people love elephants; so do the foreigners. The ancient Kings would ride the elephants into battle. The elephants are for royalty.”

And so it was in Lao: the Land of a Million Elephants. The old flag of Lao had three elephants grouped together, representing the three kingdoms. As the Pathet Lao, the revolutionary government, struggled against the royal government in the fifties, they had their own flag. It had no elephants on it; elephants represented the old way. The flag carried by the Pathet Lao was a simple blue (for riches of the people) and red (for blood that was shed) flag with a white circle in the middle, representing the unity of the Lao people and the full moon. No elephants. In the minds of the revolutionary Pathet Lao, they represent oppression, inequality, and an old system that keeps the mass of the people poor.

* * *

I had one of the best meals I’ve ever had on Tuesday night in Bangkok. The Blue Elephant was recommended by the concierge at the hotel. It was perfect: the service, the setting in an old colonial house in the middle of the city, and the food! Disty and I shared Khang Khao Phuak, "minced prawn, chicken and sweet spices stuffed in a golden taro pastry, accompanied by its own special sauce;" the Royal Omelette [sic], "Thai omelette stuffed with stir-fried minced port and vegetables. His Majesty King Rama V (King Chutalongkorn) created this dish himself and it was recorded in Thai history when it was served during his second visit to Europe. It became His Majesty's favourite dish and very popular with Thai and foreigners;" Crab Curry with Betel Leaves, "Phuket specialty crab curry served with rice noodle. If you visit Blue Elephant in Phuket [we were not], a dish not to be missed; and the Massaman Lamb, "From the far South a tender lamb curry of dried spices in coconut milk, Thai sweet potatoes, roasted peanuts and cashew nuts. This dish was described in a poem by King Rama II [although I cannot find the poem, yet]."

We took the skytrain one stop back to the Saphan Taksin station and walked down the steps to the central pier. We waited a few minutes for the hotel boat to appear, then hopped on and were greeted by our kind and attentive drivers, who once aboard, gave us cold wet lemon-scented towels. We were definitely ready to sleep off our jet lag and get ready for Wednesday. We planned to go to the Royal Palace and Wat Pho in the morning.

* * *

Sister Elephants to Our Elephants at Home

Wednesday morning, after a great night's sleep, I found them. Two of our elephants—by a door we had not gone through before. Disty was in a hurry to catch the hotel ferry to the public boat to go to the Royal Palace Museum and Wat Po, so we moved along without marveling too much.

We arrived at the Palace, after taking the public boat, and walked completely the wrong way, maybe a mile, around the enormous building to the entrance. We entered and starting wandering, immediately finding the Ramakian wall mural paintings along the gallery walk way. The first panel pictured an elephant, and I asked Disty to take a picture. We moved on. And as walked along the gallery, seeing the scenes of the Ramakian, we reached the end, got two bottles of water, and sat down. It was then that Disty realized that her iPhone was missing. She reconstructed the day and realized it must have been taken from the front pocket of her bag while we were on the boat.

Journey of Unhealing

We left our home in Bedford, Massachusetts this morning at 8 am. It is Father's Day. I made a long stop in the library room in our house where we have Andy's ashes, books, pictures, and miscellaneous things we can never get rid of—including the cardboard boxes that came from Laos with his effects. They are folded and stored behind the couch. It was hard to leave Andy and our 2-year-old golden doodle dog, Dao Noi ("Little Star" in Lao), whom I think embodies the souls of Andy and my brother, Larry.

It is strangely nice to peel off the healing that has grown around me over the last three years and feel the rawness that motivates our trip. People have asked: "Are you going for business of pleasure?" I am not sure. It is about the business of memory and building a connection. And there is pleasure in running naked through the streets of my soul. But maybe there's another category for our journey.

We drove to New York City, where we are having lunch with my sister and her two daughters, my nieces. Then we head off to the airport for our 7:00 pm flight to Tokyo and then on to Bangkok, where we arrive at 5:30 am on Tuesday.

After spending two days in Bangkok, on Thursday, June 21, we will fly to Luang Prabang, Laos. There we will meet up with Chip.

Building a Connection through Books

Disty and I are heading back to Laos on June 17. We will be going to Bangkok for a few days, then on to Luang Prabang, then to Oudomxay—about 5 hours north by bus—then a half-hour tuk tuk ride to Ban Thiao, home of our teacher, Ajahn Bounxay. There, we will meet Ajahn, stay with his sister, and look for a site to build a small library. Much has happened over the last few years and through the next two months, I hope to update this blog with my posts and the posts of Ajahn, who will leave tomorrow from Wat Buddhabhavanna in Westford, Massachusetts, where he now lives, and return to his childhood home and temple for the first time in three years. Safe travels, Ajahn.