Chiang Mai Trance States

Mid-morning through our third day on the boat, we arrived at the Thai border in Chiang Khong. During the chaos of the border crossing, we lost Mac. Anyway he was headed in a different direction, but it would've been nice to say goodbye. All good, that's just how Mad Mac rolls.

A short bus ride brought us into Chiang Mai proper. There were we were greeted with the familiar sights of Thailand: tuktuks, pad thai, muay thai gyms and massage parlors. But I was surprised by how peaceful the city was, a far cry from rowdy Bangkok. The pace of life was slower by about three quarters, and the faces were composed and compassionate. No danger lurked in the air, instead there was an atmosphere of measured activity, reminding Anx of the quieter parts of Japan. 

A good place to spend one's retirement, and thus a fitting environment for the time being.

Long Necks and Noses

After all the relaxing and reflecting on the slowboat, we were ready for some activity. So the next day we went on a massive outing, beginning with a traditional Karen "Long Necked" village, where the women wore coils of brass rings around their necks, stretching them in a most unusual way. The standard of beauty dictated that the more coils a woman could fit around her neck, the more beautiful she was. 

As we walked through the village, the brass coils were everywhere, and the questions flooded my mind. Did the women wear these rings willingly, or was it forced upon them? Did it help them find a husband, or increase their importance in the village? Did it cause any health issues? Could they be taken off? 

It seemed such a painful process to undertake. But I reminded myself to reserve judgment, as an outsider without understanding. Meanwhile, young or old, the women didn't seem much bothered by it. When we approached the village school, little girls were already wearing the brass.

The village was largely open to tourists and rather commercial. The people were friendly, and had no problems posing for pictures or trying to sell their crafts. Aside from my natural curiosity, there was a disturbing feeling that they were being exploited. I later found out that the Karen people as a whole have been persecuted in nearby Myanmar for years, fighting oppression and fleeing to Thailand as refugees. Thai authorities keep them in tourist villages like this one, reportedly refusing to resettle them.

However, others mentioned that there are hundreds of such hill tribe villages, with only a small minority of them agreeing to open themselves up to tourism. They do so willingly, since it gives them a way to make a living in a country where they're not recognized as citizens, and otherwise have no access to education and employment. When the tourists leave, they return to their normal way of life.

I offered to buy Anx some brass coils, but she just rolled her eyes.

Moving on, we arrived at a clearing in the jungle to ride elephants. My prior experience with elephant riding was an unenjoyable one: the elephants had looked desolate and miserable, repeatedly beat by their handlers while trudging around in a neverending loop of toil. I was not looking forward to another example of animal cruelty.

It was therefore a pleasant surprise to see the handlers here treating the elephants like buddies. Anx and I hopped into a seat on top of a female elephant named Bobo. Though Bobo was saddled and chained, she was also young and smiling, seemingly enjoying the ride through the jungle as much as we did. She walked at her own pace, making frequent stops along the way to grab branches with her trunk to snack on. I had the feeling she  pretty much did whatever she wanted.

Halfway through the ride, Bobo's handler jumped off and invited me to take his spot, sitting astride her neck. This was way better than riding in the seat. Bobo's thick leathery hide was mottled and wrinkled, sprouting coarse hairs and rough to the touch. I didn't mind in the least. As we lumbered along, I hugged Bobo's head, reached down to pat her trunk and kissed the crown of her head. She responded by fanning her ears to make a breeze, cooling us both down. In that moment, Bobo was my favorite creature in the world.

We stopped at a stream to allow the parade of elephants to drink from it. Bobo bent down to dip her trunk in the water, when another elephant playfully sprayed water around. They were like children.

Jungle Falls

It was mid-afternoon when we started our jungle trek, crisscrossing a shallow stream as we followed it back to its source. On either side, a bamboo forest grew in arches, bending over the stream to catch the sunlight and giving us shade. Keeping a good pace, we stopped for a break at a clearing where some local folk made their homes in thatched huts.

The path continued over makeshift bridges and steep, sliding slopes. The sound of rushing water announced our destination before we saw it: a three-story waterfall forming a rock pool below. It wasn't quite as impressive as Kuang Si falls, but still magnificent in its own right. And this time I was prepared. While the others hesitated, I quickly stripped down to swimming trunks and clambered to the edge of the rock pool. All other sounds were drowned out; it was just me and the waterfall now. 

