July 4

A town packed with gringos
And restaurants and shops
Crafts, wine bars, internet cafes.
Wall-to-wall guest houses
Adventure tour services
Tuk-tuks waiting for your business.
Ironically, A UNESCO World Heritage site
For its many spectacular temples
And saffron-robed monks
Who forgo material possessions.
Here come a gaggle of tourists to ogle them
And spend money in town.
Beautiful architecture
Brick-paved paths
Foliage
Great food, more great food
Roll me home, Scottie
Green, mountainous landscape
Rice paddies, rivers.
Arrived at night.
Bad sleep. Again.
Walked and explored
In the rain, rain, rain, all day
Lunch at a street stall
Prepared with bare hands
Safe? Sanitary?
But delicious
Lao noodle soup and a Lao omelette
Talked to a young man—Lao, building a guesthouse here for his parents
He studies in Melbourne
And was a font of information
And sweet and lovely
Better before all the tourism, he agreed
But gave good tourist info
Places to see, where to eat, where not.
Highlight of the day was
Talking to a 16-year-old monk
At a stunning wat
Who told us some of the stories pictured in the mosaics
On the outer walls of the buildings.
A magic turtle--tuh-r-uhta--turned young man
Who fell in love with the King’s daughter.
The novice seemed a special kid, bright, sweet
Open to the world, though cloistered in his monk life
Which he will leave when he finishes high school
Clearly the best route to an education, food, solidity
For children without means.
I miss Leo.
Little boy monks at 5PM filling a wat and chanting
We watched from the street
Two kids in the back row whispered to each other and couldn’t sit still
Nothing new under the sun.
Dinner at a restaurant that specializes in typical Lao food
For the tourist crowd
Which is to say, you get rich information along with an excellent meal
Never double-dip the little ball of sticky rice you’ve made
Don’t lick your fingers
But don’t trail food on your fingers, either
Can you accomplish both at the same time?
And without a napkin?