Vientiane to Luang Prabang, Laos Oct. 27 – Nov. 15, 2008

Entering Laos: First Impressions – Wow, It's CLEAN!

It's difficult to describe Laos without using superlatives. Laos stands out from other Southeast Asian countries in so many ways. To start with one of the most mundane, but one of the most important to travelers, and with the first thing we noticed, after crossing the border from northern Thailand into Laos is how much cleaner Laos is than all of the other countries. Interestingly, we were just remarking on that to one another when we saw a government sponsored billboard that read: 'The measure of a people's culture is their cleanliness.' Indeed. Here in Laos there is very little litter strewn about the countryside, the streets are clean, and garbage is mostly collected in bins, bags or small piles. We've seen many novel garbage receptacles made from recycled car tires – they look a little like big black pumpkins with stubby legs. They also have lids and handles. And – people actually use them! Likely it helps that Laos does not have a large population, and tourism is only just beginning here, so perhaps, in time, the trash will come. All the more reason to enjoy a clean and green Laos now!

Even more refreshing than the unlittered environment is the pretty much universally clean bathrooms and toilets here. Even public toilets – at restaurants, temples, tourist sites and on the street (true public toilets, as we have not seen anywhere before) are spotlessly clean. Even more amazing is that the majority of them actually have toilet paper – in addition, of course, to the ubiquitous bucket of water and dipper, used both for flushing the toilet and for washing your 'private parts.' This is a huge relief, and completely different from everywhere else we've been, where it is sometimes all one can do to use a toilet. Indeed there's been more than one occasion when I've been so disgusted with the appearance – and smell – of a toilet that I've chosen to hang on, and risk a burst bladder rather than cope with the filth, and potential dread diseases, lurking in the loathsome loo.

The Laotian inclination towards cleanliness is of course also evident in their food-handling: even the make-shift street stalls, cafe 'kitchens' – often no more than a cubby-hole with one gas-ring, less than two feet of counter top and a bucket for transporting water and dishes to a sink out back – are clean. Of course dishes are 'washed' in cold water – that's usually all there is – but so far all of the plates and cups and cutlery we've been given have at least looked clean. This is a far cry from most other developing countries, where the table, crockery, cutlery and bottles of condiments often look grimy enough to make you lose your appetite, no matter how hungry you thought you were.

Lao Food – The Best Yet!

The food in Laos is fabulous – pretty much everywhere you go, from real restaurants with table cloths to roadside stalls, it's a treat for your taste buds. This may be due in part to the years of French occupation, and its influence on Lao cuisine (and of course the French like to make that claim), but it's likely more a function of Laos' close proximity to and shared cuisine with Thailand, Cambodia, and to a lesser extent, China. Like the Thais, the Laos use lemon grass, garlic, ginger and galangal – in delicate amounts – to flavour their soups, meat and vegetable dishes. Many dishes are made with coconut milk. Vegetables, mostly green beans, carrots, baby corn and a wide assortment of greens, are always very fresh, and cooked lightly, so they're still crisp. Meat and fish are usually served in small quantities, more an additional flavour than the 'main meal.' The Laotians use a lot of chilies in their dishes – they like their food hot! - but they're happy to leave them out of the dishes they cook for us: they bring us a bowl of chopped green chilies on the side, just in case we're feeling daring...

Our favourite lunch, which we have almost every day, despite the hot climate, is noodle soup. A server brings you a big bowl of rice or egg noodles (your choice) in a lightly-flavoured broth, and another bowl, or basket, filled with lettuce, cabbage, raw green beans, bean-sprouts, coriander and mint, that you can add to your soup, or eat raw, as you like. For those who like it spicy, there's also little dishes of chopped garlic and either whole or chopped chilis, and of course bottles of soy, fish and chili sauce. After one excruciating burning mouth (and nose, and eyes) experience when I mistook a whole chili for a green bean I decided to take a pass on the fresh chilies and use the sauce instead.

Another one of my favourite lunches is a bowl of fresh tropical fruit topped with yogurt and cashew nuts. (I could have mueseli, but it's just too proletarian and untropical.) The chunks of fruit are such vibrant colours: bright yellow pineapple, deep orange mango, pale white dragon fruit speckled with little blue-black seeds, lime green melon, and something bright purple, like a beet, but soft and sweet. We often see street stalls with plastic glasses filled with pieces of fresh fruit – they come with little plastic two-pronged forks – a refreshing treat on a hot afternoon. Or you can get them to blend whatever fruits you want into a shake. Want ice, milk, yogurt? Just say the word.

Two of the meals we've had deserve special mention. One was in Vientiane, where we went to one of the many riverside 'restaurants' – a loose term used for any place, including a patch of bare ground, where there are tables and either chairs or mats on the ground, where food and drink is served. The kitchens may be across the road, or if the place is elevated on stilts, underneath the restaurant. We tend to choose our eateries based on our peremptory assessment of their kitchen and food display (covered or not, precooked or not). And of course we generally go to places where there are either a fair number of locals and/or tourists eating, eschewing those devoid of customers, assuming there must be a reason. This place caught our attention partly because the table out front, filled with baskets and plates of various foods, artistically arranged, looked good. There were also a few large plastic bowls filled with large live fish, and one with big greeny-brown frogs with huge legs and long slimy-looking eels – interesting to see, but not inviting, at least to us, to eat. And there were a couple of fish and a few legs of chicken (minus the feet, although those are cooked here, as a delicacy) sizzling on the charcoal grill. But as much as the food itself it was the 'chef' who attracted our attention – he was a good salesman, clearly practiced in the arts of wooing tourists of all nationalities off the street. Who knows how many languages he can speak, but he certainly had the patter down in English – and likely French, Thai, German, Japanese and Chinese, based on the tourists we've seen here in significant numbers.

