One might find monks in every corner of the holy city. They arouse attention in their dark red robes, their shaved heads, their alert and tongue-in-cheek expression on their faces. There is nothing ascetic to discover, rather an undiminished joy of life.
The Samaneras however, dressed in lighter orange, are novices, the offspring, so to speak. However, the proportion of Samaneras is small, which decides to a monastic life. Most boys spend some time in the monastery and then return to their bourgeois existence.
The hill
After yesterday's exertions, today it's time for Easy-Going. The city offers so many highlights that the few days are hardly enough to see everything. The hill overlooking the city has to be ascended, there should be all kinds of exciting things to see. The hill also played an important role in military strategy (which doesn't throw me out of my chair as a military hater, though), the corresponding legacies of the warlike times can still be admired or despised depending on one' s view.
Then in the middle of the city is the museum or the royal palace, whose reputation is not the best. I'll find out why for myself. watch, read, chill, nothing more. And write. Let's see how my novels will go on. I have to come up with something.
A pleasant hill sits above the city which can be conquered even in high heat without effort. The view is stunning as expected. The city lies like an aging lady among us, nestled between the surrounding rivers and the fertile fields all around. A light haze hovers over the landscape like a transparent veil, giving it almost a mystical feel.
A genuine Samanera
On the way down, I meet a young monk, a true Samanera. He makes an effort to speak English, wants to know everything about my travels, then at the end he manages to wangle a few Kips of me. The well planned and executed trick deserves respect.
At the foot of the hill I sit down at a table in front of the monastery and write in my diary. Once again I realize how much I miss writing.
And another Samanera
The young monk speaks to me again, and I'm actually on the verge of asking him what he wants again, until I realize that it is not the same as before. He is more intelligent and linguistically knowledgeable than the first and tells me his story.
It is always the same: the youths are mostly from poor families who can not afford to feed their sons at home, and so they are sent to the convent for a few years. There they are trained, receive education that later allows them to find a job. The conversation takes a long time and provides a lot of new information. Until the young monk has to say goodbye with great regret, because a bell calls to what-knows.
The royal palace
In the afternoon, visiting the Royal Palace. It has somehow fallen out of time. The last king ruled until the seventies, until he and his family was imprisoned by the communists. Nobody survived.
Everything seems royal and terribly spiteful at the same time. The fantasy goes on strike, wants to imagine the family life with the children and servants and subordinates and visitors. Despite the pomp, the building - not only because it is a museum - seems somehow strange and empty and full of false pathos. Reminds me of the many palaces in India, the same phenomenon.
I have decided to stay a day longer. Maybe a little more bike riding, walking around. Enjoy the good food. Get in the atmosphere of the old city. And then continue traveling south.
P.S. Matching Song: Dressed Up Animals - Ruins
