The Gentle Grace of Luang Prabang

Photo by yours truly

Hey y’all,

The one thing that really strikes me about the people in Laos is how gentle and demure they are, even many of the men.

It’s been lovely.

Luang Prabang is an odd mixture of elegance and gritty 3rd world primitive. There are charming and picturesque guesthouses, restaurants, and cafes; yet a few doors down is somebody’s basic living, where people are cooking over open fires and eating with their friends and family on the sidewalk.

On one side of the street are spendier restaurants clearly for tourists, while on the other a Mom and Pop stop where the food is delicious, basic, truly Laos cuisine, and MUCH CHEAPER.

The best place to see the early-morning monks going past was the guesthouse at the end of the road where locals set up to give them the rice they cooked with intention and blessing.

I stayed there for $10/night, where kids played in the streets and at the convenience store, they made fresh Laos-style tortillas every day and hung them on racks to dry in the sun.

Yet a block away, at the lovely and comfortable hotel, the people giving alms were tourists. They got their rice from the store across the street – but I’m sure they blessed their rice.

On the main road a block up, it was obnoxious.

Somebody told me the monks put the tourist rice in a different place and fed it to the dogs, because they don’t want to sully the holy rice with crap.

I heard about that from a guide who had been a novice for 7 years.

Orange Robe Tours is a sweet company that gives former novices and monks a place to land when they leave the temple and have some time to adapt from the culture shock.

My tour guide’s name was Sounan. He had been out of the temple for a year, and said the transition had been difficult.

He said novices can join as young as 9 years old, but nobody can become a monk before they’re 20. He also explained that those wearing the orange robes with an open shoulder were novices, and those with both shoulders covered were monks.

I asked him if it were true that the monks can “give their vows back” if they decide they want to be a part of the world again. Yes, they could in Laos. But not in China.

He explained that in Laos, Thailand, and Cambodia, they practice Theraveda Buddhism. In China, Japan, and Vietnam, they practice Mahayana Buddhism.

Sounan explained that the 4 rules for everybody were: “Do not lie, do not steal, do not kill, and no sexual.”

The novices and monks have a lot more rules: “No play sport, no ride motorcycles, do not sit or stand ahead of monks (if you’re a novice)” – are the ones I remember.

Sounan said that many families send their sons to temple because they get a better education and to make them good people. The kids are on trial for a week before the decision is made. He also said that most of the novices came from the villages, that kids from bigger towns and cities like Luang Prabang and Vientiane didn’t want to go to temple.

He said he loved his time there, and still meditates every day twice a day.

I asked him a lot of questions about the similarities I had seen between Buddhism and Hinduism, and he’s the one who said: “Oh, we’re also Hindu.” But he didn’t elaborate.

I asked him about the fierce-looking Nagas – the serpent-like creatures I saw guiding people up to the Buddhas and the temples. Sounan explained that they were the guardians of the temples to keep out evil. And in China, the guardians were dragons.

He told me a legend of how the Naga became the guardian of the temples. Well, sort of. Storytelling here has a rather abrupt quality.

When Buddha was alive, a Naga really wanted to become a monk. So he transformed himself into a human and joined the temple as a novice.

The Buddha knew about it, but chose not to say anything.

But somebody, maybe a monk or another novice, knocked on the naga’s door and walked in, caught the naga in his serpentine form, and yelled foul.

Somehow, the do not lie rule translated into the Naga not allowed to become a monk, but to protect the temples he loved so much.

There was not much of a segue to get to the end. I asked Sounan if this was how the Naga became a temple guardian and he said yes.

There’s an awesome organization here called Big Brother Mouse, where travelers meet with Laos youth so they can practice their English.

I went once.

At first, I started with a bunch of teenage novice monks between the ages of 16-18. Many had been in the temple for 7 years since they were 11 years old, and when I asked if they wanted to be monks when they were 20, one of them said: “I don’t know.”

There was one who knew he wanted to be a monk. He didn’t join the temple until he was 14 (he was 16). It was hard for his parents because he was an only child.

“I miss playing sport,” he said, when I asked him what he missed most.

He’d only been studying English for a year, and he spoke it very well.

I was surprised to hear that the novices went to the regular high school with the other kids. With all their strict rules, that has to be pretty challenging.

“Remember that they can’t touch you or shake your hand,” said the guide who led me to the back patio with a half a dozen novices.

I went to a couple of dance performances where they did their traditional dances as a form of storytelling. This was in the Royal Ballet Theater within the gates of the National Museum. But really, this could have been a performance from a high school.

The costumes and masks were remarkable, but also kind of mismatched, and the dancing was very subtle. I would say it was more a form of physical theater than what we consider the athletic, acrobatic art of dance. They moved their arms and hands a lot as a way of communicating the story.

The women’s hand gestures were very delicate, and a couple of them seemed almost double jointed with how well they stretched their fingers out.

They were telling an epic saga with a different episode each night for a total of 8 or 9 episodes. If I’d known about this soon enough, I would have been able to go to all of them.

But it was just as well. As delicate and interesting as it was, 2 performances were enough for me. Again, very random and abrupt storytelling.

Differences of culture. I’m sure the people of Laos find their storytelling very lyrical and poetic in their own language.

Peace,

Mana