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Published: August 9th 2008
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Young Monks
Some teenage monks during their afternoon free time Yet another baffling nighttime arrival into a new country. The Luang Prabang version had us clambering down to the tarmac in inky darkness, trudging through the cool evening air to the immigration lounge, and watching our fellow foreigners one-up each other in shameful behavior. You'd think that no one would be able to top the couple who irritably explained that they hadn't brought enough cash for the requisite and widely advertised visa fee. But then you wouldn't be counting on the young parents who couldn't be bothered to interfere as their four-year-old son ran amok, pulled apart the queuing ropes, ad finally made a dash out of the immigration hall for a taste of Laotian freedom. Our first impression of the Lao ethos, then, was the detached informality with which these situations were handled. The cashless couple was let through to make use of the ATM machine by the taxi pick-up (we actually never saw them again), and the border jumper was tickled and teased and scooted back giggling to his clueless parents, who had not even noticed he was gone.
Our passports were visa-ed and triple stamped and soon we were ploughing through the blackness to our guesthouse, where
Mekong River
En route to the Pak Ou caves we were brought, in our room, some simple and delicious dishes of rice, chicken, and banana pancakes. We finished and delivered our used plates back downstairs and observed how quiet the streets outside became just as the national curfew came down at 11:30PM.
Just before dawn, we were awakened by the sound of slow drumming. We knew, from preparing our trip, what must be going on, but it was still exciting to slip out onto our balcony and see a column of monks pour from the temple - or wat - across the street. Even in the dim light, the orange and yellow of their robes were beautiful, and stood out as night became dawn became day. We watched until they slipped away, barefoot, around the corner for their daily collection of alms.
After a few more hours of sleep we were eager to explore. Luang Prabang, in north-central Laos, is situated on a peninsula with a slow-moving river coursing northward up its eastern flank and emptying, at the peninsula's point, into the Mekong River as it rips southward out of China and Thailand. The whole region is full of steep hills and deep valleys with jungle thickly
Luang Prabang From Above
From the wat on Phu Si hill covering everything. The town itself, especially after the cities of Vietnam, is as peaceful as it is beautiful. Noises are soft. Traffic is sparse. Hassles are few. The air smells like carab and flowers and woodsmoke. French style architecture, pretty cafes, and handicraft shops line the leafy streets, ready for the hoards of tourists who will surely discover this place in the next few years, but haven't yet. And everywhere, monks in their saffron robes dot the streets and hillsides with color.
Our first stop was at the top of Phu Si, a small but very steep hill that dominates the town. A scattering of wats lines the stairway up, but the grandest sits at the summit, from which we could see deep into the surrounding countryside. Having so far kept a distance from the monks, not knowing the proper protocol, we were glad when a young monk saw us and made the first move. His name was Mei (sp?), and without hesitation peppered us with questions about our backgrounds, careers, professions, and what we thought of the city. From him, we learned that almost every Lao Buddhist male serves as a monk at some time or other. Mei's
Pak Ou Cave
Some of the thousands of votive Buddhas inside service, which has just begun, will last only the three months of the rainy season, after which he'll return to high school in his nearby village. He told us about his struggles with meditation ("I need to play games in my head to stay concentrated") and about his typical day (meditation, alms, cleaning, school, free time, bed). He laughed when we told him that we try to get eight hours of sleep a day. After our conversation, we noticed that many of the monks here are teenagers, and while there is no reason to doubt their commitment to their religious duties, they roughhouse and mess around much like teenagers anywhere.
But while our talk with Mei made us more comfortable in this very very observant society, we know well enough to keep a respectful distance, particularly with the morning alms-giving ritual. There are many visitors who do not. It's humiliating to watch them snap close-ups of monks, flashbulbs blaring, or lamely hand out alms like it's a variation on trick-or-treat. Posted signs politely request and lay out the appropriate behavior, such as to make sure your head is lower than those of the monks, but the rules go unenforced.
Obviously, our being here could in itself be seen as disrespectful, since we have lumped Luang Prabang's religious practices into our tourist experience. But we believe there are ways to do it without ruining the integrity of the practice, or compromising our own.
We spent the rest of that day and the next exploring Luang Prabang's quiet strets, its Royal Palace, and its multitude of wats. Jordan was back to feeling like a million bucks, and was ready to try the local specialty of fried Mekong River scum with "bong" sauce--a paste of red chilis and dried water buffalo skin. It was about as good as it sounds.
A pounding twenty-four hours of rain didn't slow us down, too much. After an evening of Scrabble and Lao TV (where almost every show is dubbed into Lao, including a very special El Paso edition of COPS, and all of the scary bits of thriller movies are edited out to the point where you actually have no idea what happened), we woke up to the sound of the 5:30 drumbs to trudge in our ponchos to a section of the daily alms-collection route. We kept out of the way as
Night Market
Nightly market in front of the Royal Palace a (very respectful) tour group passed out hand-rolled balls of sticky rice to the slowly moving column of monks. As we waited, the monks shuffled out of the nearby wat, heads bowed, with umbrellas to protect them from the rain in one hand and a collecting bowl in the other, into which the faithful offer balls of sticky rice that are intended to comprise the monks' only meal of the day. In the background, we continued to hear the playing of the drums from wats around the town.
Then, after an excellent breakfast of coffee and croissants, we headed up the hard-charging Mekong in a low-slung slowboat with a cardboard roof, reminding ourselves that ponchos are a key ingredient of any trip to Southeast Asia in the rainy season. Our destination was the Pak Ou caves, where thousands of votive Buddha statues have been lodged over the last five centuries. After spending some time in the crowded lower chamber, we found the unsigned route to the upper chamber. With no natural light, it was amazing to let our eyes adjust, and slowly pick out the glint gold leaf, copper, and bronze where the unordered ranks of Buddhas are arranged in the depths of the cave.
After a much needed siesta, we headed out again for an internationally-themed evening. After heading through the amazing and beautiful night market, we found a small Indian restaurant. There, over some excellent curry, and surrounded by tourists from all over the world. we watched the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, and then made our way sleepily home.
Luang Prabang is a jewel, hidden in a difficult-to-access section of the Mekong and, for the moment, a bit outside the tourist trail. But it is likely a highlight of any Southeast Asian itinerary, with an amazing mix of food, culture, architecture, and scenery that makes you forget the difficulty of travel and bask in the joy, fun, and delight of discovering of new things. It is a place both of us could stay for much longer than just a few days, and one that both of us hope to return to. Hopefully when we do, we will find it much the same has how we leave it - charming, calm and beautiful, and unexpectedly magical.
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