It sounded so exciting to hear that the next stop on the way to Vang Vieng was to see a forest Buddha and temple. Little did I realise that I was going to be a part, a big part, of the ceremony held there!

Tony, the guide, referred to the place as the mountain of elephants, Vang Xang, but I couldn’t find this on a map, nor would I ever be able to locate it again. All I know is that it was about 30 minutes from Ban Lak 52, off a side road that wound through wooded valleys until the road gave way to a clearing and a rock face ahead. We would stop there and walk down a path to the left to the river and another grassy clearing. The only sign of human presence at this stage was a manicured line of what the resident food expert, Tony, said were tapioca trees.

Looking to the right of the grassy clearing you could then see several huge Buddha statues that had been hewn out of a massive rocky outcrop. Why here? In the middle of nowhere? Yet, soooo quiet and sooooo peaceful. Said to be sculptured out of the rock by the Khmer civilisation in the 11th century. This a time before they built the stunning Angkor Wat. Another wow, wow, wow for me.

Walking further along the riverside path, an open-sided wooden temple came into view ( main picture). With 10 or so small individual huts off to the left, housing novice monks. The giveaway here, the washing lines of saffron robes. In the temple, the senior monk (I secretly named him ‘monk with the dragon tattoo’ on account of the beast running the full length of his right arm) was waiting for us, seated on a slightly raised plinth. He beckoned us four cohorts to sit in a line in front of him, to which I agreed without hesitation. Soft straw matting beats a hard upright wooden pew for me any day.

The ceremony then started. Although all in the Lao language, I followed Tony’s every move and instruction….as any well-brought-up atheist would. A large urn was passed between us in which you placed your name and alms ( money) before pressing this to your brow, praying and passing it on to your neighbour. With this complete, the urn, and my bucket of goodies from the market, we’re passed to the ‘monk with the dragon tattoo’ for him to start the chants and prayers to us as individuals ( I heard my name mentioned ), wishing well to our families and friends, and additional prayers for my safe travels. Tony and the team mirrored all the chanting, with intermittent hands together in prayer, then pressing those prayers to the floor. It only got a little more complicated for me with the ritual of pouring water from one bamboo cup into another without spilling on those beautiful rush mats. The blessed water would then be used, in Tony’s case, to spray his house when he got back home to ward off evil spirits, and in my case, to pour on the ground wherever I wanted life to ‘spring’. I poured it into a flower pot near the temple housing a neglected-looking geranium.

Well, friends, I don’t think you’ll find me converted, but ‘ when in Rome’. I only felt a connection to all you folks back at home when I had the urn to my head in prayer. Although I can’t think that a bucket of salty snacks and 10 quid would make much of a difference.

Oh, and I never did learn about the drugs. Do monks, dedicating themselves to serenity and prayer, get stonking bad headaches?