“This is the only stoplight on the island,” announced Yodying, my guide for the day.

“Where?” I asked, not seeing the normal pole topped with red, yellow and green lights.

He pointed to a three-foot high metal tripod with a red light mounted on top, shoved under a tree between intersecting sand roads. “We use it once a year during the Songkran holiday,” he explained with a mischievous grin. That was the moment I knew I had discovered paradise.

The only streetlight on Koh Mak, used once a year during the Songkran holiday

This virtually unknown Eden where I unexpectedly found myself was Koh Mak, a small island on the far eastern side of the Gulf of Thailand. Of the few tourists who visit each year, most arrive on day trips from Koh Chang, its better-known and very touristy neighbor located a mere 12 miles to the north. Determined to change that, Yodying had invited me to be a guest of his Good Time Resort, located atop a high ridge of land overlooking exquisite white sand beaches on either side of the narrow isle.

A month earlier I had visited Bangkok for the first time in ten years and came away saddened by the changes I witnessed. The famous Thai smiles seemed to have been replaced by stressed-out shoppers and the crowds, though always immense in Bangkok, seemed more overwhelming than ever before. I wrote it off as another country rushing headlong toward Western ways and checked Thailand off my list of favorites. However, after touring the sights and several of the 20 resorts on Koh Mak, I was ready to recant.

Beautiful, uncrowded beaches of Koh Mak, Thailand

There are no high rises here, no jet skis, no quads, no banana boats. And there never will be. Ninety-five percent of the 9.6 square mile island is still owned by a single extended family whose members are committed that it will never become another Pattaya, filled with beer bars, sex trade, nightclubs and souvenir shops. According to Yodying, their resolve withstood a test recently when a Frenchman began building on one of the few parcels owned by an outsider.

“First I noticed that his enormous house had almost no windows and was surrounded by a tall wall. Next, nine jacuzzis arrived by boat.” He alerted his uncle, the chief executive of the island’s administrative organization, who called an emergency meeting of resort owners and residents. Since the owner had applied to build a residence rather than a business, construction on the suspected house of ill-repute was stopped.

The lack of nightlife, however, does not mean there is nothing to do on Koh Mak. Pristine beaches stretch for miles along stunningly clear turquoise waters, and the island’s location within the National Marine Park offers some of the best diving in the country. Windsurfing, kayaking and guided boat trips to neighboring islands are all readily available. Hiking trails through the lush vegetation abound, as do newly developed bike tracks, and viewing the quirky collection of antiques in the local museum makes for an interesting afternoon jaunt. If relaxation is the goal, sink into a hammock or get a traditional Thai massage. After witnessing one of Koh Mak’s famous sunsets, walk barefoot down the beach to one of many restaurants that string colored lights between swaying palms and serve up seafood fresh off the boat.

Can’t view the above slide show of Koh Mak, Thailand? Click here.

Because residents could make a relatively comfortable living by selling coconuts grown on the island or tapping the dense forests of rubber trees for their valuable sap, resort development was slow to arrive on Koh Mak. By 1990 only two resorts had been built, but 20-year old Yodying understood the potential of the island. His uncle allowed him to sell coconuts from the palm groves on his land and keep the money, which he used to build huts on the beach. Back then, the only way to reach Koh Mak was a four-hour ride in a wooden fishing boat that ran only twice per week; there were no roads, no telephone, no TV, and electricity was only available from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. Despite the hardships, unspoiled island life lured backpackers who gladly paid 150 Baht ($5) per night to occupy the crude accommodations. Yodying built more huts and more backpackers sniffed out the remote getaway.

Eventually Yodying had saved enough money to buy a parcel of land from his uncle and he began developing Good Time Resort. Rather than building a small hotel or guest house, he constructed individual homes in the traditional Thai architectural style that features sweeping upturned tile roofs and teak wood. Completed homes were sold to individual owners, who rented them out to vacationers when not being used personally.

Vacation rental homes at Good Time Resort offer spacious accommodations and privacy

On my first morning, I stood on the upper deck of my temporary home and watched the sun rise over a misty blue ocean, painting the sand golden and the jungle a brilliant emerald as it climbed through the sky. My closest neighbor lay across a verdant grass carpet dotted with outdoor sculptures, close enough to see but far enough away to afford complete privacy. An hour later I made the short walk to the resort’s main building and climbed to the open-air restaurant on the top floor. Sighing with contentment, I tucked into the dark German bread slathered with butter, artfully fanned slices of tropical fruit, coffee and juice, while I debated whether to walk to the beach or get a massage after breakfast.

Today there are still only 20 hotels or resorts on the island and I never saw more than a dozen people on the beach at any one time during my stay. To a large degree, locals still earn a living farming coconuts and collecting rubber sap; there is even a small open-air facility where visitors can watch the sap being turned into thick rubber mats. After three idyllic days, every iota of stress had drained away and I seriously considered staying on Koh Mak forever. In the end I had to leave, however I did so with renewed faith that there are still places where visitors can experience traditional Thai lifestyle and I added Thailand back onto my list of favorite places in the world.

How to get to Koh Mak from mainland Thailand

Take a bus from either Mo Chit station or Suvanaphumi International Airport to Trat city. From Trat you will need to take a local taxi to the pier.

From Mo Chit Bus Station (not to be confused with the Mo Chit MRT subway station):

• Fare: 248 Baht (~$8 U.S.)
• Travel Time: +/- 5 hours
• Departure time from Bankok: 07:30, 11:00, 22:00

From Suvarnabhumi airport bus terminal.

• Fare: 270 Baht (~$9 U.S.)
• Departures directly to Laem Ngop Pier: 08:15 and 10:15; departures to Trat city: 6:40, 10:10, 11:40, 13:10, 16:10, 18:10 (in Trat take taxi to pier)

Boats sail to Koh Mak from Laem Ngop Pier in Trat. If you are taking a taxi or have rented a private van, make sure the driver understands that you need to go to Laem Ngop Pier rather than the pier that will take you to Koh Chang.

Please note that only some resorts accept Master Card and/or Visa, and there are NO ATM’s on the island, so plan to bring enough cash in Thai Baht to pay for food, incidentals, and accommodations that cannot be charged.

Good Time Resort kindly hosted the author’s visit to Koh Mak. However, the receipt and acceptance of complimentary items/services received will never influence the content, topics, or posts in this blog. I write the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

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I rubbed the gunk from my eyes and stepped off the overnight sleeping bus in Pakse, Laos. A pack of cutthroat taxi drivers instantly surrounded me, jostling and jockeying. “Where you go?” shouted one. “I give you best price,” insisted another.  “Sinouk Cafe,” I answered groggily. The taxi drivers exchanged a knowing look that should have tipped me off. Fortunately, one use of the filthy, overflowing toilet in the bus during the night had convinced me to wait until morning and I was squirming to find a bathroom. By the time I returned, not a taxi driver was in sight, so I hefted my backpack and asked directions to the cafe where I was supposed to meet up with my fellow passengers for the Vat Phou Cruise to 4,000 Islands. It was less than two blocks from the bus station, an easy walk that would undoubtedly have cost me dear if I’d hired a taxi.

