Luang Prabang / Morning
awakened that night to an hour. I took the opportunity to listen to the Nam Khan
eating my prunes and reading by candlelight list appalling
tropical diseases to convince me that paradise does not exist.
the morning, indeed, paradise does not exist. The whites have reinvested
the historical center, like the good old colonial times. One would walk in between self
Thai pants and tank tops turned, there ordering
English Nescafe and pancakes before going to the store to buy adventures
a trek on elephant back. The West is the law, so that I can not find my
noodle soup for breakfast.
When I learn that a bicycle is rented five dollars for half a day, I lose patience and
face expressing high and Luang Prabang is stronger than
mad, she respects herself more. Treat foreigners like a herd of dollars
traveling, you become cynical, I do not want anyone
! From there to give everything you have for a little money, it is only
not, and what do you do when you have nothing and
you rely for survival of our dollars, and blah and blah and blah, we do not stop
more ...
Do not stay too long in Luang Prabang.
To reweave my link to the city shattered by anger, I'm going to expose myself completely and
manipulated and massaged by a young woman
unknown unknown in traditional house, away from downtown.
The masseuse's hands are cold, use a sticky balm that smells
benzoin. She kneaded with energy, like a kitten on a wool sweater
before settling. She dislocates my limbs a little in every sense
, dismisses my legs without concern for my modesty, then I am consciously
crack all the vertebrae with a lot of know-how
, despite his young age. Her sister, pregnant, often goes head
in the half-open door and complains nausea, patting his stomach still flat
. Outside, a cat in heat makes us laugh, and my masseuse
me.
laos Women seem to slide on the ground. I train to walk
as they slowly pass by the body weight from one side to another without
propel me forward, nor yet the arms free to do
balance.
Night At nightfall, the monks' prayers orange guide me to a quiet alley near
River. Here, too, away from the golden pagodas restored
end for tourists eager Wealth is practiced. The temple is very rudimentary
decorated with colorful paintings and naive that tell the life of Buddha
. In the room a couple of novices sitting on the ground, led by an old monk
.
long time, they sing, back to the entrance, facing the statues of Buddha
. Their voices fill the grave and litanies body vibration.
collective sound tones through multiple waves of changes.
the orange light of the setting sun turns blue. As yesterday's arrival, I am shaken by sobs
.
After prayers, a novice of fifteen years just spend some time with me
. He tries to explain what it is about in the song
.
- Pali! Pâlilanguet '!
He said that the tone of the evidence. But I do not know pâlilanguet '.
- Ah! Pali language?
The language of the "ancient doctrine", that of Theravada Buddhism.
But these songs are saying? We do not have enough language in common
that I knew. So we exchanged a language course.
Now, I can answer politely Khwai iyen "learn" when I was
asks if I speak Lao. When I'm going to go away, he said
wait and look for something short in his dorm. He returned
handing me a wooden board of about ten centimeters square
on which is painted a golden hand of Buddha. Open palm, thumb and index finger
meet. Symbol of education.
- It's for you.
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