I dipped a foot into the freezing water and found a grip on the bottom, slowly wading forward. It wasn't far to the rock face, where the water roared as it crashed around me. I leaned into the transparent curtain, and was plunged into a shocking coldness. It beat down heavily, an intense massage and a test of willpower. Forced to close my eyes, there was nothing else but the coldness slapping against my head, shoulders and back. I tensed my muscles to posture up against the weight of the water, and held myself there until I got used to it. 

Emerging triumphant, I was thoroughly refreshed and energized. 

Mac & Swagger     

Anx and I were just beginning to explore the night markets, when lo and behold, who do we bump into but Mad Mac. No wonder there wasn't a goodbye before; we were destined to see him and his crazy antics once more. He'd spent the last two days who knows where, having just arrived in Chiang Mai when he ran into us. We proceeded to walk the night markets, having dinner and drinks in the process. Mac was obsessed with tiger balm, and bought a lifetime's supply. To him it was the greatest thing ever. 

After making us drink some bright-green shots from a street bar lady, Mac disappeared to regroup at his hostel. Anx and I waited for him at a night lounge, dancing up a storm in the process. 

When we decided to call it a night, our parting impression of Mac was him drinking Thai white whiskey, sitting on the curb outside a convenience store. He was with a newfound friend who called himself Mick Swagger. A loud and rambunctious character who was good with the street dogs but definitely drunk, or crazy. Or both.

Silver Temple

Chiang Mai is a city of temples. Throughout its history, each successive king sought to leave his legacy by building Buddhist monastery-temples (or wats) during his reign, resulting in there being over 200 wats in and around the city proper.  Anx and I originally planned to do a meditation retreat here in Wat Doi Suthep, on top of the mountain overlooking the city. An extended period of silence appealed to both of us, eager to quiet our minds from the noise and nonstop action of Hong Kong. Sadly, we didn't have the time for a full ten-day retreat.

We did however set aside an entire day to visit some of the notable temples of the city. Anx befriended a tuktuk boss lady who assigned us one of her drivers to take us around for the day.

Once we stepped on the first temple grounds, we saw Wat Sri Suphan, the Silver Temple, off to the right. But it was the temple in front of us that captured my attention. A gold and silver Buddha sat on either side of its entrance. As I stood admiring it, a group of pigeons took flight. Instinctively, I took out my camera and snapped a picture. What I  captured was a pure white pigeon, like a dove, frozen in mid-flight in the middle of the two Buddha statues. I looked up to find the flock of pigeons on the roof of the temple, but the white one had disappeared. 

It was immediately obvious which building was the Silver Temple, as the entire surface of the building was encased in silver, intricately detailed into murals. As is common in Thailand, there were horn-like protrusions along the ridges of the roof, making the temple look like a fierce mythical creature. Twin statues guarded the ten steps leading to the entrance, with tails like serpents, flowing into the figures of men. Inside, the walls and ceiling were covered in gold. Flash photography was useless here, because the picture came out as one big gold reflection. 

We explored the beautiful temple grounds. Next to a ceramic pond with a floating purple lotus was a sign indicating that a monk would be available for chats in English. We made a note to come back at the appointed time.

The next Wat was not as memorable for its architecture, as for the smiling old monk with warm eyes who turned his attention to us. When I approached him, a wave of calm spread over me, as if an unseen aura surrounded the man. Somehow his very presence was reassuring. He could see we were travelers, and tied bracelets of white string around Anx's wrist and mine, invoking the blessing of Buddha to watch over us on our journeys. I'm not a Buddhist, but the act did not contradict my beliefs. The road ahead was long, and I was thankful for the blessing. 

After some more temple touring, we returned to the grounds of the Silver Temple, where I meditated at the base of a large banyan tree. Half an hour later, I came out of trance and looked up to see an upturned crescent moon smiling at me. It was the first time I'd ever seen a moon shaped this way, and I smiled back.

Under this crescent moon had our conversation with the monk. He was from a poor family in Cambodia, and through the course of his life ended up here in Thailand, able to speak four languages. Anx and I had been discussing Buddhist concepts on our journey, and had many questions for him. He was happy to explain, clearly relishing the opportunity to practice his English, making it a fruitful exchange. Before long, the hour was over. Much had been clarified, but there was so much more to learn.

