As I ran through the
terminal, the helpful staff had already printed out my boarding pass. Then,
they interceded on my behalf so that I could cut the security line. And as I
was running hard to make it to gate thirty-five, a kind driver in one of those
airport carts—usually used for the infirm or those with ridiculous
baggage—chauffeured me the rest of the way.
"You're the last
one," the gate staff told me as I hopped off the cart, panting and hawing
my way through those final steps down to the plane. And seconds later, before
I'd even buckled my seat belt or had a chance to catch my breath, the door was
closed, our half-empty jet roaring down the runway, to take us all on the seventy minute
jaunt to Vientiane.
Everything
I read about Laos had told me to prepare for a sleepy, time-trapped, olden
version of the world. "Wherever you've come
from, set your watch to the languor of Laos time," my Frommer's
guidebook opens. So I was not expecting my vacation to start in the most stressful manner imaginable! But luckily, this was
pretty much the last I would see of pressure, anxiety or worry for the next
nine amazing days.
Come to think of it,
though, my trip to Laos started long before. It first appeared on my radar a long ways back when I caught a late night screening of an old Lon Chaney flick on TCM, called Where East is East. Set in an exotic French-Chinese city then called Vien-Tien, the plot involves a disfigured animal trapper, his daughter Toyo, her fiance Bobby and the effect on this trio after the reappearance of Chaney's long-absent Eurasian first wife—and Toyo's mother—Madame de Sylva. It's a bit of an obscure film, but I highly recommend giving it a go if you ever have the chance to watch it. And as far as Hollywood classics are concerned, this is pretty much the only one I know of set in the largely unknown land that is Laos.
I had practically settled on the
destination last Chinese New Year, immediately on the heels of my brilliantly
successful trip to Burma. While Derek, Christina and I were gallivanting
around the former British colony, another of our friends had visited one of Southeast Asia’s least explored destinations, with rave reviews! And I made up my mind upon my return that a
future trip to Laos was in the cards. (In fact, it even entered our discussions
when Heidi and I were debating where to go during her Asian extravaganza. Had
there been a direct flight from Hong Kong, I expect it may have won out
over Cambodia.)
I booked flights
all the way back in early September, about five months in advance of my
nail-biting Hanoi sprint, which surely counts it among my earliest-planned
Southeast Asian adventures. Funny, then, that until a
little over a week before take-off, I still thought I'd be travelling alone,
only to have not one but two travel buddies by the time I left the office on
Friday afternoon.
I already wrote in my previous post that Christina, a fellow VSB ’09 alum and one of my Burma buddies,
decided to join on a whim during a recent visit to Shatin Racecourse. But even
more last minute was the addition of Courtney, who called me from Thailand,
where she’s been holed up for the past few months, around 10am that Friday
morning, as I was wrapping up some necessary tasks before hopping on the
Airport Express.
“What are you doing for
Chinese New Year?” she asked. And within about twenty minutes, she sent me her
itinerary.
Creeks and Courtney—who
don't remember the one time I briefly introduced them some blurry night back in 2012—were both landing on Saturday evening, meaning I had my first
twenty-six or so hours alone. After quickly attaining my visa-on-arrival and
clearing customs, I was seated in a genuine London black taxi that my hotel—
the Settha Palace—keeps on hand for those who want a classy, classic shuttle
from airport to four-poster bed. I loved every minute of the short ride.
From the moment I read the
evocative description of the colonial-mansion-turned-ritzy-hotel in my guidebook, I knew I would spend at
least one night there. True, it’s expensive (warns Frommer, “with the most
basic single coming in at five times the cost of most rooms in town…”) but
nowhere else I found did such an incredible job of maintaining the illusion
that 1920s French Indochina was alive and well.
From the leafy drive and immaculate pool to the polished marble floors and whirring ceiling fans, every tiniest detail of the Palace purrs understated elegance. What good luck that I chose to spend my first night there. Knowing my two friends wouldn't be joining until the following evening, I didn't even feel a little bit bad staying nearby, basking in the glories of the place.
Of course, after settling into my room, I went for a wander, stumbling upon the
Nam Phou Fountain, the Presidential Palace and Wat Sisaket. And then, looking
up Lane Xang, the grand central boulevard of this languid capital, I spied
the floodlit Patuxai Monument. There’s something funny about arriving in a new
city that one has thoroughly researched. I’d never walked these streets before,
yet I still knew exactly what I was looking at, the unmistakable Laos version
of Paris’ Arc de Triomphe standing proud in the distance.
I ducked into the Institut Franç
ais on my stroll up along
Lane Xang, before continuing to the monument itself. And on my way back to the
hotel, I even stumbled upon the Black Stupa, its bricks overgrown with weeds,
not unlike one of the temples of Bagan taken completely out of context, dropped
in the middle of a traffic circle enclosed by shops and restaurants, in the
middle of town.
At the Palace, I treated myself to an indulgent first feast
at La Belle Epoque, the signature French fine dining restaurant, where I
ordered onion soup, duck breast coated in local Lao honey and a
tiny-but-decadent fois gras crème brûlée. It was certainly a cause to
celebrate, and I had the restaurant all to myself, so I had a glass of Prosecco—flat, but I hardly cared—before retiring
to my room.
I took my Saturday morning breakfast by the pool, a pleasant, secluded spot to
begin my first full day in Laos. And afterwards, I went on another walk around
the city, starting at the Morning Market before again wandering onto the
grounds of Wat Sisaket, then finding my way to the Mekong and strolling along
the river.
