She twists and struggles, but he pulls her hair several times before releasing it and steers her into the foyer of the hotel next door.   I find myself on my feet.  I walk to the hotel door.  Two other guys at a cafe table get up and follow me.  We enter the foyer as the man and woman are stepping into the elevator.  I go over and speak to the woman…

Around eleven, Kylee and I take our instruments down to the front veranda of our hostel, and play around.  Kylee is teaching herself ukulele.  She has a pretty singing voice too.
Pretty soon we are joined by River and Tzlil, who also have ukuleles.  It’s a regular hoedown.  We play hillbilly music, folk and blues.
The lady-boys, walking their beats, stop and listen.

(Above: neuro-network.)

Wylie, an affable, moustachioed American, comes back from an evening walk around the neighbourhood. 
“I just walked through the temple around the corner’ Wylie tells us.  “They’re having some sort of festival or ceremony or something.  It’s different to anything I’ve seen in Laos before.  You should take a look.”

(Above: young monks preparing temple decorations.)

(Above: temple gate guardian. Bears a striking resemblance to…)
(Below: …this dog I met in Luang Prabang. The eyebrows? I’m not sure. They looked like they might have been done with a felt tip pen. Odd.)

(Below: Buddhist vigil in Vientiane.)

Kylee, Wylie, River, Tzlil and I, walk around the corner and follow a steadily growing procession of locals flowing through the temple gates.  Everyone is dressed in white.  The temple courtyards and gardens are already full of people, sitting and kneeling in orderly family groups.  The scene is lit by countless small votive candles.  Strung between the marquees and temple walls, are thousands of metres of white wool, forming a sort of web above the heads of the faithful.  Each person has a strand of wool tied around their heads, the other end of which is connected to the web.  It’s like some sort of spiritual neuro-network. There are stands all around the temple gardens with iced coffee, coconut milkshakes, hot tea and fruit juice.  As we walk around, taking in the spectacle, the people at the refreshment stands press drinks into our hands, smiling warmly.  It is a friendly, festive atmosphere.

(Above: Tzlil and River joining in the ceremony.)
(Below: Tzlil, Lilly and Kylee.)

After we eat, we settle down on the veranda again to play more music.
Around one in the morning it starts to rain heavily.  We strip to our undies and stand in the rain.  The girls do a little dance. 
One of the lady-boys, Lilly, takes shelter under the awning with us.  We serenade her with Creedence.
Kylee and Tzlil go upstairs to get fresh clothes.  Lilly slides over next to me.
“You married?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No…”
Lilly smiles slyly.
“I love you.”
“Thank you.”  I smile.
We take selfies together.  On the third one, Lilly grabs a handful of my genitals through my shorts.  Just at that moment, Kylee reappears from inside the foyer.
“Oh my God!  Your wife!” squeals Lilly with pantomime horror, releasing my junk and springing away.

(Below: crotch grab imminent.)

(Below: a kid outside the restaurant where we ate.)

A smartly dressed woman and man walk past in the street.  As they pass, the man grabs the woman’s hair and pulls it hard, yanking her head back.  She twists and struggles, but he pulls her hair several times before releasing it and steers her into the foyer of the hotel next door.   I find myself on my feet.  I walk to the hotel door.  Two other guys at a cafe table get up and follow me.  We enter the foyer as the man and woman are stepping into the elevator.  I go over and speak to the woman.
“Are you OK?”
The man answers me.
“She’s fine.”
I ignore him.
“Do you need help?” I ask the woman.
The guy punches the door close button.  I jam my foot against the elevator door.
“You go away!” says the man.
“I’m OK,” says the woman in a tired voice.
“You sure?”  I make eye contact with her.
She nods.
“You can walk out of here if you want.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m fine.  Really.  Thank you.”
I take one last look at the man, glaring at me.  I take my foot out of the elevator doorway and it closes.
Me and the other two who followed me into the foyer are left standing there looking at each other.  We shrug and walk out to the street.  It’s Laos.  What are we going to do?

There is a conversation, on our veranda, about what the correct course of action in the situation was. Kylee is glad I acted, even if it did no good. Tzlil thinks I may have made the woman’s situation worse. River says it is better not to do anything in some situations.
“I was an EMT in the past. I’ve attended a lot of crisis situations. If there is nothing you can do, why get involved?” River says, matter-of-factly. “In Vietnam, I witnessed a bad motorbike accident. I was first on the scene. The guy wasn’t wearing a helmet and I could tell straight away he was fucked. I could see his brain. I just said ‘I’m sorry man, you’re dying, there’s nothing I can do.’ And he did. He didn’t even say anything or close his eyes.”

(Above: inside the temple. You can buy this photo as a poster, or printed tote bag in the Raw Safari Print Shop.)

Around four AM the city is very quiet. Wylie, River and Tzlil have hit the sack. Kylee and I are the last ones awake. The rain shined streets are cool.  When we stop playing music we can still hear the low droning chanting coming from the temple.  We walk around the block and take a look.  The ceremony continues.  The crowd has thinned a bit, and the gardens around the temple are littered with empty plastic cups and 7/11 bags full of garbage.  The monk’s chant is mesmerising.  The low, mumbling voices mingle with rolling, ringing gongs or bells.  It is beautiful.  Through a small doorway, I can see into the inner chamber of the temple, lit with candles.  The Buddha sits in the centre, with the tangled web of white strands that radiate out to the faithful, knotted and bundled about him.

 

 
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