Hypnosis

Anx heard about Chiang Mai being a spiritual place, and came here looking for spirituality, whether meditation, yoga or otherwise. Before meeting me in Luang Prabang, she stayed a night in Chiang Mai and saw an advertisement for a hypnotist. She exchanged emails with the guy to feel it out. He himself had felt drawn to hypnosis as a child, and then again much later, after establishing a career in Silicon Valley. He left the Valley and came to Thailand in pursuit of a calling. Besides hypnosis, he also had other spiritual practices such as Reiki and tarot reading. It sounded legit so she made an appointment, seeing it as another way of finding out more about herself. 

I was skeptical, since the only hypnotism I'd ever witnessed was where the hypnotist made people do stupid things for an audience's amusement. But apparently that's stage hypnosis, which is something entirely different. I offered to go with Anx, but this was something she had to do on her own.

When she came back, she described the experience as a profound one. There was no swinging watch or fancy tricks involved...these were all features of show hypnotism, far removed from the hypnotherapy that he practiced. Instead, he had her relax, focus on her breathing and slowly enter into a calm, trance-like state. She remained lucid throughout, aware of what was going on and retaining control. He guided her through  certain visualizations, scenes of water and mountain, picturesque and peaceful. At his suggestion, she came face to face with her inner child, embracing the little girl and sending her images of love. 

The inner child, along with her teenage self, were the parts of her psyche she'd been protecting all her adult life. Anx had been focusing on her problems of the last few months: winning her boyfriend back, finding direction in her career, her perceived status in society. The hypnotherapist guided her to penetrate the veils and layers built up over the years, to directly access the inner core of her being, the places in her mind that even she had forgotten about. 

Perhaps the pursuits of life—beauty, education, career, boyfriend, luxury and status—were all driven by an unconscious need to feel loved. The barriers being removed led her to see that perhaps deep down, she did not feel loved. Maybe she didn't love herself,  fully and unconditionally. Perhaps there was a deep-rooted belief that she would only be worthy if she was associated to these external labels. Constant striving and activity, chasing rewards to fill the void.

What an epiphany! Lucid as she was during this trancelike realization, tears started streaming down uncontrollably, as she faced this unloved girl in front of her. Anx was beginning to understand herself from the centre of her being, and could therefore start facing the root of her problems. The road ahead was long and uncertain, but it was definitely a critical first step.

The results of a single 90-minute session were astonishing, and won me over from my prior skepticism. I didn't feel the need to do it myself, but I was now open to the idea of hypnotherapy and its potential for spiritual healing.

We Ready For the Road...

And so it was that Anx and I parted ways in Chiang Mai: she on a plane back to Hong Kong, me on a train to Bangkok, en route to Myanmar. It had been quite the journey for us both. Whatever we were looking for, we found some of it. There were ever more questions, but also renewed hope. 

I considered it a privilege to see Anx's marked transformation. I could feel a transformation happening in myself as well. Slowly, I was learning to trust in my intuition. I was beginning to see that the omens were all around me. They guided the way, and told me I was on the right path.

  

Emerald Buddha

Luang Prabang: Go Chasing Waterfalls

Anx and I went to university together, years ago. We a shared connection of depth, while engaging in conversation outside the library. Our enquiring minds sought a common thread of truth, both in our fields of study and beyond. The dialogue was philosophical in nature, like two mirrors facing one another, reflecting the angles.. Although no definite conclusions were drawn, we walked away with a deeper understanding, if only for a moment.

We graduated in the spring, and by autumn we were back in the big city, with new jobs in the finance world. Here, our paths diverged while remaining parallel, stepping into the "real world" and adapting ourselves to the corporate machine. The finance dream was alluring: high pay, affirmation of intelligence, fancy titles and a glamorous lifestyle. The price we gladly paid in long hours, steep learning curves and high stress environments.

Anx and I drifted apart, which so easily happens in Hong Kong...you just get caught up in life, in being busy. When I saw her again, she seemed different to the girl I once knew. No longer a humble student, she was now a classy young finance executive, immersed in fancy labels and brand names. Chic restaurants weren't good enough, private kitchens were all the rage. I got the impression that, since she worked so hard to attain the labels she attached to herself, Anx would look down on other people who hadn't achieved the same. 

