The 10-hour bus ride to Luang Probang from Laos was relatively uneventful. Uncomfortable and long, but this was to be expected.
I joined a retired French couple at our food-stop for lunch, (which was included in our 'VIP-bus-ticket' price- didn't even know we were 'VIP' as this ticket price was our only option as tourists) where I spoke a bit in English with the sweet wife, and spoke through her interpretation to her smiling and mischievous husband as he asked me one-wordedly about our country: "Obama...?" with raised eyebrows and a smile.... "MacDonalds...?" another wicked glance looking up at me from from his meal across the table. I slapped my forehead, shook my head, laughed, and did my best to explain that there are all sorts of different people and values in America, and that I am not always on board with what is portrayed of our countries by the news. We all laughed together and I enjoyed their company very much.
After lunch and on the bus again, I met a younger couple, an Australian guy and his Croatian wife. They were great and fun to talk to, and I wound up bumping into them various times in Luang Probang over the next few days, and finally exchanged contact information with them before they left for their next destination days later.
We arrived into Luang Probang just as the sun was setting, and I knew immediately from the peaceful quiet and sounds of insects, frog, and geckos, and from the sweet scent of the air that I loved this city. We were all dropped off at our various hotels, mine the Symoungkhoun Guest House, run by a bunch of young Laos guys who seemed curious and amused by my solo-traveling-female status.
I chose this guesthouse because it is described in my Lonely Planet guidebook as being "simple but clean, and about the cheapest you will find with a direct view of the monks' dawn alms procession", which takes place each morning starting at 5:30am until about 6:30am. This was a major selling point for me, and I got myself the best room which does indeed directly overlook this beautiful morning ritual. I decided that I was going to wake up the next morning for it, and observe, and take photos.
While talking to one of the guesthouse guys, I was trying to ask what the procession would be like and if the monks would be chanting or singing or what. He wasn't exactly sure what I was saying but seemed to have an idea and told me that they will be playing drums at '4 o clock'. I asked him "Four o clock in the morning, or in the evening? Tonight, or tomorrow morning?' and he said 'Tonight. Yes, tonight." I laughed and said "Oh good! I like that! Four in the evening is just fine with me! As long as it isn't four in the morning!"
I think you can guess where this is going. I woke up at 4am (sleeping with my windows open for fresh air and hoping to be woken for the alms procession without the help of my alarm) to the loud repetitive booming of the drum from the temple across the street from me, which might as well have been right in my room. I was under the haze of deep sleep, and while I was incredibly tired, I was also touched by this sacred sound entering my room. Thankfully I went back to sleep pretty quickly, and didn't wake up again until 5:45 when I opened my eyes and looked out the window, and saw a long line of monks dressed in bright orange roads filing down the street along the sidewalk where just as many people were kneeling on mats offering rice to the extended bowls from the monks hands.
I jumped out of bed, and made my way out to the street. The day before I had decided that while it was an option to participate in the offering of rice, that for my first morning I was just going to observe. This plan was immediately derailed by the fact that I had been awake less than five minutes, and that there are many locals who wish to profit from the inexperience of tourists.
A Lao woman came running out to me, offering me a large basket of rice, and though a voice inside my head said "No, don't take it, wait till later or tomorrow, you don't even know if this is the right kind of rice that you are supposed to give", I took it anyway, and rushed with her over to her mat, and knelt, and began quickly preparing the fingerfuls of rice paired with rice crackers wrapped in plastic, and commenced with placing the rice as quickly as I could to keep up with the pace of the passing monks, with my eyes lowered as dictated by local practice.
When the line had passed, and my basket was empty, one of the local women led me to a nearby statue, and showed me how to make an offering to it. When I was done, I asked her 'Tao dai?" ("How much?") and she said '200,000 Kip', which, is more than $20USD!!!! No matter where you are from, what the purpose of the rice is, rice should NEVER EVER cost so much. At most, it should be the equivalent of $1 and even that would be expensive. I became indignant with a look of shock on my face, saying 'No! NO!' to her and insisting that it was way too much and such, offering her 20,000 ($3) and then 40,000 ($5), still knowing that this was much more than I should pay, but also feeling sheepish at not having asked about the price before hand, and still feeling some sort of obligation to pay a higher price than was deserved.
I left the woman 60,000Kip poorer with my head hanging and my tail between my legs so to speak, and felt disenchanted with my first experience of this daily sacred ritual that I was so excited to experience. I shook it off, and decided I wasn't going to let it get to me, and to just enjoy whatever I could of this experience, and proceeded to take many photos, and watch this procession in all of its ritual beauty.
Throughout the rest of the morning I attempted to sightsee and wander around locally, but by 10am I realized I was just so devastatingly tired, and was getting nowhere and enjoying nothing until I could go back to sleep. I went back to my hotel, resigned to sleep and do some exploring when I had gotten enough rest.
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