Short trip to Vintienne

          Border crossings whether births or deaths or any transition for that matter mean leaving the familiar and accepting or tussling with the new, the different.  So I was prepared when approaching the Thai Laos border at Nong Khai.  Though I have a 90 day teaching visa it is single entry,  I wanted to change that to multiple entry; otherwise I need a new visa to come back to Thailand from Laos. So I was shillied and shallied between the Immigration and the Visa offices, an agent I think she was and back to Immigration. It was oppressively hot and there seemed multiple hoards who knew the ropes better than I did. Eventually I was across the Friendship Bridge said to be built by Australians for either rewarding Laos for their efforts during the Vietnam War or alternatively for getting more silver out of Laos.
             One of the touts who haunt  such places got me a 'taxi' which I think was reconditioned from Burma, it had a floor. The fare reasonably landed me in the center of Vientiane, wherever that is.  The next few hours were a telephony and I.T. nightmare. Monk Johnny, aka Singha aka Wang Puting, my mate was my target. I had not brought my laptop and the phone was running out of battery as I tried numerous numbers wrestling with the country code for Laos, a new sim card and the many numbers Johnny had had i verged on despair. Eventually in an internet shop, (remember those?) after trying and failing endlessly to remember my Facebook password I was able to get Johnny to call me. Instantly the shroud of alienation dropped off. Contact.
           The obliging young lad Koy who ran the shop for his obviously exploitative owner, seeing my plight offered me a space on his floor for the night. As a ten year old he had left his village with the hope of getting an education in a Vientiane monastery. He knew what it was  to be poor. After closing the shop, and getting orders from his boss he took me on his bike for what seemed like several leagues to his two room shared place.
"I can handle this". I told myself. There was a flat tiled floor a thin cotton mattress and a pillow, dank concrete walls  plus  a motor bike. Then the voices of Jayne and friends said, "You don't have to do this you know". So I told Koy that I did not want to offend but I could not sleep without air conditioning at my age and asked him to help me find a guest house or hotel. We did so and after dining with him at a roadside stall I slept in a guesthouse room with air con, towels and sheets provided.
         Johnny lives at Wat Nong Bon (Nong Bon Monastery) so I took a Tuk Tuk there and found him in the garden. Though I first met him in Chaing Mai Johnny is from Laos and is preparing to go to Victoria in response to an invitation from Lao people there.
          With Johnny and his monk companions, thoughtful and slightly reticent Pomma, freedom loving Joy and earnest Deb and several others we looked at maps of Australia, discussed Buddhism and Laos.  Issan was once part of Lao and the languages, food and culture of the two are similar, Australia is another world.
       The abbot a withdrawn figure looked into the distance during the many silences of our meeting. He does not attend chanting nor seems interested in meditation. Though he obligingly gave me "blessing tags" on both wrists.
Discreet inquiry unearthed the idea that he is abbot because of his seniority. As in other social systems formalism is alive and well in Buddhism and equally capable of insuring that the best man does not get the job.
        Monks slept two to a room, rooms which are threadbare as are the lives of these young men who have grown up away from families and are unaware of the niceties and refinement of towns and villages. The once white plaster walls display the scratches, nails for hanging clothes and pencil drawings of their previous occupants. It felt very strange, like stealing from the poor eating breakfast out of the begging bowls of Johnny and his companion.

I suggested that they might be sharing under false pretenses of their donors. Monastic life seemed to be very informal about chanting, meditation and the study of the scriptures.
         But they all  study hard and were hungry to speak English and be corrected or taught. We passed enjoyable time doing this. I went to their chanting ceremonies at night.

         An enormous celebration across the road at another temple glutted the nearby streets and open spaces. Audiotoxic and garish 'promotions' of everything from cars, clothes to phones and cosmetics, with much food between, raged at night. There was a strong military presence too.

Young chaps in fatigues brandishing machine guns stayed in the monastery grounds. We were searched by youths who looked  high school age as we went through the gates of the festivities. Previously someone had brought a bomb there before being shot, if I understood correctly.
         The following day I went with Johnny to a large "morning market" which lasted all day where he bought an umbrella which he brandished like a snail shell his short legs poking out underneath the carapace. He also went searching among the multitude of stalls and passageways for a woman he had read about on Facebook who was very deprived and aged beyond her years who sat at the market. He did not find her but was told where she usually sat though not on that particular day. He also stocked up on some bags of herbs for various ailment or protections. What I thought were devotional objects of the Buddha I discovered are largely amulets magically warding off all kinds of spirits, illnesses or threats.

         We walked to the Laos Arc de Triomphe from French sources though Laos in decor. Climbing to the top and walking back in the heat nearly had me done for as the Irish would say. 
         Even with the hospitality of Johnny and his mates I found Vientiane hard work. It was oppressively hot and steamy with no let up except an air conditioned cafe. It reminded me of the deprivations of Mandalay or Yangon, with lots of people who were poor and surviving rather than managing life.  This may have been my projection, of course.
          The various bus trips and border crossings were easier than before including the final bus where passengers found and distributed plastic stools for those without seats. I was relieved to get back to my simple cell.