Monks in BanLai

In Thia's house and especially behind it, it is very busy. About ten women are cooking. Banana leaves are stuffed with rice. Giant pots of meat are on the fire. The men interfere with the decoration of the house. Only now do I understand that monks are already coming tonight.

At about three o'clock I decide that I can treat myself and I pour a glass of Mekong. Later I ask Yot, a cousin of Thia, to pour a glass for the busy men. With, the son, comes home and greets me with a neat wai. I get on very well with him, especially since I have a computer game with me. Loth, his wife, keeps asking me what I want to eat.

Nine monks

A rope with self-made flags is stretched around the house. Inside there are nine luxurious door mats along one wall, because nine monks are coming. Nine is a lucky number because we now have Rama IX. Behind each mat is a cushion and in front of each monk is a spittoon, a liter of water, a Fanta and a pack of cigarettes, because monks only know one stimulant, namely smoking. In one corner is the rickety altar with a few Buddha statues and religious trinkets.

The nine monks arrive from various temples, because the temple in BanLai doesn't have that many. Apparently there is also a higher man than BanLai's first man, because this monk sits closest to the altar and immediately takes the reins, i.e. he ties a rope around the two Buddha statues and unrolls the tangle to the monk next to him, BanLai's number one. This one passes it on to the next one, and so on until the last one, a cute baby monk (my spell checker wants to change this to wren, but I refuse). The boss has a voice that reminds me of Pastor Zelle. This man preached in a church in Rockanje and in the summer chairs were placed outside for the bathers, who did not have to miss a word without a sound system. A special detail about this preacher was that he was a second cousin of Margaretha Zelle from Leeuwarden, who became more famous under her stage name, Matahari.

singing

Back to BanLai. Before the ceremony begins, the boss lights a cigar from his own pocket. So I offer our own monk a cigar, who gladly accepts it. Moments later, the singing begins. Loud and at a fast pace. It takes about twenty minutes. Then water is put in bowls and prayers are said again. The house is blessed. After work is done, most monks quickly disappear. Each with a filled envelope. Our own monk continues to chat for a while. Then everyone present gets food and drinks and music is put on. Party for family and friends. Monks no longer eat after eleven in the morning.

Thursday morning I get up at seven and notice to my horror that the nine monks have already arrived. As I shower, the singing starts again. As on previous occasions, I notice that those present are mainly elderly people. After fifteen minutes of praying, the monks are provided with a reasonably good meal. Monk Zelle does not eat. He leaves with his monk driver. Our own monk thus becomes number one. All monks carry their pan with them, which they usually use to pick up rice early in the morning. Now the villagers, each with their own basket of rice, come to fill these pans. The head monk blesses all present by sprinkling consecrated water. The monks leave and I give our own monk, outside protocol, a box of cigars. Neatly he says, thank you.

Drunk

When the monks are gone, the people begin to eat and drink white whiskey. Then the women, who have prepared everything, eat. The music is loud. Horrible. Not a clean tone. Since everyone wants to get above the music, shouting is necessary. Everyone does that, so that the music is fortunately only audible in the background. It's strange that the older women have the most fun. They clap their hands and dance with each other. They mainly want to be photographed, but I stop there. At ten o'clock the party ends, but the drunk people stay. I take my own little motorbike, which we brought with us, to ChiengKam and buy some comic books for With. When I come back I find some babbling drunk fish wives, who hardly inspire me. I retire to my room, after all, I have my own room in this house, but a drunk guy comes to bother me. I think he tells me that he has a tumor on his head and that he needs money for the hospital. I don't do charity, so I kick him out of the room. I decide it would be wise for me to go to a swimming pool four miles from here.

Friday we make a beautiful trip. Thia with wife and child, Pot ditto, Yot alone, because his wife has to give birth this month and of course uncle. By the way, I should mention that when I get up, Loth already has hot water ready for my coffee. Fine, that's how it should be. The coffee is followed by a delicious rice soup. We first go north, towards ChiangRai, but after twenty kilometers turn right, towards Laos. Just before a border crossing, which you are not allowed to cross, the road bends to the left. It is a rocky road through the mountains. An indescribably beautiful area.

Yao

We regularly see representatives of a hill tribe, the Yao, on the side of the road. Little people, dressed mainly in black. They usually carry a kind of reed plume, from which sweepers are made. I'm surprised that this road even has a number, the 1093. Eventually it should end up in ChiengKong, but we won't go that far. Our destination is a mountain from which you have a view of Laos and the Mekong River. At the foot of this mountain we eat in a village of Yao people. I was struck by a Philips billboard. We also go everywhere.

After the meal and a bottle of Mekong, we start the climb. After only a few meters, I look up and realize that I will never make it in his life. I firmly say that I will wait in the restaurant. Then Yot suddenly remembers that there is a path for a car ahead. Everyone walks and Thia, Yot and I go by car. We find a narrow and steep path and eventually arrive at a plateau, where the car cannot go any further. We see the others approaching the top over the ridge. The uncle (so Yot's father), sixty-two years old, is the first upstairs. So he can drink even more than my whisky. We still have to climb a relatively short distance and thanks to the fact that Thia and Yot take turns pushing me, I make it. I come up breathless. The view is magnificent. Right below us is Laos. Unreachable unless you jump.

In Laos, the Mekong meanders its way. This is the only area where the Mekong is not the border. It's so beautiful here that I'm aware that this is one of the reasons I'm in Thailand wants to continue living. We all go back by car and eat something in another village. When we return to ChiengKam, food has to be bought again. I say I'm not hungry and don't pay. I can't get Thia to understand that I think it's best to be generous to him, his wife and his son, but that I don't want to feed twelve relatives every day. At home we drink Mekong. Uncle happily drinks along.