Travel Journal

During at least three days, the Buddhist New Year known as Songkran or Pimai, is celebrated everywhere in Thailand, Laos and Cambodia. During this holiday, families visit Buddhist temples to pay respect to Buddha, by pouring perfumed water over the many Buddha statues, by praying, and by offering food and water to the monks. On the streets, it’s a wild party involving lots of water, talcum powder, and lipstick.

It was no different in Pakse, where I was walking near the central market, and I soon found myself absolutely soaked in water. A number of Laotian boys and girls, drinking beer and dancing to western music, then covered my face with talcum powder and lots of lipstick. Small kids walk around with Super Soaker squirt guns, almost twice their size, and take aim at anyone who happens to pass by. Pickup trucks drive by, and from the back, kids throw water from huge jars at anyone within their reach. It’s lots of fun, especially as it’s so hot, this is the hottest month in the region.

Further south of Pakse, the beautiful Si Phan Don, or Four Thousand Islands area is located, where islands in the Mekhong offer a beautiful view of life passing by on the river. Many small boats ferry passengers or provisions from island to island. Don Khong is the largest island, and during a walk on a small dusty road in a village on the east side of the island, I was immediately invited to drink some rice wine, and then celebrate the New Year with a group of already very cheerful Laotians.

Further south, Don Det is smaller, but quite pleasant. Near the boat landing, I went for a swim in the Mekhong river during sunset, which was great, or looked out over the river from the hammock in front of my bungalow.

Just south of Don Det, the large Khon Pha Pheng waterfalls are located, according to the signs the largest ones in South East Asia. You can hear the thunderous sound of the rapids, cascading down several levels, when you approach the area. Many tourists from Laos and its neighbouring countries were there, having picnics, or going for a swim near the waterfalls, of course fully clothed.

Further upriver, a large New Year’s party was held, with hundreds of Laotians dancing to loud music in front of two stages. Unlike in Thailand or Vietnam, the women join the men in drinking (large quantities of) beer, the faces of both men and women red and white from lipstick and talcum powder. The atmosphere was very friendly, smiles everywhere, and they just love it when a tourist joins the celebrations.

Unfortunately, my time in Laos was coming to an end, and after quite a frustrating time at the border, where the officials from both countries knew exactly how to have every tourist part with a moderate amount of dollars, I went on dusty roads into the Kingdom of Cambodia.

I started getting ill in Phonsavan, a fever accompanied a throat ache that was so bad it left me unable to eat anything for several days. My condition deteriorated during the long 10-hour busride back to Vientiane, on an ancient Korean bus that sounded more like a large Russian helicopter. Along the way, we had to stop several times for on-the-fly repairs to its engine, but eventually reached Vientiane in the evening.

In Vientiane, I went to the International Clinic, part of the Mahosot hospital. The only difference between the two is that at the Clinic, prices are higher, and the doctors and nurses speak a little French or English. I was examined first by a nurse, then by a doctor, in a room filled with mosquitos. The doctor quickly diagnosed me with tonsillitis, and then prescribed three injections and a one-week follow-up course of antibiotics to battle the infection. The intravenous antibiotics were stored in those glass vials that I only recognised from movies and reminded me of World War II and morphine. Tap-tap-tap of the finger against the top of the vial, then the breaking of the top. The beautiful, friendly Laotian nurse took the better part of a half hour to administer the drugs, while commenting on how handsome I was, which admittedly helps the recovery process quite a lot. After two more days of injections, I felt a lot better. I started eating a little bit again, and soon had completely recovered.

Through a chance meeting, I had been invited to attend a village festival, in the small village of Song Pueai, a half hour from Vientiane. Every village in Laos has such a three-day festival, although on different dates, and all the villagers work together to organise a number of parties at the homes in the village, the community hall, or the local temple. I was staying at the house of the mayor of Song Pueai, a pleasant man who spoke no English, and I was once again humbled by the friendliness and hospitality of the family and the many friends, neighbours, village officials and policemen who came to visit. The mother and daughters in the family had prepared two dozen different kinds of dishes, delicious Laotian food. One glass of beer went round and round, and in between I was offered many glasses of Lao lao, or the very strong Laotian rice whiskey.

In the evening, we all went to the local temple, where in the field behind it a stage had been set up. A band was playing Laotian pop music, which did remind me of sixties Rock & Roll, but then with Laotian singing and melody. As soon as one song started, the area in front of the stage was filled with the 100+ people, young and old, who had come to the party, dancing in that conservative Laotian style where both women and men wave their arms and hands a lot, and move a little with their feet. As soon as one song was finished, the dance area was seemingly evacuated, as everyone rushed back to their tables and chairs to enjoy some more Beerlao. Some announcements followed, another song started, and the dance area was filled again. Meanwhile, some soldiers who had assumed a policing role walked around carrying their AK-47 rifles, while their platoon commander was being offered many drinks and cigarettes.

