Waking to the sound of Thai blaring from the mammoth speakers in the back of the truck we stumbled out to the patio to see what all the hub-bub was about. The truck passed slowly shouting indecipherable commands to the empty early morning street. In its wake residents soon emerged setting up small tables with juice and food packets obviously waiting for something to happen.
We watched from on-high, as we often do, searching for clues to help us understand what is happening around us. In a country such as this, whose culture and traditions are so far removed from our own, we often don’t do well at the guessing game but we are happy to wait it out.
A minute later, in complete contrast to the noisy introduction, a procession of novice monks rounded the corner onto our street. Silently, in bare feet and vermillion robes, they padded along the street stopping only to receive merit offerings from the waiting residents.
In a moment they were gone, leaving only the incantations of the more senior monks giving blessings to those waiting.