With two hours to wait, I cracked open my laptop and settled into an easy chair with a Cappuccino and pastry. Other passengers trickled in and gathered in groups, all chatting in French, and it was soon apparent that I would be the only English speaking guest on the cruise. Though languages come easy to me, French is not among my repertoire and I wondered how I would get through the next three days, since none of my fellow passengers seemed to speak English.

After a briefing (in French) I followed the Mekong Cruises representative down to the river where we boarded a longtail boat that would carry us to the Vat Phou cruise ship. Having been reassured that an English speaking guide would join me on the boat, I tuned out the unintelligible French chatter and focused on the scenery. Unlike the mud-churned, rapids-laden Mekong River I had experienced during the Luang Say Cruise in northern Laos, here the river ran glass-smooth and emerald green. Fish jumped, sending concentric circles racing across the mirrored surface, and hawks screeched overhead, putting us on notice that we were intruders in their domain. Rather than jutting rocks, the southern reaches were pierced by innumerable sand islets that appear and disappear as waters rise and fall with the seasons, earning the area its nickname of 4,000 islands.

Mekong Cruise's Vat Phou boat, a giant teak wedding cake

Around a final bend, the Vat Phou boat came into view. Originally a ferry that carried teak wood between Vientiane and the south of Laos, in 1993 the steel-hulled teak barge was converted into a luxurious floating hotel. As we slid alongside I registered my initial impressions. Frilly. French. Like a giant, top-heavy wedding cake. Could this boat possibly stay upright? I climbed aboard, deposited my shoes on the lower deck for the duration of our cruise, and climbed to the upper deck for another briefing, also in French.

First order of business - removal of shoes while on board

We enjoyed a gourmet lunch as the captain motored toward Champasak township and the Vat Phou Ruins, a majestic pre-Angkorian 10th century temple complex regarded as the most important ruin in Laos. Just as we were finishing up he eased the giant vessel out of the main channel and gently bumped the sand embankment, allowing us to disembark and climb aboard tuk-tuks for a 30 minute ride to the ruins. This particular site was chosen because it sits at the base of a curiously shaped mountain topped by a 45-foot high monolith that was revered as a natural lingam (phallic symbol) of the Hindu god Shiva. The Chenla Empire, a great civilization stretching south into Cambodia, north and west into northern Thailand and as far as Burma was responsible for the building of the original temple between the 6th and 12th centuries. Nothing remains of the once great city of the Chenla Empire, since all but religious sites were built of wood.

Between the 11th and 12th centuries, Khmer architects restored and rebuilt many sections of the temples and they now have many features characteristic of the ruins at Angkor Wat in Cambodia – stone causeways, decorative lintels and many carvings. Today, the two large palaces on the valley floor are slowly being repaired and restored through the UNESCO World Heritage project, one by a team of French archeologists and the other by an Indian team, each of which has employed vastly differing restoration techniques. The Indian teams tore the structure down to its foundations and numbered each stone, then rebuilt it from the ground up. French teams left approximately 50% of the structure in place, stabilized the existing masonry, and built up from there. The difference between the two is startling. The French site seems extremely stable, with well-fitted seams between stones, while the blocks of the Indian site are ill-fitted and its unsupported walls seem on the verge of toppling.

Vat Phou palace on the valley floor currently being restored by a team of Indian archeologists

Slowly, we ascended the dessicated hill under a sweltering sun, picking a careful path across giant stone slabs that had heaved and jumbled over the centuries. At the top, renewed by baptism from an ancient spring and a magnificent view of the valley floor, we made offerings at a small temple that held a gold-draped sitting Buddha. Following our guide into the surrounding forest, we alternately cringed at stone altars used for human sacrifice and marveled at an intricate carving of Vishnu and Brahma kneeling on either side of Shiva, the destroyer, considered to be the most powerful of the Hindu gods. The image stayed with me through dinner and followed me into my teak-paneled cabin, where I threw open the windows and sank into my heavenly soft bed. I pondered the mystery of the triumvirate, the only known carving of its kind, wondering whether these three most important Hindu gods were precursors of the Christian trinity, until the gentle rocking of the boat and drone of cicadas lulled me to sleep.

The first rays of dawn pierced my window, waking me from a deep and blissful sleep. Eager to savor every moment of the luxurious cruise, I jumped into my clothes and raced to the upper deck for another scrumptious breakfast. My new acquaintances waved me over to their table, where I tested a smattering of French I had learned the previous evening. “Bonjour!” I exclaimed.  “Comment allez-vous” – how are you – they replied politely. “Tres bien.” Thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence ensued; they were too polite to exclude me and I was exhausted from not being able to understand them. But we quickly found a compromise; I pointed at whatever I wanted and they handed it to me, interrupting their conversation long enough to tell me the French word for whatever I requested.

On the stroke of nine our boat pulled up to Huei Thamo where the locals welcomed us with broad smiles and posed for photos. Just beyond the village we entered a grove of towering ancient trees and thick vegetation that had all but consumed the small Oum Moung temple. Built toward the end of the 9th century, these ruins paid homage to god Rudani, consort of Shiva. We continued cruising south toward the Cambodian border, stopping at Duatai, a village so small that it is not even shown on area maps. Mekong Cruises has adopted this unspoiled community, providing assistance for its 600 residents in return for providing passengers with an up-close look at their lives. We wandered along footpaths that criss-crossed the community, through backyards where fishermen mended nets and women sat on the ground, weaving bundles of palm fronds into thatch roofing. On the single sand road, another group made charcoal over an open fire, while further down the road a lone motorcycle waited for a fill-up next to the community’s gas station – a wooden shack with a hand pump and a 50-gallon drum of fuel.

Can’t view the above slide show of the Vat Phou Cruise of 4,000 Islands in southern Laos? Click here.

On the third morning, as we approached the Cambodian border, our boat cruised at a noticeably slower speed. Now deep within the area known as 4,000 islands, the river broadens behind Pha Pheng Waterfalls, a one kilometer long ledge that drops around 90 feet into the lower basin, separating the upper Mekong from the lower Mekong and completely sealing off the two sections for navigation and transport of goods.

When France annexed Laos into its Indo-China colony in the late 19th century, they hoped to transport valuable goods from Yunnan, in southern China, to Vietnam, for export. The falls of Khone Pha Pheng, and other similar, smaller ones at this point in the river, made that dream impossible to fulfill. The French solved the problem with a railroad that bypassed the falls. It operated until 1949, when a road along the left bank of the river allowed for the faster transport of goods. Gradually the railroad fell into disrepair, although the old stone bridge over which the steam locomotives pulled their loads is now used by autos.

Pha Pheng Waterfall

Finally, with the river broadening and becoming shallower, we reached the limits of navigable water. Disembarking at Don Det Island, we again hopped into tuk-tuks for a short ride over the historic railroad bridge and onto Don Khone Island, where we poked among the remains of an old steam locomotive rusting away in the tropical humidity, and ended our tour at the impressive Pha Pheng Waterfall. Back in Pakse there were hugs all around, with admonitions to remember the French I had learned. “Au revoir,” I said, waving goodbye. All the way back to the hotel I reviewed my new French vocabulary: c’est bonne (it’s good), bonne nuit (good night), avoir une bonne journée (have a good day), c’est delicius (it’s delicious), gelée verte (mint jelly)…just don’t ask.