Then again, maybe she continued to act as a mirror, revealing behaviors I was blind to in myself.

Fast forward a few years and we cross paths again, at the perfect time. I had quit my banking job and broke up with my banking girlfriend. Bad things happen in threes, and to top it off I suffered a debilitating health crisis. After a 6-month recovery, I was beginning to enjoy my life, back to planning the big trip. 

Anx found out from a mutual friend that I quit, and wanted to hear from me. She too was at the breaking point. Her working hours often stretched until midnight, and the signs were plain: edgy nervousness, eye bags and stressed skin. She looked like she could've slept a week. Her resignation letter was already typed up, and within days of our conversation, she handed it in.  

This decision sparked a dramatic transition. Soon her love life unraveled as well. A lot of her previous stress had bounced off her longtime boyfriend, and the relationship had reached a tipping point. Anx was gutted by this, way more than over her job. She had no control over what was happening, and it dealt a crushing blow to her self esteem and psyche.     

She was now exactly like me: no job, no partner, no status, damaged self-worth. What we did have was freedom, a little faith, and someone to share the experience with. 

So began our journey.

The Lao Connect

Anx went through a slew of self-help books to decipher how she could change, in order to get him back. Time off the job gave her the space to see where she'd gone wrong, and she was eager to make the necessary adjustments, immediately. He was unresponsive, but (she thought) it was a matter of time and determination.

We met up for coffee to relish in our funemployment, talk about life and plan the next moves. She knew about my designs for world travels, and decided last minute that she too wanted some adventure in her life.

Unfortunately, adventures can't be planned according to a strict schedule. Before I left Hong Kong for Vietnam, we did some research and agreed on a rough date and place to meet. With modern technology it was easy to continue planning as I traveled. Turns out I needed to stay in Vietnam for longer than expected, so luckily we hadn't finalized our arrangement. Anx was not pleased with the change in plans, but I appeased her.

And so it was, a little over a month into my travels, that I met Anx in Luang Prabang. A picturesque town sitting on a bend of the Mekong river, it is the place to be if you travel to Laos. When Anx arrived at the guesthouse we booked, she was nervous but excited. She'd already met a new friend along the way named Allison, a solo traveler from the States. 

As a city girl backpacking for the first time, Anx's approach was different to mine. She was operating far outside of her comfort zone, and took it very seriously. Everything was to be pre-booked and confirmed in advance. With a definite itinerary, more structure and less uncertainty. I was only happy to accommodate. With a long journey ahead, there would be plenty of opportunities to be spontaneous. 

Cascades of Light

The morning was foggy. We followed a guide through a village in the valley, where the children ran freely. With the fog descending upon the hill, we passed through farmland and a rubber plantation before entering the forest proper. This was where the proper trekking started, and we steadily made our way for two hours before stopping for lunch in a clearing. Through the trees we could see a golden Buddha statue, protecting a nearby cave. Naturally we went to explore, lighting the way with our smartphones. We inched our way in until the ceiling got lower, and the cave floors wetter. Until I lost my footing, slipped and almost cracked both my skull and phone. Fortunately, I was able to break my fall and clutch the phone before it smashed. Reflexes from years of judo and a lifetime of dropping things. 

Nearby was a gentle stream of aquamarine, that would eventually flow into the majestic Kuang Si waterfall. The early fog opened up to a stunningly beautiful afternoon, and just as we arrived, the rays of the sun poured down over the top of the travertine falls. The water was illuminated in turquoise tones as it cascaded, gathering in rock pools and basins. 

At each lower level, the falls were less steep, as if the water was slowing its descent. From several stories high, it cascaded to a height that, two or three levels down, you could jump off. The rapids then continued down, washing over large flat rocks into the bottom basin. In all, there must've been a hundred separate waterfalls, all interlinked. It was surreal.

The bubble burst with the sudden realization that, like a fool, I left my swimming trunks back at the guesthouse. When Allison and Anx went to change into their swimwear, I exercised my only available option: I found a secluded spot and awkwardly stripped down to my underwear. This was the most gorgeous waterfall ever, and I wasn't about to pass up the chance to experience it. So there I stood, trying not to be embarrassed in my red plaid boxers. 

