Monk-y Business

My new visa for Laos is cool, but not as cool as the two buddhist monks I hung out with yesterday.

The Cambodia-Laos border worries me. First of all, it's officially closed to foreigners. If I get there and can't cross then I need to go all the way across Cambodia on some of its worst roads, then travel through Thailand in order to get into Laos. Rumor is however that a small bribe will guarantee entry. I tentatively asked the officer at the Lao embassy when I applied for my visa and he began by emphatically declaring that the Strung Treng border crossing, the only one connecting the two countries, is for locals only. I replied with a long thoughtful hmmmm. But before I could formulate a follow-up question he quietly informed me that five U.S. dollars would get me across. What about my motorbike. His eyes looked towards the heavens and after receiving verification from on high said that with a vehicle ten dollars might be required - but I'd have to work that out with the border guard. Okay, fair enough.

After my dealings at the Lao embassy I went to the Bottomwatey Temple to meet Eson. Eson has his own large room directly across from his master. His master was busy entertaining guests who would arrive and depart at regular intervals. We sat on the cool, tiled floor and Eson offered me water. We soon began an earnest exchange of questions and answers on topics ranging from the divorce rate in America to the transition from public to private support of Buddhism in Cambodia. Eson is a very thoughtful twenty-year-old. His vacation has just started, but normally he studies Buddhist teachings from dawn till dusk. The monks lead a fairly ascetic lifestyle. Their mealtimes are regulated and they may eat only twice a day and only by themselves or with other monks. They cannot wear anything but their robes. They cannot touch liquor or females. They cannot run or dance. Eson informed me that this makes the new year celebration a bit of a let down for him.

It's a bit of cliche, but he seems wise beyond his years. The only thing that gives him away is his unbridled optimism for the future. I never realized how political the monks are. We didn't touch much on the politics of the temple, but it was clear that Eson was set on making a postitive and impactful contribution to his country's future.

School in Cambodia is not free. I read in the paper that recently most of the Phnom Penh elementary schools had gone into debt trying to maintain their supply of water. Now they are resorting to charging an additional monthly fee to student's families in order to keep bathrooms and water fountains working. This means that the poorest students will be forced to drop out. The only alternative for them is the buddhist monastery. Eson became a monk when he was thirteen because his sustinance farming family wanted him to become educated. Now, at twenty, he has few prospects to continue a non-religious education. This seems to be a trend here. I've met several people here who are trying to figure out a way to get an education in order to fix their country. They all want to major in politics and economics.

After a couple of hours of chatting, my new saffron robed friend invited me to his village for the beginning of the Khmer new year's celebration. We have arranged to travel the 60 or so kilometers on Tuesday afternoon. A year ago I would never have imagined myself stilting down a country road on a motorcross bike ferrying a monk to his remote home town. Can you see it? Funny, huh?

Eson's good friend Ruang (I think! But I might correct this later) joined us and we set off for the internet cafe. I set up a simple blog for Eson and showed him how to add and edit his entries. I'm not sure if he's going to use it or not, but he seemed pretty stoked when we finally posted a test entry. Check it out.

After an hour or so we returned to the temple and along the way Ruang asked me if people on the internet were always very friendly. It seemed like he was going somewhere with this, so I asked him what he meant. He told me that somebody had emailed him out of the blue and offered him a job in India. It seemed strange so I asked for more details. Ruang said that he was having an ongoing email exchange with someone whose name appeared to be Indian. The man quickly declared that they were friends and that his family had a lot of money and that he would like to give Ruang a job. When we arrived at Ruang's room, a tidy, wooden, slightly deteriorating affair, a copy of the most recent message was produced. Do you remember that old scam from Nigeria where people were claiming to be related to deposed dictators and offering huge sums to people who would help them reclaim their fortunes? That's exactly what this email was. It was from someone named Abagail Abacha who was unwittingly trying to squeeze money from someone who has no worldly possesions. Ruang isn't stupid and he suspected that something was strange, but an email scam of this caliber was far outside his experiences online. I advised him to reply honestly (monks are not supposed to lie) about his profession and then simply wait for the unlikely possibility that he would ever be contacted again.

It was already night time, so Eson and I made plans to meet on Tuesday for new years and I bade farewell.

Driving in Phnom Penh is always an adventure. In Vietnam, the drivers all drive the same. They are crazy and lawless by western standards, but they are consistent and they seem to follow an unsaid code of the road. In Cambodia, there is no consistency and the driving becomes much more unpredictable. Take traffic circles for example. In Saigon, where the traffic is much heavier, there is never a question as to who has the right of way. The biggest, fastest, or first to the collision point is always allowed first passage. Here however, people will slow down and actually look at you if you are on a collision course. This ends up being very unnerving. Cars will even slow down for motorbikes. It sounds strange, but that sort of politeness is not good in the wayward cluster of Cambodian traffic. I think it has something to do with the police presence here. The city is crossed by a tic-tac-toe board of major boulevards. Two of these streets are heavily policed. During the day you can be assured of cadres of smartly uniformed police stationed at certain corners flagging down motorists. These checkpoints are clearly avoided by the locals who will often drive against traffic in the far lane to avoid any possibility of being stopped. It's funny to see ten police and their trucks and motorcycles on one half of the road, calmly flagging down naive drivers from abroad or from the countryside, while cityfolk recklessly play chicken with oncoming traffic just ten feet away.

My host Jacques says that the police make a living by doling out fines and that chasing after actual offenders would only take them away from the relatively easy task of extorting bribes, fifty cents at a time, from those stupid enough to stop.

At night the police go home and the roads become much easier to navigate. Besides the ocassional jousting match against those who ride without headlights, it's actually a very pleasant way to enjoy the evening. Phnom Penh fizzes at night. Waterfront parks buzz with mingling youth and food vendors, underlit lawns in front of temples and monuments quietly exude the innocent smolder of young couples embracing under the protective canopy of arrayed elms. During the day you are assaulted by a barrage of signs and dust and gridlock. At night, the wrinkles are smoothed out and everything seems to flow so naturally together. In a city the size of Phnom Penh, it is pleasantly surprising to see such charming community.