The Plain of Jars

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Friday, 01/29/10

When the sun finally came up and chased the vampires away I got up, took a lukewarm shower and we hightailed it out of Kong Keo. We found a very nice guesthouse on the main street, aptly named The Nice Guesthouse, and dropped off our things before finding the van for our day tour to the Plain of Jars. The jars are funerary urns, some nearly 2000 years old and are scattered all over the region. The most concentrated and popular areas to visit are simply called Site 1, Site 2, and Site 3. The previous night we had booked a tour that would take us to all three, plus to visit a Russian tank and (yippee!) another whiskey making village. There were several other people on our tour including the two Indian girls who had traveled in our minivan from Luang Prabang, Smita and Swati. The day was gorgeous. The Sun was intensely bright but didn’t feel too hot, although the British tourists complained about the scorching temperatures. Living in SE Asia for a year and a half has drastically changed my perception of heat.

The first site was spread out over two hills and the small dell in between. On the first hill our tour guide told us a couple of the origin myths surrounding the jars plus what archeologists believe is the actual history. My favorite myth was that of the Hmong people, who believe the jars are leftover drinking vessels of giants. Archeologists have found evidence that the jars are, in fact, ancient funerary urns. The older jars are large enough to accommodate a body. Later jars are smaller as the people began cremating the dead. Some of the jars were used to confine prisoners in more recent history.

We walked down into the little valley to see more jars, one of which had the image of a man carved onto it. There were also a few craters marking where bombs exploded during the Vietnam War. Before the group started making the climb up the second hill I realized I needed a toilet and didn’t think it could wait. I went back to the entrance to use to squatter then waited for the others. I wasn’t bored though. I got to see a rooster take advantage of a duck. The duck did not look very pleased. I just wish I had had my camera, but I had handed it off to Kim before running for the facilities.

The second site was smaller and had less jars, but it was set on a very pretty hill among a group of trees. A couple of the trees had grown right out of the jars, their roots winding around the stone. We lingered awhile in the shade then got back in the van to go to site three.

To reach Site 3, on yet another hill, we had to trek across some farm land. The countryside was stunning. The seemingly unblemished landscape belied the danger that hid beneath the soil. Even in this area, where cattle grazed and rice paddies sat waiting to be replanted, we had to stay between the white markers. With every brick marker or bomb crater that I passed I couldn’t prevent a small voice from saying, in my head, “We did this.” And, even though I was having a blast, there was a small part of me that just wanted to apologize to everyone for all that my country had done there.

After leaving the last jar site we stopped briefly to see an abandoned and stripped Russian tank. Then we stopped at a whiskey making village. Unlike the other villages we had been shoved into, this one was just normal village. There were no souvenirs being sold, no one begging for money. And this time our guide actually showed and explained how the whiskey was made. A couple of the villagers came out to see us and chuckled when we all took a shot of their homemade spirits (some of us wincing).

That night we had a nice dinner and retired to our nice room at our nice guesthouse. I slept soundly that night without fear of vampire rats joining me in my bed.

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Photos

Nothing says "I respect your culture and heritage"
like pretending to be a human cannonball