The monks are satisfied with the state of affairs

Woke up at 5:30 AM to rooster cries and the deep sonorous banging of the monk's drums, calling them to morning chanting. Let me tell you, sound really carries in an otherwise silent river town! I enjoyed the river sunrise on my balcony lounger wrapped in a big comforter - it gets quite cool here at night even though it turns into a blazing, untenable, ferocious 90 some degrees by midafternoon.


The morning plan was to visit many of the town's wats (temples/monasteries) which are all in active use by the monks. I can't say enough about how beautiful it looks to have them in their shaved heads and orange robes peeking out of so many windows and coming out of alleyways! Little did I know, though, that by Noon today I would be fleeing from them. Turns out they all want to practice their english, especially with single lady tour-eests, so I made very little wat-visit progress for five hours this morning, waylaid by excited monks at every turn.


My favorite monk was the first one I met, Sam (perhaps because I still had patience at that point of the morning for an hour-long, highly fragmented conversation). I climbed to the top of the mountain that juts right out of the middle of town, with a beautiful gold stuppa on top and stunning views in every direction of the layer upon layer of mountains and rivers. When I finally hauled myself to the steep top I was alone except for Sam, who was sitting in profile on a marble balcony ledge. The sight of Sam curled up in his orange robe, with the lush green mountains dropping behind him, was one I will never forget.


Sam is 16, from a remote northern Lao village, and was sent to monastery for an education. Boys get this privilege; his sister is still at home, working the family rice farm. Kirsten, any interest? He just passed his geography exam and was anxious to quiz me: I think he was a little disappointed that I did, in fact, know that Canada is the next largest land mass after ROO-SEE-AH (which took me like 5 minutes to understand what country he was talking about in the first place). We then had a very long talk about Chinese and their cabbage, how they have a lot of cabbage in China, more cabbage than any other country, and Sam thinks it is disgusting. Well, who can disagree with that? I agree that there are much better vegetables. Also when the Chinese tourists come to visit his temple, they throw their cabbage on the grounds. Shameful! For awhile I wasn't quite sure why Sam was so upset, until I finally realized we were discussing garbage, not cabbage.


By noon the ferocious midday heat was on, and nearly every single Lao seemed to be curled up on a mat napping, even the ones supposedly on the job (e.g. the hosts at restaurants). Any Laos up and about had an umbrella, including the monks, and adorably, girls holding pink parasols and clinging to the backs of motorcycles, shading themselves and their drivers. I chose to stay indoors and relax Lao style: I had a 50 cent banana shake, an hour-long oil massage for $5 on a balcony overlooking the Mekong (in fact you can just add "on a balcony overlooking the Mekong" to any and all activities for the next week), a glass of authentically French cab sauvignon at Luang Prabang's swankiest joint L'Elephant (palm trees, white curtains, wicker furniture), and another banana shake and 50 cent Nutella crepe off the street to really polish off the indulgence. Any town where $10 gets you multiple fruit shakes, Nutella, massages and a sauna visit is made for me!


By 3 PM it was cool enough to venture outdoors again and I visited the rather lame Royal Palace now turned museum. The best part was the room of objects that have been gifts to Lao from other countries through the past 400 years; when you are a tiny country I guess your gifts all fit in one room without much of a problem. Most countries (Japan, Thailand, China) had given fine china, teasets, and servingware. France gave some beautiful urns, and Burma some exquisite silver sculptures. Australia gave a boomerang, which looked hilariously sad next to all the really nice stuff. But the lamest looking of all was the US - we gave a plastic model of the Apollo hotglued to a silver plate, next to a tatty, tiny Lao flag with a typed note from Richard Nixon that we had taken their flag to the moon. Hey Laos, you're welcome! I presume we did that for every country - in the world? - and it is kind of funny to picture the part of the spaceship that had to house all those tatty little flags, as well as the Nixon staffer who was in charge of glueing the models and putting the global packages together.


Anyhow, off to sauna again of course, and tomorrow attending the morning alms-giving to the monks and then going with Big Brother Mouse to a hilltribe village to deliver a library to kids.