Living with Gratitude in Pak Beng, Laos

Shocker. White girls have exploited and bastardized eastern religious practices.

And I say that as a white girl. What’s more, as a white girl who hates white people who try to self-deprecate their whiteness to look “woke”. “Wellness travel” seems to be in vogue these days. Particularly, mental wellness seems to be a big hit on Instagram. Nary a day goes by where I’m not subjected to images of tiny, blonde, white girls with seemingly all the privilege in the world droning on about the importance of “self-care” and “spirituality.” Really, the movement is pervasive. Cups of tea, yoga mats, yoga pants, sports bras, om symbols, string lights, vegan smoothies, the list goes on. 

I’m not anti-wellness or against mental health support. In fact, I’m quite passionate about the topic. Check out this post to read about my road to help with my mental health struggles. 

I am however, disgusted with the bastardization of the word I both love and hate… “mindfulness.”  Evidently, mindfulness is tangible and can only happen on a beach or in a jungle. That’s it. Those are your options. At least, that’s what Instagram says.

Mindfulness and Gratitude

Mindfulness in and of itself is an effective tool. I use it in my personal life and with my students, and it has saved me in more instances and ways than I can even begin to list. Not least of which, was during childbirth when I was forced to deliver without sufficient epidural! 

Mindfulness leads to the capacity for gratitude. Mindfulness and gratitude are such pure concepts. They are personal journeys for each individual to embark on and work to embrace each day. Mindfulness and gratitude aren’t meant to be flashy, boasting, or vain when practiced. I think the need to document mindfulness constantly on social media for likes is actually the opposite of mindfulness.

I believe that gratitude, in particular, is not what happens as a result of drinking chia smoothies and wearing purple yoga pants while performing downward dog pose. Gratitude is humbling and insightful, and leads to an omnipresent way of living, or at least trying to live. There is nothing wrong with finding string lights soothing, or smoothies delicious. However, if your desire for gratitude requires an audience, it’s not really mindful.

The Village of Pak Beng

Often times, gratitude and an ability to live mindfully are ignited by a singular experience—that is the case when I visited Laos. In particular, when our Contiki group stayed over in the town of Pak Beng. 

Our tour group was taking a two-day, slow boat ride down the Mekong River from Thailand into Laos. The boat did not have overnight accommodation so Pak Beng was our rest stop for approximately 24 hours. Pak Beng is a small riverside town that lays halfway between the Thai border and the border of Laos leading into the small area of Luang Prabang.

Our time on the boat was relaxing, and the views were stellar. Our group played games—no not wholesome games like Connect Four. We watched four pairs of fellow travelers act out as many sex positions as possible in a specific number of minutes. Contiki is a wild experience ya’ll. In addition, we played trivia, drank far too much Beer Lao, and noshed on sour cream and onion Pringles. I tried my first rambutan, and now I’m sure to shout “OH MY GOD, RAMBUTANS!” whenever I see them in food stores. 

The Goldfish Grabber

We slowly pulled into port in Pak Beng. The view of a small rural village came into sight. Our natural surroundings were striking. The landscape really solidified that I could not have been further from home. I had never seen such remoteness and simple architecture. When the boat fully stopped, we began unloading our bags to bring up to the guesthouse. 

We? Who am I kidding, Arthur  (my husband) began unloading for us as I stood idly by with a family-sized bag of Goldfish crackers in my hand, watching the parade of fellow travelers form a line to pass the bags to the top of the hill. 

I was concentrating on the unique features of the slow boat and the landscape behind it when I felt the giant bag of Goldfish crackers float out of my hand. My immediate thought was that I dropped them or that the wind blew them. Surprisingly, I looked to see that a small child had grabbed them right out of my hands and was walking away quickly with my crackers. By force of habit, as a teacher in New York City, I shouted at him. My drive to correct his behavior was impetuous and instantaneous. 

Needs and Wants

“Hey! That doesn’t belong to you!” or something to that effect is what I remember saying. The small boy, who frankly looked very dirty to me, turned around and a look of sadness overcame him. With his free hand, he rubbed his stomach to indicate that he was hungry. It wouldn’t be a bad guess to say he might have been starving, rather. 

I was totally mortified. My fat ass being like, “Hey! I need those—they’re mine!” to a poverty-stricken and famished child was really a sight to be seen. I’m entirely grateful that more people did not see it. 

I was aghast. Of course, I’d seen my share of homeless folks in the Big Apple. However, I had never experienced blatant abject poverty. I had no idea what to do next. Never before had I been face-to-face with a person who was so emboldened by hunger to steal food right out of my hands. That level of necessity wasn’t even fathomable to me. I nodded at him. “Go on, have it.” I gave him a thumbs-up, he returned the gesture and ran off to show his friends the score. 

