We - my Intrepid Travel tour group, which consists of four other travelers and one trip leader - left Luang Prabang for the Thailand boarder. For the next two days we'll be traveling by long boat along the Mekong River, which sure beats another six hours in a minivan along the precarious, but magnificent, mountain roads of Laos. It also gives me plenty of time to catch up on where I've been and what I've eaten. There's much to tell so this is a bit of a long post (which I'll be putting online when I next have internet connection) so let me dive right in....
We left the harried and chaotic streets of Hanoi behind by minibus. Of course leaving Hanoi doesn't mean leaving the crazy driving entirely. Our trip down the main road to Vinh was something of an adventure in and of itself, as it would along along the roads to the Laos boarder. What classifies as a "highway" in Vietnam is simply a strip of asphalt, lined at some points but disregarded entirely whether there or not. Cars, buses, trucks, motorbikes, bicycles, pedestrians, and livestock are constantly jostling for position. Its an anarchical system (if that oxymoron can stand) that seems to work...for the most part. We did see one instance where, for whatever reason, a truck appeared to loose its battle for control of the road and toppled over into the adjacent rice paddy. To the best we could see there was no injuries, thank fully.
After Vinh our course turned westward and followed the Ho Chi Minh Trail up into the mountains. The road was windy and carved into the mountains. As our minibus struggled up the incline, which at times seemed to be over a 10% grade, I couldn't help but think about the thousands of North Vietnamese soldiers and civilians - men and women - who with bicycles loaded down with hundreds of pounds of supplies labored along this route at night, which was an unpaved path at the time, under the near constant bombing from US airplanes. How could such resolve, determination, and resolve have been expected to be broken by military means? (A lesson, it would seem, has been forgotten today.)
We reached the top of the mountains and the boarder crossing to Laos. It, like most things in Vietnam, bore the hallmarks of the heavily bureaucratic society that has embraced a state controlled economy. (The most egregious example of which has to be the toll plaza that have two booths per lane. The first of which is where you pay your money and receive a ticket, only to drive forward a few dozens yards and give the ticket to the next official who lets you pass.) While the rest of my group - two Aussies, a Kiwi, and a Canadian - all walked easily past the final Vietnamese checkpoint with the boarder guards giving what seemed only a cursory glance through their passports, I stood for what seemed like several minutes as the guard, festooned in full uniform with over sized epaulets, scrutinized each and every page of my passport, repeatedly. Not only did he seem to be reviewing all the entry and exit stamps, but kept turning to the front page to look at the picture and then back at me. Now I know the photo is almost ten years old, but it was a bit unnerving to still be on the Vietnam side of the board with this happening while the rest of my group was across and boarding our new minibus. Finally another guard, who appeared more senior, approached, gave my passport a once over glance, and waved me through. Our Lao guide later explained to me that the first guard was most likely a rookie and overzealous, which made sense but didn't help as I was standing there waiting to see what was wrong.
We were now in Laos. Laos, the mere mention of this country will forever evoke strong and powerful memories for me. I've of course heard of the country before, from studying the Vietnam War as well as just my natural curiosity of the world. After watching the episode of No Reservations when Anthony Bourdain traveled through here, however, I knew it was a place I had to see for myself. Especially now while it is still relatively untraveled and undeveloped.
There is an immediate and dramatic change as soon as we crossed the boarder. Whereas Vietnam felt like an over-active beehive with crowds of people in constant movement, Laos is markedly less populous and the people, while just as enterprising, move at a less frenetic pace. Traffic too was different; rules of the road are mostly adhered to and gone was the bravado and reckless of the Vietnamese drivers, who can be known to pass as passing vehicle while rounding a uphill blind curve. But most notable was the change in the villages we passed.
