More conversation with the monks

Talking with the English Teacher

The Monastery's English teacher seemed to want to give me a short lesson on Buddhism. Two of the novices and I had been talking about other things when he leaned in, and asked in significant tones "May I ask you a question? What do you think is the cost of suffering?"

I looked confused for a minute, thinking vaguely that suffering was the cost, then that this might be some kind of trick question, and finally that this earnest man would not be trying to trick me. "Cost of suffering?" I ask.

"No," he says, "cost of suffering."

"Oh, cause of suffering?" I ask.

"Yes. What do you think is the cost of suffering?" he asks again, leaning backwards, arms folded.

The correct answer, I know, is "desire", but I don't think that saying this word is going to lead to anything interesting, so I mumble something about lots of causes, but a big one being that people worry they're not good enough and people won't like them. The novice seems interested in this, but the English teacher remains inscrutable.

"Desire!" he announces, after my short monologue. "Desire is the cause of all suffering."

"And how can you prevent suffering?" he asked. I ventured that my mom taught me to imagine the worst-case scenario, and then realize that (mostly) everything would still be ok, even in the worst case. (If things don't seem ok, I often try and foster a perspective from which they do seem ok, after all). This usually works for me. It helps me worry less, and the worry was the cause of my suffering.

"Meditation!" he announces. "This is the best way." I don't doubt the utility of meditation, but I'm more of a pluralist--I'm not into "best ways" so much.

Talking With The Novice

Fortunately, the novice was far less dogmatic and we talked more about specific situations that make people unhappy, and good practices and habits.

He was surprised to learn that I wasn't Christian. He didn't know the word atheist, but I told him that maybe the word wouldn't really tell him what he wanted to know about me anyway, so I suggested instead that I study philosophy. He brightened at this and said he also studies philosophy and that it was also like a religion because it would help people to get along better, which is, he said, the real purpose of all religion.

He also mentioned that sometimes when he tells tourists about Buddhism they react very negatively and tell him it's bad. I have to admit this surprised me because the general tenants of Buddhism seem so innocent and unobjectionable. I asked him why he thought that was. He said: "I see that you hear an idea and think: is this idea good or bad? I think these people hear an idea and think about who said the idea. And if they don't like who said an idea they will say the idea is a bad one." I thought this was a very fair point. My friend Nick and I once had a very long talk with some Jehovah's witnesses on our front porch in San Francisco. Their main point seemed to be: read the bible, it's got a lot of great stuff in it. Our main point was: sure, the bible does have some good stuff in it, but so do lots of other books, so shouldn't we all be trying to guide our lives by finding what's good in all different kinds of sources? Their unequivocal answer was: no.

I asked him if the novices and monks in Cambodia were vegetarian, or if they ate meat. He said they are only vegetarian when they go on meditation retreats. Later, when it came out that Jen and I had been vegetarian for a long time, his first question was: "you mean, every day??" He seemed surprised and impressed and told us that he had often thought about doing that because he always felt really good coming back from a meditation retreat, but that it seemed hard to him. I told him that meditating for 12-hours a day in a retreat sounded really hard to me.

After the novice and English teacher left, I continued talking with a shy boy who had only been listening before. He said he was unsure of his English (though it was, in fact, excellent). He told me he had come from a small village outside of Battambang, but had been too poor to afford a room or food, so he has been living and eating at the monastery for free for the last 10 years with his younger sister. (He turned out to be 20, though he looked younger). He was not a novice. This monastery, as many in Cambodia, apparently, also ran a school and boarding house. (And, apparently, its services aren't restricted to men, either). He was hoping soon to go to the University in Battambang and study information technology.

He also verified something we'd read on the Internet: that government employees earn about $20 a month. That was, in fact, the salary of his friend who worked as a police officer. This partly explains why literally the entire town of Battambang is so solicitous to tourists, and why virtually everyone speaks at least some English. Tourism dollars really make an impact. When you walk down the street, most people will smile and say a friendly "hello", and children always smile and wave. If you look confused, virtually the first person to walk past will ask if they can help you. We were paying $6 a night at our hotel, and $1-$3 dollars for a meal. $6 is slightly more than a week's salary. If $30,000/year is a good estimate of a government salary in the US, the equivalent price of a room would be $625 a night. It's not clear to me how valid such comparisons are, but definitely something to think about.

Going Out With The English Teacher

Before he left, the English teacher had mentioned that he wanted to take me to a special visiting market from Vietnam. I kind of waffled about it and ended with a definite maybe.

So, when I showed up in the evening, it made some sense that he was surprised to see me. But he immediately became very excited and confided to me joyfully: "This will be my first time walking with a foreigner! That's you!" He went to change and returned wearing a nice button-down shirt.

The market was about a 10-minute walk away, and I definitely began to get the feeling, as we ran into his friends and acquaintances, that I was being shown off. Every few minutes he would stop to shake hands and talk for 30-seconds, gesturing towards me, then the market, beaming all the while.

When we reached the market, it turned out instead to be a gigantic, sprawling street fair. I was definitely the only tourist, and about a head above anyone else there. There were innumerable food stands of all kinds, carnival games, and two grubby farris wheels with metal cages instead of seats. When it started, I saw why: it was spinning at least 3 or 4 times as fast as any ferris wheel I'd ever seen.

Since before we left, my host had been asking if I was hungry, to which I'd consistently told him I had just eaten and was not. Once we were at the fair, he gestured towards various food stands to ask if anything looked good. Since we had talked before about being a vegetarian, I told him that I was still very full--and, anyway, all of these stands were selling meat and I only eat tofu and vegetables! When he asked if I would mind if he ate something, I told him to please go right ahead!

He returned with two skewers of barbecued shrimp and told me he had gotten one for me. I thanked him very much, and re-iterated how full I was. I said I would love to try one, though. He insisted that he couldn't eat two skewers, and I felt I couldn't argue any more. It was definitely pretty ok.

As we continued to walk, he next bought me a persimmon from a fruit stand--the only non-Cambodian fruit they were selling, incidentally. Then, over my objections, proceeded to buy us two bottles of water. I sipped the water and ate the persimmon as we turned for home. He almost immediately gave his to a beggar.

He knew I was also a teacher, and said that my students might ask me next year about how it was in Cambodia. I wanted to know if there was anything he would like my students to know about Cambodia or the Khmer people so I could be sure to tell them. He didn't say it so directly, but his message was definitely: tell them they will really like it if they come to Cambodia, because we are very friendly to tourists, it is very safe, and we will love them here. The plaintive tone reminded me of the comment a crafts vendor made to me in Bali. She said: Without tourists, we have nothing.