Mekong Cruises kindly hosted the author on the Vat Phu Cruise. However, the receipt and acceptance of complimentary items/services received will never influence the content, topics, or posts in this blog. I write the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth and in this case, Mekong Cruises is one of the best tour operators I have ever had the pleasure to work with. Their administrative staff was well organized, their boat crew was highly trained to meet every need of the passengers, and I simply cannot say enough about the skills of the captain, who expertly docked the boat against sandy shores that I would have thought impossible to approach.

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I arrived at the bus station in Vientiane, Laos, bound for Pakse in the southern part of the country via an overnight bus. In the dark parking lot the sign on the double-decker bus brilliantly declared: “Sleeping Bus.” I expected seats that reclined but was surprised by a triple tier of double beds stretching down either side of the narrow aisle.

Triple tier of beds inside the overnight Sleeping Bus that travels between Vientiane and Pakse, Laos

My “bed”was all the way at the top; I climbed up and introduced myself to my bunkmate for the evening, thankfully another woman. By wedging myself against the window and tucking my backpack behind my head I was just able to straighten my legs and I was fast asleep before we had gotten a few miles down the road. My bunkmate wasn’t quite so lucky. The metal railing on the outside of the bed wasn’t high enough and she spent the night hanging onto the rail to keep from falling into the aisle each time the bus rounded a corner. I woke up only once – to the sound of banging as the driver and crew changed a flat tire in the middle of nowhere sometime during the night. The Lao Sleeping Bus has to qualify as the craziest bus in the world.

 

Vientiane Vacations

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As a single woman who spends most of her time on the road, it’s no surprise that I don’t cook. I rarely stay in accommodations with kitchen facilities and even if I did, it would be too expensive to buy all the spices and staples needed to prepare a decent meal. But though I rarely cook, I LOVE to eat! Eating local fare is one of the best ways to tap into the culture of the countries I visit, thus I’m always eager to try vegetarian dishes at street vendors, restaurants and during home stays as I travel.

Laos offered one of the most rich culinary traditions I have ever experienced. From the moment I arrived in Luang Prabang, I was tempted by mouth-watering delicacies like deep fried crispy spring rolls; sesame and seaweed crackers; sticky rice with a variety of exotic dipping sauces, and famous entrees like Padsapao and Mok Pa. By the time I arrived in Vientiane to visit my friend and fellow blogger, Candice Broom, I was hooked on Lao food, so when she offered to introduce me to one of the capital city’s gourmet restaurants I jumped at the chance.

Candice Broom (left) and Morven Smith (right)

Candice, who has been living in Laos for a number of years teaching English at a local elementary school, brought along a fellow teacher Morven Smith when we dined at Mak Phet Lao Restaurant. Between bites of dipping sauces I learned that Morven had recently opened Lao Experiences, a company that offers half-day cooking classes focusing on traditional Lao dishes made with fresh, local ingredients. Though her concept had been under development since 2010, the company had opened just one month earlier and the timing couldn’t have been better; Morven was looking for guinea pigs and I was anxious to learn more about Lao foods and cooking. Before we were halfway through dinner, she invited me to be one of her first students.

The following morning a tuk-tuk picked me up and transported me to Morven’s home along the shores of the Mekong River just beyond downtown Vientiane. Sang, Noy, and Tuk greeted me at the gates and led me into a lovely enclosed garden compound, where tables were laid with platters of gorgeous vegetables, spices, and fresh-caught Mekong fish. I tied on an apron and was quickly put to work grinding up sticky rice, spices, and chunks of fish in a traditional mortar and pestle. Once thoroughly mixed, I spooned the concoction onto a banana leaf square, folded and fastened it with a toothpick, and placed it in a wicker basket sitting over a bed of coals. While the Mok Pa steamed we skewered fresh eggplant, chilis, tomatoes, onions and garlic, basted them with black bean sauce and cumin.

Can’t view the above YouTube video of Lao Experiences cooking class in Vientiane, Laos? Click here.

While the veggies were roasting I checked on the progress of a whole salt-encrusted fish sizzling on yet another grill. The clump of lemongrass protruding from its mouth sent a scrumptious fragrance wafting through the air, making my mouth water with anticipation. I stripped the golden brown vegetables off their skewers and pulverized them in my mortar and pestle, making tomato and eggplant Jeows, traditional Lao dipping sauces that are eaten with sticky rice pinched between thumb and two fingers. Meanwhile, the girls prepared Tam Mak Hoong, a spicy green papaya salad with tomatoes. When everything else was ready the Mok Pa packet was removed from the steamer, unwrapped, and carried to a dining table set amidst flowering bushes and blooming flowers.

For half an hour we gorged. I plucked clumps of steamed rice from my wicker baskets, pinched them together with bits of Mok Pa, and shoveled them into my mouth. I munched on grilled veggies bursting with sweetness, tucked into the dipping sauces and spicy papaya salad, and washed it all down with ice cold water while the girls told me a little about their lives. Tuk supports her two sons by working at Morven’s house until 3 p.m. each day. Following a two hour rest, she opens her street stall on the banks of the Mekong, where she cooks for tourists and locals until 10 p.m. every night of the week. Seng has been with the house for more than ten years, working for a series of expat tenants who have occupied it. Just when I thought I couldn’t take another bite, the girls led me back to the portable burners to make sticky rice and mangoes. There was no turning down my all-time favorite dessert; I forced myself to eat every last morsel before waddling to the tuk-tuk.

Frankly, there’s no way I could ever recreate the recipes I learned that day. Not only would it be difficult to find the right ingredients in the U.S., the steaming baskets and clay pots over which we cooked the food are simply not available. Even so, I highly recommend the half day cooking classes with Lao Experiences, not only for its delicious food, but also because it’s an excellent way to connect with Lao culture for an extremely affordable price of $35.

Lao Experiences graciously provided their cooking class free of charge for the author, however, the receipt and acceptance of complimentary items/services received will never influence the content, topics, or posts in this blog. I write the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

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Unlike the ancient capital city of Luang Prabang, whose 32 temples coerce visitors into hurry-up mode, the current capital of Vientiane encourages a leisurely pace. Here the brown Mekong River, virtually hidden behind a high earthen berm that protects the town during annual monsoon flooding, flows sluggishly past parks and small, exquisite temples that dot the waterfront. With no high-rise buildings and broad sidewalks that lie deserted in the searing midday sun, Vientiane may be the sleepiest capital in SE Asia.

Wat Ong Teu in downtown Vientiane

On an especially hot afternoon I strolled for hours, checking out a handful of Wats, museums, the old Presidential Palace, statues, and street after side street crammed with French colonial inspired architecture. Despite attracting thousands of visitors from neighboring Thailand, who regularly cross the Friendship bridge to avail themselves of Laos’ low prices, Vientiane’s boulevards were deserted. When the heat became unbearable I retired to the cool interiors of Wats or dark corners of restaurants, where I shoveled local delicacies into my mouth as fast as I could.

Can’t view the above slide show about Vientiane, Laos? Click here.

