At 11am, Guay and I head to the office. I don’t think much about this meeting and sit beside Guay while the secretary says whatever she is saying to him. I gather at one point he is telling her that he had a hurt leg and that’s why he couldn’t lotus with the best of em\.

Then he leaves and the secretary says some stuff I didn’t understand. So I tell her the things I knew how to say in Thai, “Bird live in tree. My name is Luke. I like the forest. I am from America. If I eat shellfish, I will die.”

Then Mott appeared, the secretary must have sent Guay to fetch Mott to translate. She has me fill out some routine paperwork, who to contact in an emergency (the hospital I should hope), etc. Then she teaches me again how to correctly Ca-pot bow. She is kind and laughs at me when I do it technically correct, but with the grace of a crippled buffalo.

She hands me a page of Thai characters and asks me to chant them. When I informed her that I can not read, she looks at me with an emotion I would describe as “what are we going to do with this illiterate Farang?”

We had a solution, she would chant it to me and I would write it phonetically in my savage Roman Alphabet.

The first part was Imina Sakkalena, Puthang, Apipuchayami. One day, I thought, knowing this chant will change the course of a night I a bar.

Fear Factor: The Thai Abbot

Then I was off to see the abbot. I had been trained on how to approach him, on my knees, Ca-poting when I got three feet, hook up the offering by raising the silver dish with the candles and garland, leave it in front of the dude, walk back on my knees. Cake.

Mott was behind me to translate and memorize what was said so he could later tell me what The Leader of Men (the abbot’s Thai moniker). There was no translating in front of the Leader of Men. At one point, the abbot addressed me directly and since I did not know what to say, I chanted the verse of the chant I had memorized in the office, “Imina Sakkalena, Puthang, Apipuchayami“—Pali words as ancient as Sanskrit.

The abbot asked through Mott why I had come. I told him that I had been learning about Buddhism for 15 years and now was coming to experience it.

 

The Abbot seemed jovia enough in his speech, and whatever he was saying he was saying something far reaching and profound about a Farang, a word he used 4 times, so central to his 5-minute statement.

When Mott and I left, we walked in silence, leaving me to take ten breaths to get ahold of my  un-zen eagerness, “What did the abbot say!?”

Mott surmises:” He say you must walk slowly. You must not talk to a woman. You must try to talk as little as possible. You must when you walk with others fall in line.”

That all seemed pretty doable. Then we walked 20 yards before he drops the Buddha bomb. When he does, I see the envisioned week in front of me dry up. Would my first breakfast, that delicious bowl of delicious, to be my last breakfast at the temple?

He points to the two-sided sheet of chants, “The abbot, he say you must memorize and chant for him at 5am next morning.”

Wha what?—memorize 500 words in Pali in 12 hours? “I’ll try my best,” I say. An hour later, I ask, “So like, if I don’t have it all memorized will the abbot kick me out?”

Mott paused and considered. I had asked because I wanted a, “No, of course not. You’re one of us now bro! You can never leave.” But instead I got a, “It’s very strict here at this temple. The Abbot, he say that maybe better for you in Chang Mai where they instruct in English.”

Mott added encouragingly, “So maybe you stay up all night memorizing.”

Go to a gringo temple in Chang Mai? As far as I saw it that was like someone telling me I should spend more time in cruise ships.

But The Leader of Men had a valid line of thought that was good to consider. What was it about me and my sense of entitlement that thought I should get a front row ticket to life as a Buddhist monk while most everyone else got the made for gringos package?

I love the gringo circuit (Or the Farang circuit [Or the Mzungu circuit}). The people you meet and the experiences you have are priceless. But that is not the same passion that makes me love the open road. The tourist/traveler/expat track is my home, and travel involves leaving home. Tonight, my body was still to messed up to challenge a mountain. But I could still challenge my mind. Memorizing 500 words of Pali chants? Like trying to ace the ACTs, but it was worth a shot. If I failed and had to leave? I’d just go somewhere else. I was afterall, without commitments on the road. I put a fresh pair of batteries in my flashlight and got to work.