Without a phone or watch or any other way to discern the
time save for my own intuition, I made my way back to the hotel, mindful of the
noon check-out time. When it turned out I still had nearly an hour to go, I
threw on my bathing suit and went for a dip in the inviting pool, followed by a
bit of reading on one of the lounge chairs.
When Creeks and Courtney arrived, we’d be spending the night
at another hotel, but check-in wasn’t for a few more hours. I left my
belongings at the Palace and started hitting up Vientiane’s main attractions.
First and foremost on my list was a daytime visit to Patuxai,
which you can climb for a nominal fee to get a sprawling view of the city. Though based on that famous arch on the Champs-Elysees, inspection of Patuxai immediately indicates that this is no European memorial. Proportioned nearly as perfectly as its French forebear, all the embellishments
are distinctly Asian, from the bas-relief elephants to the Buddha-like figures on
its upper tiers.
But perhaps the most shocking revelation of a close-up,
daytime visit is the discovery that the walls are not made of marble or some
other elegant stone but rather crude concrete. Still, somehow, the whole thing
works in its own sort of way, and the view from the top, complemented by
pitch-perfect weather, was stunning.
Signs nearby indicated the direction of Phra That Luang, the
national symbol of the country, emblazoned on the bills of the local currency (Laos kip) and even appearing in hologram form on the visa the customs officials affixed to my
passport upon arrival the previous evening.
Along the way, I stopped at an unnamed temple where a dozen
or so monks and a crowd of villagers watched as new ornamentation was placed
atop the red roof. And then I continued to iconic That Luang itself,
encircling the gold stupa three times. (I was told that was good luck.)
Next up on my list was the National Museum. After spending
the whole morning and most of the afternoon under the blazing Laos sun, it was
great to duck inside the old colonial police headquarters to learn a bit about
the history of the country.
There were some very moving exhibits inside, made all the
more poignant thanks to the slightly grammatically-incorrect English
descriptions that accompanied them. The two that stand out most are an old
Buddha found in a Bangkok antique shop and a heavily fortified display case of
gold and silver Buddha’s that had previously been stolen from the museum.
The first of these exhibits looks out plaintively from his perch, perhaps content at long last to have found appreciation but in no way forgetful of his sad journey.
The caption below this statue reads:
There's also this safe-like display case, which looks almost out of place on first glance. You can hardly see what's contained inside until you put your face right up against the bars.
It's caption tells the whole story:
Upon exiting the museum, I noticed the sun was starting to
hang lower in the sky, and I assumed it was well past check-in time at my next
hotel.
I don’t know why but I made up my mind to walk, suitcase and
all, from the Settha Palace to the Beau Rivage. It was a long stroll, with the
constant harassment of tuk-tuk drivers who wanted to take me there. But I knew
exactly where I was going and was bent on finding it on foot.
Although the Settha Palace was like an old-time photograph
magically brought to life, the Beau Rivage was an equally appealing spot,
nestled right on Mekong, with glorious views across to neighboring Thailand.
Despite
its bubblegum-colored exterior (Frommer: “Don’t let the pink façade send you
running...”) its location is truly the stuff of magic, overlooking the river
and the string of lively sidewalk barbecue restaurants that line it. (More on
the incredible staff, and why I’ll never stay anywhere else on a future visit
to Vientiane, at the tail end of this chronicle.)
Through a stroke of luck, we also happened to snag the best
digs in the house, the third floor center room, with a sizeable balcony where I
immediately plopped down to survey the scene and read a bit of my book.
Initially, I had thought of just chilling there to watch the
sunset from my own private perch. But I quickly noticed that this stretch of the
river was fronted by what looked like a sandy beach—and that numerous
people were using the beach as a vantage point from which to make the most of
the daily spectacle!
Of course,
down I went, and I was so excited that I completely overlooked a staircase to
the sands and instead slid down the sloping stone wall. Most of the beach was made up of pristine
sand all the way to the Mekong's waterline. At that point, it
became a mixture of sand and thick mud, very fun to squish around in as the sun
dipped behind Thailand on the other bank.
I walked out
about up to my knees, and I was overjoyed to see several kids actually swimming in
the water. I decided then and there that I was going for a swim in the river
the next morning, and after confirming at the front desk of the Beau Rivage
that there were no gastrointestinal parasites frolicking in the muddy Mekong,
my mind was made up.
At this stage,
I plopped down at table number six of one of the waterfront barbecue stalls and
ordered an ice cold Beerlao, with the sky still magically turning colors as night set in. I knew Christina’s flight should have just about landed, and
she’d be making her way to the hotel.
It was just reaching true blackness when her taxi pulled up a few feet away from me.
And after dropping her bags in the room—while I continued imbibing at table
six—she came down to join me.
We took a
stroll through the nearby night market and then tracked down Makphet, a
renowned local restaurant serving Lao fare within walking distance of our
hotel. Some more Beerlao complemented the sticky rice, curries and salads that
comprised an absolutely delicious meal (and the polar opposite of my French
dinner at La Belle Epoque the previous evening). Most photogenic of all was the
giant water beetle that garnished our papaya salad, which Creeks and I split. (I
ate the head, she took the tail.)
Courtney’s
flight would soon be landing, so we headed back to our room. It was great to finally be a trio, and we spent some time generally chatting at the Beau Rivage before discussion turned to whether we should hit the town on our only night together in Vientiane.
As you can probably guess, we couldn’t resist the temptation to pop out for a nightcap at a
nearby watering hole, where we shared a tower of Beerlao, which we had to
guzzle once we were informed that the bar was closing. (Vientiane has a curfew
that is somewhat strictly enforced, depending on the venue.)
And so it was,
a perfect, beer-full, culture-full, glorious first full day of vacation.
