Luangpo, my meditation master, 3 monks, and 7 Thai ladies visiting our monastery from Bangkok invited me on a road trip.
But where were we going?
Because I know 20 words of Thai and they weren’t speaking English; I was captive with only my imagination.
After a few hours driving we arrived at the border of Laos and they wanted to walk in.
I’ve walked into Laos from the Thai border 3 times so I knew the procedure. And I didn’t have the proper visa so I wouldn’t be allowed to cross with them.
They poo-pooed my explanation in Thai.
Luangpo smiled and said, “Maybe, maybe not, we try.”
Because of his connections, brilliance, and being an enlightened master; doors often did fly open.
It worked when he got my Thai visa extended at another less busy Thai border with Laos.
Yes he was revered.
I was living at his temple in Loei, a rural town in agricultural Northern Thailand taking photographs and shooting videos of the monks and nuns for Luangpo and saw it with my own eyes.
Photo: Thai Ladies with Me on the Road Trip, Credit: Mary Bartnikowski
Hundreds of people would show up for his weekly ceremony. The temple was bursting with devotees on those days.
Throngs of people bowing down to him. Crawling on their hands and knees in front of him.
I didn’t realize the enormity of his following; it was thick and wide.
So I’d vanish after shooting and go back to my kuti, a simple wooden cottage-like building without a kitchen or mattress.
I was an oddity at the monastery; the only one who spoke fluent English. But I had some good conversations.
Not with words.
Communicating with gestures, miming, and arranging my face in different expressions.
So I’m at the temple shooting, writing, doing yoga, and meditating. And getting up at 3AM every morning to work and pray with the other inmates.
Luangpo is learning English by practicing with me and he’s comprehending it with gasp worthy speed and gusto.
So the day we drove to Laos; we rode in an 8-person van crammed with 10 passengers.
The tinny-sounding Thai music on the radio was murdering my ear drums.
Grumpily I said, “Turn down the music please.”
Luangpo was sitting next to his driver. An enlightened meditation master, always sits in the front being honored; while the rest of us were squashed in the back. Without air conditioning.
Pressing flesh in hot, sticky weather wasn’t my idea of a fun time. I consoled myself with, this will end soon.
But it didn’t.
We arrived at the border. And I wasn’t allowed into Laos.
My Thai friends were shocked, they’d never heard of this even though I’d told them I’d be restricted from entering.
“Just go and come back when you’re done, it’s no problem,” I told them.
More shock on their faces. “Stay alone here?”
“Yes.”
And I’ll enjoy it. I needed a reprieve from the loud music, the constant chattering in Thai without knowing what they were saying, and the long, dusty road in the sweltering heat.
So they marched off and two hours later apologetically returned, praising me for sitting quietly at the border of Thailand and Laos in a folding chair.
Photo: Luangpo and Me, Camp Site, Thailand, Mary Bartnikowski
I now had street cred with them which I didn’t before.
But I loved being alone in the silence under an arbor of yellow flowers.
After being re-united we were driven to yet another temple in rural Thailand where absolutely not one word of English was spoken.
And our next activity was nonstop chanting and praying.
The detail they didn’t tell me was this: we’d be camping.
As soon as we arrived, tents and sleeping bags appeared from hidden recesses of our van and suddenly I realized I was staying overnight.
Not the first thing I wanted to do.
Or the last.
I wanted to get back in the van, drive to my kuti, and be alone for a week.
So after all the camping gear was set up we proceeded to the temple to start chanting.
Chanting in English is what I can do. But chanting in Thai? No way.
My boredom grew and soon I was checking the nearest door to escape.
Where would I go?
Photo: Monks Gathering Food, Thailand, Mary Bartnikowski
Was there a place without chanting in this dustbowl temple?
So I slipped through a door and surveyed the situation outside.
There was a building behind the temple that was lit up in the inky black night so I walked over and introduced myself to the smiling Thai kitchen staff.
They lavishly welcomed me. Thai words of happy greetings filled the kitchen.
I was given a handmade combination seat and coconut shredder to sit on. And invited to help with the coconut shredding. An enormous task requiring a team of five people.
They took photos of me while I was shredding. And offered me a dessert they called, “Bow.”
It looked like a large scoop of rounded coconut meat, presented in a half coconut shell for me to spoon bites out of.
Was this edible?
I’d eaten unidentified things in Asia. And was usually thrilled to discover tasty food I had no idea existed until I took a bite.
Yes it was delicious.
How happy I was to be powwowing with kind locals instead of droning on with the chanting in a language that yes I knew about 35 words of Thai but not the important prayer words.
These holy words were impossible to memorize.
When you’re in a foreign culture your head fills up fast with new things to digest.
And suddenly you need a time-out so your brain doesn’t explode.
So the nuns, monks, and Bangkok ladies were still chanting in the temple.
And I was eating dessert and laughing in the kitchen, a far better option.
Finally the chanting stopped. And we were called to “bed.”
But there was only dirt to sleep on.
No softness, no rest. Bludgeoned with harsh angles all night; I remember finding a floor to sleep on near the camp sites.
Was it a tool shed?
Sleeping on a floor was better than a tent with dirt under it.
But the next morning I was grateful to be going home. Back to Tubmingqwan temple in Loei.
But before the road trip started we stopped for breakfast and the Bangkok ladies hungrily pounced onto servings of animal parts from a stock pot the size of two toddlers.
I took the skewered chicken bites on offer not the unidentified meat bits. Was this kidney or pancreas? Or something more unsavory?
Shooting video of them eating and laughing at my horror was fun and then we piled into our van.
I loved being in Loei at the temple because I wasn’t on display. Or trotted out to be poked and prodded with inquisitive eyes.
It felt like home now after two months of getting familiar with wearing nun-like clothing and waking up at 3AM which now felt normal.
This was life-changing.
My idea was to stay less than a week at the temple. But I ended up living there for 60 days.
It hurt my heart when I left but I was ready to go back to life on the outside.
Or so I thought.
Learning how to not wake up at 3AM was difficult.
Staying in bed until 5AM felt indulgent. But what came with early rising was clarity and peacefulness.
And after eating only 2 meals a day without dinner for 60 days, I was lean.
I took the bus back to Ko Phangan, an island in Thailand to finish writing my 3rd book.
I wondered if Thailand was my new home.
Now that I had a longer visa I could relax and reflect on maybe making Thailand my home base.
And if you’ve ever wanted to volunteer in a Thai temple you can go to Tubmingqwan in Loei, Thailand and stay for a while.
Or you can visit other temples in Thailand allowing us civilians to come and stay.
But be prepared to wake up at 3AM, eat food you’ve never seen before, and not be able to speak your own language.
Do you crave starting your own travel adventures around the world?
Book a consultation with me and you’ll be traveling the world in 3 steps, check it out.
Write me here or
mary@bartnikowski.com
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