(Note: I am using Lao instead of Laos from intent, not because I can't spell. The final "s" is, like the country's current borders, a product of French colonialism.)
Our train arrived in Ubon Ratchathani, a major provincial capital in Eastern Thailand, not long after dawn. After a western-style breakfast in a hotel, and a wander round the riverside market we took songthaews to the village of Khong Chiam (or Jiam), stopping on the way at a remarkable modern wat that successfully blended Buddhist, Hindu and Khmer elements.
I found the afternoon foray to Pha Taen National Park less inspiring. We stopped at the "two color rivers" where the brown Mekong was joined by the supposedly blue Mun, but both rivers seemed the same color. The chimney rock formations at Sao Chaliang were limited in number, and clumsy compared to those in Cappadocia. The prehistoric rock paintings, while located on a magnificent cliff overhanging the Mekong, were also few in number and crude in execution.
The National Park was a substitute for a trip across the Cambodian border to Wat Preah Vihear which unfortunately was no longer accessible thanks to a falling out between the Thai and Cambodian governments. I would have preferred to head straight for Lao, as there was little to see in the Thai village, other than the Mekong, of course -- wide and brown, running fast and high as the rainy season was only just over. Our guesthouse had no hot water, but a big bucket and a drying rack, along with the welcome AC, facilitated laundry. Nightlife was nonexistent and the food, for meat-eaters, marginal. Breakfast was an improvement -- I picked up a yogurt at a mini-mart and drank it by the river after mailing my absentee ballot from the post office.
People and backpacks alike made the short drive to the Lao border at Chong Mek in the back of pickups. After the usual formalities (including becoming instant millionaires in kip, the Lao currency) we boarded a large songthaew for the ride to Champasak -- once the capital of a state encompassing land on both sides of the border we had just crossed. A songthaew is built on a mini-pickup base, with bench seats along the long sides and a top bolted to the frame. While the top provides some shelter and shade, there's no protection at the sides and back. The day before we had been driven through a couple of rainstorms -- the driver had simply speeded up. This time the problem was dust. Only 40% of Lao's roads are sealed, and this wasn't one of them. The mud of the wet season had mostly dried, and clouds of red dust rose around us. For two and a half hours. It's difficult to see much from a songthaew even when there isn't any dust, but what we did see was fascinating -- a total change from Bangkok.
Perhaps 5.5 million people live in Lao, a country the size of Britain, most of them in the countryside. The houses we passed were built of wood and bamboo, raised on stilts -- animals and laundry and hammocks shared the space beneath the living quarters, which had thatch or tin roofs. Water is clearly a problem -- too much during the rainy season and not enough the rest of the year.
Lao trails Thailand in development not only because of its sparse population but because Thailand has the major advantage of having enjoyed peace while Lao was a war zone. Although Lao was supposed to be a neutral area after the French left, neither the U.S. nor Vietnam paid attention to that technicality. On the basis of population, Lao is the most heavily bombed country ever, partly because U.S. planes returning from unsuccessful raids dropped their bombs on Lao on the way home (with no requirement that they avoid temples, schools or hospitals), partly because it hosted part of the Ho Chi Minh trail and partly because of secret bombing of Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese bases. UXO (unexploded ordinance) is still a major problem, with adults and children alike falling victim to the leavings of a lost cause.
Lao was also the theater for a "secret war" conducted sub rosa by the CIA, which involved both a theoretically civilian air force (military pilots flew their missions in civilian clothes) and a force of 10,000 Hmong (a hill tribe minority). The reason that there are now more Hmong in the US (400,000) than in Lao (300,000) is because the CIA at least kept its promise to resettle its allies in America if the war was lost.
Of course, the Pathet Lao, who wound up running the country in 1975, are Communist, and might perhaps be expected to lag in economic development. However, they are particularly pragmatic Communists, as witnessed by their rapid abandonment of an attempt to outlaw Buddhism, symbolized by the addition of the gold stupa Pha That Luang to the national seal. (Although proselytizing for other religions is still prohibited.)
When we finally arrived in Champasak Vicki cleaned her face with a wad of wet wipes before looking for a guesthouse, but she reported that the owner still asked where she had come from, as she was so dirty. And smelled! The guesthouse, basic but comfortable, looked much like the village houses, with thatched roof and bamboo walls, but no stilts, and provided fans, mosquito nets and cold water. The town -- school, wat, clinic, general store, one hotel and several guest houses -- spread down a long main street.