Granted that my experience in Vietnam consisted mostly of being in Hanoi and along the roads, but whereas the Vietnamese seem to be throwing up modern buildings as quickly as possible in all places at once, Lao architecture retains and continues to reflect the culture and heritage (with the exception of in the larger towns and cities.) All along the roads are the simple stilt houses in which the people have lived for generations. So while Vietnam seems hellbent on continuing its full tilt building boom, feed by a stripping of natural resources, particularly the excavating of whole mountains for the minerals, much of the Lao countryside looks as it must have - with the exception of power lines and the more than occasional satellite dish - for hundreds of years.
Our first stop in Laos was at the capital city Vientiane . It sits on a bend in the Mekong river across from Thailand. As you might expect, with a new country comes new food opportunities for me, which began with our first dinner. Even though the restaurant had more of a foreigner presence than others I've been to thus far, they had fried crickets with lemon grass and chillies as an appetizer. Of course I ordered them. They were crunchy and flavorful with just a hint of spice. To be honest, if you didn't look at them or feel them in your hand has you ate them, you'd never suspect what they were. I suppose it just reaffirms my suspicion that nearly anything fried properly is good to eat.
Our schedule called for two nights in Vientiane , which was plenty of time to tour the city and take in most of the sights. I of course made my usual journey to see the local market, which was full of everything from fresh meats and vegetables to clothing, hardware, electronics, and anything in between. We also saw several stupors and Buddhist temples, as well as climbed to the top of Victory Gate for a panoramic view of the entire city and surrounding countryside. As the capital city, we also saw the presidential residence, the new People's Assembly building, and all the modernity one would expect. By renting bicycles, we were able to cover most of the city quickly, including locating a small bar perched high on the bank of the Mekong with a fantastic view of the river and Thailand. The cold Beer Lao was particularly tasty there, perhaps because of the riding it took to reach the bar.
One of the most moving and thought provoking things I saw in Vientiane was our visit to
C.O.P.E., which stands for Cooperative Orthotic and Prosthetic Enterprise, a non-profit organization devoted to providing free prosthetics and rehabilitation for people who have been injured by the millions of unexploded munitions that litter the jungles and fields of Laos. As I mentioned earlier, during the Vietnam War the North Vietnamese used the Ho Chi Minh Trail, which runs through Laos, as the primary route to move supplies from North Vietnam to South Vietnam and Cambodia. As a result, US bombers flew 580,994 sorties over Laos and dropped over 200 million tonnes of bombs on Laos, more than was dropped in all of World War Two, in an effort to stem the flow along it. It is estimated that for about a decade a planeload of bombs fell on Laos every 8 minutes. A portion of these bombs did not detonate on contact with the ground, the explosive components remaining dormant for years until disturbed, with deadly and devastating effect.
During its campaign in Southeast Asia and Laos, the US used a significant number cluster bombs. These bombs, once dropped from the aircraft, break apart and release multiple - as many as several dozen - smaller submunitions, or "bomblets," which either explode on contact with the ground or embed themselves to form anti-personnel or anti-tank mines. In tests conducted on these cluster bombs, as much as 30% of the bomblets did not detonate on contact. It is estimated that during the US bombing campaign as many as 260 million of these bomblets were dropped. Thus, based on the estimate of 30% unexploded, there may be as many as 78 million unexploded bomblets throughout Laos. These continue to kill today. Farmers plowing their fields or clearing new land have been known to accidentally detonate bomblets, but often times children, searching for valuable scrap metal in the jungle, mistakenly pick up these pieces of liver ordinance.
Once such story happened in a small village in 2008. Nine children, boys and girls aged 1 to about 12, were playing by the river when one found a small ball of metal. The others gathered around to look at it. When one of the older ones recognized what it was, the one holding the ball dropped it immediately. It detonated. Parents in the village heard the noise and rushed to the river to find five of the children dead and four others injured.