Then I saw an old Asian man with the same problem as me, who solved it the same way. Only he was wearing tight-whities (the proper term slipped my mind—briefs). It was blatantly obvious he'd been in the water already, because his soaked-through underwear left little to the imagination. Some people jeered and laughed, others smirked with a sidelong glance. He couldn't care less what anyone thought, he was loving life. Good for him. Helped me to get over my self-consciousness.

We started off bathing in the shallow waters of the bottom basin, getting comfortable with it first. Even here you could feel the icy, raw pressure of the flow. It really forced me to be in the moment, flushing all other thoughts from my mind. Anx suggested I try to meditate there. Which I failed to do.

At a higher level, it was deep enough for a swim. I grabbed a makeshift rope swing on a tree overhanging the rock pool and launched myself Tarzan-style into the middle of its depths. Completely immersed, I felt my body forgetting all the trekking fatigue. The perfect antidote for a long hot day. I leisurely swam to the shallows, standing up to enjoy the view of the falls, when something started sucking on my foot. Startled, I took a few steps and it followed me, sucking and nibbling my feet. Looking down, I saw a group of fish the length of a hand going to town all around my ankles. It was thoroughly discomforting, and I made a quick exit.

We could've stayed for hours, but then the sun disappeared behind the hills, and the warmth went with it. The water became freezing and we called it a day.

What a glorious day it was.

The Novice Life

A group of young ladies shared our ride back to town from Kuang Si waterfall. They had been volunteering in Laos for months, teaching English to the young monks (called novices) at the temples. Anx and I had seen these young monks walking around the streets in small groups, ranging from kids to teenage, all with shaved heads and orange robes. 

It was interesting to hear about their lives. They rise at dawn to meditate, then form a procession to receive their daily alms; whatever food was donated by the townpeople would be their sustenance for the day. Their time was split then between their studies, duties and chores at the temple. Eating after midday was not permitted. I later learned that they take ten vows of abstinence, which become two hundred vows if a novice makes the lifetime commitment of becoming a monk.

The novices were friendly with their teachers, but strict rules of etiquette had to be observed. Physical touch with a female was of course prohibited. Even if a lady was their teacher and friend in the classroom, she could not just walk up and say hello on the street. Instead, she had to wait until addressed by the novice, and only then acknowledge the gesture to start a dialogue. But other than that, the impression I got was that the novices were similar to ordinary boys in many ways. They had cell phones, and would text each other constantly to chitchat and gossip. 

I was interested to teach the novices myself, thereby learning directly from them as well. But this didn't happen, and the most I could do was greet them with a namaste gesture and a smile on the street. Their behavior was formal and rigid.

Back in town, Anx mentioned how strange she felt, being Chinese in this Asian country. It seemed rare for people from Hong Kong to travel in these parts. Both the locals and European travelers treated us like we were Lao, until we started speaking English. I picked up on this too, but we resolved that it wouldn't be an issue if we didn't make it one.

For my part, I knew the least about Laos among the South Eastern countries. While their neighbors in Vietnam and Thailand had more prominent cultures and history, the Lao people were closest in disposition to their Cambodian cousins: they were friendly, calm and patient, though less effusive. Above all, they were personified by a quiet dignity. It seemed that many were at peace with themselves. Or maybe I was feeling that, and projecting it onto them.

I later learned that the Lao worldview is one of acceptance. Circumstances, good or bad, are seen as interlinked with one's previous life, and can therefore be accepted without emotion or protest. In short, "things are as they are and should be." Why try and change it?

This was an alien notion to me, and would certainly be anathema back home, where nobody ever just accepted their lot in life. You had to have ambition and drive, work hard and get what's yours. That's why the city is so developed, the epitome of efficiency. It's also why everyone worked so hard and moved at such breakneck speed.

Complete acceptance...what a novel idea! If everyone accepted all things as they are, then there would (theoretically) be a lot less suffering and conflict. But would there also be a risk of being passive and stagnant?

Well, when in Laos...

Flyfox
Simply put, we wanted more waterfalls. 

A tuktuk ride through the country led to a long, narrow motorboat down the river, where we arrived at Tad Sae. There was a definite letdown, as they could not compare to the mystical Kuang Si. The waters were still pristine, but these were baby falls. 

Instead of swimming then, we went zip lining high up in the forest canopy. After an initial climb, we were in the trees, perching on platforms built right into the tree trunks. Beyond the edge of the platform was a sea of green treetops, with no sign of the forest floor. But any vertigo was mitigated by the extensive safety measures, and I focused on the exhilarating experience of gliding from tree to tree. 