As mentioned
earlier, until a week before this trip, I thought I was going alone. For the
last eight days before I departed, I only thought CriCri was joing. Now,
Courtney was here, too. And I was delighted to have friends to share in this
experience. But I had also largely formed my itinerary based on my own
desires and interests. So after a great breakfast—and, yes, a swim
in the Mekong with Creeks—we had to decide whether we were amending my plans, or sticking to them, in which case it was time to head to Tha Kaek.
I felt a
bit bad, because by this point, I had already had a good amount of time to soak
up Vientiane’s laid back flavor over the past thirty-six hours, while Creeks and
Court were just laying eyes on it. But if we were sticking to my itinerary, we had to be making tracks.
We rode the
Beau Rivage’s complimentary bicycles to the center of town, stopping at the
local Avis branch. Had they been able to offer us an automatic, we’d have
rented a car and hit the road right away. For a while, it looked as if that was
exactly what we were going to do, because the old expat men who ran the place
neglected to mention that all the available cars were manual—and not one of
the three of us can operate a stick shift!
We consoled
ourselves with more cycling, trying to track down the most famous French bakery
in town, Le Banneton. We had nearly given up—in fact, Courtney ordered a
coffee and croissant at another place—before Christina found it and snagged an
ideal outdoor table. I loaded up on delightful pastries and a huge ice coffee,
and we discussed options.
Ever since I
first read about a pair of crumbling French colonial towns “strung out lazily
along the Mekong,” I knew Tha Khaek and Savannakhet were on my must-visit list.
It’s funny how important a guidebook can be in terms of helping to set one's itinerary. Had Daniel White, author of my Frommer’s guide, not used such an
evocative turn of a phrase to set the scene, I’m not sure I would have ventured
south from Vientiane at all. (My initial plan was to head up to the Plain of Jars.) He did, however, so I was bent of including
them. But every minute that passed made it less and less likely I'd get the chance, as it seemed
we might be best off simply spending some extra time in the capital and heading
down to Pakse as a trio.
At a travel
agency—
of which there seems to be one every few feet—
down the block from Le
Banneton, I made a proposal to the girls: “How about you guys book an overnight
bus to Pakse tonight, and I head down to Tha Khaek and Savannakhet now. Then
tomorrow evening, we can all meet in Pakse. You get to explore more of Vientiane, and I
still get to see the places I’ve planned on visiting.”
They agreed, booked their joint bed on the bus and we headed back to the hotel
to return the bikes. At this point, I still had to figure out how to get to my
next destination. Private car had seemed the likeliest option, but the offers
were all coming in at over USD 300, and I was not prepared to spend that much.
The day’s flight had already departed. And the VIP day buses only depart in the early morning or late evening for overnight journeys. However, I knew local buses left Southern
Bus Station relatively frequently, so I hopped in a tuk tuk to the depot with my fingers firmly crossed.
At this point,
I knew it was a pipe dream to consider doing justice to both Tha Khaek and
Savannakhet with such limited time. The first was said to be about a five hour
bus ride from my present location, the latter a further three. And as
Savannakhet was the town where I had booked accommodation—and, to be honest,
the one I was most excited for of the two—I decided to make a beeline for it.
The next
Savannakhet bound bus was leaving at 3pm—only a twenty minute wait—and after
an unsure morning, it felt very satisfying to be sitting aboard, knowing I’d
soon be headed where I'd wanted to go for so long.
The bus filled with passengers and before too long, we began to move… Less than a mile later, we stopped abruptly
for what seemed like a long while. Again, I had no watch or way to tell the hour,
and as the only English-speaker on the bus, I couldn’t ask any of my travel
companions the time.
And to be
completely honest, I couldn’t have cared less. Once we did indeed start moving,
I loved every minute of the ride, gazing out the window at the passing Lao
landscapes, rivers, rolling hills, interesting plants and small villages
constantly flying by.
Every now and
then, I’d pick up my book and read a few more pages, before my eyes were
inevitably drawn back to the vistas to my left.
At one stop, we
lingered for a long while, as the ticket boy and some locals loaded at least
twenty or thirty sacks of corn, filling the empty back row of seats and the
entire central aisle with produce. At subsequent stops, whenever we wanted
to get off the bus to stretch our legs, buy food or use the bathroom, it was
necessary to literally walk on top of them!
After the sun
disappeared, it got dark and even a little chilly. I had to tug the window
curtain down from its hooks—quite forcibly, to be honest—to use as a blanket. As we had cruised south from Vientiane while it was light out, frequent mile markers along the side of the highways indicated the distance to prominent locations. The paint on many was chipping, making them hard to read even in the daytime. Now, under the cloak of darkness, with a
combination of dim street lights, chipping paint and our fast speed, I
couldn’t get a good look at any of them,. So I had little idea how much further I had to go.
But at one
stop that appeared to be relatively major, I hopped off and learned we were in Tha
Khaek, its bustling bus depot the only feature of the town I can lay claim to
seeing on this first trip. Onwards to
Savannakhet!
A few hours—I’m estimating—later, the ticket boy pointed at me and then
pointed at the door. “Savannakhet?” I asked. And he nodded. I thought I had
reached my destination.
But I was not
in Savannakhet yet. Rather, I was at some roadside assembly of stalls serving food near the turnoff for Savannakhet.
Before the bus took off again, the ticket boy left me in the company of an older Lao
gentleman, with whom I waited for my next mode of transportation. Without a
common language for communication, we just sat on some plastic stalls, waiting. A small crowd eyed me with bemused curiosity.