In the end, Vientiane was all about food and temples and gentility, in everything from its delicious food to its serene residents.

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My first inkling that Phonsavan, Laos was not the sleepy little town it first appeared to be came when I walked past a row of rusty old bombs standing on the sidewalk outside Craters Restaurant. Curiosity and my growling stomach led me inside, where the owner was just putting on a documentary about the U.S. bombing of Laos during the Vietnam War. For the next hour I sat, spellbound and horrified, as I watched the film unfold.

Beneath the sleepy town of Phonsavan lies the horror of UXO

From 1964 to 1973, the U.S. flew 500,000 missions and dropped two million tons of bombs on Laos, two tons for every man woman and child in the country, making it the most heavily bombed country in history. Nearly a million of these were cluster bombs designed to break apart in mid-air, releasing more than 600 small round bomblets loaded with explosives and ball bearings. Upon impact, the ball bearings screamed through the air at 2,000 feet per second, tearing into the flesh of anyone within half a kilometer.

Since the bombings were a violation of the Geneva Accord, which prohibited military involvement in Laos and to which the U.S. had become a signator in 1962, the CIA conducted the criminal operations in utmost secrecy. Neither the American people nor Congress were told about the campaign, which began in earnest in 1968, following President Lyndon B. Johnson’s announcement that all air, naval, and artillery bombardment of Vietnam would cease. Missions were focused on two areas of Laos: in the north they were directed against the Pathet Lao communist insurgents who were fighting the Royal Lao Army, while bombings in the south targeted the Ho Chi Minh Trail in a futile attempt to cut off supplies being delivered to North Vietnam.

Old bombs stand sentinel in front of Craters Restaurant

Unfortunately, enemy troops were the least affected; civilians in rural areas bore the brunt of the bombings. Unable to plant rice due to the daily bomb runs, they fled to area caves, where they lived in a near state of starvation for years. When the criminal action was finally exposed and military operations ceased, Laotians emerged from the caves, only to confront another kind of terror. Up to 30% of the bomblets, which Lao call “bombies,” had failed to explode upon impact, leaving a legacy of 10-30 million unexploded bombies scattered across the country.

The two most prevalent types of these devices are small enough to be held in the hand. The first, about the size of a tennis ball, attracts children who are often killed or maimed when they toss them around like toys. The second type, a bright yellow “Pineapple” bomb, is often mistaken for a similarly colored local fruit. Since the end of the war, this unexploded ordnance (UXO) has caused more than 200,000 casualties and uncountable injuries in the form of lost limbs and eyesight. Founded with the assistance of the United Nations, UXO Laos is the government organization charged with the responsibility for all UXO in the country. Although they destroy more than 100,000 pieces each year, at the current rate of removal it is estimated that it will be 100 years before Laos is free of UXO.

Though the loss of life and injuries are appalling, even more concerning is that UXO binds Laos in a perpetual state of poverty. Danger exists whenever there is a need to dig, thus development of infrastructure suffers. Roads, water and power lines, toilets, schools – none of these can be built until an area is first cleared of UXO. And though the country is blessed with an abundance of fertile soil, rural farmers are afraid to expand their fields for fear of being blown to bits. Trapped in abject poverty and facing starvation for a full half of each year, rural families are driven to collect UXO for its scrap metal value, despite the danger. Markets around town are full of eating utensils, kitchen pots, and hand-held farm implements that have been crafted from UXO casings. Disarmed bombs and missiles decorate the doorways and sidewalks all around Phonsavan. In addition to the half-dozen that stand sentinel in front of Craters Restaurant I saw several cut in half lengthwise and used for planters and a few even used in the foundations of houses. Larger bombs have been pounded into plows and used as fences, animal troughs and planters.

Eating utensils, pots, and scythes forged from UXO

Bomb used as a planter

Missile in front of guest house

Bombs decorate front of hotel

The day after visiting Site 1 at the Plain of Jars (which had thankfully been cleared of UXO) I stopped by the Xieng Khouang UXO Survivor Information Center on the main street of town, where I met Bounmy Vichack. Bounmy unearthed a bombie while digging a pond for the cultivation of fish on his family farm; when it detonated he lost his left arm and his face is pockmarked with scars from the shrapnel. “I worried about the future after the accident, about how I would support my family,” he explained. Today he works as a field assistant at the UXO Survivor Information Center, which facilitates the treatment and rehabilitation of victims and disseminates information about the dangers of UXO.

Bounmy Vichack lost left arm when UXO exploded while digging fish pond on his family farm

Through Bounmy I met Stephen Sonderman and Rachel Haig, who work with Spirit of Soccer (SOS), a non-profit organization that uses soccer to teach children about UXO and land mines. The couple left their stressful corporate jobs in Portland, Oregon, intending to backpack around Asia for four months, but ended up staying in Cambodia when she was offered a job in a Phnom Penh law firm. There she met the founder of SOS and began volunteering for the organization; a year later she quit her job at the law firm and went to work full time for SOS. Stephen was soon brought into the fold to work with the Ministries of Education in Iraq and Cambodia, countries also severely affected by UXO and land mines. In recent months the program, which is funded in large part by the U.S. State Department, has expanded into Laos.

Spirit of Soccer's Stephen Sonderman, Ly Heang, and Rachel Haig (left to right)

Children who have been raised in affected areas tend to ignore the dangers. “The kids see UXO all the time but don’t report it because they think it’s normal – that everyone has it.,” Rachael explained. Once they have gained the respect of the kids through soccer coaching, they incorporate education about UXO and land mines. “We kick a soccer ball hard and tell the kids to outrun it. Then we explain that the distance they just ran is the blast radius for UXO,” Stephen said. During breaks in play, they hold up photos of bombies and ask where the kids have seen such devices; their comments are turned into hand drawn maps and logs that are passed along to authorities for proper removal.

Many types of UXO shown in Spirit of Soccer brochure

While the UXO Survivor Information Center assists those who have been victims of UXO,  the Mine Advisory Group (MAG) in Phonsavan works tirelessly to rid Laos of UXO, training crack teams of Lao how to safely disarm bombies. In MAG’s back room I watched the documentary for a second time, astounded that I never knew about what Lao call “The Secret War,” especially since I am a child of the Vietnam War era. When it finished I rose slowly from my chair and filed out with the other attendees. No one said a word. We were all sickened by what we had learned. Considering the tonnage of explosives that was dropped on Laos, I wondered how anyone in the country survived. Then, I wondered why Lao are even willing to speak to me. When I posed this question to the young man who had screened the film for us he replied, “War is war. We had a lot of anger toward American during the war but now it is over.” I wish I could be quite as forgiving; I am appalled that my government is not doing more to remedy the mess they have left in Laos.

 

Phonsavan Vacations

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Hoping to get a better feel for the local culture during my short stay in Phonsavan, Laos I went in search of a fresh market. I found it just off the main road near the center of town, a large open-air shed where scores of vendors had set up stalls stacked high with fresh produce, baked goods, live fish, dairy products and butchered meats. I wandered around the shadowy interior, taking care not to trip over makeshift wooden steps and cords stretched across aisles to naked bulbs that swung overhead. At the sweets aisle I sampled coconut candy and cakes; in the vegetable aisle I oohed and aahed over royal purple eggplants and three-foot long string beans.