One zip was incredibly long, breaking clear of the foliage halfway along the line. Beneath my dangling feet, the treetops opened up to a beautiful valley with a river running through it. For a few precious seconds, I marveled at the expanse I was flying through, before plunging right back into the thick of the woods.  

The safety harness was designed so that we didn't have to hold onto it. Of course, for the first few zips, we clung for dear life anyway. But by the end of course, I was comfortable enough to imitate our guides. For the last zip over the falls, I let go to hang upside-down with my arms out wide in an upturned crucifix. While in this position, I had a bird's eye view of the waters below, in which people were riding elephants.

Saffron Sky

We made our way back to Phu Si mountain in the middle of town to catch sunset. There's a temple at the top of the mountain, and we arrived early to get a good view. While the sun dominated the sky, the panorama was breathtaking. The river ran on both sides of the mountain, and the hills stretched to the horizon. 

As the sun dipped lower, cloud formations passed over it. The sky became a vivid painting that swirled and changed by the minute, capturing my imagination. From a cluster of starships, it became the Eye of Sauron, then a scene of Genesis. 

The orange rays outlined the clouds for a few lingering moments, as if the sun itself did not want to set. And then the day was over. 

Chanting Vibrations

We failed to wake up at dawn for the monks' daily alms collection. Monks and novices alike rely on daily donations from the people for food. I later read that in Luang Prabang, this has become a very commercialized procedure due to tourists, who disturb the solemnity of the ritual by blatantly breaking the rules regarding proper dress, talking and flashing cameras. Reports even mentioned that greedy merchants sold stale or unsafe food to tourists, who unknowingly donate the food to the monks and make them sick. So it turned out for the better that we didn't see it.

I would witness the dawn alms collection in another time and place, but not here.

We did spend the day exploring Buddhist temples around town. Anx grew up in a Buddhist family, and was familiar with the traditions. It made the entire experience more meaningful to me, watching her light incenses and prayer candles. She knelt in front of the golden statue of Buddha, silently praying. Not being a Buddhist myself, I stood apart. 

But I bowed my head and offered my own prayer to the Universe, asking that her request be answered, if it was meant to be.

Indigo shawl

When we stepped out of the temple, something felt different. Up to this point our trip had been lighthearted and fun, but there was a change, as if we remembered why we came here in the first place. It remained unspoken, but as we carried on with our day, I knew she felt it too. 

The monks and novices chanted at sunset, another daily ritual. This was our last day in Luang Prabang, so when dusk approached we set off on a mission, walking through all the main roads and backtracking to the temples we visited. By nightfall, we hadn't found anyone chanting anywhere, so we abandoned the search, disappointed. 

As sometimes happens in life, you find what you're looking for when you least expect it. While discussing what to do next on our back to the guesthouse, we heard the chant. The sound was faint amidst the noises of the street. But when we stopped and listened, there it was, coming from a dark alley between buildings. Without a word, we stepped into the shadows of the alley and followed our ears.

The chanting grew louder as the alley led into an empty courtyard, and when we saw the temple's silhouette, we knew we'd found them. Through the open door we saw the novices, facing the Buddha statue with their backs to us, chanting in unison. We sat on the steps outside and soaked in the steady rhythm of the voices. 

We didn't know the words being chanted, and probably wouldn't understand even if we did. But we found what we came for, and as the voices resonated through the temple, I felt a palpable peace. Silently we observed the chant, and silently we departed. 

Out in the courtyard, we overheard a conversation between a tourist couple and one of the novices, through a guide's translation. The novice told of his life: he came from a poor family in the countryside, and was sent here to receive an education, provided by the temple provided as long as the rules were obeyed. Not all novices became monks, but they would leave here with a better understanding of the Buddha's teachings, which along with their other studies would further their lives.

When we emerged onto the street again, we stepped into another world. The silent shadows gave way to a wall of light and commotion. The empty void had been filled too quickly, and our eyes blinked in adjustment.

As we scoped the night market to buy supplies for the journey ahead, it felt like waking up from a dream, forgetting exactly what just happened. Except for the vibrations of the monk chanting, echoing in my mind.

Ascended Master

Dragon stairs