Lao Lao in Lao

I stepped out into the deserted street in front of my guest house. It was my last day in Laos and I had woken up too late to see the monk walk. In this daily ritual, early every morning, over 300 saffron clad monks walk solemnly through the streets, and are fed khiaw niaw (sticky rice) by devout Laotians.

This moving sight had greeted us our very first morning in the ancient town of Luang Prabhang. That first day, two Laotian women had cornered me as I sat enthralled, outside my guest house overlooking a magnificent golden wat (temple). I was sipping excellent Lao coffee and watching the monks file silently past. The ladies offered to sell me a bamboo basket filled with sticky rice for 10,000 kip (about a dollar).

I had just read a booklet in our guesthouse about feeding the monks. Making extremely inventive use of the English language, this gem of information had warned that the monk walk was a solemn ritual and tourists should learn to do it properly instead inadvertently offending locals. My weak protests about not knowing what to do were brushed away by the intrepid duo who relented only when I promised to do the deed the next morning.

There was no escape when they tracked me down on day two. They stuck around to find me a place to kneel on the red matting on the sidewalk. The ladies, Phon Chan and Thong giggled merrily while I frantically and somewhat unsuccessfully, tried to roll sticky rice balls in time to pop one in each monk’s brass bowl.

Later they collected the empty baskets and posed for a few pictures before leaving. They both had lovely cheery faces, as did most of the people we were to meet over the next few days in this land of a thousand smiles.

My friend Rina and I spent a couple of days in Luang Prabhang which is strategically located on the banks of the massive Mekong river. On our first morning, we took a trip up river to see some cave temples with their thousands of ancient Buddha images.


Typical mornings in Luang Prabhang for us, started with coffee and baguettes in the little bakeries that abounded in this former French colony, with the JoMa bakery emerging as a firm favorite.
We saw monks everywhere...going about chores, little ones doing what naught little boys do, others chanting in the temples and carefully practicing their English with tourists. Monkhood is a rite of passage here as in many countries in the region and every man we met had done time as a monk ranging from weeks to years. It always amused us to see novice monks texting, checking mail at Internet cafes and (gasp!) on occasion, shyly checking us out too.

We watched sunrise from Phousi hill and hiked to the spectacular Tat Kuang Xi waterfalls where I splashed around to my heart’s content in the natural pools formed by the cascades.

We braved the unrelenting sun to bike around this quaint town, a world heritage site dotted with hundreds of wats. Buildings were a mixture of French colonial and more traditional Thai/Laos architecture.

By dusk, the main street transformed into a night market where tribal women came to sell handicrafts and gentle haggling was the order of the day.

I was in foodie heaven and for once, even vegetarian Rina had no trouble finding great food to eat. Our favorite was the noodle soup lady and like homing pigeons, most nights we faithfully ended up at her stall. Other favorites were fresh laap (a salad with minced fish, meat and herbs), morning glory fry, laam ( a stew), fish and chicken grilled on sticks, water buffalo patties, eggplant in lettuce like leaves, papaya salad made to order, all manner of fresh fruit and loads of desserts (got to love the French influence!).

We left Luang Prabhang with a plan to head to Phongsali, the northern most province in Laos, where the best green tea, whisky and opium are produced. The trekking around there to tribal Hmong villages was supposed to be spectacular. Phongsali was where few tourists ventured and to me, it had taken on the mythical proportions of Shangrila, so remote did it seem. Most of the locals laughed at the ambitious plans of these two backpacking Indian girls and we felt rather brave taking off into the unknown.

It was not an auspicious start. Our first stop was the town of Nong Khiauw and we paid a princely sum to get there by private van, the only transport available to us at that late hour. The plan was to catch the morning ferry from Nong Khiauw and head north. The journey took longer than we expected in the dark and we had no idea where we were heading. Rina and I were giggling hysterically to mask how uneasy we felt. To shut us up perhaps, the driver played some excellent Thai pop music. United in a shared appreciation of the music, our tension eased somewhat.

We got to the town late in the evening to find it shrouded in darkness. After depositing us at the nearest guesthouse, our driver headed back. We were on our own. Stumbling back from a surprisingly good dinner, washed down by Laos beer and singing old college songs, our torch beam lit up a snake on the road in front of us, hood raised as if taking a whiff of the cool night air. It’s hard to say who was more horrified, our scaly friend or us! After a restless night, we woke up to a beautiful misty morning and headed to the river.

Over the next few days we slowly learnt to read between the lines and sift through the misinformation we were fed at tourist offices. Basically there was one public boat a day to the next destination and this was subject to change with very little warning. Fellow travelers bonded sharing information and we had a lovely week, heading north on the Nam Ou river, a tributary of the Mekong in crowded slow boats.

The scenery was spectacular.

Water buffaloes lolled languorously watching us through sleepy eyes.

Naked kids screamed and played in the river while the adults fished or farmed the lush countryside.

It was unfortunately slash and burn season and the air was filled with smog. We drifted past burning firesides and at night it was like a pyromaniac convention. While tourists grumbled about the pollution, most Laotians shrugged it off as a practice they had followed for generations.

We stopped en route for a night in the village of Muang Noi on the river bank. Our clean, basic accommodation was a hut built on stilts, with a shared bathroom for 3 dollars/night. To my utter frustration, roosters woke us up by crowing enthusiastically from 4 am onwards. This village was a tourist hotspot and restaurants had the ubiquitous banana pancake and milk shake type menu along with local fare. I took great pleasure in ordering the chicken curry!