A few moments
later, the sole English speaker among the assembled characters approached me, with
shoulders so broad they’d make Johnny Weissmuller's seem puny. Sporting a
bright magenta dress and garish make-up, she asked me where I was going. I told her. "Oh, Savanakhet is just a little farther away. For twenty dollars, you come with me, I'll take you the rest of the way." She was quite obviously plastered, stumbling as she walked. Of course, there was no way I was budging.
The others
in the crowd laughed as she tried to convince me to leave with her, and she seemed a bit frustrated by my refusal. She was persistent: “You can come with
me now, honey, or wait here for another few hours for the next bus. Which one you like?” Tempting
as she made it sound, I told her I would like to wait for the bus. "So stay put, then, honey. You'll be here for four more hours." She hopped on the back of someone
else’s motorbike resignedly and disappeared into the night, blowing me a kiss
as she drifted away.
A few moments
later, my actual transportation arrived, a regular mini-van ready to take me the rest
of the way. Once inside, I noticed the radio clock declaring 12:15, already
after midnight. We had left Vientiane at 3pm, meaning the bus ride had been
over nine hours! (You could have told me it was any time between 9pm and 5am,
and I would have said, “Sure. Sounds about right.”)
I tried to explain
to the driver that I wanted to go to Vivanouk, my hotel. He instead
understood that I wanted him to take me to any hotel with a vacancy, so he obliged. The door man came out to take my suitcase inside while I firmly insisted that I already had a reservation. I kept repeating, “Hotel, Vivanouk,” but obviously the name of a Western three-room guest house was not
ringing any bells.
For a moment, I considered giving up. It was the middle of the night in a quiet town, and, for all I knew, they might have already given my room away at Vivanouk because I hadn't shown up. I didn't pay in advance, and, at least if I stayed here, I could get some sleep to ensure an early start in the morning. But I had one more idea.
Knowing Vivanouk was near the river, I simply said, “Mekong,” and he drove me
towards the waterfront. Once there, I reasoned my best bet was probably
to hop out of the van, use the river as confirmation of where I was on the map, and thus be able
to trace the way to the hotel.
It’s weird to
say this, but somehow, even at what was now after 1am, dragging my suitcase, tired, hungry (I
hadn’t had anything to eat since le Banneton) and, for all intents and
purposes, lost, I loved my lonely wander around this new town. I passed a wat
and some gorgeous French architecture, all augmented by the pale moonlight.
Quite a bit more easily than I had expected, I located the town’s main square, watched over by the proud Catholic Church of Saint
Theresa. And a few meters away, on a darkened side street, I spied letters spelling out V-I-V-A-N-O-U-K over the pastel blue door of a gorgeously restored colonial shophouse. At last I had found my hotel. Doors, locked.
I knocked and
cried up, hoping someone might hear me. Part of me thought I was a fool not to
have simply taken up the van driver on his hotel offer and crashed for the
night. All I really needed at this point was a bed, any bed would do.
A little
pushing and the doors of Vivanouk opened. It turned out they weren’t locked
after all, just closed tight. But there was still nobody around. I found the light
switch and was able to locate the front desk, where a business card holder
offered the phone number of the establishment.
Back outside I
went, switching off the lights and closing the door behind me. And as luck
would have it, just a few steps away, four or five local teens were drinking
Beerlao and chatting. Immediately
they offered me a glass, which I didn’t hesitate in accepting for a second. Using a
combination of baby talk and sign language, I convinced one of them to call the
number on the Vivanouk card I had just taken. Nobody answered.
Realizing the address was just down the street, they
accompanied me a few feet back to the front of the hotel. Now they began calling out
in accented English, “Hellooooo?!?” And before long, a light in an upper
window came on.
“Hello?” said a young local lady, peering down to the dark road.
I jumped into the conversation. “Hi, I’m so
sorry to pester you so late,” I began, “but I have a reservation here for tonight.
My bus was very delayed and I’ve only just managed to get here,” I implored.
Moments later,
her boyfriend, the genial proprietor, Niko, with whom I had corresponded in
reserving the room, came down. We were both apologizing profusely, me for
appearing so late without any update via e-mail or phone, him for actually
having totally forgotten about my reservation in the first place! He asked if
he could have fifteen or twenty minutes to get my room ready, so I went out for
a quick wander, made one circuit around the block, and promptly rejoined my
heroic Lao teens, who plied me with more Beerlao.
Niko came back
to fetch me a few moments later, and showed me up to my incredible room, with
old, wooden shutters that I flung open to the quaint street below. On the way
up, I realized poor Niko had had to pitch a tent in the lobby, and that’s where
he and his girlfriend would be spending the night, since they had previously
been reposing in the room I would now occupy. If I hadn’t been so plum wore
out, I certainly would have felt bad. As it happened, I melted into the bed and
had one of the best night’s sleep of my life.
Telling this
story now, I must sound crazy. And perhaps most people would have hated the
ordeal. I remember thinking how fortunate it was that I left Creeks and Court
behind. But I’m a strange fellow. In a bizarre way, I loved the whole thing.
And there’s something so incredibly satisfying about reaching a destination
after so convoluted and uncertain a journey. Looking back now, dare I say, it was surely one of
the top experiences of my trip.
Savannakhet
isn’t a city of attractions. Rather, its colonial-lined streets, breezy Mekong
riverfront and winning assortment of restaurants makes the town itself the destination,
and one that is well worth soaking up.
So while I did
take some time that morning to visit the Musée des Dinosaures—as the region has
hosted several major fossil finds—I mostly focused on the simple enjoyment to
be had basking in Savannakhet’s easy charms: a leisurely cycle ride
crisscrossing the streets, abruptly braking to admire for a crumbling façade or
lively street scene, stopping for coffees at inviting cafes and an
especially delightful riverside interlude consisting of one ice cold Beerlao
under the shady waterfront.
