Luang Prabang, Laos- February 8, 2018

Oh dear we are rapidly moving toward the end do of this fascinating, happy trip. We have only three more destinations remaining and the three are in Thailand. As I say the name, Thailand, I cannot help but recall my simple but real and wonderful roots in Marianna, Arkansas. As a child, I knew nothing of Thailand or any of the other countries we have visited on this journey. Unless a culture was portrayed in cartoons, like Pompeii in Mighty Mouse or in a wartime song my mother sang to me about far away places, I had little concept of other countries until I met the Encyclopedia Britannica. There in my hands and before my eyes was the world and anything else one might be curious about. It's no wonder it took me a long time to become an avid reader. Any visit I made to the school library in free time was spent perusing the great book of knowledge.

Still, here I am, an older lady, indeed, finally getting to see first-hand, exotic lands and becoming introduced to their very more strange, beautiful and gentle cultures. I'm thankful; Stan is thankful. There is hardly a better lesson than this to learn about living life and coming to love, tolerate and yes, appreciate all peoples of the world.

We really liked Laos. We may have cut ourselves short on time here. It's a jewel. I certainly make a return trip here. What we saw of Laos is much more beautiful that the parts of Cambodia and Viet Nam we visited. Granted, we only got a glimpse of each country and virtually picked-at only pieces of their overall culture. I know there is much more.

The people of Laos have a war-torn history like all of Southeast Asia but the people here do not seem to dwell on the past or try to make it their own and a part of today's life.

Laos is far less developed and far less crowded than larger sites like Hanoi, Ho Chi Minh City and even Hoy An. Its size allows a much more intimate interaction with the people and their lives. It is peaceful and serene. The chants ofrom the monastery can be heard early in the morning. One rarely has to worry about personal security. Houses do not have locks on doors; truthfully, many houses don't even have doors.

I was afraid that what we've been shown so far are the extremes -- homes and shops for the wealthy and wooden homes with bamboo walls for the poor with an attached stall for selling something outside on the ground. I begged our driver to take us though a typical neighborhood where ordinary working people like office people, guides and hotel staffs live. He did. You know, there is not a lot of difference. Some houses are of remarkably better quality with ground floors made of concrete and upper floors made of wood. The concrete lower level protects the home from the ravages of termites. Most have television with dishes attached to the house; they have running water and electricity but no trash collection. An abundance of litter is strewn about in even "nice" neighborhoods. Dirt alleys connect the houses. We stopped at the home owned by Loh's friend who is also a tour guide and happens to live near our route to the airport. His house was painted nicely. Its first floor was open across the front of the house and inside was a neatly arranged store where his wife sells detergent, shampoo, cold drinks, snacks and cigarettes. It seems most all families live similar lives; the husband usually has a job, and the wife and her mother (with whom the couple lives) takes care of the children, does the shopping, cooking, laundry and also earns extra income selling items in an onsite store. When men aren't working, they often help with all the household chores as well. Truly! This store was upscale in comparison to the dark, dusty, roadside tables we have seen along homes and roads everywhere else. This store was neat and attractive, the lady running the store and caring for the family home was kind to let me take a look. I captured her pretty face in a picture.

That brings up another thought. The Lao people are very small - some are only wisps of people -- but they are strikingly pretty especially the kids and young people. But they are strong and lean. As they age most retain a remarkably youthful appearance through their early forties, and then finally the wear and tear of their hard lives begins to show in their faces like chapters of a captivating saga.

We met our driver at 5:45 this morning to participate in alms giving for the monks at sunrise. This ritual takes place every day, 365 days a year, rain or shine, cold or hot. Buddhist monks in Laos do not cook their own food. All of their food is given to them by the town's people. It is given freely to the monks to promote good karma. This ritual of giving food to the monks is practiced throughout Laos.

People, usually older women who have time to cook very early in the morning prepare a warming bucket of sticky rice and sometimes bring other items like bananas, wrapped jerky or other food item. The town's folk position themselves on a tiny plastic seat on blanket on the sidewalk. Shoes are off. At about 6 am, after the monks have risen and performed their chanting and prayers, they follow an established path to collect their breakfast. The procession from each monastery is led by senior monks and the last in the line from a monastery is the youngest little guy, usually about 8. Senior monks can be identified not only by their maturity but also by their robe which is always a color of orange, saffron or yellow. Both shoulders of senior monks are covered while only one shoulder of the younger novice monks is covered. All monks make this daily procession for their breakfast barefooted, regardless of the weather. Sometimes, we are told, in rain they carry their rice bucket in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

We ordered a bucket of sticky rice the night before so we could participate in the dawn ritual. The rice came in a lovely woven reed container with cover. We removed our shoes and took a seat on the tiny stool on a rug. As the string of monks began to pass by, we followed the example of the locals and pinched a good-sized ball of sticky rice from our bucket and placed it in the bucket of each monk. The line moves quickly. If a monk thinks his bucket is getting too full, he might cover his bucket or put some of his food in a bin that will go to the needy. Monks eat only two meals a day, breakfast and lunch. The source of all their food is alms. The last meal must be completed before midday. Fruit or simple crackers and tea are allowed in the evening but no meal.

It was a solemn, silent and beautiful procession. Just picture a long streaam of brown skinned men in orange robes eerily moving up the street in the early morning light. As the monks passed by us, I could not help fbut look up into the faces of the novices as we gave them rice. A couple of boys were as young as six. It sounds harsh, but know they come to the monastery from dire poverty. They come to be educated, to learn a proper and reverent way of life, and to become a better person who can in turn help his family who sent him.

The simplicity and strong tradition that is so heavily intertwined in the people here intrigues me. And the Buddhist impact on encouraging a society of gentle, fair, respectful, hard-working people by giving them hope for good karma and a better life in the next life is without a doubt difficult for me to thoroughly grasp but I cannot resist being in awe.

Off to Bangkok now!