Both nights we ate at his restaurant we had grilled fish, stir-fried mixed vegetables and steamed rice. Both nights we sat overlooking the muddy Mekong as we ate, but it was too dark to see the river – its presence more defined by the little string of lights on the opposite bank – Thailand. Despite what the Mekong River looks like – a fast-flowing tide of red-brown mud – and what toxic substances it may contain (I shudder to think) the fish from its waters is excellent. And it was cooked to perfection – charred skin on the outside, and tender and juicy on the inside. The stir-fried mixed vegetables were terrific and the rice was, well, rice. But in truth the rice from this part of the world is some of the best in the world.

The second most memorable meal was my 'birthday dinner' in Luang Prabang. On this occasion we went to a garden bar-restaurant. The place takes advantage of the natural slope and tropical forest cover – tall trees, stands of giant bamboo and an assortment of smaller plants – ferns and exotic flowering shrubs. A brick path winds up the slope, with candle-lit tables nestled into natural alcoves on either side – very cozy and private. Unfortunately these were all taken, so we ventured further up and into the heart of the place, where there was a cheery campfire burning, wooden benches on all round. Above all this, at the top of the slope, was a wooden platform with several tables. We headed up there, where we could look down on all the little lights and candles, and the campfire. Pretty much the whole of the place was open to the night sky, and presumably when it rains there's not much business, but it was a lovely, if somewhat cool (only maybe 70 degrees – Luang Prabang is at much higher elevation than Vientiane) evening.

We decided to order the 'do-it-yourself-barbecue' with chicken and buffalo meat. The first things to arrive were a small metal bucket filled with soup broth, a plate of very thin pieces of meat, a basket of glass noodles, mushrooms, tomato wedges, an egg and an assortment of greens, two small bowls of peanut-chili sauce, and a dish of chopped garlic and chilies. Once all was ready, the waiter lifted off the central tile of the ceramic tile-topped table to expose a deep well made of thick concrete. The well is to accommodate a cement bucket, filled with hot charcoal – very hot charcoal. The waiter brought this up the stairs, and took considerable care fitting it into the well so that the three-pointed tops of the bucket were exactly level. Then he placed what looked like a large metal lemon-juicer on top of the bucket. This is the barbecue. He filled the circular trough with soup broth – it started to boil right away. Then he placed a lump of fat on the top of the barbeque's crown – 'so the meat does not stick' he said. And then he demonstrated his prowess with chop-sticks as he placed the shaved meat on the dry crown of the barbecue, an about a third of the things in the basket into the bubbling soup in the trough.

From there it was up to us to cook everything as we liked it, at which point we used our own chopsticks to put it into small bowls for eating. The trick, we discovered, was to keep an eye on what was cooking, turning the meat so it wouldn't burn, and removing the vegs before they got soggy, while at the same time eating. Great fun. But perhaps the best part was the warmth generated by the in-table barbecue. When it was all done, and the waiter removed the lemon-squeezer, we sat with the bucket of glowing coals in the centre of the table, warming our hands.

Lao people: you can't help but love them

Perhaps the most incredible thing about Laos is the warmth and friendliness of its people. They are charming – gracious, polite, helpful, considerate, generous and almost always smiling. Their amiability and their sunny dispositions are all the more remarkable when you consider this fact: more bombs have been dropped on Laos, per capita, than any other nation on earth: over TWO MILLION TONS, between 1964 and 1973. Furthermore, 30% of these bombs never detonated. Those unexploded ordnances, called UXOs, continue to maim and kill Laotian men, women and children, and represent a real obstacle to development. They are often hidden under a few inches of soil, exploding when a farmer, clearing land hits one with his machete, or a construction worker, digging a foundation, strikes one with a shovel. Vast areas of land in Laos cannot be used for either agriculture or housing because they are just too dangerous. There are many areas where it is not safe to venture off the beaten path, and tourists are warned not to roam around in the country-side.

Many poor Laotian people, desperate to feed their families, are maimed or killed when they attempt to salvage the bombs and sell them as scrap metal. They take a calculated risk every time they handle one of these UXOs. But the saddest victims of all are the children who think the bombs are toys – because they were purposely made to look like toys - and are maimed or killed when they unknowingly play with them. For the Laotians, the war is still not over. You would think, with this history, and this ongoing terrible burden, that Laotians might be just a little bit resentful, or at least reserved, in their relationship with western, and specifically American, foreigners. But they are not. At all. Not at all.

