Pha That Luang

       When I pictured my visit to Pha That Luang, I pictured a bustling complex filled with tourists and monks. I imagined little available parking. I thought I'd wait in line to pay my admission. Instead, to protect against the dust that was being whipped around by the wind, I covered my face as I walked across an empty lot toward the temple. Vendors driving tuk-tuks called out for me to buy ice cream at the gates. Unfortunately, I don't think they made very much profit that afternoon. 

       As I completed my quiet loop around Pha That Luang, I tried, with difficulty, to imagine the festivals that cause thousands of Lao Buddhists to flock to the temple. I stopped occasionally to stand underneath sprinklers attempting to keep the gardens from wilting in the heat, and I captured a picture of a lone monk. Soon after, he called out to other monks I could not see, making me wonder what else was going on around me that I was too unobservant or culturally ignorant to notice. 

       I slipped off my flip-flops at the door of a smaller temple in the complex. I peered in the door, sure that I was welcome to walk inside, but hesitant in the absence of other tourists. I was greeted by a tinny medley of Christmas tunes, most notably, "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," and I wondered which novice monk was put in charge of that playlist. 

       You can find this collision of cultures in many large, Southeast Asian cities. However, you would struggle to find another one that matches the slow pace with which Vientiane should be discovered. Here is a city that invites you to explore nearly empty temples, but not too quickly, and not without an ice cream in your hand.

Pha That Luang

Lone flip-flops

Lone monk

"You better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout. I'm telling you why..."

Weeks in Review

March 9, 2013

My dear students,

       I must apologize for the lack of updates. To keep you from worrying, I will give you a list of terrible things that have not happened to me during the time that has passed.

1. I did not get trampled by an elephant.
2. I did not get sick from drinking too much coffee.
3. I did not forget about you.
4. I did not take a boat ride down the Mekong River, lose control, and end up floating into the South China Sea.
5. I did not forget how to turn on my computer.
6. I did not get locked inside a temple.
7. I did not fall asleep on any public transportation.
8. I did not get lost during a trek in the Lao jungle.
9. I did not lose my passport.
10. I did not move to Thailand and forget to tell you.

       Now that you know what unfortunate things I avoided, I suppose I should tell you what I have actually been up to.

1. I climbed Patuxay, one of the most famous monuments in Laos. When I say that I “climbed” it, you may picture me whipping out ropes and a harness and scaling the side, but there were handy stairs already in place to do the hard work for me. As I climbed (the stairs) higher, I discovered t-shirts, postcards, and other Lao souvenirs for sale in the “cool” shade inside the concrete structure. I believe it’s no coincidence that the spiral staircase leading to the miniature room at the very top of Patuxay is located conveniently inside one of the shops. So, after taking in the view of Vientiane from above, I bought some things. They sure know how to reel me in.
2. I received another official stamp in my passport, saying that I can, in fact, be in the country. It’s comforting to know this.
3. I talked to teachers at an English school and scheduled days when I will cover a few classes! There may be more teaching opportunities for me there as time goes on, and I am very excited to be in a classroom again. If you think I moved to the other side of the globe to escape children, think again. You guys just seem to find me wherever I go.
4. I also started conducting some private tutoring lessons. Non-native English speakers are eager to practice pronunciation and conversation, and as you know, I have no trouble carrying on long discussions. It’s a perfect fit.
5. Here is a groundbreaking turn of events: I drank quite a few coffees since the last time you heard from me.
6. Some of my new friends are letting me borrow an electric scooter, so I took it out for a few test drives this past week. It turns out that I am a decent scooter-driver. It also turns out that I am an excellent scooter-pusher, because it turns out that the scooter needs new batteries. Details.
7. I affectionately named one of the stray dogs in the neighborhood Stan. I later found out that Stan’s a girl.
8. I delightfully took a walk along the river in misty, 70-degree weather while natives pulled on sweaters and jackets.
9. I saw two signs that read, “Over than 30 years of service,” and “One of the best pizzas you may ever had.” Fix these sentences.
10. I bought hangers.

       Some of these things may not sound thrilling. In fact, losing control of a boat in the Mekong would surely have resulted in better storytelling than buying hangers. However, I think it’s important that you know that living in another country does not provide non-stop exploration and adventure. I still have an alarm clock. (Whether it is effective or not is irrelevant.) I still have to buy groceries. I still use a weekly planner and fill out paperwork. I’m just doing it in a place where I don’t have to shovel snow, and I'm okay with that.

Love,

Miss Ross

Patuxay (Pah-too-sigh)

Looking down Lane Xang at the Presidential Palace 

Lane Xang and Vientiane 

Beautiful Patuxay at night 

Downtown Vientiane 

A temple across from the Mekong River

Buddha Park

       Today, I visited the Buddha Park just outside Vientiane. It is a large, grassy area along the Mekong River, filled with statues that seem to have been dropped there accidently. There appears to be no rhyme or reason to their arrangement, since they create a kind of maze without a destination, but each statue is unique. You're drawn through the park, almost simply because you can't imagine what else they could have possibly carved and placed there.
       The most interesting structure is three stories tall and shaped like a ball, one with little windows carved in the side and precarious stairways inside. If balance is not your forte and hights are not your friend, do not attempt to climb to the top. Once you emerge, crawling, through the small opening at the top, the new perspective is worth the climb.
       As I made my way back to land, a group of monks arrived to tour the park. Monks are highly regarded members of Lao society, and they are easy to spot around town in their orange robes. Foreigners often need to be reminded to respect their routines, and pictures are discouraged. I snapped a few from a distance, but I did not approach them or interrupt their wanderings.
       But here's where things became strange. As I was resting on a bench in the shade, the monks started taking pictures of me. While I tried to be subtle with my camera, they stood in a group, talking loudly, and snapping pictures in my direction. Not every day does a monk take a picture of you.
       Now, granted, I had a baby on my lap. That's really what they were taking a picture of, and had I set the baby down and removed myself from the frame, they probably would have been happier. Still, somewhere in a temple in Laos, I am immortalized on some monks' SD cards. That is, until they realize it was silly to take a picture of a hot, tired foreigner and wisely decide to delete it.