Luscious Laotian fresh vegetables

Fresh eggs

Like dozens of other fresh markets I’ve visited around Asia, the butcher aisle announced itself long before I arrived; I breathed through my nose so as not to retch from the odor of rancid meat and marveled that fly-covered chicken carcases don’t seem to make people sick.

Fresh poultry, no extra charge for the flies

Sharpening her knife, ready to cut

At the end of the final aisle I wandered outside and snooped around a surrounding three-block area chock full of shops that displayed everything from giant bags of rice to metal scythes. Motorcycles roared around a truck where women offloaded enormous cabbages fresh from the farm. Next door, a storekeeper casually hung strips of raw meat in the sun to cure.

No lack of goods in these stores

Cabbages fresh from the farm

Hanging the meat to dry

Around the corner, giant upside down wicker baskets stood in a row on the dirt shoulder of the road. Curious as to what they contained, I approached a group of locals clustered around one of the chest high baskets. One of the women reached into a hole in the top of the basket and extracted two chickens. She hefted each in turn and gauged its weight before returning it to the basket, repeating the process with each of the captive hens. After fluffing their feathers and examining their anuses (I assume to determine the sex), negotiations began.  I didn’t need to understand the language to know that the seller was pointing out attributes of his hens while the buyer was pointing out their deficiencies. Throughout the process, Lao gentility prevailed. Twenty minutes later bartering was still in full swing and neither buyer or seller had raised their voices or exhibited the least bit of frustration.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gf9pz5OvFO4

Can’t view the above YouTube video of buying chickens at the fresh market in Phonsavan, Laos? Click here.

Unable to wait around to see how negotiations ended, I turned to go and nearly tripped over three strange wicker baskets lying on their sides. Round like a cylinder, the baskets tapered from a wide bottom down to a narrow conical tip. I bent down for a closer inspection and started when I realized they each contained a small hog. So perfectly were the baskets designed that the hogs couldn’t move, yet they endured the indignity of being trapped in wicker corsets without complaint. Having witnessed poultry being examined prior to purchase I wondered about the process involved in buying a pig. Do they check the hog’s teeth? Palpitate the belly? Pull it’s curly tail? Sometimes, not knowing is more fun.

 

Phonsavan Vacations

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I gazed down on hundreds of giant stone vessels scattered across the fertile Plain of Jars and thought of ants. Some lay crazily canted, as if abandoned in haste by an ancient race of giants whose dinner had suddenly been interrupted by invaders. Like ants to whom humans are invisible, I imagined that the jars were used by giants too large to be perceived by humans. Were they drinking glasses for these behemoth creatures? Or perhaps dollhouse dinnerware for an adolescent giantess?

Steps leading to jars on hilltop at Site 1

Though theories abound, no one knows for certain who made the jars, what they were used for, or how old they are, although they are thought to be up to 2,500 years old. Carved by hand from solid rock at sites in the distant mountains, these enormous limestone, granite and sandstone vessels were somehow transported to their current location near the town of Phonsavan in east central Laos. Their placement near the ancient trading route known as the Silk Road has led some experts to speculate that they held grain or lao-lao, a potent local liquor made from rice. Others believe they were used to capture and store rainwater in this semi-arid landscape. Indeed, except for the materials from which they are made, the ancient jars bear a striking resemblance to klongs, giant clay pots still used today throughout rural areas of Southeast Asia to store water. Today the most widely accepted theory is that they were funerary urns, though none I saw exhibited the ornate carvings or decorations normally associated with ancient burial rituals.

Largest jar found to date is 8.2 fgeet in diameter and 8.4 feet high

On the top of the hill I posed for a photo beside the largest of the jars, a fat round container measuring 8.2 feet in diameter and 8.4 feet high. Whatever its use, the jar was not intended to be moved; nothing short of a crane could budge it and its sheer enormity seemed to preclude storage, since and foodstuffs at the bottom would have quickly moldered. I wandered among the 334 jars at Site 1, enchanted by the lush green hills and rich red soils that provided an exquisite backdrop, half expecting a giant hand to reach down from the sky to take up its drinking glass at any moment.

The most challenging part of my visit was the need to stay on the trail. Between 1964 and 1973, the United States dumped four billion pounds of cluster bombs on Laos in a “secret war” against Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese communists, the largest portion of the bombings being conducted in this area of Laos. A huge percentage of the bomblets failed to explode and they still lie buried under a shallow layer of topsoil, waiting to be inadvertently triggered. Fortunately, unexploded ordnance (UXO) has been removed from Site 1 and visitors are safe, as long as they stay between white stones that mark cleared areas. I desperately wanted to take a closer look at caves in the hillsides and red bomb craters that still pock the gently rolling hills after all these years, but I dared not.

Can’t see the above slide show of the Plain of Jars in Phonsavan, Laos? Click here.

Thousands of the jars have been discovered at more than 90 sites around Phonsavan. Whether they held trading foods, water, or human remains may never be known for sure but the mystery of their creation and use provides rich fodder for the imagination. On my final day in Phonsavan I met a local teacher who told me of a Lao legend about a race of giants who inhabited the area at one time. It seems I am not the only one with an overactive imagination.

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Though the rainy season was months away, angry gray skies threatened on the morning I was scheduled to travel from Luang Prabang to Nong Khiaw, Laos. As if trying to outrun the impending rain, our maniacal mini van driver sped full bore through packs of children walking to school, straddling the center line as he negotiated blind curves on the winding mountain roads, arriving 45 minutes earlier than usual.

Nong Khiaw, on the banks of the Nam Ou River

A shuttle bus carried me through town to the other side of the Nam Ou River, where I got the last available room at family run MeeXai Bungalows for 60,000 Kip per night (about $8 U.S.). I kicked my boots off on the porch and threw open the door to my home for the next three nights, an adorable bamboo hut on stilts with an attached open-air bathroom. Sighing contentedly, I sank into the huge mosquito net-draped bed just as the first fat drops of rain pinged the tin roof. With no coat or even a sweatshirt in my backpack I decided to defer dinner until the rain slackened. Instead, I propped myself up with two pillows, pulled the duvet up to my chest and popped open my laptop, determined to catch up on writing. The gentle rain soon turned to a downpour, bringing with it a chill that crept through gaps in the wooden floorboards and open space between the bamboo walls and roof. By 8 p.m. my cold fingers had turned to thumbs on the keyboard; I crawled under the covers and let the thrumming rain carry me off to sleep.

Stunning karst limestone peaks surround the town of Nong Khiaw

The same staccato music that had lulled me to sleep woke me the next morning. I extracted one arm from beneath the cozy bedcovers and tested the temperature. It was definitely too cold to brave a shower in the outdoor bathroom, but I could no longer ignore my hunger. I shivered into my heaviest pants, three t-shirts and my only long-sleeved shirt and trekked to the nearest restaurant, slipping and sliding in rain-slicked red clay that sucked at my boots. By noon the raging storm was the main topic of conversation in town. Deluges like this are uncommon in Laos; even during the wet season it usually rains for only a few hours each day and the forecast predicted continued rain for the next three days. Superstitious Lao were convinced that this storm was the result of the recent tsunami in Japan and no amount of explanation could convince them otherwise.