Food in Pak Beng

Late at night, my husband (then boyfriend) and I took a walk through the town. We were able to pass by the homes of some of the residents of Pak Beng. From what I saw as we walked, it would seem that hunger and poor food options were not limited to the small boy who took my crackers. One family graciously invited us to join their barbecue, but we declined.

The choice of meal was some kind of scorched rodent, perhaps a gerbil or guinea pig. Maybe the family genuinely enjoys this dish, I’ve never had it. In my Western eyes, I felt sickened just looking at the creatures jammed at the end of the skewers. I’m not saying this family was doing anything wrong, just operating in a way very… different from my life.

This would not be my first choice of dinner or most Americans. As we walked on, I could not get the image of the charred rodents out of my head. I’ve never been forced to eat something I didn’t enjoy. Growing up, my mother would cook me a separate and special meal if I didn’t find the original meal that she had prepared appetizing. I immediately felt grateful for all of this.

Pak Beng Bugs

I have a severe phobia of bugs. If they’re especially big or in a bunch, I actually get physical symptoms of illness. Sometimes I vomit, get the chills, sweats, or a racing heart. Yeah, I know, fucking weird. No idea what happened to me in a past life. In, Costa Rica, some years ago, a beetle fell from a ceiling in a restaurant and into my shirt. I ripped my whole shirt off and screamed bloody murder for all to see. That being said, I could not live more than a day in the shoes of those who live in Pak Beng. There are bugs galore. Everywhere. They were in the shower, in the beds, on the ground, in the ceiling, you name it.

I remember eating a delicious meal of rice and larb made by the owners of our guesthouse in Pak Beng. In the midst of the meal, I heard a buzzing and assumed it was the overhead light (it was evening as we ate.) I looked up and saw insects the size of pterodactyls hovering overhead flocking to the light. At the sight, I immediately became nauseous and felt my heart race as I was terrified one might fall into my food. However, enter gratitude. I ate my meal without complaint as I remembered my food was more substantial than what most of Pak Beng would be eating that night. I thought back to the charred river rats and kept a clear perspective.

Perspective.

After dinner, sleep was difficult, to say the least. The bed had several critters in it, and I remember crying as I tried to fall asleep. The front door to our room was so flimsy, that the wind rustled it several times. I remember considering how easily someone could push the door open and steal from our room if they felt the need.

I am not admonishing or poking fun at Pak Beng. I have no idea how the locals feel about living there. Perhaps, they are more than happy and I sound like an asshole. However, the village is undeniably impoverished. The residents do not travel for leisure. Much of the way of life among the locals seemed bred from necessity. There is no running to the five star Italian joint in town if you are sick of eating roasted river rat.

My point is, this is not the way I am accustomed to living. So much of what I endured made me severely uncomfortable. I am merely stating that I am so grateful that I do not have to live in a place that makes me feel discomfort every day. In these moments of Pak Beng, I truly grew a spirit of gratitude. I began to cultivate a sense of mindfulness—an awareness that I am incredibly privileged and that I’ve never had to do much of anything out of necessity, other than work [at a job that I love.]   

Pak Ou Caves

After our rest stop in Pak Beng, we were fortunate enough to visit the Pak Ou caves before arriving in Luang Prabang. Thousands of forms of Buddha statue are hidden within the cave! According to our guide, locals hid the statues in the cave for fear that they would be destroyed. A genuine hidden treasure.

A Mindful Practice.

I was happy to explore such a profoundly spiritual space with a newfound sense of gratitude and mindfulness. Circumstances which might normally annoy me seemed so trivial and petty now. Waiting makes me so frustrated, especially when I’m waiting due to someone’s lack of awareness. There were several times that I had to wait to see an area of the cave so that other tourists could take upwards of 900 selfies.

Each time, I just smiled and agreed to come back a few minutes later when it was less crowded. I’m no stranger to criticizing myself, particularly my physical appearance. My hair was so frizzy that day, I was sweating, and remember feeling SO bloated. Normally, I would spend all of my time perseverating on these matters and ruin my day. Not this time. For once, I had the where-with-all to realize I wasn’t here in hopes of landing on the cover of Vogue. I had a rare opportunity to experience a unique part of Laos history and culture and so my heart swelled and sang instead of sinking deep into my stomach. 

Visiting Southeast Asia, and Laos, in particular, was the catalyst for my paradigm shift in how I view and live my life. I have incorporated a purposeful and present focus within my actions that help drive my day to day. Not a day goes by that I don’t express gratitude for my clean bed, sanitized food, and stable home. Travel indeed can sometimes be the greatest catalyst for deep and profound change within ourselves.