This was from one bomblet not much bigger than a baseball. Decades after the war has ended, there are potentially millions of these still out there waiting for an unsuspecting person to find. In addition to aiding those who have been injured, C.O.P.E. assists partners with a Swiss NGO working to build community awareness of the dangers as well as to clear areas of unexploded ordnance. As I read the material and looked at the various displays I couldn't help but feel guilt because it was my country that littered this country with these deadly devices. In a bit of morbid irony, there was a picture of a fisherman who lost both his legs and one arm to a bomblet - not to mention his family's livelihood - to a cluster bomb wearing an t-shirt with America written on it and emblazoned with a bald eagle. It was a difficult reality to face head on like that, but necessary for us to remember the long lasting consequences of whatever we do. (Again, a lesson I fear has been forgotten today.)
There was another interesting moment during our time in Vientiane that is worth mentioning. Our guide, who spent ten years as a Buddhist monk, was explaining to us that there is a Buddha for each day of the week and that the Buddha corresponding to the day of the week of one's birth has significance for personality traits, similar to signs of the Zodiac. As he explained this, he mentioned that his birthday is November 16. Now I realize that it is a 1 in 365 (or 366) chance of that and it isn't as if I need a sign put in front of me to remember Karen and what is underlying this trip, but there it was. (I should also point out that, while she wasn't Buddhist, Karen did put a Buddha over our bed when she moved into my apartment and it remains there.)
We boarded a public bus in Vientiane for the four hour trip to Vang Vieng. The description that I'd heard was that it is a small town on the Song river that is famous for its tubing and caves in the surrounding mountains. What I didn't realize is that by "tubing" they meant Spring Break-like drinking along the river to earsplitting techno music and that the town itself is a Mecca for backpacking twenty-somethings, mostly Brits, who perpetuate the worst stereotype of western travelers. In fact foreigners vastly outnumber locals in the town center and at nearly any time of the day or night, until midnight, you can find a restaurant showing Friends, or Family Guy, or the Simpsons, or any one of a number of old American sitcoms, at decibels that make one long to spend time on the LAX approach pattern.
In the midst of this post-adolescence alcohol induced free-for-all, a sort of Apocalypse Now meets Revenge of the Nerds meets the Hangover, there were things worthy of fond memories. One was the food, of course, because if one were to wade past the signs advertising pizza, burgers, English breakfasts, and other European/western cuisine classics, there was some good eating to be food. First was the beef laap, severed of course with the bamboo basket of sticky rice. Laap, which I learned to cook later at a cooking class in Luang Prabang, is a dish of minced meat or tofu mixed with finely chopped lemongrass, kafir lime leaf, banana flower, chillies, dried spices, and lime juice. It is usually served at room temperature and eaten by taking a small amount of sticky rice in your right - always the right - hand, compressing it into a ball, then flattening it slighting and using it and your fingers to scoop the meat spices into your mouth. As a first introduction to laap this one was great. Full of spices and just enough heat from the chillies to making it noticeable but not overpowering.
Another great meal was of grilled whole fish, again served with sticky rice. The fish - I'm not sure what it was but would like to think it came from the Song river but more likely was from the Mekong - was caked in salt and then grilled slowly over charcoal in a Bar-B-Que made from half of a fifty-five gallon drum and heavy gauge chicken wire, a ubiquitous technique to be sure. Gutted and scaled but still with the bones, the flesh of the fish was a perfect opaque, moist and very flavorful. The charcoal imparted a nice smokey flavor and there were just enough charred bits to really taste the Bar-B-Que.
The third memorable meal was part of a full day trek I did with one other person on the tour and a guide. After spending a day cycling around seeing several caves - one requiring us to squirm through passages no wider than our hips - and tubing down the river, sans the spring break-esque revelry, we decided to seek a more rustic setting. We booked a full day trekking to a site called Secret Eden. Our guide, Khum, was personable, very knowledgeable about the region, and taught himself English better than many people with formal schooling. After a twenty minute drive out of town and short stop to see Elephant Cave, so named for the stalactite at the entrance shaped like the pachyderm, we set off. Or should I say up because after a brief walk through a rice paddy, the trail climbed straight up the mountain. It had rained the night before so the trail was made even more difficult because of the mud. Kuhm, wearing flip-flops, blazed the trail for us and patiently waited periodically for us to catch up with him. In a matter of a few minutes, we were well above the valley floor and enjoying spectacular views.
