Vanishing Tattoo -- Trip Updates
A Tribal Diary -- Thailand's Tattoo Monks

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Update 16

Still November 20th, 2000 -- Vince Hemingson

Wat Bang Phra
The older Monk turned to the younger one and after issuing some instructions the young Monk took a photo of the three of us. Then the younger Monk gestured for us to follow him. The older Monk bowed towards us, we bowed in returned, backed out of the room and then all of us waved good-bye.

The young Monk took us back to the main house. He explained in very simple English that the Monk who had been doing the tattooing had instructed us to be taken to the Head Monk of the entire Monastery. We returned to the main building. The Main Monk! I felt like I was walking on air.

We re-entered the building and it was very apparent that a change had taken place. Someone was sent off to speak to the Head Monk. Moments later a young women in a crisp, white Nurse's uniform sadly told us the Head Monk was a very old man in his eighties and he was sleeping soundly, and they didn't wish to disturb him, but we were welcome to return tomorrow for an audience. We politely declined, saying we had to continue on our journey.

Thomas had the brilliant idea of leaving behind The Vanishing Tattoo documentary proposal. We asked when the best time would be to return with a film crew. The Nurse and the Young Monk explained that every March 1st, there was a great Festival where thousands of people came to get new tattoos and have the "magic" of their old tattoos restored or recharged or made whole, we weren't exactly sure which. They explained that there might be up to a dozen Monks tattooing at the Monastery from sunrise to sunset. There would be feasting and dancing and a general celebration. Everyone was very enthusiastic about the idea of the Festival and the tattooing by the Monks being filmed.

Then the Young Monk handed us the Monastery's business card. 

Phra Udomprachanat 
(Luang Phor Poen) 
Wat Bangphra Tambol Bangkaewfa 
Amphor Nakornchaisri Nakornpathom 
Tel:(034)389-3333

I couldn't help but think that this was certainly the new Millennium. If you are ever in Thailand and you're a tattoo enthusiast, a journey to Wat Bang Phra is certainly worth the adventure. 

The Young Man then asked us if we would like to get a photograph of us being blessed again. Would we! Thomas and I said we would very much be honored to have our photo taken being blessed. When we made as if to make another offering, it was waved off. Thomas went first and I couldn't get my flash to work. I was crushed and it must have shown on my face because after a few words were spoken between the Monks, Thomas was blessed again, or perhaps re-blessed. At the end of the day, Thomas had been blessed three times. So I figured we were safe for the rest of the trip.

By now it was nearing six o'clock and the time of the last bus of the day was quickly approaching. Thomas and I gathered our selves and left the Monastery. I was excited, almost delirious. We had pulled it off. Found what we had come looking for. And all in a few days. All the problems of earlier in the day faded away. Knowing we were facing a ninety-minute ride back to Bangkok we jogged towards a tiny store, not much more than a stall really, across from the Bus Stop. I was aghast to discover they had no bottled water and I was dying of thirst. There were however, quart bottles of Heineken. So I bought four of them. Or in other Imperial Measure terms, I bought a freakin' gallon of beer. The unfortunate part of this decision was that I would live to tell about it.

The Long Night on Pat Pong Road - Or the Night Where Thomas Tries to Kill Me With All the Vices of the World

I cannot actually say that I drank a gallon of beer. On the long bus ride back to Bangkok, I did however, manage to drink two of the quart bottles of Heineken. I was therefore in no mood to disagree with Thomas when he suggested we go somewhere for dinner alongside the infamous Pat Pong Road.

Our state of euphoria was in no small part due to the contents of the bright green bottles, but we also felt like big game hunters who had ventured into the jungle and bagged our trophy elephant. The experience at the Monastery had been wonderful. We knew we had captured some great images on film and on camera.

Thomas enjoyed sampling the various wares of the many different vendors who hawked their product alongside the road. Some of it was identifiable, most of it was not. I thought it was safest if the food I couldn't identify was washed down with copious amounts of additional beer.

Between bites, Thomas and I wandered in and out of the stalls and markets and extraordinary number of "nightclubs" that line Pat Pong Road. We also stopped in at a Thai Boxing Bar and ate Lotus Seeds and sampled the wares of a gentleman who sold a vast array of creatures. And I do not use the term creatures lightly. Fueled by equal parts alcohol and bravado and stupidity and goaded into it by an unrepentant Thomas I proceeded to swallow ants and grasshoppers, or maybe they were locusts, various grubs, beetles, what looked like giant cockroaches, frogs and lizards and who knows what other forms of insect larvae.

We staggered into the Madam Guest House at five o'clock in the morning. I remember waking up a few hours later, soaked in sweat and shivering uncontrollably despite the ninety- degree heat. I put on all the clothes I had with me and still could not get warm. Just a week out of the jungle in Borneo my alcohol-addled or was it alcohol-cured brain became convinced that I had contracted malaria. I immediately began croaking to Thomas, asking what the symptoms of malaria were. Thomas, in his infinite wisdom, suggested that if still had the symptoms after the alcohol had dissipated he would be the first to get me immediately to the nearest medical dispensary. And true enough, a few hours later, the uncontrollable shaking and shivering stopped. But not before I had thoroughly examined myself for every possible mosquito bite…. 

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