We ate lunch in a cafe beside the Mekong, and watched the slow, inexorable approach of a rainstorm, which was followed by a perfect rainbow arching across the further bank. The light that evening, with white cloud bands practically at ground level, was extraordinary.
I woke early in the morning and watched a small group of orange robed monks on their morning alms round -- hotly pursued by French tourists from the hotel. Further down the street I found an old lady sitting on a low wooden table, offering delicious spring rolls for breakfast. I was already enjoying one before I remembered that it didn't conform to the rule of "cook it or peel it" that defines safe eating in Asia, but I suffered no ill effects. Other old, or old-looking, women passed, carrying baskets hung from shoulder poles. While men in Lao dress in western shirts and pants, women are still required to wear the sim, a Lao-style sarong -- a tube of locally woven fabric folded in front to fit and held with clips. A band of decoration is woven in, or sewn on, at the bottom. Some of the fabric is really beautiful.
Angkor Wat, Wat Preah Vihear and Wat Phu at Champasak formed a spiritual triangle. I had read that Wat Preah Vihear crowned a long, steep, embankment. At Wat Phu, the oldest of the Khmer religious sites, I climbed a processional way up a hill thought to resemble a lingam. Ceremonial bathing pools flanked the beginning of the path, with male and female dressing halls beyond -- huge buildings of dark red stone, now roofless, with remnants of carving.
Little yellow butterflies fluttered among the marigolds lining the stairway, and an occasional bird broke the silence. At the top a panoramic view appeared. When the king visited the wat his feet were not supposed to touch the ground, and a wooden walkway was laid over the stones, which nonetheless still held tremendous residual power. We had the place virtually to ourselves, and took full advantage of the peace and serenity, wandering among trees, buildings and Buddhas. Unfortunately the sacred spring was unreachable -- some kind of renovation/building/excavation was in process.
Later, we headed further south, this time over a good road, to Don Khong island. We crossed the Mekong by ferry -- two keels supporting a flat platform flanked by the wheel house on one side and living quarters on the other. Vehicles drove onto one side of the platform and off the other. Many of the islands of Southern Lao appear or disappear according to the season, but some, like Don Khong, are big enough to last year round, and have permanent settlements. We used it as a base for a boat trip further down the Mekong to Don Khon island, where accommodation mostly consists of bare-bones chalets.
French hopes that the Mekong would prove navigable were ended when they saw the rapids at Don Khon, so they built a 14 kilometer narrow-gauge railroad and a bridge (still standing) to facilitate transshipment. The rapids, known as Li Phi falls, were clearly unnavigable -- not particularly, high, but very wide with torrents of brown water churned to beige and cream foam. The group enjoyed them so much that next day, on the way to Pakse, we made an unscheduled stop at Khon Pha Pheng, the widest falls in South East Asia.
Wandering through the village near our guesthouse with Kirsten, the Dane, I noticed a young man sitting outside a house wearing a North Carolina University sweat shirt. Naturally, I stopped to mention that I lived in N.C., and we were immediately pressed to sit and talk to him. It turned out that he had lived in Toronto since he was five, and was visiting his Lao relations for the first time. A dutiful son, he had previously fulfilled his family's expectations by spending two weeks as a novice at a Buddhist monastery in Toronto, and now had spent several days doing the same in a Lao monastery in recognition of his grandmother's death. He appeared to be suffering from culture shock (the food didn't agree with him and he was sleeping on the floor) and seemed so pleased to have someone from "home" to talk to that it felt unkind to leave.
Our second night in Don Khong the evening beer was supplemented by lao-lao, local firewater, or "whisky". Firewater is the more accurate description, and the conversation gradually became louder and livelier, as we ignored the grumpy looks coming from the other tour group in the riverside cafe.
After Champasak and Don Khong, Pakse, our next stop, felt like a big town. Anne-Marie (the Irishwoman) and I indulged in a massage and sauna -- my first sauna. A local woman doctor with good English who shared the sauna with us was trying to lighten her skin, ironic given the that westerners are so often trying to darken theirs. She looked politely incredulous when we assured her that she already looked fine. The desire for lighter skin is so common in Southeast Asia that my favorite hand lotion was often only available with a whitening agent added.
The whole group indulged in a good Indian meal that night -- I savored lassi, papad, samosa and prawn butter masala -- so far Lao cuisine had not been particularly enticing. The next day we would fly to Vientiane, the capital, where there would be plenty of foreign cuisine for the resident expats.
Originally sent from Hanoi, Vietnam, Nov. 25, about Eastern Thailand and Southern Laos, Oct. 29 - Nov. 2 2002
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