Travel Archives - Page 13 of 39 - Maggie InkMaggie Ink

Tidings of joy

June 15, 2011

Every morning in Luang Prabang, as earliest dawn winks at the navy-hued sky, monks prowl the neighborhood like an orange-clad street gang.

Their alms bowls are slung over bare shoulders, empty vessels waiting to be filled.

On the road, the devout unfurl bamboo mats and squat on their haunches. Vats of sticky rice are ladled into woven containers. Plates of fruit are arranged.

The monks wag their way down the street, a caterpillar made of robes. The air is electric, but silent. I think the birds even stop chirping in a display of respect.

The people fill the alms bowls with fistfuls of warm sticky rice and bananas the size of thumbs. Along the way, others toss in packages of instant noodles, candy, juice.

The Buddhist monks exist because of what is given to them. They live off these alms, eating only until noon each day, eating only the things that end up in their bowl.

If there are no believers on the pavement, the monks go hungry. But day after day after day, they are always sustained.

The daily ceremony is a perfect symbiotic moment. Where giving and receiving are the same. Where offering becomes accepting. Where everything is one.

Snoop smoggy smog

June 12, 2011

I’ve been traveling with two shirts that must be washed by hand. That isn’t a big deal. In addition to regular loads at a laundromat, I end up doing a sink of hand washing every so often anyway.

But Vietnam gave me a nasty surprise.

In Saigon, I set those two shirts to soak in the sink and walked away for a couple minutes. When I came back, it looked like someone had replaced the water with hot cocoa.

Brace yourselves …

: Blergh.

This is some serious pollution, people.

Even in the dustiest parts of Africa, even after the sweatiest treks in Peru, my clothes were never this filthy. And all I did in Vietnam was simply walk around the city. Yuck.

I’m curious if my clothes are embedded with filth in the U.S. too — but I just never have to see it, thanks to the “delicates” setting on my washing machine.

More than words

June 9, 2011

“What is your name?”

“Do you have family?”

“Where are you from?”

“What is the meaning of hodgepodge?”

I was tutoring English students in Luang Prebang as part of the Big Brother Mouse Literacy Program.

The printed word is rare in Laos. Many children are lucky to have textbooks in school. Very few have ever read a book for fun.

Big Brother Mouse began publishing books in 2006 as a way to change that. The not-for-profit organization makes cheap, accessible books and distributes them all over the country. They host book parties, encourage children to read and demonstrate how reading can improve lives.

But that’s not all. Big Brother Mouse also hosts an open classroom for English practice at their Luang Prabang office. Travelers are encouraged to devote a couple hours each day in helping young students practice their conversational skills. And that’s exactly what I did.

I mostly worked with a 14-year-old named Bousou. Every chance he gets, Bousou rides his bike for over an hour to reach Luang Prabang, hoping that native English speakers will be there for mentoring. Sometimes they are, but often there are no volunteers. Still he continues to pedal to the city, desperate for the opportunity to learn.

When I was first introduced to Bousou, he spoke halting, nervous English. As the hours passed, the words warmed like butter and flowed easily.

“How do you say this words?” We leaned over a workbook with English stories. He pointed to a sentence about a dining room.

“These words,” I corrected. “That’s dining room.” We sounded it out. I explained what it meant. He mastered it.

He had more difficulty with the word “lizard.” I don’t know why we were talking about lizards.

Our conversation whipped back and forth, covering school, siblings, families, hopes, dreams. Bousou likes animals, but he has no pets. He doesn’t know if he can afford to go to school much longer. When he grows up, he wants to be a policeman. Someday he would like to visit Vietnam, the most exotic place he can imagine.

He asked me what is the best thing about Laos.

“You,” I said.

Learn more about Big Brother Mouse here. http://www.bigbrothermouse.com/

A plain mystery

June 8, 2011

The shaggy green hills of Phonsavan are veined with red dirt roads and punctuated with jars.

Yes, jars.

This region in rural Laos is home to one of the world’s greatest — and most bizarre — mysteries. Thousands of ancient stone vessels are scattered over the countryside, but nobody knows the purpose of these enormous jars or how they got there.

Think Stonehenge meets Tupperware.

The disconcerting thing about walking around a war-scarred country is that you have to watch your step. Literally.

These white bricks mark a trail that has been cleared of mines. Wander off the path, and you put yourself at risk. (On the day I visited, the MAG International team cleared 72 unexploded ordinances.)

There is also a long list of things you cannot do at the archeological ruins. Like carve them.

These jars are thought to be at least 2,000 years old. But there is no organic material inside the jars, which prevents carbon dating.

Local legend claims these sandstone containers were created by an ancient king to store massive amounts of lao-lao, the country’s famed rice whisky. Some believe that the area was once inhabited by giants. Or aliens.

Another theory, probably correct, is that these jars were used for funeral ceremonies or to hold ashes.

They are also perfectly Maggie-sized.

When I asked other travelers if I should visit the Plain of Jars, most responded with, “Welllll … it is a plain. Full of jars.” And now I understand their ambivalence.

The site was interesting, but not mythical. It was pretty, but so is the rest of Laos. And the trip involved an 8-hour detour on a nausea-inducing road into an uninspiring town, followed by another 8-hour bus ride back into civilization.

But I did it. Plain and simple.