Travel to Surin and Kalasin Provinces

A couple of peaceful days of the slow rhythm of monastic life having passed, it was time for another trip. This one was to be no jolly jaunt, as it was just going to be me, four senior monks and Ajan Suwaranat, a formidable monk from Wat Vajira in Centereach. On the last trip I went with a group of junior monks who were charmingly giddy to get out of the temple for a few days and loved hamming it up for the camera (can I get a wat, wat!) These guys, on the other hand, were old-school lifers. They packed light and were not exactly big on the chit-chat, not that any of them spoke much English anyway. 

The plan was to visit some of their old masters and a couple of other old sites, as well as to deliver more of the recently deceased Abbot of Wat Vajira's remains to a couple more temples. Having delivered several urns on the last trip as well, I think that by now this guy has more DNA scattered around Thailand than a Japanese sex tourist. (Too soon?)

The paved, two lane highway carried us as far east as it could before finally throwing in the towel, giving way to a treacherous patchwork of dirt, asphalt, concrete, gravel and potholes. Navigating required frequent swerves to avoid road hazards, creating the appearance that it was a road full of drunk drivers. 

We had arrived at a little village south of Surin very close to the Cambodian border. Here and there were sandbagged concrete bunkers created for use in the on-again, off-again shooting war with their neighbors to the south. Our rural travels along the poorly marked border seemed to be taking us a bit over the line, and when I expressed my concerns about an illegal incursion into Cambodia, one monk (apparently the Henry Kissinger of the group) dismissed my question with a laugh and a "Mai ben rai," which is a catch-all Thai expression which means, roughly, "no big deal."

We arrived at one of our main stops to pay a visit to "The Old Monk." He was alert and engaging for a man his age (maybe 85+?) and even had some teeth. After the usual ritual greetings, chit chat and tea, we stood up to leave. Or so I thought. In fact we were now being taken to see "The Old Monk" who perhaps should more properly be called "The Young Mummy." Wrapped tightly in his robes and laying on a reed mat of a style with which I was quite familiar, was an ancient monk who was almost 110 years old. After the ritual greeting, each monk approached the his mat and lowered his head to the ground to receive a blessing. The old monk murmured a blessing for each and they exchanged a few words. Uncertain, I hung back until they indicated I should also approach. Instead of a blessing, however, he rubbed his hands all over my face and laughed loudly. His unrestrained laughter, charm and complete lack of teeth made him seem to me a tiny baby, and I could understand why he was so revered. He gave me a couple of gentle slaps in the face and we all laughed. It was a very touching moment and I was grateful to my friends for bringing me. 

On our way back to Bangkok, we stopped for lunch and a break. After the meal I noticed that the restaurant worker was loading food into the back of our van. The monks generally only carry what they need, and sometimes not even that, as temple visits tend to be a pretty all-inclusive affair when you roll with this crew. Anyway, one of the monks, noting my observation of the food loading, merely said "Change plan." We got back into the van, and with Bangkok behind us, headed north and deeper into the interior.