With no chance of the rain abating I seized this opportunity to witness what life is like during the monsoons. Crossing back over the river I strolled down the main street, a sea of ochre that slithered past wooden bungalows painted in vivid hues and storefronts where proprietors hunkered under awnings, shivering in the unseasonal morning chill. A moveable garden of colored umbrellas bloomed over students walking or bicycling to school. Like a painting of an ethereal Shangri-La, jungle-clad limestone hills thrust abruptly up, their muted green humps piercing dull gray skies. Aside from the school children, who shyly returned my Sabaidee – hello – no one smiled or even acknowledged my presence. To the adults, it seemed I was invisible.

Can’t view the above slide show of Nong Khiaw, Laos? Click here.

The following morning I continued my soggy pilgrimage, heading for Pathok Cave. Each time I glanced from beneath my umbrella images of Lao life imprinted on my memory like scenes from a movie. A family of four huddled miserably around a cook stove beneath a bamboo awning, struggling to stay warm. Wrapped from head to toe in a grey blanket, a withered man squatted in a doorway, staring vacantly out at the rain. While for some, rain interrupted the daily routine, for others the weather was simply an inconvenience. Rain streamed off the conical straw hat of a girl carrying twin baskets from a pole strung across her shoulders, keeping only her head and shoulders dry. Two women shoved rocks behind the wheels of their wooden hand carts and began filling five-gallon jugs at a local spring; water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

A mile later I squished down a sticky clay path, tentatively crossed a swinging bridge of rain-soaked logs, and slid down a hill, nearly landing in the stream at the base of the hill, before arriving at the cave entrance. A northern headquarters for the Pathet-Lao forces during the Lao civil war, Pathok Cave today bears no evidence of those turbulent times. I climbed the staircase to the dark interior of the cave and groped my way around, using the rock walls as a guide until my eyes adjusted to the dimness. A ghostly girl appeared at my side and touched my forearm. She followed me around silently but when I turned to leave determinedly stuck her hand out and demanded: “Money!“ For what?” I asked, knowing she could not understand me. I turned my back and ignored her but she followed on her bicycle, hurling accusations from her saucer eyes as I retraced my steps to the village.

Unfortunately, this was the norm rather than the exception in Nong Khiaw. Almost every child that I tried to engage in conversation look at me suspiciously and either refused to respond to my Sabaidee, or answered by asking for money or pens. It may be that the soggy weather had dampened everyone’s spirits, or perhaps the seeming unfriendliness of Nong Khiaw has evolved because so many tourists use it as an overnight stay on their way further upriver to Muang Ngoi Neua. Still, I don’t regret the three days I spent shivering in this tiny village. It was a rare opportunity to witness real life rather than they typical scenes afforded most tourists, and the exquisite beauty of the area is undeniable.

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On my seventh day in Luang Prabang, I rested. For the past week I’d rushed around, visiting temples and museums, attending cultural events and scouring the night market. Finally, satisfied that I had seen all the most important sites that the historic town had to offer, I plopped down at a street side table in the open air Lao Lao Garden Restaurant for a leisurely lunch and settled into the gentle flow of Lao life.

Lao Lao Garden Restaurant in Luang Prabang, Laos

Eschewing my normal penchant for bitter black brew, I stirred sugar and milk into my Lao coffee and sipped the savory nectar as I gazed out on the lazy street. A produce man pedaled by, hesitating ever so briefly as he called to the owner, offering the green, gold and crimson vegetables heaped in upon his wooden cart. Getting no response, he glided away. The rice cake lady arrived next, seated side-saddle on a purring motorbike, laden down with freshly fried treats wrapped in pretty pastel cellophane tied with pink ribbon. Having sampled her wares several days earlier, my mouth watered like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

Between transactions and breast-feeding her infant, the owner somehow found time to prepare my Padsapao, a traditional dish of tofu or meat stir-fried with Lao-style veggies, herbs and spices. At my request, it was served with a helping of sticky rice, which arrived in a small round wicker basket. Popping of the lid, I dug out a chunk of rice with my fingers and pinched it together with with some of the Padsapao, eating in typical Lao style. The lightly fried vegetables and crispy herbs were “sep-lau” – very delicious.

Traditional Lao Padsapao with sticky rice basket

My one hour lunch became two, then three hours long. Young boys dressed in matching jerseys rode by in the back of a pickup truck, sounding an ah-ooga horn and hoisting a golden trophy aloft. Nothing was lost in translation; the joy of victory was palpable. Thunder rumbled and dark clouds rolled in, creating midday dusk. Boys carrying crates of Singha beer on their shoulders strolled languidly down the sidewalk, despite the fat raindrops that began to fall. Two girls puttered by on a motorbike, the rear passenger holding a purple umbrella over her driver. And still I sat. Three  hours stretched into four. No one asked me to leave or even pay the bill. Except for the massage I had scheduled, I might have stayed well into the evening.

Can’t view the above slide show of sites in Luang Prabang, Laos? Click here.

On my seventh day in Luang Prabang, I emerged from my tourist chrysalis, spread my wings, and once again metamorphosed into a traveler.

Luang Prabang Vacations

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Some travelers wouldn’t even think about eating street food while traveling overseas but I salivate at the prospect. In Bangkok, I snack throughout the day from vendors that line the major avenues and in Pokhara, Nepal I patronize steel food carts that prepare everything from Tibetan momos (similar to Chinese dumplings or pot stickers) to Indian chat, a casserole of salty/spicy beans and potatoes topped with yogurt sauce. Not only is street food usually delicious, the price is cheap beyond reason.

Since Laos is one of the poorest nations in the world I had expected to eat on a budget but in Luang Prabang the price of restaurant food was surprisingly high. Instead, I went in search of street food but found none, a puzzling situation in Southeast Asia. It took me a few days but I finally solved the riddle. Every evening, the main street of Luang Prabang is closed off to traffic from 6 to 11 p.m. for hundreds of handicraft merchants who sell their wares from blankets spread beneath portable canopy tents. On the far south end of the night market, tucked into a tiny alley that runs perpendicular to the main road, scores of food vendors line both sides of the narrow lane, leaving barely enough room for two people to pass.

Sisavangvong Street is closed off to traffic each night for a handicraft market

Traditional Lao weavings

Women set out hair clips and buttons for sale

I pushed my way through the crowd and ogled tables heaped with Lao delicacies, nearly paralyzed by the choices. At a booth stacked with gleaming red tomatoes and giant cucumbers a woman shaved green papayas and chopped chillies for Som Tam, the famous spicy salad found all over SE Asia. On the opposite site a hefty woman hacked a roasted pig’s head to pieces with a steel-edged cleaver that glinted deadly yellow in the overhead lights. Vendors competed with cries of, “Buffet, all you can eat,” bawled out in barely understandable English. At a booth that specialized in vegetarian food I loaded a plate for less than $5 U.S.

Roasted pigs heads

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvrCz-5D64c

Can’t view the above YouTube video of street food at the night market in Luang Prabang, Laos? Click here.

