Twice blessed

Lawan's parents were to have their house blessed. I was lucky enough to be invited. Their house is in Lamphun province, in a small village 100km south of Chiang Mai. It's a traditional teak one on stilts in a beautiful rural setting surrounded by rice paddies, orchards and a series of miniature mountains, their edges blurred by the trees of the jungle. Not many rooms, but all large; a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, a big open-plan living area which had been cleared for the ceremony, and an open-air balcony with a table long enough to seat a score of diners.

The living area was criss-crossed by a suspended matrix of white cotton thread. At each intersection was a carefully coiled length which would descend to touch the head of every guest when the ceremony started. All threads connected to the top of a decorated tripod which was in front of two mattresses in the furthest corner.

Five monks arrived and were greeted with very deep wais (A wai is the Thai greeting which includes a bow while pressing hands together to bring them up to one's forehead). The Thai women do it very gracefully, taking a step back and bending their knees at the same time - similar to a curtsy and bow combined. A wai should always be returned, though Buddhist monks are not normally expected to. They are representatives of the Buddha and constitute the highest class in society. Even the king should wai them first when meeting in ceremony.

They sat on the mattresses in lotus positions. Everyone dropped to their knees and bent their backs, as it is considered disrespectful to have one's head higher than that of a monk. I went down on my knees but, as I was twice the size of anyone else, I didn't attempt to be lower. Lawan and her parents settled under the tripod after persistently inviting me to be the one under it. I declined more persistently. It was too much of an honour, besides there would not have been space for anyone else under it with me.

Incense and 180 candles were lit. We were each handed a posy of jasmine to hold between our palms. I touched the petals to my nose, breathing the fragrance. The monks passed on a message suggesting that I sit as I please as I may not be used to kneeling, but I was determined not to have special treatment. The most senior of them, perhaps the abbot, tied a chord of soft white cotton to the tripod and unravelled it so that it ran through each one of the monks' hands. They chanted for half an hour, the two seniors without assistance, the other three chanted while reading from pages which appeared to be made from bamboo, each one different in content and length. As each completed reading, his chant merged with those of the others' until the last of them finished his script. Once the chanting ended the abbot dipped a branch into holy water, looked me in the eyes for a moment with a humorous twinkle of reassurement, and tossed the drops over us. I was urged to approach him and he broke the chord from the tripod and blessed me with a different chant while he tied the cord in a bracelet around my left wrist, then restrained me as I turned away, to do a similar blessing for the right. Thereafter the others approached and received blessings. It's much the same as taking communion in a Christian church (something I've never done, not having been confirmed). It seemed I was given special treatment as not many were blessed on both wrists.

At the end of the blessing the monks were presented a simple banquet of rice, vegetables and fruit.The rest of us went out onto the balcony to a much more varied and spicy set of dishes. They included prawns, pickled octopus, various curries with sweet jellies as fire-extinguishers, bunches of what appeared to be herbs where the leaves were plucked and chewed, giving an astounding array of flavours. My favourite was thin slices of raw water-buffalo in a delicious salty marinade.

My offer to help with cleaning up was rejected with much amusement by the women, and mock-outrage by the men. So Kikie, Marco and I went for a walk up the road to look at the rice-paddies. It was Kikie who explained much of what was going on in the ceremony. Marco is besotted with her. I understood why. She is very pretty with a neat figure, quite glamorous and sophisticated - so it was a surprise when she described herself as a jungle-girl and within a few paces showed us the leaf of a plant which, when the stem is broken and blown upon, produces soap bubbles which float like thistles through the air, and a leaf to cure bad breath, and another where the sap can be used as a bandage, immediately producing a plastic-like film. She rubbed a leaf from a teak tree to show how it exudes a red dye, daubing it playfully onto her cheeks as war-paint. I asked her if she had grown up in the jungle and she said no, in a city. It may have been Bangkok. I can't remember exactly. She had been a Buddhist nun for a year. She had worked as a tour guide for seven years, and before that? She left school and her home at the age of 14 when Her father had died.

"Ah, To make money," I had confirmed prematurely.

"No," she said speaking for the first time without a smile, "To live."

Lawan house

My room in Lawan House was quite dark, no view, no distractions - that was good, and it had a desk and chair. Da, a Thai friend of Lawan, came to stay for a few days. I was intrigued. She had been living in Milton Keynes for six years. Other than being a trifle overweight, how had the long exposure to British culture affected her?

They invited me out to a bar on the first night. It's owned by another of Da's friends. Three of us climbed onto one scooter, Da in front and Lawan sitting side-saddle behind me. We crossed the inner and outer moat roads, without falling off, and turned into a side-street a few blocks from Loi Kroh Road (more about that later). The bar was filled with regulars and friends; mostly Thais and a man with an Austrian accent who claimed to be Irish. I met Kikie and Marco, a delightful couple, she Thai and he German. I was treated by everyone as a friend, and lost a game of pool against Da. Lawan drank only fruit juice. She and I decided it was safer to walk home. Back in the old city a chorus of toads, mostly baritone with an occasional tenor, evoked a wordless memory from my childhood. Perhaps it prompted me to say something childish like "I wonder what they're singing?" I remember Lawan looked at me oddly and said "I don't know. I don't speak frog."

A room had its door facing the table under the umbrella. I felt an urge to move to it. Lawan seemed pleased, as though she had known I would. I discovered a few simple restaurants which served wonderful meals... A delicious spicy supper of pork, fried vegetables and rice with a beer cost less than the smallest cup of coffee at Starbucks in Edinburgh. My regular breakfast was a big bowl of fruit salad mixed with yoghurt and muesli. An early favourite was dragon fruit. They grow on a cactus and look like giant red-hot eggs rimmed with flame-shaped leaves. The flesh is the colour of beetroot. The taste and texture; somewhere between kiwi fruit and watermelon.

Every morning Lawan bought flowers for the house shrine, placed incense and a fresh cup of tea at its entrance, then kneeled and prayed for a few minutes, her back straight and the palms of her hands pressed together. I asked her who she was praying to. Was it Buddha? I don't remember her exact words but the gist was that she prayed to the house spirits, that the shrine was a place where they and visiting spirits, could rest and find refreshment.

What struck me about the Thais I met, was their lack of self-consciousness. They didn't pose. They didn't go for one-upmanship. They didn't seek to impress or to evoke the envy of others. They were quick to smile and always happy to match a friendly glance or a show of respect with one of their own. Part of it is the influence of Buddhism, but there is something else there too. I could see Da had been infected by western egotism. I'm weary and scared of our western culture, one which spreads like a virus. I think we call it globalisation - where traditional gods, customs and values become mere remnants in the coffins of museums. Is there a culture which can resist it, a place where the best part of it is not the shiny surface? Is it here in Thailand? Can it survive the power of greed and technology - the businessmen, social engineers and spin-doctors - the modern missionaries of a crusade without morals who create needs and desires neither needed nor desirable?

The Thais are no slouch when it comes to technology. In many areas they are more developed than the west. But they are not yet ruled by its sterilising laws. If they are ruled - it is by courtesy. Streets are chaotic but clean. Public toilets are of a standard one would expect in a good European hotel. The city air is charmed with landmark odours; fish and spices from the markets, the smoky smell of meat on the charcoal grills at food stalls, and in the old city there are areas fragrant with flowers.