I think of the Dalai Lama, so light-hearted and laughing, even when he speaks of the hardest and most discouraging realities. It's not a nervous or embarrassed laugh; it's an existential laugh – a Buddhist laugh. The Laotians, despite attempts by their communist government to suppress religion, are Buddhists. There are stupas and temples everywhere. Even the smallest of towns has two or three or four stupas, often richly adorned, with great gilded statues. Many many boys and men still spend several months, if not years, as monks, and you see monks everywhere – even in internet cafes. They're just a part of everyday life here. So perhaps it's partly their Buddhist religion and its outlook on life that makes the Laotians such a warm and easy-going people. Or maybe its because of the number of times Laos has been conquered and invaded by foreign powers: the people have learned to 'roll with the punches,' to get along with whoever is wielding the power. Now, it seems, it's the growing tide of tourists, both western and Asian, spending dollars, but demanding goods and services. So far, the Laotians are providing them, with a smile.

Even in the major cities, where there are a fair number of tourists, pretty much every Laotian says 'hello' (in Lao, 'sa-ba-dee'). As everywhere, there are touts who call out, wanting you to take a tour in their tuk-tuk, or come into their restaurant. But it's all pretty good-natured. One evening a tuk-tuk driver called out 'tuk-tuk Monsieur?', to which Doug responded 'tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk,' and the guy came back with 'tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk,' while he made like a chicken scratching in the dirt. We all had a good laugh. When we saw him a little later that night, he did his chicken dance again, tuk-tuking and laughing good-humouredly. When we left our hotel in Vientiane, after a six-day stay, our hotel owner rushed to grab two bottles of water to give us for our trip. In Vang Vien, the girl at the restaurant where we had breakfast every day gave us a bottle of water and a package of oreo cookies when we told her we were leaving.

One of the most endearing things about eating at restaurants and cafes in Laos is that the entire staff says good-bye to you when you leave. As in Nepal, India and Tibet, people greet one another, and take their leave of one another, by putting the palms of their hands together in front of their chest, as in prayer, and saying 'thank-you' or 'good-bye' or 'bless you,' depending on the country. Here in Laos they say 'kop chai,' which means thank-you, but which comes closer to 'bless you' when said with their hands together. It's a gesture you can't help but reciprocate, rather like the Japanese bow or the western hand-shake. But these are business-like gestures; the Laotian gesture is much warmer, more heartfelt and more spiritual – a reminder of what's really important in our relationships with one another.

In more out-of-the-way places, where tourists are not quite so common, reactions are a little different. A few older people who know English – or French – will strike up a conversation, usually asking where we're from and how long we've been in Laos. Women tend to be a little shyer, stealing glances at us and smiling, but intimidated by the language barrier. Kids have no such inhibitions: they wave excitedly, young boys shout 'hello!', and pedal off madly on their bicycles; girls giggle and hold one another's hands both daringly and protectively. (Refreshingly, they do not (yet) ask for pens or candies or money.) Parents with babies help them to wave and say 'sa-ba-dee' to the foreigners. We are still a novelty.

Vientiane

Vientiane is the capital of Laos, and its largest city. But as the total population of Laos is only 8 million, and most of the people live in the country, none of Laos' cities is too big. Vientiane is quite a manageable place to visit on foot. Furthermore, and much to our surprise, it has sidewalks! This is a huge change from Malaysia, where there either are no sidewalks at all, or they're in such poor repair that walking on them is hazardous to your heath, or they're being used for parking cars, bicycles and motorcycles or for setting up tables and racks of things for sale. In Vientiane there were sidewalks everywhere, all in good repair. Furthermore, again to our surprise, most cars will actually stop for you when you cross the street. You don't feel like a target. So we walked a lot, exploring markets, temples, and local neighbourhoods.

Possibly our most memorable experience in Vientiane was our visit to the 'Buddha Park.' It's around 15 kilometers south of town, on the banks of the Mekong River, and just minutes away from the 'Friendship Bridge' between Laos and Thailand (the one we crossed to get here). We decided to go to the park by local bus, a very old, very run-down vehicle with cracked upholstered seats, broken windows and dubious mechanical merit. We were lucky to be among the first passengers on the bus, for although we waited at least half an hour before it departed, we did at least have seats. The majority of passengers, who just kept coming aboard, even when I thought the bus was already impossibly overloaded, did not. Fortunately, although all of them carried bags or bundles, none of them were transporting live animals. We were the only 'foreigners,' and attracted a fair bit of attention, mostly smiles and laughter. The ride was slow, and therefore long – it took us around an hour to travel the 15 kilometers. By the time we were approaching our destination we were more or less 'in the country-side,' with rice paddies and veggie gardens on both sides of the road, interspersed with small, and generally crude mud or cement houses, or shacks, with palm thatch rooves.

The park itself was just plain weird. A couple of acres of mostly grass with a few trees and shrubs, liberally strewn with an assortment of odd, and some just plain ugly, cement statues of Buddha and other Buddhist and Hindu deities, all blackened with age, and many decomposing or broken. Most were big – bigger than life-size. There were an inordinate number of snakes and serpents, and of course the usual melon-breasted dancing girls so ubiquitous in Hindu temples. One of the sculpture looked like a huge grenade – a ball-shaped affair with what looked like a dead tree on top. In the centre of it's bottom was a carving of a large scary (demon?) face with a big open mouth. We went into the mouth to the interior space, some three stories high, and crammed with more weird cement figurines. We navigated several sets of ladder-like stairs in the semi-darkness until we came out on top of the ball. From there we had a view of the whole park with its haphazard arrangement of 'interesting' sculptures.

