His name was Rity (pronounced with a trilled “r”), and about the most charming young monk you’ll ever meet. He was so exuberant, and wanted to be able to tell us all about the temple in a small village along the Mekong, completely adorned in mostly fresh murals. But the little English he knew was not enough to satisfy his desires to share with us. But we felt welcomed and privileged to be in his temple and his company. -w
Cane juice on crushed ice is now part of our daily life, and what a glorious thing it is. We now look roadside for the big wheel which turns the press and squeezes the peeled stalks of sugar cane. Those big wheels aren’t that easy to turn by hand, so Willie is known to jump up and help, much to the amusement of the locals. If you haven’t had fresh can juice, it’s slightly sweet with an earthy-grassy taste. Nothing cloyingly sweet about it. Simply refreshing, especially with just a squeeze of lime and a mountain of ice.-k.