Pure bliss is
how I’d describe the morning. I fell in love with the place hard and fast. Even
cycling the same streets over and over again—it’s not a big place—proved endlessly
fascinating.
Checking out after a
stellar French lunch at Dao Savanh, I promised Niko that I’d be
back as soon as I could manage. I hope to make good on my word. (There are direct flight from Bangkok to Savannakhet, so if I can snag another multi-week work trip to our Thailand office, I'd love to spend a weekend here.)
But it was
time to move on to destination number three, Pakse, where I was linking up
again with my cohorts. I opted to fly this leg of the journey, which, with a
flight duration of merely thirty-five minutes, seemed preferable to an
additional six hour bus journey. Before I knew it, we already landed.
I asked someone whom I
thought was an airport staff member where the taxi line was, as I couldn’t seem
to locate any in the parking area in front of the arrivals hall. “Oh, I don’t
think you’ll find any taxis here,” he replied. “Where are you headed?”
I told him
that I was staying at the Pakse Hotel, which he knew, and he offered to drop me
off. It turns out he didn't work for the airport, he was just there to pick up his wife and child—who had just arrived from
Sweden—but he generously chauffeured me and a friend I'd made from my flight from airport to town center. Of course, he wouldn’t take a dime for his efforts. But it was one
of the most reassuring experiences of my travels to find such a kind-hearted
family so willing to assist total strangers.
Creeks and
Court weren’t around when I entered the hotel, and they had taken the keys with
them instead of leaving them behind the front desk. In some situations, this
could prove most tiresome. Imagine getting off a long flight, locating your
hotel and not being able to relax in your room, instead being stuck in a
dismal lobby! Luckily, my flight time had been a mere half hour, and the hotel's gorgeous rooftop
bar, La panorama, was just reaching its magic hour.
I ordered some
Beerlao, selected a high table from which to survey the scene and continued
sipping and reading. During happy hour, Beerlao bottles are two-for-one and
cost 12,000 kip (USD 1.30). Just before the deal ended, the waiter brought me
over a few more, and I was set for the next stretch of hours.
When Courtney
and CriCri did arrive, they had with them a friendly Italian named Lorenzo. You see, they had arrived early in the morning, and while
Courtney had chilled in Pakse for the day, CriCri headed down to Wat Phou, where she encountered Lorenzo journaling under the Frangipani trees. Back in Pakse, we
all met up and headed to a delicious Italian dinner at La Terrasse, with its convivial
garden setting. The friendly owner—and his celebratory limoncello shots at
the close of the meal—greatly added to our enjoyment.
We strolled back to the hotel and made our way up to La panorama afterwards, capping off the night with a few last drinks before the
place shut and we were (politely) told it was time to leave.
We had to be
up bright and early the next morning. We booked ourselves places on a tour of
the idyllic Bolaven Plateau, a full day excursion for which we joined an eclectic group
of international travelers: Daniele and Maria, a divorced French-Brazilian
couple who still travel together, Marene, a Dutch lady tacking an adventure on to
the end of a work trip to Bangkok, Christopher, Sophia and Rebecca, a German
trio travelling all around Southeast Asia, Natalie, a Swiss girl who’s
boyfriend had food poisoning that day and couldn’t leave the hotel, and Shalalala (not really her name, but pretty close, and as good as I can manage),
another Dutch girl whose father’s Curaçaoan roots were proven by the incredibly dark
tan she had managed to achieve over the past weeks in Laos.
To be honest,
the vast majority of the day was spent in our mode of transportation, a white, fifteen
passenger van. There were six or seven stops spread over nearly ten hours, with
some long drives in between each one. But our incredible group of tourists made
it one of the greatest days of the trip. Slowly, after the morning sun started
to rise, we began chatting with one another, opening up about our itineraries,
where we were coming from, where we were headed next, where we were in our
lives.
We stopped at
a waterfall first, then a coffee plantation. The reason Pakse first appeared on
my itinerary was thanks to the coffee grown on the Bolaven Platea. When I read
that a local tour company ran coffee treks here, it skyrocketed to the top of
must-visit Laos destinations. In the end, we decided against a tour that
focused specifically on coffee but rather one that encompassed all the nature
and beauty of the plateau. But it was still a highlight for me to explore the
grounds where the beans are nurtured and harvested.
I had two espressos in the
leafy tasting area—an Arabica and a Robusta—not far from where the coffee
was grown. The coffee farmers in this corner of the country have bonded
together to form a collective, and I was glad to learn more about the creation of
one of my favorite luxury items.
We stopped at
a very poor roadside village next, before moving on to our lunch venue, where
the food and service were upstaged by the dramatic setting, within a few meters
of a rushing river and rocky waterfalls. By this point, our group had really
bonded, and it was great to be out of that van, sitting in the peaceful spot
continuing our conversation.
We were all
starving and the food took a terribly long time to arrive. (In fact, it took a
terribly long time for the waiter to return from the kitchen to inform us that several of the dishes we
had ordered weren’t even available.) But, taken as a whole experience, it was a
glorious lunch.
Afterwards, we parted ways exploring different areas surrounding the river. Creeks and I headed
up a wooden staircase connecting to a causeway across the edge of the falls. We
passed through a wooded area with rustic cabins for rent—and both day-dreamed
a bit about having more time to spend in this tranquil paradise!
The highlight
of the afternoon—and perhaps of the whole day, at least for me—was a brief
dip in the waters with a bevvy a local kids. Yes, Creeks and I were the last
ones down to the van, and Daniele was itching to get a move on and less than impressed with our tardiness, but jumping off that rock into the refreshing
stream was an experience that will linger with me for years.