There were fewer passengers on the bus-ride back into town, but one of them, a little girl with several whispy pigtails sticking straight out from her head, was too cute not to photograph. Because of the unevenness of the road, getting a focused shot was well-nigh impossible. But I took them anyway. Then I staggered up the aisle to show the photos to the little girl and her mother. The little girl was more fascinated by the shiny camera and its various buttons than by the photos, which she perhaps did not recognize as being of her. I tried using sign language to ask her mother if she would give me her address so I could send the photos to her, but she misunderstood my signals, thinking I wanted to take a photo of her, and shook her head 'no, no, no!' Undaunted I stumbled back to my seat, got a pen and paper, and drew a diagram of an envelope and a photograph with an arrow pointing from the photo to the envelope. As I showed her the drawing I stretched my arms out to simulate an airplane, hoping to make the message clearer. She still seemed hesitant, and looked at me blankly – what on earth did this foreigner want? But a fellow a few seats ahead, who had been watching the whole exchange with great interest, got my meaning, and explained to her what I wanted. The woman herself couldn't write, but he could, so I gave him the pen and paper and he wrote out her name, the name of the village she lived in, and her telephone number.

The next day I took the piece of paper into the post office to ask if an envelope with just a name, a village and a phone number would be delivered. Nobody at the post office spoke English, so again I was using a combination of single words, some in French, and sign language to get my message across. The first person who saw the 'address' seemed uncertain about it, and directed me to her colleague, who was sitting doing needlepoint behind the counter (reminiscent of the immigration officer who was playing solitaire on his computer). She looked at it and nodded yes, yes, and managed through her own few words of French and English and sign language to get across to me that the letter would go to the post office in the little village, and someone there would then phone the woman, who would pick it up. Voila! I got the photos developed the next day. I got the guy at the photo shop to write 'thank-you' in Lao on a piece of paper, drew a happy face on it, signed my name, and stuck in in the envelope along with the photos. That night I actually saw a post-box, with letters in it, mounted on the wall by the front door of a small convenience store. I popped the envelope in and hoped for the best.

A Traveling Chinese Opera

Pretty much every night that we were in Vientiane, a Chinese opera was staged at an outdoor theatre inside the grounds of one of the large temples. The painted backdrops and the actors costumes were incredibly colourful – almost neon in their brilliance, with lots of gold and glitter. That almost made up for the distinct lack of action, and the fact that we couldn't understand a word that was said, or 'sung.' To my obviously untrained and unappreciative ears, the singing sounded more like the sound a cat makes when you step on its tail – a high-pitched yowl, with a Chinese 'ng' ending. The opera included a live orchestra which unfortunately was hidden behind a screen, so we couldn't see the various instruments they were playing.

There were rows of plastic chairs on the cement in front of the stage, most of which were filled by children, most of whom were paying more attention to their friends than to the opera. A few adults sat towards the back, paying only slightly more attention than the kids. The tourists seemed to be the most enthralled, all of us straining to see and hear and snapping photos at what we hoped were opportune times. Throughout the show, the operatic arias were punctuated by the sounds of popping balloons from the several dart-throwing games along one side of the temple compound. The children in the 'audience' were also fairly noisy, calling back and forth to one another, jumping up and down, and climbing up onto the stage. Some of them even walked or ran across the stage, in front of the actors. At one point a couple of little boys – maybe 7 or 8 years old – had an all out fight, kicking, punching, biting and hair-pulling right in front of the stage. No one seemed the least perturbed, or disturbed, by any of this activity. The show went, dare I say relentlessly?, on.

One evening the opera was pretty much drowned out by the tremendous racket created by a group of young men who were banging on drums and clashing large cymbals at the back of the temple compound. They were part of what looked like a kind of religious bingo game. A group of older men were standing behind a long table on which were around two dozen plates, each piled high with oranges. One of the men would speak in excited tones into a microphone, then draw a pink slip of paper from a bucket held out to him by one of the other men, read out the name, or number, or word (?) on the paper, following which there would be a great drum-roll and cymbal-crash, and then put the paper under one of the oranges on the plate. Yet another man was documenting whatever the guy was saying on a big black-board. There were lots of onlookers, and a fair bit of excitement when the words were read out, but no one seemed to be a 'winner.' And in the midst of all of this commotion, on yet other long tables filled with statues, candles, flowers and pots of burning incense sticks, streams of worshippers carried on with their candle and incense lighting activities and their prayers to whichever deities they favoured.

Pha That Luang – The Big Stupa

Pha That Luang, a Buddhist temple in Vientiane, apparently boasts one of the biggest stupas in the world. It's certainly one of the most golden. It's impossible to miss, dazzling the eyes with the reflected light of the sun. 'Brilliant,' as the British would say. It's located at the top of a small hill, in the centre of a flat expanse – part parking lot and part grassy lawn and garden. It's surrounded on all sides by an array of lesser temples (without stupas) and halls and monks' residences, as well as numerous statues – mostly of Buddhas and dragons. We were lucky that on the day we visited there was a little ceremony taking place at one of the smaller temples. Two young men were becoming monks. They were dressed in white robes, and walked at the head of a small procession of family and friends. They circled the temple three times before entering.

