Author: susanhachey@gmail.com

Seat 16D on Laos Airlines 635 to Chiang Mai. I wonder what their safety record is like. My friend Pat checks these things. Me? I prefer to leave it to fate; all of these airlines have to meet certain standards, so it’s pretty much bad luck if you end up on one that goes down…or hits a bird. If there is a bird on the runway this afternoon, it should take cover before it becomes a fried version of its former self.

I finally got out of bed before sunrise this morning to witness the alms-giving procession. Each day at or just before sunup, the monks from Luang Prabang’s temples – and there are many – walk the streets of the town accepting donations of food from the townspeople for their one meal of the day.

In recent years, the presence of disrespectful tourists has changed the ceremony somewhat, and I wasn’t sure I even wanted to see it. Flashes going off in monks’ faces, tourists physically interrupting the procession, not making sure to keep their bodies low to the ground. Some decide they want to participate (mostly for the photo op) and buy food the night before from street vendors. This food is not fresh, has not been prepared by the donor and mostly ends up in the garbage. (I guess if you’re going to have one meal a day, it should be fresh.)

Anyway I woke before my alarm this morning so I got dressed and sat in front of my guest house. Only a few local women on the street waiting. Only two other tourists. We all sat quietly along with a couple of neighbourhood dogs, and it happened…quietly and respectfully. Even the two dogs held off on their fight until the procession had passed. I’m happy I made the effort.

And yes, I have a picture. Taken with no flash and from my seated position on the ground.

I’m going to miss the folks at my guest house, especially Hang at reception. I hugged her when I left and she said she’d miss the sound of my laughter. We laughed a lot together, usually at the nature and number of my questions.

I generally don’t subscribe to the notion of regrets, however I am feeling a twinge of disappointment at not being able to stay here longer. Had I been two months earlier, even one, the temps would have been bearable, and I could have done and seen a lot more. But my timing was definitely off, and there’s nothing that can be done about it so I will be thankful that I’ve experienced what I have.

It’s an hour to Chiang Mai at 18,000 feet. That’s just about the height of Thorong La Pass in Nepal, the highest I’ve ever been (well, except for Kim and Moe’s pre-Eagles party a few years ago). Strange to think I’ve trekked to this height.

Kouvaung, our tour guide, picked me up just before nine as promised. Accompanying me is a young couple who arrived here following a harrowing 10-hour minibus ride from Vientiane. (It seems minibus travel to Phonsavanh is the same regardless of where you’re coming from.) We had signed up for the group tour of the three main Plain of Jars sites, but it turned out we were the only clients so it became a private tour.

Kouvang is an interesting guy. From the H’Mong tribe, he has a riveting perspective on the chaos that gripped his homeland in the late 60s and early 70s before the United States finally pulled out. He told his stories against the backdrop of beautiful rolling farmlands, rice fields, huge craters left by American bombs and, the stars of the show, the jars.

Archaeologists believe the jars were used as burial vessels thousands of years ago. The H’Mong people have a different take on things. They believe that people who once walked these lands were giants. Giants that liked a drink now and then. Ergo, the jars are just humongous grog glasses that they either placed back on the earth when they were finished the drink or smashed because they were, well, smashed… I kinda like the H’Mong version despite the discovery of bones, bodies and other human remains to support the former. But think about it…H’Mong, humongous…

The locations of the jars uphold both theories. The ones I saw were situated in what would have been a perfect final resting place, but a pretty cool party spot as well! The jars are spectacular, different sizes and shapes. There is one at Site 1 that weighs six tons. Several bear the scars of bullets from that recent war. Bomb craters dotting the beautiful landscape bear testament to the horrific events in the late 60s/early 70s when this area bore the brunt of America’s fury towards North Vietnam and her neighbours.

There are other signs. For instance, I had breakfast at Craters this morning. I must have walked by it at least three times in the past few days but today I noticed that the entrance is framed by….bombs. And the interior wall decor…helmets, grenades and other weapons of destruction that I am thankfully unfamiliar with. Every night they show documentaries on the toll that unexploded ordnance (UXO) continue to take on this part of the country. It’s all so matter-of-fact, and so sad.

Urine…that’s what it is, it’s the stale odour of urine, like in a hospital.

It’s 4 pm and I am still in the minibus that I boarded a few minutes before 10 this morning. There are 15 adult passengers, the driver and one baby who I hear from time to time but haven’t actually seen. The urine smell is not from the baby.

I’m on my way to Phonsavanh, and if there is some sort of spiritual entity that watches over the earth and intervenes from time to time, we will arrive soon. It must be in the high 30s. There is A/C but the locals like to drive with the windows open, totally eliminating any relief that may have been possible from the relentless heat.

It’s been a bitch of a day. The tuk-tuk driver was almost an hour late picking me up at the guest house. All departures are in Lao time. The vehicle was actually what they call a songthaew, with two rows of five or six passengers facing each other. Me and 11 other twenty-somethings, which should have been my first clue.

Total chaos at the bus station but as usual it worked out and we piled into the van. It is excruciatingly crowded. Next to me sits a Lao woman. Tiny, timeless. She is wearing a bright pink hoodie lined with thick fleece, what looks like a sweater underneath, black sweat pants, brighter pink socks with some sort of Disney creature on them and her hair is tied up in a scarf. She is clutching a second, woollen scarf and is covered by a pink polar fleece blanket. I am suffocating just looking at her.