After a stop
at a weaving village and, lastly, the day's third waterfall, we headed back to
Pakse. Most of the group joined us up at Le panorama’s rooftop to take in the twilight views, where it was nice to spend some final moments with our
new friends.
After settling the bill, Creeks,
Courtney and I wandered around town searching for a suitable dinner spot. After
some amazing French and other European-inspired meals, we agreed to indulge in
local delicacies for this last night as a trio (Courtney and I would be headed
north to Luang Prabang the next day, but CriCri was venturing further south to the
Four Thousand Islands.)
We found a
place that seemed to be hopping, with live music and a palpable atmosphere. We
were also pretty much the only Westerners in sight, and sitting outside in the garden
made for an enjoyable feast.
The next
morning, Court and I said goodbye to Creeks, and then had to figure out how we
were filling our day before the mid-afternoon flight we’d booked up to Luang
Prabang. The natural choice, of course, was Wah Phou, an Angkor-era temple ruin
about forty-five minutes south. Christina had just raved about it, so we decided to give it a go.
We wandered
around town a bit first, trying to find a Frommer's-recommended coffee shop. (It turned out to be closed for the month, thanks to Chinese New Year.) Eventually, came upon the gaudy-yet-nevertheless-impressive Champasak Palace
Hotel, housed in an ostentatious former royal residence. We indulged in a
coffee on a shady terrace off the back of the main lobby, and the helpful staff
ordered a tuk tuk to come and take us the rest of the way to the celebrated
temple.
I was absolutely
stunned by Wat Phou, especially its dramatic setting clinging to the side of a
steep hill. I had read about the attraction during my earliest stages of research for this trip, yet somehow decided—largely thanks to having had just been to
Siem Reap only four months earlier—that I could leave additional temple ruins
to a future return visit to Southern Laos.
What a fool I was! Looking back now,
it was one of the great highlights of the vacation, and so different from the famous
temples of Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom that it defies comparison! The pictures just can't do it justice, but if you ever have the chance to go yourself, don't pass it up. The place is simply unbelievable!
One of the most memorable features of the complex is the ancient walkway that leads to the temple itself, reached via a long, flat axis flanked by semi-ruined columns connecting up to precipitous flights of stone staircases shaded by flowering frangipani trees.
On either side of this approach are the ruins of two structures, the so-called North and South Palaces. A trio of impish schoolboys—though why they weren't in school on a Wednesday morning remains a mystery—run the show here, frolicking about barefoot and making friends with the tourists.
Courtney and I spent a lot of time playing with these kids before venturing further up to the staircases to explore the main sanctuary of the temple complex. With huge beaming smiles, they were clearly in their element, treating the ancient stones like their own living room.
We scaled the nearly-perpendicular staircases to reach the top level, where the views out over the plain below were simply spectacular. And it was interesting to explore the rock carvings, main temple and a freshwater spring that once provided continuous bathing of the shrine's holiest object of all, the ancient Shiva lingam.
Back down below, we linked up with our waiting tuk tuk driver, who was ready to bring us back to Pakse, with an idyllic spot of lunch en route. My guidebook mentioned that although Wat Phou makes for an easy side trip from Pakse, there are actually some lovely hotels at the temple's doorstep, which might allow for an even more enjoyable visit. Now, of course, I was kicking myself that I didn't take this option more seriously, but at least we could stop at one of these lodges for some food.
Had I decided to spend a night in the area, I almost certainly would have opted for the Inthira Hotel, housed in a restored colonial villa along the main road to the temple, not far from the river. So that was where we chose to dine. My eyes were pealed as we cruised away from the temple, and after a few minutes' drive, I spotted the place. Our driver pulled over, and we sat down in the shaded terrace, ordered a cold Beerlao and perused the menu.
It was a heavenly lunch. I had some of the most delicious fresh spring rolls I've ever tasted, and banana and peanut deep fried spring rolls for dessert. A friendly cat jumped up on my lap and seemed to enjoy some attention. Then a dog with similar markings to Fredric appeared across the street, so I left Courtney to sip our Beerlao in solitude while I played with him. (And I visited the hotel bathroom after each of these encounters to thoroughly wash my hands.)
Yes, as excited as I was to finally experience the splendors of Luang Prabang, there was definitely a part of me that wanted to ask if there was an available room so we could simply spend the afternoon in this little slice of Eden. Common sense won out, but I assure you, I will be back.
For the short jaunt back to Pakse, our friendly tuk tuk driver turned back to Courtney and I to indicate that there was a hammock tucked up into the ceiling, pulling it down. You see, in Southeast Asia, tuk tuks are very common, and most people hire them for day trips where the drivers are often waiting hours in parking lots while their tourists explore the famed sights of the land. For rest and relaxation, many keep hammocks like this, so they can nap or, at least, lie down while they wait. You can bet I hopped right in, swaying in the breeze as we completed our journey and arrived back in town. It was a fitting farewell to the place.
By sunset, we had already landed in feted Luang Prabang, and I couldn't wait to drop our bags in the room and get out to explore the place on foot. We popped into the grounds of several wats and strolled through the famous night market before a delicious al fresco French-Lao meal at the elegant Villa Santi.
It doesn't take long to realize what a special city this is, with its immaculate architecture, wandering monks, spiritual temples and buzzing atmosphere. I went to bed like a kid on Christmas Eve.
For many tourists, one of the major draws of Luang Prabang is the daily procession of monks at dawn each day, as they file through town collecting rice from local residents. Known as almsgiving, this type of thing takes place in many towns around the country, and even in neighboring Thailand. However, it's Luang Prabang that has become most associated with the sight, and I can now say what a thrilling experience it is to witness it firsthand.
