lower case drive
Dum and Maha had only been to Vientiane in their travels cross the border, so it was equally exciting for them to leave the current capital and drive up to the old capital, Luang Prabang. We went from CAPITAL to CAPITAL, and got an amazing 8 hours of lower case villages in between. I’ll try to spell it out for you.
We opted for a car and driver instead of the public bus so that we could stop and take pictures along the way. We left Vientiane at 5 this morning, and continued on Route 13 into the late afternoon. It was still dark at first, so Dum instructed me gently, “You sleep, Charlie. We can wake up you when something excited.” After the sun rose, the fog cleared and we all napped a bit, I showed Dum and Maha various places in my Lonely Planet for them to ask the driver about. They translated the conversations moments later, often times mentioning information listed in the guidebook. I knew I was in good hands.
Although just off the main road, the hill tribe villages felt like a well-kept secret. Untouched by tourism. Content with old ways. There were no Coca-Cola signs, no “Turn here for best Lao dish in town,” no charging for photos. Red chilies sunned atop thatched roofs. Squares of grain clothed the highway’s surplus pavement. Everyone was outside doing their part, whether that meant weaving bamboo to make walls for a house or dragging a pig off a truck with rope attached to its hind legs. In America, parents flip out if their kid nears a butter knife; The hill tribe children frolic with mini machetes, stopping to cut plants for future brooms. I got out to photograph a bunch of them involved in subsequent stages of the broom-making process: rolling and beating the bundles. When I first approached them, they dropped everything and darted behind the brush. Five minutes later, they were rolling and beating faster and harder than they ever had in their lives...to impress the camera.
The communal activities, and the patient, honest way that the people were fulfilling them, were heartening.
Many aspecst of Laos are “same same” to the northern parts of Thailand Dum and Maha are familiar with, called the Isan villages. The people, the temples, the sticky rice, the Thera Vada Buddhism (where monks shave their eyebrows), the ladyboys, the drinks to-go in plastic bags, the massage parlors, the “wai” hands-together greeting, the markets, and the safety and ease of travel in general. It’s a “Don’t worry, be happy” culture like that of Udon Thani.
The “but different” parts are there, however. Maha told me that he thinks of Laos as Thailand’s little brother, but fifty years ago. The conservativeness he is referring to is evident in the long skirts of women, the more rigid offering ceremonies to monks, and the disdain towards a Lao girl with a “falang” (foreigner). The differences instantly apparent to me were the language and cars driving on the other side of the road – the side I was once used to. The language is more guttural than Thai, and the people frequently jump octaves, with the volume and enthusiasm of a pig call. Like “oooeeee!” and “ooyyy!” The snaking mountain roads of Route 13 caused Maha to vomit a bit; The driver giggled like a schoolgirl the entire time (too much Beerlao, perhaps?). As with the South African "click" language, Lao is endlessly amusing. The town of Luang Prabang is as cool as its name. Dum, Maha, and I arrived this afternoon, and picked one of the many guesthouses along the Mekong to stay in for two nights. As we walked the streets, I noticed a charming blend of influences similar to that in India’s McLeod Ganj. France controlled Laos until 1945, hence the many bakeries and occasional changes in architecture. Buddhism is at the heart of the nation, hence the many wats (monasteries) and strolling monks. The markets are lively and the massages are cheap, hence the many backpackers.
Dear Charlie, Thanks for our vicarious travels. We do enjoy your descriptions and adventures. Stay well.
December 18th, 2005 at 9:07 pmLove, Toddy and Alex