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The morning after my bamboo bridge mishap we catch a bus to Luang Prabang, my swollen foot turning some exciting shades of yellow and purple. We decided against postponing our onward journey for a rest day as we are just a couple of days away from the Buddhist lunar new year, called Pii Mai in Laos. The new year and coming coming monsoon are celebrated with a 3 day street party and huge waterfight. We've decided on Luang Prabang, a Unesco World Heritage city, as we hear it's enchantingly beautiful and also the best place in the country to join in the Pii Mai party.
It's a 9 hour journey, so I put my foot up and soak in the view as our bus climbs high up into the mountains. We pass through villages where small children practise their water pistol skills at any open window. More worryingly, I spot a few groups of Hmong guerillas, armed with AK-47s on some remote stretches. But their beef is with the government who have been forcibly 'resettling' their villages for the past 30-odd years, and our bus passes untroubled, which is nice 😉
It's a good job we arrived a couple
of days early as we manage to nab what seems to be the last budget room in Luang Prabang, complete with balcony overlooking the river. It really is a beautiful place, set at the point where the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers merge and surrounded by steep hills. Luang Prabang is home to Laos' most elaborate royal palace and countless ornate wats sparkling emerald and gold in the sun and hundreds of orange robed monks fill the streets. The French touch is very much in effect at the fantastique cafes and bistros, and in the old streets of beautifully renovated shuttered mansions, now housing high-end boutique hotels. At night the place positively twinkles; we happily wander (well, I hobble on my bandaged foot) from the stands at the food market, bellies full of bbq fish and fresh spring rolls, down into the candle-lit night market. Tribeswomen from the surrounding hills sell well made crafts that you actually want to buy, rather than the usual tat. Ritch surprises me with a lovely monkey made from a patchwork of Hmong embroidered materials who we name Bhun, after a young friend from Tadlo who's cheeky face was lost with our camera.
The
quaint peacefulness of Luang Prabang belies what is to come when these lovely streets will become a warzone for 3 days of madness. I have a couple of days to rest my foot and get over the loss of our photos, and we get a good deal when we replace our camera. And most importantly, we arm ourselves with some bad-ass water pistols and we're ready for anything, or so we think. About 5 steps out of the safety of our guesthouse on the first day of Pii Mai, and we're hit by a drive-by when a flat bed truck full of giggling locals totally drench us with buckets of water. From there on in, it's non-stop water soaked mayhem. Everyone joins in, from toddlers to their great grandparents. Any tourists walking around po-faced and trying to keep out of it? Dream on...they become the most prized targets. It is such a funny way to celebrate a new year, but I'm struck that this would likely spiral out of control and descend into a real fight if attempted back home.
As well as water pistols, hoses and buckets, another favorite weapon is flour bombs and handfuls of charcoal mixed
with oil which is near impossible to wash off. With my damaged foot meaning my dodging abilities are somewhat impeded, I become a favorite target for teenage boys who leave black and white handprints wherever they can. Ritch meanwhile, is ambushed by a group of young monks who empty an entire barrel of water onto him from a great height before collapsing in hysterics. As sunset approaches there is a ceasefire til tomorrow, but as we head home Ritch gets one last flour bomb in the face, launched from a passing car. We beat a hasty retreat and plan our strategy for tomorrow's battle.
To give my foot a break (pun intended), we decide to play sniper on day two, and set up at an outdoor table of a bar on the main strip. We watch the parade of kids prancing about in fancy dress, men demonstrating martial arts and sword play, and beauty queens painted like dolls in traditional dress, their mothers fanning them and shading them from the sun with parasols. Then comes a procession of the thousand monks who live in the many wats of Luang Prabang; they are respectfully doused with water in a symbolic
cleansing ritual which ends the parade. Then water pistols are loaded, buckets filled and battle commences. Even playing sit down sniper, I end up soaked within minutes when I wrongly pick a fight with a group of 6 year olds. We eventually give our water pistols to two unarmed young boys who have been folornly watching the action. Their beaming smiles and new status as our bodyguards make it well worth it, although we are still frequently hit with bursts of friendly fire.
On the third day, unarmed and badly needing to rest my foot, we escape to the nearby Tat Kuang Si waterfalls. Along with half of Luang Prabang. There's thousands of people picnicking, filling every available space. It's a shame as the falls are so lovely. but not very serene with the crowds. I can imagine that it's usually a wonderfully romantic retreat, but just not on the biggest national holiday of the year.
Pii Mai has been my favorite of the three new year celebrations we've enjoyed. Revellion in Brazil was the closest to how we do things back home...just x 7. Tet was an opportunity to connect with the Vietnamese on a warmer, more
intimate level...with spectacular Chinese fireworks. But Pii Mai is such a joyful and inclusive party; there is no malice or aggression in the 'fight' and I'm not sure if I've ever laughed at the same joke so much and for so long.
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