I woke up around five in the morning to watch the town come to life, and although scores of tourists were also on hand to watch the event, I must say, on the whole, I found the bulk of them to be respectful of the tradition. I chose not to participate myself, but rather to simply watch from the other side of the street.
As the morning fog lingers, picture hundreds of monks all lined up, their orange robes sticking out through the mist while villagers line the roads, either kneeling (women) or standing (men) while placing sticky rice in the monks' bowls. It's a very peaceful and serene start to the day, and after the procession itself seemed to subside, I simply relished wandering the streets of town, as this was the first time I'd gotten to see them in the light of day.
At this point, it was time to go back to the hotel to reunite with Courtney, who's not much of an early riser and decided the night before that she wasn't particularly interested in the morning alms procession. We indulged in riverside breakfast at our hotel and then hit the town.
Luang Prabang is a city made for wandering. You just want to keep walking up and down the streets, over and over again, popping into shops, stopping for coffee, ducking into a wat, strolling along the water.
There are attractions in town, like the Royal Palace, where we spent some time that morning, but Luang Prabang is really a place to savor the joie de vivre of the Lao lifestyle. An ideal day goes something like this: wake up to watch the alms procession. then linger over breakfast, visit a wat, then linger over coffee, browse a few boutiques, then linger over lunch, take a walk along the river for a bit, linger over a few Beerlao, visit another wat, then linger over dinner, meander along the French-infused streets some more, linger over cocktails, and, lastly, appreciate the town's sights on a moonlit homeward stroll. Repeat. (Come to think of it, that's pretty much how this first full day went.)
We did add one quirk to the above itinerary, however, by taking a sunset cruise on the Mekong. We bargained with one of the captains trying to entice customers onto their boats, and agreed on what I thought was a pretty fare deal, especially because he agreed to throw in four large bottles of Beerlao.
Our captain was a very charming fellow. He told us his name but also made the mistake of telling Courtney that it was the Lao word for "spicy."
"Can I just call you Spicy then?" Poor guy, he didn't really have a choice. He was Spicy from that moment forward. "Spicy, what's that?" she would ask, pointing to a strange-looking boat or building on one of the riverbanks. Or, "Spicy, what are those guys doing?" Or, "Spicy, can we go over there?"
At last, it was my turn: "Spicy, can we go for a swim in the Mekong?" And like that, he stopped the boat so I could jump in. By the end of the cruise—perhaps aided and abetted by those four Beerlao—Spicy had convinced us to charter his boat for a half day trip to the Pak Ou caves and a whiskey village the next morning.
That next day, sadly, was our last full one in Luang Prabang. We'd have to be making our way back to Vientiane at some point on Saturday to ensure we were able to catch our Sunday flights. So Friday was a day to savor it all. And to tick any items off the list that had yet to be accomplished!
It started early for me again, not to take in the alms procession but to climb to the top of Mount Phou Si for a panoramic view down over the town. Again, Courtney opted to sleep in, but I'm glad I made the trek up to the high vantage point.
After breakfast, it was time to meet up with Spicy for our excursion. We loaded up on the Beerlao first, so that we were adequately equipped for the long day. The sun was warming the sky as we headed off, with all sort of beautiful scenery surrounding us as we made our way up the Mekong towards the noted cave complex. It was a gorgeous ride.
En route, we stopped at Ban Xang Hai, a village that sells lots of souvenirs, most notably the famous Lao whiskey known as lao lao. Truth be told, the village is clearly designed to catch tourists on their way to or from the Pak Ou caves. But it was still a lively experience, with some free whiskey tastings leading to several purchases by yours truly.
The caves themselves might not be truly remarkable from a geological perspective, but they are veritably filled with thousands of statues of Buddha in all states of disrepair, ranging from action figure size carvings to full scale models. Spread between an upper and lower cave with stunning views out over the Mekong, a visit to the attraction was entirely worthwhile, especially considering the amazing scenery on view from the boat.
As you might be able to guess, there was more swimming in the river in store for Courtney and me on the way home—"Spicy, stop the boat!"—and I picked up some free mineral souvenirs in the form of intriguing rocks I found while doing so.
But back on dry land, we had one mandatory chore to take care of before we could go on with the sightseeing: switching hotels. As a splurge, I had opted to book the upscale Apsara Hotel for the last night in Luang Prabang, and we had to migrate.
We celebrated a successful move with an amazing late lunch at Tamarind, which I'd rank as probably the best traditional Lao-style meal of the trip. With outdoor seating on the banks of the Nam Khan River on the quieter side of the Luang Prabang peninsula, just beside our hotel, the restaurant was a real winner. Turns out they do cooking courses, normally not something I'd be very interested in. But truth be told, next time I make it back, I just might sign up for one. Yes, the food was that good.
Last on my Luang Prabang "must do" list was a visit to the tomb of Henri Mouhot, the French explorer who is renowned for "discovering" the ruins of Angkor Wat, which I visited for the first time last fall. In all honesty, the ruins of Ankor were never really "lost" in the first place, despite the popular myth of their rediscovery. And in reality, Mouhot wasn't even the first Westerner to lay eyes upon them when he visited in 1860. Still, his evocative descriptions and sketches of the famed temples certainly catapulted Angkor to international fame and he's largely responsible for the West's familiarity with the structures.
In a tragic turn of events, just the next year, while on a subsequent expedition through the jungles of Laos, he contracted malaria in Luang Prabang and died at the young age of thirty-five. Most of Mouhot's journals—shipped back to Europe by his devoted servent Phrai—were published posthumously, and his reputation lives on today.