A Laotian man was watching the affair, and we asked him if it would be all right to take a photo. “Oh yes, all right, all right, no problem.” He told us what the procession was about, and said that he was the employer of one of the monk's family members, so he had been invited. He said that although in the past almost every Laotian boy spent some time as a monk, it is becoming less common now, as western music and western ideas woo kids into other pursuits. He didn't seem concerned about this trend, but spoke of it, with a laugh, as just 'the way things are.' Still he hopes that Laos and Laotians will be able to preserve the important parts of their culture. So do we.

Vang Vien

After about a week in Vientiane we headed north to Vang Vien, a much smaller city with a reputation as a young back-backer's party town – which it is. Truly it's a strange place. The two main streets have been given over entirely to restaurants and guest-houses for foreign tourists most of whom are indeed young back-backers. They're here to go tubing down the Mekong River, a sort of ritual must-do activity that involves not just tubing down the river, but stopping at every make-shift bar along the route – and there are plenty – to drink beer, or whisky, smoke a joint, and generally get as plastered as possible. Predictably, there are a few deaths every year: the river is fast-flowing and unforgiving. But it wasn't the tubing that we thought was, well, dumb (the Mekong River is the sewer for millions of people upstream, and in Vang Vien itself). It was the restaurants filled with young folks sitting or more often lying on cushions watching big and small screen t.v.s playing reruns of 'Friends.' We'd read about it, but it had to be seen to be believed. Indeed it was difficult to find a restaurant, even a small one, that wasn't dominated by one or two or even three t.v.s, all showing reruns of 'Friends.' Must be a great show....

Without much effort we did manage to find some areas of town which, if not exactly local, were at least not filled with 'Friends' watchers. And the countryside around the town was very scenic, with large karsts – huge upthrust rock formations, like little mountains sticking up out of the ground like black teeth in a sea of green. It was also fun to walk over the little bamboo bridges that cross one of the smaller rivers that passes along one side of the town. These bridges were only wide enough to walk single file, but the Laotians had no difficulty riding their motorcycles across them, hardly slowing down despite the narrowness of the bridge or the fact that it wobbled and swayed as the weight on it shifted.
One day we rented bicycles and headed out to find a famous cave and swimming hole. It was supposed to be around six miles out of town. We hadn't gone quite that far when we saw a sign saying such-and-such a cave, this way. We of course couldn't remember the exact name of the cave we were heading to, but figured there couldn't be that many, so we followed the arrow, and ended up riding only a short distance before the road deteriorated into a series of riverbeds that we could only walk our bikes through. After a half-hour's trudge, pushing and dragging our bikes along with us, we reached a spot where a guy was sitting beside a little fire. He told us we had to leave the bikes there, pay him 10,000 kip (just over a dollar) as entry fee to the cave, and walk about another five minutes up the riverbed. We locked up the bikes, paid the guy, and headed up the rocky bed. We did find a cave, and it did have some fairly interesting limestone formations inside, and even a statue of a Buddha. But it didn't seem to match the description of what we were supposed to find. And there was no swimming hole. We weren't by any means the only tourists there, and fortunately a couple of them had brought along their guidebooks, so together we figured out that the cave we were meant to go to was actually further up the main road.

So we dragged ourselves and our bicycles back down the riverbeds to the main road, and set off again. A short while later was another sign, this one on the other side of the road, and topped with three triangular flags which made it look somewhat more official than the previous sign. So off we went again, this time down a dirt track, which quickly deteriorated into a muddy track. I was in the lead. There was a particularly large mud-puddle in a low part of the track, which straddled the entire width of the track. I had to decide whether to dismount and walk through the puddle, or whether to try to ride through it. Like a fool, I chose the latter. Within seconds the bike was up to its axles in mud, and I put out my foot to steady both it and myself, only to find that the mud at the bottom of the puddle was both deep and oozy. There was nothing to steady myself on, and so I just slid, without further ceremony, into the ooze. All I could think of was my camera, so I scrambled to get myself upright and my pack, in which the camera was zipped, off.

The camera, fortunately, was dry. I was not so lucky. I was pretty well covered in mud, mud liberally mixed with cow and/or buffalo dung from the smell of it, and nowhere in sight to wash it off. There was nothing for it but to carry on in the hopes that we would in fact reach the cave and the swimming hole. So we went on another ten minutes until we reached a gate, with a sign saying 'swimming pool 300 meters.' On the other side of the gate was a group of cows, including a couple of bulls, that were clearly guarding the only path to the swimming hole. I had the sinking feeling that we'd been mislead again, and didn't feel at all up to tangling with a bull over whether I could walk to a 'swimming pool' that might be not much more than the mud-puddle I had already bathed in. So we turned around again. And guess what? On the way back, I saw that there was a way around that big puddle (the way that Doug, who was just behind me, had taken).

