Low-cost airlines have opened up the remote reaches of South-East Asia, here we jet off to Laos to see the country's colonial cities without the travel hassels
Hmm... lizard or owl for lunch? This wasn't so much a market stall as a vet's operating table; a menagerie of animals in various states of consciousness. Adventurous eating is an exciting part of travelling, but I've always felt that the more of one species that's dished up, the more reassuring it is – it implies 'cultural staple' rather than 'excuse to munch endangered species'. Here, there were only one or two of each critter: a squirrel, a crow, a bowl of frogs and a big green snake that had nearly shimmied out of its basket. I took a precautionary step back and mentioned to the Hmong tribeswomen behind the table: "I think your snake is about to get away."
One of them hurried over and batted at it with her bare hands until it was back where it belonged. Making silly fang shapes with my fingers, I attempted to mime the question: “Is it poisonous?” With raised eyebrows and a big smile, they all nodded enthusiastically – a little too enthusiastically. Maybe I wasn’t so hungry after all.
Luckily, my encounter with this crawling, writhing menu happened toward the end of my trip to Laos, but these days you could be faced with this kind of culture shock only hours after leaving home soil – South-East Asia has discovered the budget airline.
Getting to Laos used to involve a long and arduous bus journey or a flight with the over-priced and unreliable national airline. However, now, with a quick change in Bangkok, you can jet off on what amounts to an Indochina city break on budget-priced flights that depart with bus-like frequency.
Laos’ northern city of Luang Prabang is a case in point – most people used to come at it from the north on a boat that moves as languidly as the Mekong’s currents. That’s fine if you’ve got the days to spare, but not so convenient for your average two weeks off work. These days, though, you can be implanted there with surgical precision by plane, making Luang Prabang the perfect jumping-off point for a quick tour through the country.
My plane came in steep, finding its way over the mountains that guard the ancient city. From above, I could see where the Mekong and Nam Kan rivers meet to surround the tiny jungle peninsula, and could just make out the tops of temples poking through the forest canopy as my plane came to rest at the end of a spartan runway-cum-cattle-grazing area.
Luang Prabang was originally settled in 1353 and remains one of the best-preserved French-colonial cities in South-East Asia, recognised as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The colonial-style villas that line the roads have been transformed into charming bars and cafés, but left just weathered enough to make you feel like a character from a Graham Greene novel. Monks lazed about under huge umbrellas and the slow, powerful waters of the Mekong, which flank one side of the city, cast a dreamy spell over the people.
My days were spent much like those of the French soldiers and diplomats who stayed in Laos long after their country pulled out of the region in 1953. On my first morning I pushed open the tall Venetian blinds to let the sun shine down on the teak floorboards of my huge room; then, with a Bangkok Post under one arm, I rode my rented bicycle to a bakery on the main road to enjoy a fresh cake and coffee – a legacy of the French occupation.
After breakfast I toured the city. It’s small enough that you won’t get lost, yet just big enough for new discoveries at every turn. I found an artist exhibiting on one corner, a French-colonial mansion that was now an art gallery on the next, people on the street making gorgeous paper lanterns – it all offered a glimpse into the city’s potential future as a cultural mecca for South-East Asia travellers.
It was on the main road that I happened upon Chandra Vongsaravanh, a restaurateur advertising ‘Lao cooking classes and traditional ballet lessons’ – a curious combination. He had shoulder-length hair and a carefree, bohemian way about him as he prepared bushels of exotic vegetables and dishes full of richly coloured spices, presumably for his first class of the day.
“So, you teach cooking and ballet?” I asked.
“No, no. It’s my wife who does the ballet. And we have a small theatre upstairs for plays, too.” Chandra and I spoke briefly about Lao art and how, despite being such a poor country, creativity is thriving now more than ever. “It’s not the same everywhere in Laos,” he said, “but Luang Prabang has a strong tradition in the arts – it is Laos’ cultural centre.”
Luang Prabang sells its culture in a subtle way, though, which makes it feel pure – like Chiang Mai in northern Thailand did a decade ago. There is no pressure from vendors and the people seem to be living for themselves, rather than the tourist dollar. That evening I strolled around the night market, an atmospheric stretch of dimly lit stalls offering hundreds of unique wares. I couldn’t resist buying several intricately patterned Lao weavings, all of which were shockingly cheap.
The only thing that lured me away from Luang Prabang’s arts and crafts were its temples – equally stunning but on a grander scale, and oozing with history, many of them having withstood ancient battles and city sackings. But they are also still important places of worship for Lao people, and I saw many orange-robed monks sat in temple archways, hiding from the midday sun between prayer sessions.
As my final day in Luang Prabang came to an end, I had one temple left to see: the hilltop That Chomsi.
