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.