Muddy but undeterred, I agreed we should press on towards the elusive 'cave and swimming hole.' We again rode for only about 10 minutes before we came to another sign saying, caves this way. But there were two reasons to stop here. The first was that it was starting to rain, and it looked like it was going to rain hard, monsoon hard. The second was that there was a little store with a table out front where we thought we could sit and have a drink. Doug pointed at me and asked the owner if there was any water for washing (in sign language, as usual). The woman looked at me with a mixture of sympathy and disbelief – how on earth had I managed to get myself that dirty? - and lead me around back, where there was a large barrel filled with water, and a metal clothes-washing basin and scoop. I poured some water into the basin and started to clean off my face, hands and arms. She produced a hose, and helped by running it over my arms. I wasn't sure what kind of water supply they had, or what effort they had to go to to get it, but I figured if they had a running hose, perhaps it wasn't that much. I thanked her for her help, and indicated I could manage from here.

To begin with I tried using the scoop to pour water over my legs, feet, shorts and shirt. But I realized it wasn't going to do the job, and by this time the stink of the mud was becoming rather more obvious – and disgusting. When I looked up from my ablutions I saw a little girl, maybe three years old, standing a few feet away and staring at me in frank amazement. I said 'sa-ba-dee,' and she responded by pointing up towards the sky behind me. I looked to where she was pointing, but saw nothing in particular but rain clouds. 'Rain' I said. She pointed again. I threw caution to the wind and stripped off my shorts and shirt, figuring a stinky tourist would be just as offensive to a Laotian as a half-naked one. The little girl just stared and stared. I filled the basin with more water and tossed my clothes in. It took five rounds of fresh water before my shorts and shirt were clean enough that they didn't leave the water looking like the muddy Mekong. Then I put them back on, wet. I washed my sandals. I rinsed out the basin. The little girl was now squatting, still staring at me. I went and squatted beside her. She pointed again to the sky. I pointed too. We both pointed for a while. And then it started to rain, really rain. Perhaps she knew it would, and was just trying to tell me I might just as well wait for the rain – take a shower instead of a bath.

I did put my bike out in the rain, arranging it carefully so it would be in the heaviest drips coming off the tin roof. Even so, before we took the bikes back to the rental place, at a place in the river where it was shallow and easy to access, I walkied the bike in and and splashed off the mud. Apart from the mud inside the ends of the handlebars and around the cogs of the gears it looked not too bad. After a hot shower, I looked – and smelled – o.k. too. Oh – and we never did reach the cave, or the swimming hole, but we talked to a few tourists who did, and they said it wasn't that big a deal and really not worth the effort. Well then, I'm glad to have my mud puddle memories.

After almost a week in Vang Vien we caught a bus to Luang Prabang. The ride, up hill and down dale, was long and more dangerous than I would have liked. Although paved, the road was in poor condition, with lots of pot-holes, and a couple of places where half the road had been recently washed away. The bus was in equally poor condition, swaying wildly on every turn, and creaking and groaning like an old arthritic woman. There were no passes on the road; we just went up and over every hill and every mountain, winding up and down around hairpin curves. We got up to some pretty high elevations, at one point climbing for well over two hours, but even here the vegetation was tropical and the temperatures, although cool by Asian standards, still t-shirt warm. The scenery was breath-taking: verdant mountainsides, cultivated terraces, small villages with bamboo shacks on stilts and palm-thatch rooves. Men and women out working in the fields, cutting rice, planting vegetables, their woven bamboo hats bobbing up from the sea of grass or grain, quintessential images of Asia.

We started off at 10 am. By the time we reached Luang Prabang, at around 6 pm, we were more than ready to get off the bus. We were greeted by a phalanx of tuk-tuk drivers and hotel touts, one of whom convinced us to go to his hotel...we were too tired to feel like traipsing around looking for somewhere to stay and, as we remind one another at such times, 'we can do anything for one night.' And one night it was. The next day we switched to a better place – just a couple of doors down the street.

Luang Prabang

Luang Prabang is a UNESCO World Heritage City, and reputedly one of the most beautiful cities in Southeast Asia. Like Vientiane and Vang Vien, it's situated on the banks of the Mekong River, which in itself is enough to make the city more romantic and appealing. But it is a beautiful city, and the Laotians have gone to considerable expense renovating historic buildings and constructing brick roads and sidewalks. The shops and restaurants on the main street are, as in Vientiane, very chi-chi and high-end. But just a few steps away and you're into the smaller streets and lanes, with all the fascinating sights, sounds and smells of the Asian city. As usual, we spend most of our time just walking around, gawking at everything, talking to anyone and enjoying whatever comes our way. There are a string of temples just behind the main road, many of which we've visited. At one of them we came upon a couple of young novice monks who were studying English. They asked us to sit down, and we struck up a lively conversation with them. One of them said that he thinks he will become a monk, but that he knows he will not reach Nirvana in this lifetime because he likes money and music too much. I laughed and said, “But you are young, you have lots of time to reach Nirvana in this lifetime!” He just repeated “Yes, but I like money and music too much!”

