Ferguson Evening

So yesterday I hired myself a Ferguson. For those of you who are not familiar with the term, you can either read Twain's "Innocents Abroad" which I highly recommend, or you can read my other blogs, not so recommended as Twain, or you can guess based on context.

My Ferguson and I careened out into the countryside on yet another scooter, this time without a backpack strapped to my big-assed foreigner body. We were off to explore the local Khmer pagodas. In centuries past, this area of Vietnam was once part of the Cambodian empire. The Khmer still make up a sizable cultural group, with a Theravada rather than Mahayana Buddhism, a distinct language and a very distinct culture. And the Vietnamese government and Khmer people have not always gotten on all that well.

We bounced and jounced to the first pagoda, what we would call a Wat in Thailand. It was freshly painted and gleaming in the early evening light. We chatted with a monk, who answered some of my questions. Script was written on the newly pastel green pillars and I asked the monk what it meant. I was assuming the writing represented mantras or blessings, but the monk said these were the names of donors who had helped finance the refurbishing. Sort of like Seattleites buying a brick in the Public Market.

Off we scootered to another pagoda, this one famous for its white storks. My Ferguson nattered on about how much he knew of Khmer culture, how people loved his services and how much we were going to enjoy the rest of my Mekong trip together. The usual Ferguson stuff.

At the second pagoda, I met a young and very, very earnest Khmer student who took me around the place, explaining Khmer culture in a fervent intensity. At the end of our time together, he said that he hoped I would write about the Khmer culture so that people in the world would know about the Khmer peoples. I promised I would, and this small post does not fulfill that promise so there will be more on Khmer culture later. Oh, and the storks, returning to the trees at the sunset, were spectacular.

Off we went into the gathering darkness, breaking the solid rule of No Third World Moto After Dark. Well, since my Ferg. was texting as well as piloting, I guess we had broken many rules and who cares about living forever anyway. One more stop at a Vietnamese pagoda (as opposed to Khmer) which had a series of statues depicting the Tika Buddha and the basic story of the Buddha in India, first seeing suffering, the Bodhi tree, etc.

We survived the ride back to town, my Ferguson dropped me at his friends cafe where I had goat curry. The proprietor was an Indian man born and raised in Vietnam. The menu consisted of goat curry or goat curry. I have to tell you friends and neighbors, that was some damn good goat. At this point my Ferguson disappeared, then reappeared, then disappeared again.

When he finally reappeared, like a Djinn, I paid him off (very fair, I must add) extracted myself from further excursions, marriage and/or bonds of brotherhood, and continued, on foot, into the night.