A happy encounter with a monk friend; sorrow in Savannahket

Written on the bus from Savannahket to Pakse on 12 June

While in Vientiane, I experienced a bit of a travelling lull. It felt like there wasn't much going on; there wasn't a whole lot to see, and we didn't meet very many people. Lizzie's infection put a downer on things. I decided for good that I'll be returning to Toronto in September. I really started to miss home! I know now that things are on their way back up--I'm beginning to remember why I'm travelling in the first place, and what makes it such a worthwhile experience.

We had a morning and part of an afternoon left in Vientiane before taking an evening bus to our next destination, Savannahket. We decided to take this time to find Siphone, a monk whom we'd met in Luang Prabang. Monk Siphone had given us the name of his Vientiane wat; however, because it wasn't on our map, we had yet to visit him there. We decided to use the remainder of our time in Vientiane to find our friend. This involved going from wat to wat asking resident monks to point us in the direction of Wat Chomtai Dongnachok. This was no easy feat! We had hired bikes, which turned out to be absolutely necessary--Siphone's wat was far! We were very pleased with ourselves when we finally arrived. Monk Siphone was, too. He thought we'd left Laos already! He was having a nap when we turned up, so he showed us his sleeping quarters, which were just as basic as we'd imagined them to be. Siphone's possessions were minimal: all he had in his tiny room were some books, a neat stack of orange robes and a small radio (monks may only listen to quiet music music in their rooms). He gave Lizzie and I a small introductory book to Buddhism, which I read later that evening on the bus. We were very glad we'd made the effort to see our new friend.

After an eight-hour bus ride--throughout which Thai music videos were played altogether too loudly for our liking--we arrived in Savannahket at 2 AM. The bus station was closed, but not completely deserted. We knew the town centre wasn't very far from the station, so we took our bags and started walking; it was either this, or staying at the station till daybreak. We'd made the right decision: a few metres down the road we found a guesthouse in which a group of young Lao men was up watching Euro cup football. For about $6, we got a room with two beds, a bathroom, and even a TV! It felt like such a luxury to be able to watch TV--it's been a while! We spend the night flipping between the Greece-Sweden game and the Scripp's National Spelling Bee. Both were equally riveting.

Savannahket was a small town with very little to do. It saw few tourists, so our presence was even more of a spectacle than usual. Everyone grasped at the opportunity to practise their English with some foreigners.

That evening, Lizzie and I wanted to check out the Savan nightlife, but as expected, there wasn't much to it. Both bars listed in the Lonely Planet were completely empty, so we ended up having some food and drinks at a Lao restaurant with some live music. On our way home Ya, a waiter who wanted to practise his English, coerced us into having a drink at Roses Garden, which was fairly close to our guesthouse. He was quite drunk, and extremely friendly. When we found out he played guitar, we asked him to play something for us. Instead, he got his co-workers to play Enrique Eglaisias' Hero through the speakers, while he sang along passionately. Lizzie and I could hardly contain our laughter--Ya was so taken by this cheesy tune! Luckily, though, Ya was too focused on his singing to notice. All of a sudden, he stopped. He then told us his 21-year-old girlfriend was killed in an accident only a week ago. Our faces dropped. We now understood why Ya was so drunk, and why he stopped singing: he'd been writing a song for his girlfriend, and never got the chance to sing it to her.

Lizzie and I stayed and talked with Ya for about an hour. He told us that he rarely had the opportunity to talk about his tragic loss. He gave us the impression that Lao people do not often express such deep emotion; indeed, Lizzie told him that he was the first Lao person we'd seen cry. He was frustrated that his girlfriend had to be one of the many people who die everyday. He wished it could've been him instead. Our conversation with Ya left Lizzie and I in tears. What touched me the most was that despite all that Ya had been through, he was very concerned with our well-being. He kept changing the subject, asking us if we're happy, and telling us that he wants us to have a really good stay in Laos. He continuously apologised for being drunk and for his English not being good enough. After we'd left him, he followed us to our guesthouse on his motorcycle to thank us, to apologise once more for his drunken state and to say goodbye properly.

Speaking with Ya was a very humbling experience. It is easy to forget that the people we meet along the way, who are so friendly and warm, experience hardship just as we do (if not more so). It felt good to be able to help Ya a tiny bit, if only by listening to what he had to say, and attempting to comfort him as best as we could.