My favorite Lao delicacy, vegetarian deep fried spring rolls

The next night I was back, this time for what quickly became my all-time favorite Lao food, veggie spring rolls wrapped in rice paper and then deep fried to a scrumptious, melt-in-your-mouth crispy golden brown. The cost for six? Less than $3. Juicy mango slices with chilli powder; whole fish on a stick, grilled and encrusted with rock salt; sesame-embedded dried seaweed – I tried it all and then paid homage to the gods of the steel gut that protect me from ever getting sick.

 

Luang Prabang Vacations

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The Royal Ballet Theatre troupe in Luang Prabang achieved the impossible on the evening I attended a performance of Phra Lak Phra Lam, the Lao version of the sacred poem known as the Ramayana. Dancers in monkey masks sat on their haunches, scratching the backs of their necks. Tall men wearing hawk-billed masks and elaborate silk costumes glided around the stage flapping their arms. The dancers were so thoroughly in character that reality was suspended; I believed they were monkeys and giant birds of prey.

Ornate costumes and masks worn in the Lao version of the Ramayana

Beautiful Lao women perform perfectly syncopated dance steps

That the Phra Lak Phra Lam is even performed today is something of a miracle. Unlike the brutal repression of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia, which killed thousands of monks and destroyed monasteries during their reign, the Pathet Lao communists in Laos attempted to influence Buddhist clergy to achieve political goals. As early as the 1950′s, when the Pathet Lao began to emerge as a political force, they discouraged religious practices deemed counter to the communist philosophy, such as making large donations to monasteries, the tradition of alms giving, and many cultural festivals and activities. When the Pathet Lao officially came to power in 1975 the Phra Lak Phra Lam, which had been performed for members of the royal court for 15 centuries, was banned.

Can’t view the above YouTube video about the Royal Ballet Troupe in Luang Prabang, Laos? Click here.

Surprisingly, in 1979 the communist government began easing restrictions, resulting in a gradual resurgence of Buddhist institutions and practices, and by 1993 a committee had been appointed to revive performances of Phra Lak Phra Lam. The theater reopened in 2002 at the National Museum in Luang Prabang, located on the site of the old Royal Palace. The 1.5 hour show, which is  every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday at 6:00 p.m., is well worth the $10 price.

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I’ve eaten my fair share of diet foods over the years (I tipped the scales at 275 pounds at one point) but by far the worst was rice cakes. Hoping to make them more palatable, I envisioned a svelte, sexy body each time I chomped into one but they always just tasted like cardboard. Rice cakes are not fit for human consumption; I’m not even sure they should be fed to hogs. So when I happened upon racks of rice cakes drying in the sun on the banks of the Nam Khan River in Luang Prabang, Laos I wasn’t the least interested in sampling the goods, but I was intrigued.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmK9dAwjEgw

Can’t view the above YouTube video about making gourmet rice cakes in Luang Prabang, Laos? Click here.

Across the street I spotted additional racks leaning against a dilapidated wood fence surrounding a tin-roofed open air compound. Curious, I stepped inside the dark enclosure. In one corner, steam billowed from wicker baskets set on giant cookers, turning the pseudo-factory into a sauna. A few feet away, a woman scooped golden rice cakes out of sizzling oil and dumped them in jumbo wicker baskets to drain. Behind me, baskets of cooked rice waited to be formed into cakes and two women squatted on their haunches, wrapping the finished product in acetate. I was nonchalantly eavesdropping as a local tour guide explained the process to his clients when one of the tourists offered me a sample. I accepted only to be polite, took a bite, and then another; it was the most scrumptious rice cake I’d ever tasted. Light and crispy, each delicious bite melted in my mouth! For the next week I binged on the gourmet snacks and stuffed every square inch of extra space in my backpack and duffel with rice cakes when I left Luang Prabang. They were soon gone and I went into withdrawal. Golden temples aside, I’d go back just for the rice cakes.

 

Luang Prabang Vacations

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After the final packets of biscuits and dollops of sticky rice had been dropped into the monks’ pots during Luang Prabang’s daily alms giving ceremony, I followed the saffron robed procession through the rear gate of Wat Xieng Thong. A bold sun rode majestically into a robin’s egg sky, igniting the gilt facade of the chariot house on one side of the courtyard. On the other side, sparks burst from a colored glass mosaic tree of life that adorned an entire wall of one of the temples. Squinting in the dazzling light I wandered around Wat Xieng Thong, the Temple of the Golden City, reputedly the most beautiful temple in Laos.

Tree of Life mosaic on wall of Wat Xieng Thong

Carriage House at Wat Xieng Thong

The monks vanished into their quarters and alms givers melted back into their hotels and houses, leaving me mostly alone. I fought the temptation to go back to the Luang Say Residence and slide beneath the silky duvet on my enormous four-poster bed for a few more hours of delicious sleep, deciding instead to make the most of the morning light by touring some of the city’s historic temples.

According to legend, the Buddha smiled when he rested for a day at the sire of present day Luang Prabang, prophesying that it would become a rich and powerful capital city. The prophesy came true; for hundreds of years Luang Prabang served as both the capital of the powerful kingdom of Lan Xang, whose wealth and influence can be attributed to its location at a crossroads on the Silk Route, and the center of Buddhism in the region. The city lost its capital designation in the 15th century but remained the seat of the royal family until the communists took over in 1975 and dissolved the monarchy, and is still considered to be the spiritual and artistic center of Laos. More than 30 of the town’s original 60+ temples have been preserved and are scattered across the narrow peninsula at the confluence of the Mekong and Nam Khan Rivers that forms the heart of the city. Reflecting diverse architectural influences that range from an era when neighboring Thailand invaded to the French occupation in the 19th and 20th centuries, most are easily seen on a walking tour around neighborhoods where traditional Lao huts stand shoulder to shoulder with stately French colonial mansions. In addition to Wat Xieng Thong (above) the more spectacular temples in this UNESCO World Heritage town include the following:

Wat Visounnarath (also known as Wat Visoun or Wat Wisunarat)

The deceptively simple exterior of the sim (chapel) did not prepare me for the collection of centuries-old bronze and gilded Buddha statues house inside, all clustered around a behemoth gold Buddha that smiles benignly down on visitors. Built in the earliest Lao architectural style, Wat Visoun is the oldest functioning wat in Luang Prabang and is unique for the sloping front roof that covers the entrance. However it is most famous for its lotus stupa, which Lao people call Makmo or watermelon stupa due to its rounded dome, the only one of its kind in Laos.

Wat Souvanna Khiri

Near the end of the peninsula, where the Nam Khan River makes a sharp bend before entering the Mekong, I wandered into Wat Souvanna Khiri, the Monastery of the Golden Mountain. Interesting for its melange of architecture, which combines an early Lao style sim and outbuildings with French colonial mansions that are used as residences for the monks, the real fascination at this temple was a note tacked on the wall about chanting ceremonies with the monks, held every afternoon at 5:30 p.m. I returned later that same day and sat cross legged at the back of the tiny chapel, letting the soothing drone of the chants wash over my body and settle my mind.