Muang Noi is known for good trekking and we stopped on our way back from some caves to watch a riotous game of football in a school yard. About 50 teenage children of the village, both boys and girls were playing and it was hard to tell who was on which team. Goal posts were marked by a few pairs of slippers and players played with all manner or lack of footwear. I spotted a few with just one shoe. Goals were greeted with rapturous screams. It was the most joyful game I have ever seen! I started to think about how many people choose to adopt kids from countries such as Lao in the fond hope that they are giving them a better life. Perhaps this is the better life.

Next stop was the township of Muang Khoi. We almost didn’t get there because no public boats were running. Finally we hooked up with two elderly couples and rented a boat. Muang Khua was a hole. It was close to the Chinese and Vietnamese borders and was hot and filthy. Our only diversion was watching the river traffic. The town had a half bridge made of metal and when a vehicle wanted to get across, it would drive to the end of this bridge and then the whole bridge would be towed by a tugboat to the other side. There may be more efficient ways, but this was much more entertaining!

That evening I played badminton with the young men of the village whose initial skepticism turned to amazement, that this puny foreign woman could actually hold her own. I was feted with Beer Lao for my exertions! That night Rina and I took the tough decision to head back to Luang Prabhang as we were running out of time. Phonsali would have to wait...

To get to the bus stop we had to walk past a butcher’s house. The drying entrails made us both gag, but as we walked past, the inhabitants arm deep in bloody buffalo intestines, smiled cheerily at us. The bus journey back via Uthomxia (where we stopped for lunch) took all day. The bus was leaking gas at one point, but eventually we made it back to Luang Prabhang with frequent pit stops to eat. We were disheveled and tired and snapping at each other by the time we arrived late that evening.

Luang Prabhang revived our spirits instantly and the next day we did a lovely kayaking trip on the Khan river where both Rina and I took some spectacular falls while we attempted to negotiate the rocks and zigzagged our way down the river. Our abysmal kayaking skills ensured that we spent more time in the water than actually navigating it.

And now it was already our last day. I walked down the street, camera slung around my neck, on the look out for something that would catch my eye. I consoled myself thinking I was in Luang Prabhang, and there was no shortage of wonderous sights, even if I had missed the monk walk that morning. Scarcely 100 yards away from the guest house, I came upon a bunch of women huddled by the side of the road. They looked like khiaw niuaw sellers, judging by the bamboo baskets by their sides. I walked over, hoping to see Phon Chan and Thong, the two women I had met on my very first morning. Sure enough they were both there and we rapturously greeted each other like long lost friends. They made me pose with the bamboo baskets and their friend Noy took pictures while all the other women stood around laughing.

They started to gather up their bundles and I followed. As we were walking, Phon Chan reached into one of the bamboo baskets and thrust a bunch of bananas at me. Confused, I started to refuse when Phon Chan silenced me by saying, “For you. No money. Present”. I was really touched and mimed what I was feeling by putting both hands on my heart and wiping away imaginary tears. They found this hilarious and and indicated they were going to the river. I understood they were on their way home and thought I would see them on their way. We walked down to the Mekong where they pointed out their village on the bank opposite. Their boat was a long wooden one with a motor and Phet, the youngest and prettiest, took four women and dropped them off. When she came back, the remaining five women asked me if I wanted to go in the boat with them. I happily agreed and they decided I needed a Mekong river tour.

We drifted down the river looking at the morning sights while I chatted with Noy.

So, we set off down the river while they chortled and called out to the fishermen and villagers on the banks, charging them to pose for me.

At some point Noy said something to the rest which galvanized them into action. Phet pulled up by the side of the river and everybody got out and ran to the different shacks around as if in search of something. I was puzzled, when it dawned on me that they might be searching for Lao beer which I had told Noy I liked! We came to a tea shack and I found that they were selling beer. Deciding this was a good way to thank them for their hospitality, I bought some beer and invited the ladies to join me.
Magically glasses appeared and then a roll of new pink toilet paper which was ceremoniously opened. With great solemnity, Thong wiped the glasses carefully with the toilet paper and then we poured the beer and started to drink.

Hai, the oldest woman took off to the little kitchen on the side of the shack and came back with scrambled eggs doused in fish oil which we all ate with sticky rice. I, as the relatively wealthy foreigner was not expected to pay for everything and that more than anything made me relax. I learned their names and a bit about their lives.

The kids who were running the tea shack, were watching this unusual scene in fascination and after a while Noy ran off to the veggie gardens and returned with miniature green watermelons which she cut up for everybody. Noy was absolutely taken with my camera and I showed her how to take pictures.

Meanwhile Hai, who looked like the village lush, was looking rather disgruntled with just drinking beer. She took off somewhere and returned with an empty coke bottle filled with a clear yellowish liquid. “Lao Lao” she crowed in delight and the others cheered while I mimed absolute horror because I knew just how potent this local whisky could be. When our beer glasses were empty, Hai poured us each some Lao lao and we started doing shots at approximately 8:30 in the morning.

Then some dried, fried animal was brought to the table which they insisted I eat. It was vile, with a chewy rubbery texture and I didn’t dare ask what it was. A few other women from the village came by to look at what was going on and were invited to join the party. The kids started to play Lao pop on their boom box and that’s when things started to get really wild.

The women had all seen Indian movies dubbed in Thai and insisted I dance for them. And so I did! My faux Bollywood dance steps were much appreciated and soon we were all dancing and laughing. Phet who was very shy, was the last to get out of her seat and she turned out to be the best dancer of our lot.

At some point, I realized I had a flight to catch so I begged them to take me back. Reluctantly, the festivities came to a close. Hai had almost passed out and the others tried to tip toe away but she drunkenly insisted on coming back with us. Our merry bunch headed back to the Luang Prabhang side of the river and we said our tearful goodbyes after many hugs and handshakes.

I spoke no Lao and they, very little English, but we had understood each other perfectly on this magical morning. And a good time was had by all. It was the perfect end to a perfect holiday.

March, 2007