Mekong River Longboats

Our favourite place to eat in Luang Prabang is a small patio cafe on the banks of the Mekong River. The staff now know us and give us a warm welcome when we arrive – big smiles and special prices for their 'regular' foreign friends. We sit overlooking the river and watch as the traditional long boats, like stretch-canoes with wooden canopies, make their way across the river. The river flows so fast that as soon as the boats leave the shore they're caught amidships, and swept downstream until their bows swing forward and their little engines triumph over the powerful current. When there are two of them crossing at the same time, they almost look like dancers, describing graceful arcs around one another. The biggest of the longboats, which carry 50-60 passengers, go all the way to Thailand, a journey upriver of two full days. Most travelers do the trip the other way, from northern Thailand here to Luang Prabang. Smaller boats ferry tourists and locals with their array of bags and bundles, just across the river to a small village with three temples.

Most intriguing is the 'car ferry.' This consists of two longboat hulls, arranged like a catamaran, with a wooden 'deck' joining the two. On either end of the deck, hanging out over the water like truncated airplane wings, are the loading and unloading ramps. They're just wide enough for a car, or maybe a small truck. And the ferry carries only one vehicle at a time. The weight of the vehicle pushes the two narrow hulls down almost to their gunwales, and the little engines labour hard to bring this cargo across the river. So far we have neither seen nor heard any speed-boats on the rivers, but travel agencies do advertise for trips by 'fast boat' to various locations. So far the tourists we've talked to who have taken them have agreed that while they're fast, they're also much more dangerous than the 'slow' longboats. The Lao government is considering prohibiting foreigners from using speed boats, partly because of the risk, but partly because of the noise and air pollution. I hope the government does limit the use of the fast boats, not just for environmental reasons, but because it's so lovely to sit by the river, watching the little boats coming and going, without having to put up with the roaring of engines.

Big Brother Mouse

When we were in Vientiane we went to the offices of Big Brother Mouse, an organization that publishes books in Lao for Lao readers – mostly kids, but adults too. Books are rare in Laos. Many people have never seen a book, and certainly never owned one. Four years ago an American man decided he would use his own savings to promote literacy and learning in Laos. He founded Big Brother Mouse. In the first year, BBM published 6 books. Now, four years later, it has published 60. Some of these are translations of other books, but most of them represent the original works of young Lao writers and artists, all of whom are encouraged and supported by BBM. Tourists are encouraged to visit BBM, to help with the editing of books, some of which are published in Lao and English, and to help with the distribution of books. They can do this by simply making cash donations, or they can buy books and take them to outlying villages. We decided we'd like to buy some books, but we also wanted to meet the founder of BBM, so we decided to go to the Luang Prabang outlet of BBM.

We were lucky, Sasha Alyson, the founder of BBM, was there the day we visited and agreed to chat with us over lunch. We talked about the variety of initiatives that BBM has underway – to promote literacy, to distribute books, and to get more books published in Laos. BBM holds 'book parties' at schools in rural villages. These are 3 hour long parties where BBM staff plays games with the kids, reads books with them so that they come to see that books can be fun, and then gives a book to every single child. There can be anywhere from 50 to 300 kids who attend these parties. BBM also provides books to 'junior librarians,' people within rural villages who agree to keep books in their homes and to lend them out to villagers. When we visited BBM, a group of young writers were sitting around a table working on a new book. They are excited and energized. They know they are doing something important and meaningful. I came back and wrote several pages for an article on BBM which I hope some newspaper or magazine might we willing to publish. This is an intitiative that deserves more attention. Read more at www.BigBrotherMouse.org

Kuang Si Waterfalls

On our last day in Luang Prabang we took a mini-van out to the famous, at least in Laos, Kuang Si waterfalls. It took about an hour to get there. Then we walked up a parth through a fairly dense forest until we came to the bottom of three pools. The pool was aquamarine in colour, a result of the light-coloured mineral deposits that coat all of the surfaces around and under the pools. Water was pouring into this pool from a variety of directions over small banks of rocks. We continued on up past another two pools, both just as blue and lovely as the first. At the top of the path we felt the spray, and saw the cascade that make the falls so 'famous.' They're pretty high, and very white. And of course the tropical greenery around them only adds to their overall beauty.

As we walked back down, through a small clearing, we saw a group of perhaps 50 European (German?) tourists, all sitting at picnic tables covered with table-cloths, being served a full lunch, on real crockery, by a Laotian catering company. It was so incongruous, there in the natural environment of the falls, to see this formal dining event, bottles of wine, plates of cheese and fruit, cups of tea and coffee, and waiters and waitresses busily seeing to the wishes of their customers. Just a few feet away a Laotian family was having a picnic of bagged goodies and bottles of pop.

Tomorrow we go by bus north to Nong Khiaw, and then by boat to Muang Ngoi Neua, a small town accessible only by boat where we hope to do some walks out to some rural villages where we can give our BBM books to a school, or to some kids. From there we head even further north, again by boat, until we reach the road that leads to Dien Ben Phu in Vietnam, our next destination.