There are seven falang (foreighners) and eight locals, plus the mysterious baby. The locals are up front in the good seats for the most part. About three hours into the trip, the guy two rows ahead hawked up a gob of spit and hurled it out of the open window. The wind blew it back inside and all over the man and woman seated in front of me. She freaked and told him off in no uncertain terms. I’m not sure he totally understood the words but she made him give her tissue to wipe off the mess and dispose of it.

The woman next to me may be small, but she’s a good eater. A baguette sandwich of some sort, then animal parts that look like chicken. She pulled a nice looking apple out of her bag eventually along with a kitchen knife with a blade aboutj six inches long. That made me a bit uncomfortable, truth be told. If she’s feeling anything like I’m feeling about this journey, she could snap at any moment.

Buddy two rows ahead makes as though to spit again. The woman behind stops him. He then proceeds to throw a water bottle out of the window, and both she and her husband whack his seat. The lady in pink hawks and spits into a bag hanging from the back of the woman’s seat. “Charming,” she remarks.

I’ll check in with the local pharmacist about a heavy sedative for the trip back.

It’s lovely here, early morning in Luang Prabang. The outdoor breakfast area at my guest house is filled with travellers, young and old, all heading in different directions. Many, like me, have extended their stay to savour the spiritual and cultural heart of Laos.

I went to Pak Ou caves by boat yesterday morning. As usual, a bit of an adventure as I figured out how things work, but they do work. I was on one of the small vessels, six passengers seated in tiny wooden kindergarten chairs in a tiny wooden boat. My fellow passengers (and they were all fellows) included two gorgeous guys from possibly Malaysia and three younger dudes from France. One of the Malaysian guys was super attentive during the trip, helping me on and off the boat. I graciously accepted whether I needed it or not because I’m not dead yet.

Our boat seemed to zip along much faster than everyone else’s. As a result we arrived at Whiskey Village and the caves themselves ahead of the masses…not by much but every moment in relative solitude is precious! Whiskey Village (real name Ban Xang Hai) was so dubbed because of the rice whiskey vendor who greets you as you reach the top of the steps from the river pier. He conducts very effective tastings apparently, as most folks leave with at least one if not more of the tiny bottles attractively encased in wicker. I’ve heard that the stuff is deadly but have no personal knowledge.

There are several caves at Pak Ou but the two “Buddha Caves” of Tham Ting and Tham Phoum are the best known. These caves have been used for centuries as a repository for old Buddha images that can no longer be venerated on an altar, either because they are damaged to the point of disfigurement – termite holes, burn marks and broken limbs – or simply because newer images have crowded them out. Images are readily viewed in the first cave, however you must work to see the second which is accessible by a steep 10-minute ascent.

Once there, you need some source of light because most of the images are inside where there is zero light. I found myself alone there, trying to juggle the iPhone flashlight and the camera with hands dripping with perspiration. The result is pics that aren’t great, but great memories!

Out of respect and compassion for everyone who has spent the last few months in the grips of Canadian winter (and I know there are many who enjoy it), I have refrained from talking too much about weather. However, I have reached my limit. 39 degrees yesterday with high humidity in Luang Prabang and temps steadily rising. No water access unless I make the trip to the waterfalls every day, 38 kms away.

By 1 p.m. my body has gone into survival mode, with only those functions necessary for survival in operation. Humour and rational thought do not seem to be part of that equation… So, without going into a lot of detail right now, I’ve decided to pull up stakes and leave Laos earlier than planned. One more Laos destination – Phonsavon and the Plain of Jars – then it’s off to Thailand where pools and beaches await.

 

The vibe in Luang Prabang…exactly what I needed. There is a lot to do on a low-key scale, and I can once again cross the street by myself. I had a beet and feta salad two days ago that was so good I thought I’d found religion. If I were (going to find religion), it would be here. Temples at every turn, the bright saffron monk robes beckoning everyone to a new day.

There is the usual beehive of commercialism. Tuk-tuk drivers (there are three different kinds) offering trips to the caves and waterfall, the inevitable motorcycle taxis, open air shops and a huge night market. I got a little lost in it last night but luckily you can’t stay lost for long in this town. The nice thing about LP is that it somehow seems to be in balance.

I took a walk yesterday morning to check out a yoga class. The setting could not be any more gorgeous, and there are both morning and early evening classes. Am going to do my best to make a few of the morning ones since temperatures remain high here well into the evening. It’s still 32 degrees at 9 p.m.

Today was a gift. I ate an early breakfast on the riverfront, overlooking the Mekong, checking out a few of the wats (temples) on the way back. I haven’t seen any of the big ones yet; I’ll be here for a while and will do a little at a time.

Besides, I had to change guest houses by noon. The one I was in for the first two days was good, but for the same price, I found one that includes a good breakfast. The new one also has the most amazing woman at the front desk. She gave me more information in five minutes than I got in 48 hours at the other one. Also a younger clientele, and that always means friendly guests.

Right off the bat I met a young woman, Melissa, from Edmonton. We both booked a minivan to the waterfalls this afternoon, about 30 kms outside of town in the green countryside. What a relief it was to immerse myself in that shimmering, cool green water. There are even small fish in the pools that do free exfoliation! (They wanted $6 US for that in Siem Reap.)

And a wildlife reserve with moon bears that were rescued from poachers. They would be better off in the wild of course, but the alternative to being cared for by humans was death. They seem happy, but I wouldn’t begin to represent myself as someone who knows a happy bear from a sad one, and I don’t speak the language…

Found the vegetarian buffet tonight. All you can eat for 15,000 kip. That’s 2.45 CAD.