Several times, there was a traditional opening of the dance, when the names of three women would be called out by the announcer, and they came forward to the dancefloor. Then, the names of three men, who came forward to invite the women to dance, after which the rest of the crowd filled the dancefloor. As a guest of the mayor’s family, this happened to me as well, my name announced as Mr. Pleesot from prathet Hawlen, or The Netherlands. Together with the platoon commander and a son of the mayor, I went to the dancefloor and invited one of the three women, a friend of the mayor’s family called Pheng, to dance with me, by making the traditional wai gesture, placing your palms together while bowing your head slightly.

I stayed that night in the house of the family, on the first and only floor of the house, and was awakened very early the following morning by the now familiar sound of chickens, roosters, buffaloes, dogs and cats. After breakfast and saying many thanks to the family, I went back to Vientiane by songthaew.

From Vientiane, I continued on towards the town of Savannakhet, over 450 kms southeast of Vientiane. It’s a provincial capital that functions as a trading post between Laos, Thailand and Vietnam. Again the French influence, as you walk past old colonial villas that are so badly maintained that they now resemble ruins. A group of boys is playing jeu de boules in the small town center. Nearby, the Laotian red, blue with white flag is posted next to the everpresent red and yellow hammer-and-sickle flag. The Vietnamese influence is most visible nowadays, however, with signs in both Laotian and Vietnamese, and many of the locals speak both. There is a local Vietnamese school, a Mahayana Buddhist temple, and even a Catholic church. While in Savannakhet, I visited That Ing Hang, the holiest religious site for the Laotians. It’s a nine meter high tower with a traditional Lao stupa, built in the mid-16th century, and has a large collection of Buddha statues.

But soon, I was on my way again, to the town of Pakse, and the Laotian New Year was about to start.

On the way to Vang Vieng, a small town on the banks of the Mekhong, it became more clear how poor most Laotians are. The bus drove through tiny villages, with rudimentary huts, built from wood or flimsy boards of woven banana leaves, with thatched roofs. Children playing along the side of the road, a group of villagers working together to built a communal hall. Patches of ground had been set on fire, leaving the red soil bare, to prepare for the planting of rice once the rainy season starts, in a month or so.

Vang Vieng is a small, sleepy town, roughly halfway between Luang Phabang and Vientiane, and I spent several days here. From the veranda of my bungalow, I enjoyed the scenic view of the Mekhong river, and a rugged green mountain range behind it. Interestingly, a lot of the restaurants in Vang Vieng have now completely adapted to the tourists, and continuously show episodes of the US television series Friends.

Vientiane, the capital of Laos, still has somewhat of a French feel about it, with a number of wide boulevards, and Patuxay, a Laotian version of the Arc de Triomphe. Vendors on the streets sell pate, or baguettes with corned beef and vegetables, and there are many small bakeries with croissants and pain au chocolat. Many of the signs in front of government buildings, hospitals or university faculties are in both Laotian and French, and there are still a number of colonial villas, in various states of disrepair. Also here, some stunning temples, and That Luang is an impressive stupa on the east side of Vientiane, with a gilded structure that is almost too bright to look at in the sunlight.

From Vientiane, a ten hour busride on very winding roads, brought me to the town of Phonsavan, in Xieng Khuang province. For security purposes, a man sat in the back of the bus, armed with an AKS-47 assault rifle, not an unusual sight in Laos. Over the past years, there have been some occurances of robberies by bandits along the main routes leading through Laos. Along the way, I admired the stunning scenery, rugged mountains and deep valleys with palm trees and rice fields. Occasionally, the bus had to slow down for crossing buffaloes. Apart from that, traffic was minimal, with a truck or bus coming towards us every half hour or so.

In the area of Xieng Khuang province, thousands of stone jars are scattered around the plains, several thousands years old. Although their origins and purpose still are a mystery, one of the predominant theories is that they were used as funerary urns, placed on auspicious locations, so that the spirits of the dead could watch over the living. If this theory holds true, the jars in this province of Laos are the earliest remaining examples of Asian funerary customs. It is a beautiful yet strange site, seeing hundreds of jars in various sizes, some nearly two meters in diameter, some with their large lids next to them. The area had been bombed extensively by the American forces during the 1970s, causing great damage to landscape, vegetation (defoliants were used) and jars. The landscape is still quite visibly pockmarked. And then there is the invisible danger, with the paths leading to the jars clearly marked with white and red stones. White areas had been sub-surface searched, but red areas only visually searched, and therefor might still contain landmines.

Unfortunately, it was soon after my visit to Xieng Khuang province, that I found myself in need of medical attention, in one of the last countries I had hoped this would happen in.

You must have a heart of stone if you’re not charmed by this country, its spectacular scenery, and the friendly people. Although I arrived in Laos only six days ago, I immediately knew I would like this place, and I soon found out what my fellow travellers, who had visited Laos before, were raving on about.