Wat Sop

Though Wat Sop is one of the smallest monasteries in Luang Prabang, I found the interior of the sim to be one of the most charming. Its feminine looking golden Buddha sits in lotus position against a gold emblazoned red lacquer wall, surrounded by religious artifacts, and the multi-color carpets spread over the red tile floor provide a comfortable place for meditation or a cool escape from oppressive midday heat.

Can’t view the above slide show of the temples of Luang Prabang, Laos? Click here.

Wat Sene Souk Haram

Also known as Wat Saen, this Thai style wat is covered with yellow and red tiles that glow orange in the setting sun. Some insist its name, which translates to “Temple of 100,000 Treasures,” refers to 100,000 stones from the Mekong River used in its construction, while others claim it refers to the number of golden lotus blossoms on its walls. Whichever story is true, there is little doubt that his is one of the most beautiful temples in Luang Prabang.

Wat Ho Prabang and the National Museum at the Royal Palace Compound

After the dissolution of the monarchy in 1975, the Royal Palace was converted to the National Museum. The large entry hall and former throne room displays royal swords and scabbards, the king’s personal howdah (elephant saddle) and precious Buddha images. The five simple rooms at the rear that served as royal quarters have been largely preserved and offer a fascinating glimpse into life of the monarchs. However I almost missed the most important display in the entire complex. In the right front corner of the palace, the king’s former shrine room now holds the Prabang, a standing Buddha image with palms facing forward, cast in bronze and covered in gold leaf. Luang Prabang takes its name from the sacred image, which was brought to the ancient capital city in 1353 from Angkor Wat in Cambodia and used to spread Theravada Buddhism in the new kingdom. The statue will eventually be moved to Wat Ho Prabang, an elaborate, ornate temple still being constructed on the grounds of the former Royal Palace.

Phousi Mount, Wat Chomsi Stupa, and Wat Thammo Thayaram

Across the street from the Royal Palace, I climbed the 328 stone steps leading to the top of Phousi Mount,a 325-foot high hill that dominates Luang Prabang’s narrow peninsula. The golden spires of Wat Chomsi Stupa soar from the rocky outcropping at the top and a walkway surrounding the stupa and small chapel provide the best views of the city and the Mekong River valley, especially at sunset when the sinking sun turns the river to gold and the sky blood red. Descending on the opposite side via a winding stone staircase decorated with black naga serpents, I wound through a forest dotted with gilt Buddhas, grottoes, stupas, and chapels to Wat Thammo Thayaram, where I poked my head into a shallow cave to view a giant footprint embedded in the rock, said to be that of Buddha.

While I did not see all of Luang Prabang’s temples in one day, I easily visited more than a dozen, including a climb to the top of holy Phousi Mount and a leisurely visit to the National Museum. At the end of the day I wasn’t sure about some of the names of the temples and hadn’t quite learned to distinguish between Thai and the Lao classic architectural styles, but I was sure about one thing; In Luang Prabang, all that glitters IS gold.

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In the grainy gray light just before dawn I stole from my suite at the Luang Say Residence and walked the silent streets of Luang Prabang to witness Binthabhat, the daily practice of giving alms to monks. I was conflicted over this event. As a photographer I desperately wanted to take photos of the spiritual procession but as a Buddhist I wanted to show my respect for the sangha, the community of ordained monks. I compromised, shoving my camera into my backpack with a commitment that I wouldn’t take a single photo until I had first participated in the alms-giving ceremony, believed by Theravadan Buddhists to be a means of earning merit that may lead to a better next life or lessen the number of times they must be reincarnated before achieving nirvana.

My peaceful morning was shattered as I approached the edge of the historic district. Women rushed into a wooden shack lit by a single flickering bulb, loaded wicker baskets with sticky rice and spring rolls and bustled back out, carrying the food on long bamboo sticks hefted across their shoulders. One of them locked and loaded on me like a heat-seeking missile. Before I knew what was happening, she had spread a woven mat on the sidewalk, shoved me into a kneeling position, and slapped a basket of food in front of me. I looked up just in time to see the first procession of monks emerge from the gloom like a ghost ship on foggy seas. “How much?” I asked anxiously. “30,000 Kip,” she said curtly. (about $4 U.S.) There was no time to negotiate; the monks were steps away, already sweeping aside the shiny silver lids of their alms pots in preparation for receiving my donation.

Can’t view the above slide show of monks receiving alms in Luang Prabang, Laos? Cllck here.

Being careful not to touch their pots, I carefully dropped a scoop of sticky rice and spring roll into each as the monks glided past and effortlessly melted back into the gloom. Just as I was about to run out of food my eagle-eye vendor so artfully deposited a second basket at my knees that I didn’t miss a single pot. When the last saffron robed monk had disappeared from sight I prepared to leave and pulled out 30,000 Kip, an obscenely expensive price for a couple heaps of rice, but she shook her head. “You pay 60,000,” she insisted. Apparently the second basket hadn’t been part of the deal. I stood my ground. “I did not ask you for a second basket,” and handed her 30,000. Disgustedly she ripped the tattered bills from my hand, rolled up her mat, and headed off to find her next mark. I had expected to feel warm fuzzy all over after giving alms but instead I felt naive and used. Shaking off my disappointment, I pulled the camera out of my backpack. Now I would do what I do best.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EbiHIeZ2AWs

Can’t view the above YouTube video of monks receiving alms in Luang Prabang, Laos? Cllck here.

Nearer the center of town, worshipers knelt on mat-covered sidewalks as far as I could see. A speck of bright orange appeared in the distance, growing ever larger as daylight dissolved the remainder of night. The procession of barefoot monks bobbed and weaved down the sidewalk like an enormous orange ribbon, deftly opening and closing the lids of their pots to they rhythm of the alms-givers while dodging throngs of flashbulb-popping tourists, aggressive food vendors, and poor children hoping for cast-off items. Chagrined by the circus, I stood back deferentially and documented the event with a telephoto lens, thinking that I may not have earned merit by giving alms, but I was certainly doing so by respecting the sanctity of the Binthabhat ceremony.

Proper protocol for attending or participating in Binthabhat in Luang Prabang:

• All are welcome to participate in Binthabhat, however come early to ensure your place on the sidewalk and if you arrive late do not break through the line of monks. The procession starts around 6:30 a.m. and lasts for about an hour.
• The Lao PDR Government has begun to post signs asking tourists not to purchase food for alms-giving from the street vendors, as not only as it is overpriced, it is of questionable quality. Instead, it is recommended that you ask your hotel to prepare food the night before, or purchase fruit and/or local pre-packaged snacks and biscuits.
• Wear suitable clothing, which includes a top that covers the upper arm and pants or skirt that falls below the knees. Lao also wear a hand-woven sash across the chest and over the shoulder; these traditional weavings are available for very reasonable prces and wearing one s a sign of respect for the culture.
• I was repeatedly told that taking photos and videos is perfectly acceptable, however tourists are asked to do so from a respectable distance, rther than getting right up in the faces of the monks and alms-givers.
• The best place to view the Binthabhat procesion is on Sisavangvong Road, between the National Museum and Vat Xieng Thong.
• Women should take extra care not to touch the monks, or any part of their clothing or effects, including the rim of their alms pots when depositing food, as monks who have contact with women must go through a purification process.

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