The views got better and better as we climbed higher. And while it was somewhat cooler under the canopy, I sweated profusely. I also drank constantly, draining almost two liters in the one hour it took us to reach the top of the ridge. When we got there, Khum gave us each a bit of a branch and instructed us to add ours to the pile (a stupor of leaves and flowers) at the side of the trail. He explained that doing so was to insure our safety and well being as we continued our journey down the other side of the mountain. There was another stupor on the other side of the trail and few yards from the one to which we added that was for travelers coming in the other direction.
Blessing secured, we began our descent down into the valley. As difficult as the trek up was, down was just as tricky. But the views were more amazing since there is no habitation on this side of the mountain because no roads can access it. The only signs of life are the fields cleared by the Hmong people who use the area for farming and gathering, and the small shed-like shelter they build in which to rest during the heat of the day. Once we reached the valley floor the path continued until we reached the opening of a large cavern into which a river flowed. Khum explained that the river entered here and then continued through the mountain, emerging on the other side and feeding into the Song. It was majestic. Easily 80 feet high at the opening and twice than in width. The river cascaded down over the rocks and disappearing into the darkness. After consulting his watch Khum said we'd be eating here and invited us to relax as he prepared the meal. And prepare he did.
Out of his pack he produced a bundle of charcoal and several bags of ingredients. On a rock perched ten feet above the rushing water, he arranged smaller rocks into a circle and built a small fire. Once lit, Khum pulled his knife from its sheath and literally leaped between the rocks back into the jungle, emerging moments later with three enormous banana leaves and several sticks of bamboo. Using the banana leaves as his prep station, chef Khum deftly prepared kabobs of chicken, vegetables, and pineapple. With the coals hot, the bamboo sticks were laid parallel on the smaller rocks and the skewers suspended between them above the heat. It was camp cooking at its finest. When done, he produced cartons of fried rice and presented the kabobs, rice and baguette to each of us. Sitting on the rocks at the mouth of the cave, the rush of the water and chirping of the insects providing music, and the smell of the still smoldering fire, eating those kabobs with our hands will forever be ingrained in my memory.
Lunch completed we continued walking through the Secret Eden, encountering several Hmong villagers working in the area, as we were now walking on the main path. We crossed a wide open field and were soon climbing again. The path now drier and more well-worn but every bit as steep as the one before. After about of quarter hour of climbing the quiet, until then broken only by the sound the insects in the trees around us, our footfalls, and breathing, was shattered by the sound of a tree falling across the valley from us. It was a slow, loud crack at first, followed by the distinct sound of wood splintering and branches slicing through the air as the fall picked up speed. Out of the corner of my eye and through the trees in front of me I caught a glimpse of the huge tree falling. The boom of it hitting the ground rattled all around us and then it was silent once more. It was a remarkable moment.
We crested the mountain and began down the other side, stopping briefly in Cave Number Six, so named because it was the sixth cave used by the Lao to hide in during the war. The entrance was unassuming but the inside opened to a cathedral. So high was the ceiling that our lights could barely illuminate it. Khum led us through the cave, no crawling this time, explaining the hundreds of people lived in it during the war. The beds had been removed and most other evidence of its inhabitants, but the walls bore the soot of countless fires used to light the area.
From there it was a short, but steep, climb down to the bottom and a walk through the Hmong village to our waiting tuk-tuk back to Vang Vieng. It was a remarkable day marked by the solitude and raw beauty of the area we walked, which was why the return to a town overrun by backpackers was quite the culture shock. I began to wonder what it must be like to be out in the Secret Eden at night. The absolute darkness and silence. Perhaps another trip.