In early history, Laos was known as Lan Xang, or Land of a Million Elephants. A former French colony, Laos gained independence in 1953, after which years of civil war followed. The US started carpet bombing eastern Laos extensively during the Vietnam war, with the aim of eliminating the North Vietnamese army and the Viet Cong, who were taking refuge in Laos and used the Ho Chi Minh trail, which ran partly through Laos, to supply their troops in Vietnam. It wasn’t until 1975 when Laos saw relative peace (and also the end of the monarchy), with the foundation of the communist Lao People’s Democratic Republic (Sathalanalat Pasathipatai Pasason Lao), or Lao PDR. Both tradition and language are very similar to those of Thailand, and the majority of the Lao are Theravada Buddhist, with animism and ancestral worship among the tribal minorities scattered around Laos. Sadly, it is also one of the poorest countries in the world.

I entered the country by taking a ferry (capacity: 6 people) across the Mekhong river, and spent the night at the sleepy village of Huay Xay, where I would take a long-distance ferry further into Laos the following morning.

The 16-hour trip was spread out over two days, on a boat that could seat about 60 people, mostly tourists. Traffic on the wide and murky brown Mekhong was not that busy, only a handful of cargo ships, while I watched the scenery of Laos on my left side and Thailand on my right, their different flags posted clearly visible on several buildings along the way. As we went further down south, and then east, the Mekhong brought us deeper into Laos, leaving Thailand behind. The scenery was quite pretty, the banks littered with rocks, further up thick forests and green hills, small villages with huts, an elephant carrying large logs. Buffaloes were grazing or taking a bath, fishermen waved their nets through the water, children were swimming. The boat stopped several times at tiny villages to let Laotians on or off. Meanwhile on the boat, a group of Irishmen and -women were celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day, consuming quantities of alcohol that would instantly kill people of other nationalities. Occasionally, a small speedboat would go by, most of its occupants wearing helmets, its 40 hp engine was so incredibly loud that your eardrums hurt.

I spent the night at the small village of Pakbeng, in the western province of Udomxai in Laos, where electricity was provided by generators to a handful of houses, while most of the small restaurants and shops only had candle light. Around 9 pm, it got quieter in the village as the locals prepared to go to bed, brushing their teeth by the side of the single road that led through the village. Generators were shut down, and after that, the only sound was that of the many crickets and geckos.

Early the following morning, our boat departed on the foggy Mekhong, for its second leg, to Luang Phabang. As the temperature rose in the morning, the fog soon cleared, and the terrain around us became more rugged, with hills and occasionally steep rock walls. In the late afternoon, we arrived at Luang Phabang, the former capital of Laos during the monarchy, and now a UNESCO World Heritage site. It is a small town, and its old center is situated on a peninsula that is formed by the Mekhong and the Nam Kham rivers. It is a charming town. Colonial villas are next to rows of old houses, with many shops selling all kinds of souvenirs, although they seem to specialise in handmade, decorated paper, and silk. There are many restaurants and cafes with delicious Laotian coffee and French croissants or baguettes. The names of the establishments are embossed on large wooden panels, elaborately decorated, the letters painted gold, hanging above the entrance. In the center of the old town is the National Museum, once the royal palace, an impressively objective exhibit of the quarters of the former kings and queens, together with a collection of ancient Buddha statues found at ruined temples all over Laos.
The Phu Si hill in the center of the town offers a beautiful view of Luang Phabang and the Mekhong and Nam Khan rivers, especially during sunset, when the Mekhong turns to an intense red, just before the sun disappears behind the mountains. Floodlights then illuminate the golden Wat Chamsi stupa on the top of the hill, providing a beacon that can be seen anywhere in the town.

The temples in the town itself are quite different from the Thai ones, mostly wood, with large patterns on the walls and columns. Inquisitive novices ask where you are from, they want to practice English with you. They are fifteen years old, but still have five years to go before they can become monks. One of them has a girlfriend, he tells me. “I love her, but only looking", he quickly adds, while he looks shyly at the ground.

While the men wear trousers or very occasionally shorts, most of the women in Luang Phabang wear long silk skirts in the brightest of colours, with a gold embroidered band at the hem, and the uniform of the primary school girls is the same, in bright blue. Even the only woman in a group of army officers, in a visit to the National Museum, wears a similar skirt, in khaki.

A one and a half hour boatride on the Mekhong river, with its occasional treacherous currents, brought me to the Pak Ou caves, at the base of a steep rock wall, plunging into the river. The caves reminded me of the ones I had seen in Thailand’s Petchaburi, but the Buddha statues here were older and more numerous. Hundreds of them, small, large, in different shapes, postures, from different materials. Inside, it was dark and cool. It had been a site of worship and prayer for over centuries.

I have spent quite a couple of days here in Luang Phabang, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere, dinner along the Mekhong, scouring the day- and night markets. But soon I will leave, to go further south, in the direction of the capital of Laos, Vientiane.