The Bow Can't Always Be Relaxed (Part 3)

John Wittenberg gives a number of personal reflections on his journey through Thailand, which were previously published in the short story collection 'The bow can't always be relaxed' (2007). What started for John as a flight away from pain and sorrow has grown into a search for meaning. Buddhism turned out to be a passable path. From now on, his stories will appear regularly on Thailandblog.

Everything falls on its feet

I respectfully said goodbye to the Madonna statue in my hotel, she shed a tear, but showed understanding for my wish to live in a more homely way. Bangkok has a lot of luxury condominiums, mostly for foreigners and wealthy Thais, but I found some for a reasonable price in a villa-like neighborhood. Call it the Northwood of Bangkok, for the reassurance of my snobbish friends. I now have a sitting room, a bedroom, a kitchenette (where I only make tea) and a nice bathroom, good and quiet air conditioning, a dining area and a beautiful view of large trees. Ten minutes walk from the skytrain. That is very handy, because otherwise you are usually stuck in traffic with a taxi.

The villas around me, according to the proud manager, all belong to politicians and high officials, which of course indicates a huge, but fully accepted corruption. A deputy mayor would live in a real villa, not to mention where a tax inspector would lodge. It is now more pleasant to come home: a beautiful marble entrance, beautiful parquet on the floor, no traffic noise and I can leave my large suitcase behind and travel around with a small suitcase.

Went to the temple again today, with a club of a golden Buddha. In 1954 a piece of filler fell off and it turned out to be a solid gold statue weighing thousands of kilos. Busloads of tourists, many of them Japanese, flock here to see the pure gold. Though I am a magpie full of glimmer and glitter, I cannot be charmed. It detracts from what I came for, and besides, I hate the Japanese.

So hurry to another temple. Some of Buddha's ashes are kept here (they say...) When Buddha died at the age of eighty, 480 BC, his body spontaneously ignited during the cremation ceremony and his ashes and bones were divided among four kings, who each went home after a fierce quarrel to to divide it up again.

So scattered over many countries, Buddha's remains (and hardly verifiable) find a place in a stupa, a memorial monument, with a rectangular base, surmounted by a semi-spherical vault and a parasol on top, as a symbol of royal power. Sometimes gilded and up to twenty-five meters high.

No window or hatch to see where the ashes are, but there must be some ashes somewhere, which is the reason for worship. When a stupa is struck by lightning or falls down in misery, a nice box of ashes is searched diligently. Usually beautiful stones and figurines are also found.

You can always walk around the stupa (you do that three times on certain holidays). Every time I see a stupa like this I wonder where they have hidden the ashes. I would like to see at least the ashes myself. So from first seeing and then believing. I am still a long way from the Enlightenment with this critical view.

There is also another tooth of Buddha in Ceylon. The Portuguese removed this tooth in the 16th century, after which the jealous bishop of Goa, very spiteful, had it pulverized and scattered over the sea. But don't worry, afterwards it turned out not to be Buddha's tooth, the real one is still there.

It reminds me of the meters long arm of John the Baptist. Fortunately, the tooth and all ashes of Buddha have been preserved despite storms, wars, earthquakes, savage Christians and wild Muslims. And so everything falls back on its feet.

Pastoral beauty

Suddenly I've had enough of Bangkok. I go to the internet shop and type in: www.airasia.com and reserve a plane ticket for the next day in ten minutes to Ubon Ratchathani, a provincial town in the northeast of Thailand near the border with Laos. Return for sixty euros. A few days ago I spoke with a German who volunteers in a commune and I want to visit him.

Took a taxi the next day and like a seasoned businessman who can declare everything I casually say: “to the airport!” and a smiling driver takes me to the airport for four euros. After an hour's flight I take a taxi again, this time no car but a somewhat glorified tuk-tuk and I give the driver the address of the commune: Ratchathami Asok.

It is important that you have all kinds of notes with you with the addresses in both English (for yourself) and Thai. Not that something like this always helps, because a good number of taxi drivers are illiterate or do not have reading glasses with them. There is no other option than to take another taxi, sometimes you only find out after fifteen minutes of driving around.

Anyway, now everything is going smoothly and I am in the middle of the rice fields. Very different from Bangkok. It doesn't look like the well-known light green calendar pictures, because now it's the dry season. The young plant that has just been put into the ground is under water for the first three months, then dry for a month (this month) and then it can be harvested. If you are lucky and your land borders a canal or river and your land is lower, you can harvest twice a year.

I am now in the commune, founded thirty years ago by the monk: Samana Potirak. The members of the commune have spread over different places in Thailand. There are about three hundred members and you have to adhere to five rules: no sex outside marriage (how did they get it?), no eating meat, no stealing, no lying and no alcohol consumption.

Despite the lack of sex, they make a cheerful impression on me and they receive me very hospitably. The English lessons of the volunteers have helped a lot. They sell their products free of pesticides. There is a committee of twenty-four wise men and women. All pretty soft-spoken types, except when I told them I didn't see much difference from a communist commune. Fire-breathing eyes and almost bursting out of their skin was the reaction.

Once things calmed down, I praised them for their good work. I'm sure I'm not well suited for a commune, I'd like to trade too much there, I think, which in turn leads to squinting. I spent the evening and night in a simple farmhouse in a nearby village.

What do the houses look like? Well, drive eight posts into the ground, let them stick out two meters, put a wooden floor on top, four wooden walls, some sloping corrugated iron for a roof and your house is ready. It is also beautiful wood, if you sand it and varnish it you have a beautiful parquet floor. The ground floor is usually made of concrete. You sleep on the first floor, screened off with some curtains and only a cupboard for some clothes, a mattress and a mosquito net.

No furniture, paintings, tables or chairs anywhere in the house. There is hardly any furniture on the ground floor, but there is a television and always a very large low table, where you can sit with the whole family. All in the lotus position, which is extremely uncomfortable for me. You take a tuft of soggy sweetened rice (sticky rice) from a wicker basket with your hands, then you take a green leaf, put some fish or meat with the rice, dip it in a container with a sauce and then you eat it. No signs and stuff. They have chicken, pork and beef, all deliciously spiced.

I myself am fond of a special fish: black fish. The Emperor of Japan, a renowned biologist, sent some young fish to the Thai king a few years ago and he bred them so that the fish could be distributed all over the country. It's just as tasty as plaice. But this freshwater fish is much thicker and has few bones. This delicious fish is very nutritious and is grilled slowly and then served, very tasty.

I really don't understand why they don't have chairs, even old people are lying on some kind of table or on the floor, sometimes with a cushion. You will of course find chairs in restaurants, but at home they all prefer to sit on the floor while squatting. I brought a bottle of booze and the whiskey is just drunk with plenty of water with meals, they don't toast, but when I do out of habit we now toast with every glass. I then sleep a wonderful night. The next day I go to Laos.

To be continued…