Loy Krathong and Cooking with Monks

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We sort of get stuck in Chiang Mai. After a month in India, we are tired and we quickly succumb to the charms of Chiang Mai--both it’s easy access to all things Thai (e.g., great Thai food, Muay Thai boxing matches, inexpensive Thai massages, lots of tourist attractions) and it’s easy access to all things comfortable (I.e. wifi, coffee, and a modern mall).

On our first day in Chiang Mai, we discover an excellent hole-in-the-wall restaurant near our hotel and quickly become regulars. “Oh, no thanks,” we will say to the hostess when she offers us a menu as we head past her for our regular table immediately after opening time. “We already know the menu,” we add as we plug in the laptop and our cell phones. It turns out that we are not the only ones who have discovered this place. The owner, a man named Chai, has just returned from spending 10 years in Switzerland. He speaks Thai, English, and French very well. Each night, the small restaurant fills with the chatter of ex-pats and savvy tourists. It begins to feel like a home away from home almost immediately. Chai is the first person to tell us about Loi Krathong, Thailand’s beloved festival of lights, and we agree to stay in Chiang Mai for the festivities--adding a few more days to our stint in northern Thailand’s capital city.

Loi Krathong is celebrated on the full moon of the 12th month of the traditional Thai calendar--which corresponds with mid-November on the Western calendar. The festival originated as a means for honoring Buddha and continues to pay homage to the water Goddess. Today, the festival involves the creation of a krathong, a small cylindrical floating raft (made of banana palm trunk) adorned with a candle and intricately folded banana palm leaves. Individuals may also place fingernails or strands of hair into the krathong as a symbolic expression of shedding the bad parts of oneself. The krathong is then taken to the river where the candle is lit. The bearer says a prayer of forgiveness to the river Goddess before the krathong is cast afloat into the dark river--symbolically letting go of held grudges as the krathong joins an endless waterscape of floating lights. Additionally, families gather to assemble sky lanterns at the water’s edge that float into the night’s sky--dodging fireworks and festive powder.

Chai offers to host us during the festival and helps us to create our own krathongs. One of the Thai waitresses at his restaurant oversees the process with patience and kindness. “Like this?” I hear Pierce ask as he holds up his slightly-dilapidated krathong. She gently corrects him--rearranging the banana palm leaves--and he sets back to work. After we complete our krathongs, we join the masses of people at the river’s edge and search for an open spot where we might release our krathongs.

The festival is one of the most spectacular I have ever seen--I tell my dad, days later, that it’s like fourth of July, but better. The river, black with the night’s sky, gentle sweeps an array of twinkling floating lights downstream. Over head, fire works puncture the sky and floating sky lanterns drift peacefully away into the vast dark atmosphere. The river reverberates with the sounds of laughter and firework explosions. Venders sell elaborate krathongs, colorful sticks of meat, and fresh noodles. Others offer baby rabbits and baby chicks in tiny straw cages or small swimming fish in plastic bags.

After we have our fill of festivities, we walk back to our guesthouse--dodging giddy festival goers and crazed tuk-tuk drivers. “Do you think we should just cut through this wat?” Pierce asks me and I smile a little at the novelty of the this sentence. In my normal life, this isn’t something I would ever hear. We agree that it will save time and head for the wat. Once inside the walls of the wat, Pierce becomes distracted by the sky lanterns floating above a steepled house in the distance and begins to take pictures. I take this opportunity to have a seat and watch the happenings of the wat. Within moments of sitting down, I am approached by two young monks in bright orange clothes. I am surprised to find that they speak English very well and are eager to converse with me. I learn that they are both from Laos. One says he is 14 and the other is 21.

The other monks are huddled around a large steaming pot in front of the temple. When I ask what they are doing, the monks tell me that once per year they prepare a special dish to honor Buddha. The entire story is somewhat lost in translation, but they tell me that this food gives the eater strength and power all year--which sounds good to me. The dish consists of coconut milk, sugar, honey, sweet sticky rice, and butter. I joke that is sounds very healthy. They laugh and agree. Then, we are invited to join them. We take a quick look inside the temple and find--as always--a large Buddha seated in the middle of the vast room. Once again outside, we join the monks around the large pot.

They have just added the butter and are using what might be described as large wooden oars to stir the contents in the massive pot. One monk offers the oar to me and I accept. Pierce takes a turn stirring as well. I attempt to mimic their stirring techniques--pressing the hunk of butter into the side of the pot. When they quicken the pace, I do as well. “How do we know when it is done?” I ask one of “my” monks. “When he says it is,” the monk replies, pointing to a senior-looking monk who watches on knowingly from the periphery of the monk circle.

We fall into a collective silence and stare at the mixture. In the silence, I consider the irony of stirring a bubbling brew in a caldron hours after Halloween. I can’t think of a more Halloween-y experience, really. “Very good,” the monks encourage periodically as I stir. Intermittently, we stop stirring and pose for pictures that will document our monk cooking lessons. Slowly the mixture begins to congeal--the butter melted and the glistening sugar dissolved. It takes three monks to remove the pot from the fire before the rice is scooped into a separate bowl for serving. As a surprise bonus, they offer us a small bowl of the sweet rice. It’s delicious. We bow in thanks to our hosts and are pointed in the direction of our guesthouse. As we wander away, our krathongs floating down the river and the monk’s rice treat settling into our stomach, I think to myself that Loy Krathong is a great substituted for Halloween…and maybe Forth of July too.

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