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Published: January 13th 2008
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Young novice monks.
Monks walking from Wat Sri Soda to collect gifts of food pass other monks returning with their bowls full. Saturday. January 5. Day 12.
Earning merit. 5:45 am. We board our bus and head to Wat Sri Soda, a novice monk school, to participate in the feeding of the monks. The novices walk down the hill barefoot in the dark, wrapped in their thin orange robes. At first they move in pairs or trios, but as it gets lighter almost a steady stream of boys and young men flow down the mountain carrying empty bowls. When called, they stop in front of us. Each of us in the group take turns placing food--rice, main dishes, desert, milk, and water--into the bowl of the novice monk who has stopped in front of us. When we are finished, the novice chants a blessing. Parents who can't afford to educate their children sometimes send their boys to the monks so they can attend school, so some of the novices are only ten or eleven years old. They look so small. So cold. I know it's an opportunity for them; girls do not have the same chance. But it is difficult to watch as they pad back up the mountain, bowls filled with food they'll share with all in their community. When we have
gifted all our food, it is time to share the merit we've earned by feeding the monks. Sharing my merit with my deceased son, brother, and father is just the beginning of a tearful, painful journey this morning. It is quite moving for me, a racking, cathartic experience actually.
And the tears continue. Back to the hotel for breakfast and then back on the bus for a visit to another temple, Wat Suan Dok, the timing of which turns out to be fortuitous as a family is there to celebrate the birthday of its 89-year-old matriarch. To honor her, the family has invited nine monks who chant for long life, good health, and prosperity. At one point Nok translates that the monks are calling any angels who happen to be near and sets off another crying jag. Another cathartic experience before I let the chanting sweep me into meditation. The chanting is beautiful and our entire group sits quietly for the one-half hour ceremony. At which point I fear I won't be able to stand because my legs have gone to sleep from sitting on the floor for so long.
A bit of exercise. A 45-minute drive takes us to
Suan Dok Temple
Restored within the last few years. Wat Phrathat, a temple in the hills overlooking the city of Chiang Mai. For ten baht (about 33 cents) I buy an offering which I carry three times around the centralized pagoda before placing the candles, incense, and flowers at a small shrine. The candles I light for my son, husband, father, and brother. The men in my life don't seem to fare too well, do they? After snapping a few pictures of Chiang Mai shrouded in mist and smog, we walk the 306 steps down the stairs that are guarded by nagas, mythical beasts which look like blue-scaled, multiheaded dragons, their tales stretching back up either side of the staircase. At the bottom we cross the street past vendors (the reader may always assume there are vendors), to a jade factory which produces really beautiful works of art and jewelry.
Bye bye Tomorrow half the tour members leave for the beach while the other half of us head to Cambodia. So tonight I join an optional farewell dinner to say adieu to those tour members who are heading for a little R&R. We are joined by our tour guide, Nok, as well as our bus driver and his assistant,
Monks preparing to chant
These monks were invited to Suan Dok by a family celebrating the birthday of their matriarch. whose job it has been to help us on and off the bus as well as offer soft drinks and water to those of us who want to buy them. We try breaded prawns (fabulous), sweet and sour, fish, fried lemon grass, chicken, mushroom soup, curry, rice, and coconut ice cream served in a hollowed-out coconut. After dinner, we light a waxy substance suspended from two white conical-shaped lanterns about two feet in diameter, and make wishes as the air heats and the lanterns--once released--rise rapidly into the night sky. It is a really nice ending to our visit to Thailand.
Not quite over.
Not ready to do the sensible thing and go to sleep, a few of us--with Nok--head for a local drinking and dancing establishment. The dance floor is so packed that none of us are able to dance. But young Eric entertains us after he receives a note passed to him by a waitress from a Thai girl who had been sitting at a nearby table which says (and I paraphrase) "please, call me, handsome American." Nok pulls out her handy cell phone, makes the call, and hands the phone to Eric who, being a darn good Pagoda at Wat Phrathat
The picture of the King (bottom right) is everywhere. They love their king in Thailand. sport and at 21-years of age more than a little flattered, gamely tries to carry on a conversation with someone who speaks little English while his family, Nok, and three other tour members listen in. This is what passes for entertainment on tours. Pretty darn amusing, yes? Before we leave, the middle-aged among us make the entryway into a dance floor and release what little energy we have left at the end of this very long day. Whether or not these gyrations entertained the Thais present, we will never know. It was enough that we amused ourselves. Back on the pedi-cab, called a tuk-tuk in Thailand (and Cambodia), and to the hotel.
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