After three night I think we all saw and did what we wanted in Vang Vieng. I overheard a couple guys saying that they'd been there twelve days already and that this was the second trip in six months. I honestly can't imagine surviving as, let alone enjoying, that amount of time, especially since they were of the partying-on-the-river contingent. I suppose I'm showing my age with such thinking. Besides, I guess there are those people who prefer to be halfway around the world in the middle of the jungle to drink, party, and get laid. And judging by the looks of some in the town, Vang Vieng might be the only place for them to do that.
Our next stop was Luang Prabang. Only about 65 or 70 miles from Vang Vieng as the crow flies, but we'd be following the path of a snake up and over the mountains. Now I've been on some winding roads. And I've been on some roads that had steep drop-offs. And I've been on some roads that have had both. But I've never been on a road like the one between Vang Vieng and Luang Prabang.
It is just wide enough in many places for two vehicles to pass and with a drop off on the side, or at times both, of several hundred feet straight down. Guard rails are non-existent; the only "safety" features being signs redundantly identifying sharp curves and the occasional cement post standing about 3 feet high. I doubt highly that these would have any effect on a car, let alone our minivan, were it to collide into one. Perhaps these are only for marking the location where a vehicle has parted ways with the road so the occupants can be recovered -- note I didn't say rescued. The mountains all around were jagged limestone monoliths with lush greenery covering portions of each peak. In other places the rock face was either too steep or too recently bared to permit vegetation to grow.
What made this precarious road all the more remarkable was that all along it was dotted with villages. Little more than a line of houses set mere feet from the road edge - where there was one - and incredibly clinging to the cliff's edge. As our minibus drove through them, glimpses of rural life were made. A young girl finding endless amusement from the two sticks she played with, a group of boys bathing at the water cistern, and women and men engaged in all manner of chores for their family and village. I thought it would have been nice to have stopped and watched these activities more closely, but then it occurred to me that there would be something intrusive in doing so and that what I gained in the momentary glances was enough to create a lasting impact. Besides, we still had several hours on the road to go.
Luang Prabang. Until 1560 this was the capital of Laos before it was moved to the more centrally located city of Vientiane . It remains, however, a spiritual capital of the country with many wats (Buddhist temples) and shrines, including one housing the footprint of Buddha. The city sits on the intersection of two rivers, the Mekong and the Khan. Crossing the Khan is easily done by the several bridges - two permanent and others seasonal - whereas the vast Mekong is only traversed by ferry.
Walking the streets of the city, I felt the same sense of calm and spiritual energy that I noticed in Kyoto. The pace, at least in the old part of the city, was more relaxed than anywhere else in Laos. Sitting on the corner eating my bowl of kaopiak sen, Lao pork noodle soup, I was nearly alone with just my thoughts and slurping of the noodles.
For dinner one evening, we crossed the Khan river by one of the rickety seasonal bamboo bridges to a place called Dyen Sabat. Nestled among the tall bamboo shoots above the river, the restaurant is a patchwork of wood platforms protruding from the hillside creating an idyllic, almost movie set, environment. Removing our shoes, we reclined on the large cushions around our squat table at the far edge. Below us the ground dropped away, leaving us suspended in the air surrounded by the bamboo. The food was no less impressive.
I ordered platter number two, a set mixture of Lao dishes, most of which I hadn't tried before. Buffalo skin with Lao chili paste was the center piece. The magenta colored paste, which I later learned is relatively simple to make, was at once spicy, tart, and sweet. I was instructed that the best way to eat the mixture was to pick it up with the Mekong weed coated with sesame seeds. The combination of flavors was indeed quite tasty, although the pieces of buffalo skin provided more texture than flavor and were quite chewy. An eggplant dip flavored with kafir lime was tangy and a nice accompaniment to the chili. Rounding out the platter were Luang Prabang sausage, a spicy pork sausage, and dried pork strips with sesame. Both of which were fantastic in their own rights. After such a meal it was a nice thing to have the walk back down the hill, over the bridge, and through the night market.
