Vientiane, during peacetime, would have little if anything to catch the eye. However, due to the huge American presence, Vientiane today smacks of the surreal. On the street passing the Morning Bazaar amid the traditionally sparse traffice of taxis, pedal-rickshaws, and jeeps, today there are American station wagons, driven by American housewives of USAID employees, often with American children jumping around on the back seat. Driving down the main Boulevard paved with U.S. concrete, in their air-conditioned Ford Country Squire, they seem oblivious to the heat, dust, and squalor surrounding them.

Americans live in the suburbs of Vientiane, complete with villas (left over from the French), servants, and gardeners, and can send their children to school with other USAID children and American teachers.

Even American culture is imported for the convenience of Americans in Laos. The theatre in the USAID compound shows movies nightly. I went one night to see Omar Sharif in "Che," which drew a rather large audience. Many chuckled knowingly towards the end of the film.

For the Lao, however, Laos has very little, if anything. The little industry that exists is owned by Chinese, Thais, or Vietnamese, as are most restaurants and shops.

Fred Branfman, a reporter for Dispatch News Service who lived in Laos for four years reports that in the three years before June, 1966, Laos's exports totalled $3,000,000 while imports totalled $108,000,000--an import-export ratio of 36 to 1. Recent government reports say that the ratio between 1964 and 1968 was 14 to 1. Other reports run as high as 60 to 1.

Government statistics yield ample evidence of the extent to which the Lao economy is dependent on foreign assistance. Only 40 per cent of the Lao budget is raised locally--and seven-eights of this is through indirect taxes. The military and police get nearly 60 per cent of the budget, About two per cent goes to development.

With regard to governmental corruption, the traditionally tame Far Eastern Economic Review reported the following in 1970: "Its corruption, lethargy and indifference is as great if not greater than it ever was. Few people living under its rule actively support it. American officials have been unable to push for basic reforms due to the political necessity of getting on with the Lao civilian and military elite so that continued American bombing will be permitted."

When I first arrived in Vientiane, I went to the Government Tourist Office to get a map of the city. At 10 a.m. when I arrived at the dilapidated Tourist Office, I found the door open but no one inside. I was tired and sat down to read a book I had with me. About half an hour later, a man in a coat and tie arrived, smiled at me politely and said hello. I responded likewise and asked if he had a map of the city. He responded, "No speak English, sorry." I repeated the question in French, which he understood. He seemed surprised at my question and answered, in French, that I could find such things as maps of the city at the American Embassy.

My next need, after a map of Vientiane, was a place to stay. There are four hotels in Vientiane, all costing five dollars a night and over--a lot for that part of the world, and too much for travellers like me who try to spend next to nothing.

I had heard that I could stay in a Busshist Wat, or temple, for free, so I looked on my new-found map for the nearest wat and asked a saffron-robed monk if I could find temporary lodging in his temple. He ran inside to speak to the abbott and reappeared five minutes later. "Are you a hippie?" he asked me, straight-faced. "No," I replied, rather taken aback. He disappeared again, and after another five minute wait, told me I could stay.

The temple was divided into two parts, a building containing ritual objects and images for worship, and dormitory building in which the temple's 75 monks slept. I was taken into the dormitory section and brought to the room of the monk I had met outside who became my host. I slept on the floor on a straw mat between two bunk beds. My host, who spoke fairly good English, explained the customs of his temple so I could follow them while I stayed there. At 5 a.m. everyone gets up, bathes, and begs for alms at houses throughout the city. Between 6 and 6:30, breakfast, which consists of polished rice, is served in a large hall where everyone sits on the stone floor while eating. Only one other meal is eaten for the rest of the day. It also consists of rice and must be taken before noon; between noon and the next morning nothing can be eaten.

About half an hour every day the monks engage in meditation. They sit Indian-style and concentrate deeply on one thing. At first, my host explained to me, I should try to sit as still as I could and think about everything my body is doing. I should try in particular to concentrate on my breathing.

My first impression was that half an hour was a rather short time and that this sort of meditation would not be difficult. Upon trying it, however, I found I could not concentrate for more than a couple of minutes. "Meditation is hard work," my host told me.

My host was 25 and had been a monk for four years. Before that he had trained as an acolyte for seven years. He told me that he planned to quit being a monk when he turned 30--a common practice in Lao Buddhism.

When I left the temple. I asked him why he had learned English, instead of French or some other language. He answered, "English is the international business language. I will be a businessman when I am finished here."