At 5am this morning I jolted awake to the ringing of my very standard iPhone alarm. Contrary to most times my alarm goes off at 5am, I’d intentionally set this one. I turned it off quickly in an effort not to wake my dorm mates that most probably all woke up from it anyways (sorry). Despite 2.5 hours of sleep I felt naturally energized, so my conscious had no excuse but to get up and get dressed. I slipped into my jeans and a t-shirt, mindful to dress conservatively, and went on my way. I’d heard each morning there is an alms ceremony at 5:30am and that Mt. Phousi is a great place to see sunrise, and this being my final morning in Luang Pranang, Laos, I felt a need to experience both of these things before I left.
It was dark outside when I left my hostel. I opened my weather app and realized I’d made my first mistake. Being winter, sunrise wasn’t until 6:45, so I was over an hour ahead of schedule. A little nervous to intrude on a sacred tradition I hadn’t entirely decided if I was going to partake in the morning alms giving, but with the extra time I figured I’d walk by and see what it was about. Approaching an intersection by the main street adjacent to Mt. Phousi, a Laos woman came up to me and asked if I wanted to buy some food for the monks. Her invitation made me feel welcome and in that moment I committed to participate, giving her 20,000 kip ($2.34 USD) for a large bamboo basket of sticky rice and she ushered me over to sit on a plastic stool at the edge of the sidewalk. At this point it was only 5:30 in the morning and the street was relatively empty; I was extremely early. As I sat there my moral conscious was doing summersaults so I started researching more about what the morning alms giving is about and the influence of tourism on this tradition. Looking down at the long row of plastic stools lining the street, I quickly realized that I’d accidentally bought in to participating in the most touristy part of town for this ceremony. It became apparent that these rice vendors were only selling to tourists, and I saw almost no locals in the area although I had passed several locals and elder monks as I’d walked to the street. Connecting the dots, I believe the local participating made food at home or bought food from local stands and gave to the monks from the side roads. I felt uncomfortable, and aware that the monks are walking from wat to wat (temple to temple) I was tempted to leave and find an obscure location to make my giving. But unsure of how the ceremony works and lacking the confidence to engage without witnessing an example, I sat glued to my red plastic stool. My discomfort rose as tourists began to spill out of vans, breaking the peaceful silence of morning with their loud conversation. A few travelers from New Zealand sat beside me and we softly discussed respectful behavior and the ethics of participating in this kind of event. I mostly drove the conversation, and I appreciated their willingness to let me bounce ideas; it helped me process the seeming mindlessness of the tourists swarming the middle of the street before me.
As the young monks began to reach our stretch of the road, I kneeled shoeless on the ground, bowed my head and avoided eye contact as I’d read to do, and with my right hand I scooped balls of the sticky rice I’d purchased into their metal canisters. My fumbling hands had a hard time keeping up with their pace. About 15 monks passed by at first and I had thought that was it. Maybe most monks choose not to participate now that tourists smother them during the walk? But a few minutes later another string of monks arrived and I continued in the same fashion, scooping a little more efficiently for the second round. At this point I was over halfway through my bamboo basket of rice.
A Laos woman arrived and sat beside me, bringing her own container of rice and setting a larger plastic bowl next to her. All of a sudden another set of monks began to walk by and as she gave them some of her rice, they added heaping handfuls of the rice they’d accumulated and some of their few candy offerings to her bowl. From what I researched she would bring this bowl back to her family. I, like most of the tourists around me, regretfully ran out of rice early, having underestimated the number of monks that would pass by. I sat with my head bowed while at least another 50 boys and young men walked forward. As I sat there I watched tourists crowding in the street, maintaining no respect for the young monks’ personal space, and running to take selfies with the line of marigold. It was gross and heartbreaking and a total juxtaposition to the tradition. These monks are gathering offerings that will sustain them for the day, while tourists, who travel by the power of their dollars and are constantly consuming, obliviously disrespect this cultural practice. I am grateful to have witnessed a morning routine so different from anything I’ve been exposed to, yet as a tourist myself I am ashamed to have contributed to reducing something sacred into a spectacle.
After the last monk passed, the Kiwis and I turned our heads, curious if any more would come, and the Laos woman turned to me and said “finished” with a smile before heading back to her home. I hope she could feel my unsettled energy yet appreciation for her example.
Sharing the same trajectory, I joined to Kiwis to walk up the 300+ steps to the top of Mt. Phousi for sunrise, and we debriefed our alms giving experience along the way. Morning fog covered the view of Luang Prabang and the murky Mekong river, but through the mist and grey, lights flickered on as people rose for the day. This morning woke me a little extra. Tourism can be positive in that it shares the stories of a country and brings in funding for development. But in situations like this morning, when humans and their spiritual practice transform into just another opportunity for an instagram picture, when respect is tossed aside, our presence as travelers is more damaging that productive. I still have a lot to learn about the meaning of the morning alms giving. I don’t pretend to know exactly how the ritual goes, and I have yet to conduct adequate research about Buddhism in Laos. But what I gathered from this experience is that as visitors in a foreign country, tourists have a responsibility not to overstep boundaries to the point that we make it impossible for the local people to engage in their own cultural traditions. As exciting as travel is, it is critical we remember our place.
Bridge Over Distance 
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