 The encouraging entrance

 The outer, well-lit hallway

Having their picture taken 

A sea of statues

Buddha Park

Weather Forecast

I have stopped complaining about the weather here. This has happened for two reasons.

1. I start to think about people in the Midwest who are engaging in one of my least favorite activities, scraping ice off car windshields. 
2. This is the conversation that follows whenever I do complain.
• Me: It sure is hot here!
• Wise local who has been here far longer than me and is well aware that it is about to get much worse: Ha!

       From the way they talk about the approaching heat, I'm starting to wonder if I would welcome ice-scraping in its place, a thought that suggests my brain has already been addled. I've started to prepare now. Since it was a cool 95 degrees yesterday, I wore a sweater, even while I walked around outside. I tell myself that it will feel refreshing when I stop wearing sweaters during the hot season. My logic here is unshakable. Don't question it. 

       The hot season is not the only legendary phenomenon here. People have been trying to prepare me for the rainy season as well. From what they tell me, the type of hourly precipitation I am imagining can only be accurately compared to Niagara Falls. It appears that it makes no difference that Laos is a landlocked country. According to my predictions, there will be enough water to swim in the streets. I hope the Niagara Falls tour guides are here to hand out ponchos.

Pity Party Postponed

       I think some people worried when I mentioned I was moving to Laos. Let me drive that worry away once and for all, or momentarily, depending on how prone you are to anxiety. I'd like to debunk the idea that I may be washing my clothes in the Mekong River or bartering for food.

       I woke up this morning and ate a chocolate croissant. Then I read through underlined, beloved segments of my favorite book, Nomad's Hotel. It is the only book I have ever marked up with a pencil. I bought it at my favorite book store in New York City, and it is the sole book that has made the cut each and every time I've gone somewhere for an extended period of time. It has traveled in my suitcase to the Czech Republic, Scotland, Italy, and now Laos. In it, I find old postcards, playbills and ticket stubs that bring me back to Venice or Prague when they were used as bookmarks. Every time I read it, a different thought speaks to me depending on where I am at the time or what has happened in my life since the last time I read it. When the pencil marks start to wear off, I read through and darken them again. It provides a connecting link between my destinations. 

       After reading and pondering over literature, I got an hour long foot massage for six dollars. Then I drank a banana frappe. And that's Thursday. 

Communication: Made Possible By Skype

       Sometimes I marvel at my good fortune. Today, I found my way around my new city, only getting lost a time or two, and then only for a couple of minutes. I learned a couple new words in Lao. I drank coffee. Then, when it seemed that the only thing that could perfectly top off the day would be to fall asleep, I talked to a roomful of about 70 second graders in Indiana.
       I thought about complaining that the internet connection was poor, meaning that we typed most of our questions and answers to one another instead of seeing faces. Then I remembered that until only recently, a journey such as mine was truly isolating. The very thought of instantaneous communication between one person going through a bedtime ritual with another person, one who is finishing up a morning routine at that exact time, was unthinkable. I occasionally mention that it would be liberating to untie myself from technology, but then my decisions to move around the globe would be much more difficult to justify.
       We discussed food, transportation, and the shocking lack of video games in my life. I talked about how much rice I now consume, and I confessed to eating ice cream quite frequently, okay daily, to cope with the heat. Also, because it's delicious, and I'm supporting the economy.
       What is more important than these topics, and what I hope my students will learn, is the fact that there was any communication at all. I don't only mean communication between a teacher and her students who happen to miss each other, but between people who are living differently. How can I expect everyone to value what is unknown and strange to them unless I tell them how rewarding it is to feel a little displaced sometimes? The benefits of throwing yourself into a different way of life far outweigh the time it takes to feel normal again. I fear the people who assume that their way of life is the only way of life.
       It was comforting to hear their voices, even for a few moments. I was so thankful that they had so many questions, because it meant that they are trying to understand. They are trying to imagine life in a context other than what is familar to them. To hear curiosity buzzing around them gave me hope that people will continue to communicate across borders. And when there is ice cream on both sides, I don't really see why there would be any holdup.

Year 24 Day 1

       When my plane touched down late last night, I felt a warm affection for Thailand. When I say "warm," I mean it in the figurative sense, of course. Even more so, I mean it in the literal. If you're a fan of heat, we could say that it settles like the warmest down comforter you've ever felt. If you're not a fan of heat, we could say it hits you like a bus.

       Either way, I was thrilled to be in the same country as my elephant again, though I will have to return later to pay her a visit. After only a few hours in Bangkok, it was time to meet my new hometown, Vientiane, Laos. Even after one evening here, I am hooked.

       Vientiane is a small city when compared to other capital cities. There are no skyscrapers and no malls. Despite it's condensed size, it is extremely diverse and represents many international cultures. In the span of a couple hours, I applied for my Laos visa, found cookies I haven't been able to find outside Great Britain, ate a smorgasbord of Italian food, and finished the evening with coffee Haagen-Dazs. If you we're worried about me at all, please note that I can buy Betty Crocker chocolate cake mix if I get homesick. 

       However, with my stay here, I am really looking forward to figuring out what is distinctly Vientiane. I've already seen a small picture, but I'm itching to discover more. I'd say though, for the first day of my 24th year of life, it's time for bed.