It seemed the perfect send off – 100m and several hundred stairs above the streets of Luang Prabang, That Chomsi rises up from the middle of the city and boasts panoramic views even more beautiful than the temple itself. I wiped the sweat from my brow after the sharp climb, took a seat beside two teenage monks and watched the sun set behind the very mountains I would be travelling over the following day on my way to the Lao capital, Vientiane.
The next morning, as my bus searched for passage over Laos’ rugged interior, I realised just how undeveloped and isolated the country is. But, despite some nauseating twists and turns, the road that links Luang Prabang to Vientiane is one of the best in the country and the transport links between the two cities are fairly reliable. My plan was to make a brief stopover in remote jungle outpost Vang Vieng before carrying on to the capital for my flight back to Bangkok. With budget airlines serving both ends of this route, it makes a great introduction to South-East Asia’s least-visited country.
A tropical fog rested in the valley as we descended past the huge limestone cliffs that surround Vang Vieng.
The bus dropped me off on an old disused airstrip built by the Americans during the Vietnam War, and from there it was only a short walk to the banks of the Nam Song River and a bungalow facing the mountains.
It was already late, so I cracked open a cold Beerlao and settled in to watch the sunset. From my terrace, I saw the cliffs and palm trees become silhouettes against a blood-red sky, and listened to an acoustic rendition of the Beatles’ ‘Yesterday’…
‘Yesterday’? The Beatles? Someone nearby was going from one Beatles hit to the next and, aside from a couple of dodgy Lao/English translations, it wasn’t half bad. I walked around to the open-air reception, where a Lao man in his 60s, wearing a cardigan and spectacles, was strumming away earnestly on his beat-up old guitar; a woman of the same age sat behind a desk, shuffling through paperwork and occasionally looking up at him and smiling.
The woman behind the desk introduced herself as Thavansouk, owner of the guesthouse; the Lao Lennon was her husband. For them, it was the Vietnam War that had shaped their lives more than anything else. Thavansouk had spent time in the UK before moving back to Laos in the 70s to work as a secretary for UNICEF in Vientiane. This was a secure job at a time when Laos was a pawn caught in the crossfire between the Vietnamese and American militaries.
“We had to leave Laos in the 60s,” she told me. “The Vietnamese government made it difficult for the Lao people and we were very poor.” She stayed away just long enough for things to settle down before coming back at about the same time the aid agencies stepped in to help.
Now Thavansouk and her husband live a simpler life, looking after their guesthouse and touring the countryside in their perfectly restored vintage Mercedes – left abandoned by a French diplomat 40 years ago.
The Laos of today is very different to Laos of ‘Yesterday’ – when all their troubles definitely weren’t so far away.
The next morning I continued my journey south toward Vientiane, being driven through layers of provincial poverty before hitting the bustling centre. Vientiane is by far the biggest city in Laos, but it doesn’t suffer from the frenetic pace of other Asian capitals – it’s a relaxed place that is easy to get to know.
I was met by a friend of mine, Stuart Glover, who moved from London to Laos in 2003. Stuart told me that the country is changing fast, and many foreigners are beginning to relocate here, looking for a better life. Also, many people from neighbouring Asian countries are taking advantage of the country’s bid to become a player in the region. The future looks promising and many aid agencies that have been based here for decades are finally packing their bags and moving on to needier trouble spots around the world.
While Laos may be moving forward, there are still reminders of the past in Vientiane. I walked along the river toward one of the oldest temples in the country, Wat Si Saket. Here the Mekong is more than a mile wide, and travellers and locals alike were strolling along the shoreline promenade. The colourful umbrellas of a hundred foodstalls selling delicious barbecued fish and grilled vegetables lined the banks, and smiling couples stared out over the river.
Wat Si Saket was no less romantic. The beautiful main building is surrounded by a courtyard that reputedly houses 2,000 silver Buddhas that are centuries-old, while glorious murals decorate the ceiling and walls of the ordination hall. The Siamese razed many of Laos’ buildings to the ground when they crushed domestic rebellions in the early 1800s, but Wat Si Saket is thought to have been spared because of its resemblance to a Siamese temple.
Laos is still less developed than its South-East Asian neighbours, the countryside still rugged and some of the eating options still rather lively, but it is a country beginning to find its feet. Spending time with people in Laos, I felt I was witnessing a culture keen to share itself with the outside world; and now that Luang Prabang and Vientiane are only short hops from Bangkok, that sharing is becoming a whole lot easier.
When to go: High season is November to February – it rains the least and temperatures are cool. Early monsoon (June and July) isn’t too wet and is warmer, less crowded and cheaper, while the hot season (March through May) is probably best avoided as temperatures soar to 40°C.
Health & safety: Don’t drink tap water – bottled water is available and is incredibly cheap. Most water served to you in a restaurant will have been treated and is safe to drink.