Stay Another Day, Laos – Promoting Sustainable Tourism

To its credit, the Laotian government is doing its best to promote socially and environmentally sensitive and sustainable tourism. There are posters and fliers in many locations, mostly in colourful cartoon format, advising tourists of the 'dos and don'ts' of etiquette in Laos. These cover everything from removing your shoes before you enter temples or people's homes to not touching monks, not touching anyone on the head, not photographing people without their permission, not hugging and/or kissing in public, wearing suitable clothing (eg. men should not go around without shirts; women should not wear bathing suits in public), not buying relics or wildlife products, not damaging temples or sensitive environmental areas, and not giving candies or money to children. Despite this, we of course see (mostly young) tourists with no shirts, or wearing skimpy bikinis in town, and, even more disgustingly, pointing their big zoom-lensed cameras at Laotian men, women and, especially, children, without so much as a 'hello,' let alone a 'by your leave.'

The government has also produced a excellent 80-page full colour booklet for tourists entitled “Stay Another Day: Laos – Promoting Sustainable Tourism.” Here's an excerpt from the intro:

“Tourism has grown rapidly in recent years, and is a source of both pride and employment for many Lao people. However, the increasing numbers of visitors can also have negative environmental and social consequence and typically these impact upon the poorest of people. The International Finance Corporation's Mekong Private Sector Development Facility is working in Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam to promote the development of sustainable or 'destination friendly' tourism. This is tourism that is commercially viable, and at the same time creates broader benefits for society and supports conservation of the natural, historic and cultural assets on which tourism depends.

In this booklet you will find a wealth of remarkable initiatives which not only provide ideas for a richer travel experience, but also the opportunity to contribute in some way to improving the welfare of local people. For example, wilderness tours run by local guide can bring incomes to many rural people who usually lack such opportunities. Patronizing centuries-old arts and crafts provides a living for local people and their extended families, and also helps preserve traditions for future generations.

So during your visit to Laos, stay a little longer, buy local products and visit some of the initiatives described in this booklet.”

Some of the initiatives in the booklet include:

Big Brother Mouse – a company that publishes books produced by Laotian writers and artists, in Lao, to encourage literacy and reading in a country where books are extremely rare (many people in Laos have never seen or owned a book!)We visited BBM in Vientiane and Luang Prabang, and bought some books to take to schools in outlying villages. We also had lunch with and interviewed the founder of BBM, with the intent of writing an article describing its work. It's a positively inspirational initiative.

MAG – the Mines Advisory Group, a British-based organization dedicated to clearing Laos (and other countries) of unexploded ordinances. The teams are all Lao, and several of them include local women. MAG also does community awareness work, to try to prevent deaths and maimings caused when locals mistake bombs for toys, or try to disarm them themselves so they can sell the metal for scrap.
Fair Trek – an organization that promotes sustainable and community-based tourism, so that more of the dollars spent go directly to the community you visit. This is achieved by hiring local guides, purchasing food directly from local farmers, and contributing to local village and forest funds. If you want to visit an 'ethnic village,' you are encouraged to go with a guide, who will make it possible for you to communicate with the people, and will facilitate a more meaningful experience and exchange between you and the people you visit. Meals will be made by locals, from locally grown food, and the money you pay for them will go to the locals, not the tour company.

Elefant Asia and the Elephant Park Project – both initiatives to protect the Asian elephant through awareness campaigns, veterinary programs, and providing economic alternatives for mahouts and their elephants that protect the elephants from being used for dangerous activities such as logging and retrains them (both) for work in ecotourism.

Kopnoi – an export promotion centre that produces and sells handmade products made from natural materials and that respect the principles of fair trade and equitable development. “To have a greater impact, we recommend visitors to make sure they purchase products made in Laos. It helps to sustain the economy and provide villagers with income that ensures them a better quality of life. It also encourages the celebration of Lao culture and keeps it alive for future generations.”

COPE – Cooperative Orthotic and Prosthetic Enterprise – an organization that serves people injured by unexploded ordnance (UXO), as well as traffic and other accidents, supplying prostheses, wheel chairs and walking aids free of charge to those who cannot afford them

Peuan Mit – a program for street children and their families. The program provides medical care, education, vocational training and life skills, psychological support and activities to children up to age 21, and assistance to their families to help them set up home-based businesses and access medical care. They run a training restaurant, the profits of which are used to fund activities for street children; a shop selling products made by parents in vulnerable communities, so that they will earn enough money to send their kids to school (and keep them off the streets), and a mechanics' workshop, where former street youths can learn how to repair bicycles, motorcycles and light machinery

There are also a host of organizations and companies in the booklet which promote Lao weaving and fabric arts, wood carving, and cooking. You are encouraged to visit all of the organizations described in the booklet, to get involved, to make a donation, to make a difference. The back cover of the book is entitled “Child Wise.” Child Wise is an Australian organization dedicated to protection children from child-sex tourism. It encourages local citizens and tourists to report suspicious behaviour, and gives a national hotline to call. The Lao government is also determined to prevent Lao from becoming another Thailand: sexual relationships between Laos and foreigners are prohibited (unless they are married, which apparently is not easily accomplished). Given the ubiquitous nature of both sex-tourism and child-sex-tourism in Asia, we sincerely hope that Laos is successful in preventing the scourge from coming here.

In all, the booklet is very impressive. I've never seen anything like it. Whether or not the government's intentions, and the organizations' initiatives, will be enough to prevent some of the most negative impacts of tourism, and encourage the positive, is yet to be seen. Still we applaud them for their efforts. They're way ahead of most (if not all) other countries in their thinking and action in this area.