He was buried on a bank of the Nam Khan River, and a whitewashed memorial was later erected over his tomb. Ironically, this monument itself was overgrown with trees and jungle greenery when it was accidentally rediscovered in the late 1980s. It is now well marked from the road, where our tuk tuk dropped us off, and we didn't have any trouble locating the spot.
It's a magical and peaceful location, just steps from the gurgling river. We spent some time down on the bank itself, where we encountered a friendly Lao family picnicking in a clearing. They had spare glasses which they filled with Beerlao and gave to Courtney and me, and we enjoyed a lovely little pause with them as the sun set over the river.
On the way back to town, we also stopped at the hilltop temple of Wat Pa Phon Phao, which was closed, meaning we couldn't go inside. Luckily, the main reason we wanted to check the place out was for the amazing view afforded from its summit. And although the sun had set a few moments earlier, the skies were still holding on to the various breathtaking colors that play in the air before night fully sets in.
The evening before, we had popped in for a drink at the bar of a very popular Luang Prabang restaurant called L'Elephant. It was such a pleasant experience that for this last night, we opted to do dinner there, and it was truly exceptional. The food is a sort of French-Lao fusion, and we had amazing escargot and standout buffalo tartare, washed down with a delicious white wine in a very elegant setting. All in all, a pitch-perfect goodbye meal to this wonderful town.
Postprandial cocktails, with some Australians we befriended at a nearby table, were obviously in order, and if the bar we selected hadn't strictly enforced their curfew, I would venture a guess that it might have turned into something of a late night. As it was, we got back to the Apsara around midnight.
I took advantage of the morning to say my farewell to Luang Prabang, watching the alms procession a second time, crossing the rickety bamboo bridge to the far bank of the Nam Khan and revisiting my favorite temple, Wat Xieng Thong to soak up its spiritual ambiance one final time.
After breakfast at the hotel, a private car arrived to whisk us on the approximately seven hour journey back to the capital. You may think that means it was a boring day, but far from it, my friends. The scenery between the two cities is known throughout the region for ranking among Southeast Asia's most breathtaking drives. And since we could stop whenever necessary to load up on Beerlao, it was actually quite an enjoyable little day.
In Vientiane, just in time for the sunset over the Mekong, it felt lovely to be back somewhere so familiar. With literally nothing to do all day but drink and admire the scenery, I was utterly exhausted when we arrived back at the Beau Rivage. So while Courtney ventured out that evening for dinner and drinks, I'm afraid I passed out quite early.
So we had arrived at our final day. Courtney's flight was around 4pm while mine was not until 9:30, so we had quite a nice chunk of time to fill. Breakfast and the obligatory Mekong dip start it all off, but my top pick was the Buddha Park, a well known attraction a ways outside of town. The helpful staff at the Beau Rivage wrote out clear directions for us to get there via bus, and after checking out and leaving our bags behind the front desk, we made our way to the Morning Market where the buses depart, easily finding our ride.
As we chugged our way out of town, Courtney started to feel very sick. It got so bad so quickly that we had to jump off the bus and get a tuk tuk back to the hotel. Poor Court was really in bad shape, and so we asked if we could "rent" a room until her flight, although we obviously weren't planning on spending another night. Without missing a beat, the staff put together a plan. Although the hotel was indeed fully booked that night, they knew that one guest was scheduled to arrive late in the evening. They promptly put us in his room and told us we could have it until Court had to leave for the airport.
Yet another member of the staff, who it turns out was a former medic in the Lao army, evaluated Courtney's condition and then disappeared, returning a short while later with medicine and supplements.
I let Courtney rest and went out out for lunch, picking up some plain rice for her on my way back. Slowly but surely, she felt better and better, so that by the time she had to leave for the airport, she even was able to manage a quick tea in the neighboring bar. But the most touching bit of this ordeal was when we tried to pay at the front desk. From our perspective, we had occupied a room for several hours and were perfectly willing to pay for the privilege. But the staff would hear nothing of it! Surely, at least, we could pay for the medication the ex-army medic had gone out to get? Not necessary! Courtney was in tears, literally, at their hospitality. I hinted at this earlier in my post, but this sealed the deal for me. I don't think I'll ever stay anywhere else in Vientiane. The Beau Rivage has my business for life.
With Courtney safely on her plane, I had a little time left to wander about a city that I'd seriously fallen in love with. I headed to Wat Si Saket one final time, because although I'd entered the grounds twice already at the very beginning of my trip, I'd never bought a ticket to enter the sanctuary itself.
I'm so glad I was able to fit it in, because it was one of the most beautiful temples I've ever seen. The murals inside the main hall were glorious, and although the place is currently under restoration by a team of international experts, it was still a beguiling place to spend a half hour, especially in the soft light of late afternoon.
I caught one last Laos sunset from the Mekong waterfront, and there was little to do after but plop down at one of the tables in front of the Beau Rivage and down a few final Beerlao while I waited for my taxi to arrive. I squeezed every last minute out of it, only departing for the airport when it became absolutely necessary.
It's hard to sum up a country in any number of words, but I think it's safe to say that I've certainly thrown quite a few of them at this one! It was stunning, glorious, moving, breathtaking, generous, friendly, open, lively and downright magical. I know I'll be back, and hopefully soon. From the crumbling villas of Savannakhet to the rooftop bar in Pakse, the majestic pride of Patuxai to the humble dignity of the small villages, the coffee of the Bolaven Plateau to the Beerlao, well, pretty much everywhere, Laos was more than a vacation, it was an experience, one I know will stay fresh in my mind for years to come.