The following day I took an all day cooking class where we learned to make several classic Lao retrospect it shouldn't have been) is the ease and simplicity of the dishes. The Lao are adept at coaxing layers of flavor from few ingredients. Principle among them are lemon grass, kafir lime leaves, ginger, galangal root, and the ever present chillies - in either powder or fresh form. From these basics we cooked chicken laap, fried rice noodles with chicken, pork with vermicelli noodles and choko, Luang Parang salad, and a coconut curry with chicken. The instructors also demonstrated how to prepare sticky rice and Lao chili paste. I have a feeling that a rice steamer and mortar and pestle may soon join my already overstocked kitchen supply cabinet.
I was very excited for my final day in Luang Prabang. One of the things I'd heard so much about before coming to Laos was the morning procession of the monks to receive alms. It takes place at some level throughout the country - since alms is the only way by which monks can eat - but in Luang Prabang there are so many temples and monks that I've heard the streets are a veritable sea of saffron and gold robes in the early hours of the day. Of course where there's a sight to be seen there are tourists to ruin it.
The faithful lined the street, facing toward the road. Respectfully sitting with their offerings awaiting the line of monks. Walking single file, I presume in order of seniority based on the oldest looking being in the lead with the youngest bringing up the rear, the slowed before each individual who raised their offering - sticky rice, banana, etc. - to their head, touching their forehead before placing it in the monk's waiting basket or bowl. This repeats itself over and over again as each new line of monks make their way along the route. It was quite a sight.
However, the solemnity of the moment was spoiled by the onlookers who, despite the signs throughout town and the comments in every guidebook about how properly to view the event in a manner not to spoil or interrupt the solemn occasion, seemed unable or unwilling to respect it. It was shocking and depressing to see the dozens of people intruding on the procession by getting in close to snap a picture and insuring they got the shot by using their flash. Two things they are explicitly request not to do. As I sat watching the spectacle of the tourists, I wondered if it occurs to them at all that they are, by their actions, disrespecting and interfering in someone religious observance. I wanted to ask how they would feel were flash-happy tourists to come into their church snapping pictures as they knelt to receive communion? Or had a stranger thrust a video camera into their view while they said their morning prayers? There is a way to observe the receiving of alms without disturbing it and it is sad to see so many people unable to understand the distinction.
We left Luang Prabang early in the morning to be sure we made it to Pakbeng in the daylight, which we managed to do by only a few minutes. Pakbeng is a small way station of a town roughly halfway to the Thailand boarder crossing. It seems to exist mainly as an overnight stop for boats traveling to and from Luang Prabang and the board, with several guest houses and cafes but not much else. It has a Frontier Town feeling to it and in fact has only been connected to the Laos electric grid for about three months.
For my last dinner in Laos I tried the (water) buffalo laap, which had a good flavor and wasn't at all chewy as the skin had been. After dinner I accompanied the tour leader and our Lao guide to another small cafe whose clientele was entirely Lao for grilled spicy goat and blood sausages. The goat was indeed spicy, dusted with black pepper and chillies, with a fantastic smoky flavor. I was nearly meated-out but managed to try a small bit of the blood sausage, which has never been my favorite of flavors and this one, while quite good, did not go far in altering my preexisting feeling.
Now, as our boat slowly approaches the end of its journey and we prepare to cross into Thailand, I can look back on my days in Laos and say without equivocation that this was a country worth coming to see. My only regret is that I didn't have more time to spend here and specifically that I wasn't able to see the Plain of Jars in the center of the country. But there's always the next trip......
Note: I've taken LOADS of pictures but the internet connection I'm getting on my travels has not been good enough for me to include them here. I will be uploading them when I can to Facebook and Picasa and will post a subsequent message with links when they're online.
Each dish was prepared and presented with such precision that it was almost difficult to eat them, but I was certainly glad that I did. The flavors, especially the dried fish and potato, was unlike what I've previously thought of as Japanese food but exquisite. I'm not sure if imabo will ever win over mainstream western palates, but if you ever have the opportunity to visit Kyoto it is well worth the experience.
