Feb. 18 - Luang Prabang, Heritage city

There are certainly pros and cons about visiting a world heritage site, such
as that of Luang Prabang in northern Loas. On the one hand, government money
is tossed at the burg in order to keep it looking pretty, while many
residents barely make a dollar a day; on the other hand, it becomes one of
those ready-made tourist destinations that offers dozens of guesthouses and
hotels, excellent food, beautiful, inexpensive souvenirs, great day trips,
superb coffee and: it looks pretty. Luang Prabang is actually a logical
place for backpackers to come into Laos. Being on the Mekong, it offers an
end-point to a two-day boat trip from Thailand. (See previous log entry). It
is in the middle of the north, offering a jumping off point to places like
Muong Ngoy and Vang Vien and it is accessible by bus and plane.

But on top of all of the above, being in Laos, LP is ideal in that it has
not been over-discovered by tourists like many places in Thailand, people
are incredibly friendly and the infrastructure is set up so you don't have
to anticipate major bus delays like you might in Cambodia.

And so it was that LP became a rest stop where I ceased to try and cram in
every little site I could in the daylight hours and just sat and watched
life go by. Not that I didn't do the touristy stuff... I climbed up the
beautiful Phousi hill to get great views of the city and the Mekong and
watch the monks who live on the mountain go about their daily routines; I
took a half-day trip to Pac Ou caves which contain hundreds and hundreds of
Buddha figurines; and I climbed and swam in the stunning Kwongsi waterfall.
This last I did under duress because I had been to so many waterfalls, what
could one more offer? But it was well worth it in the end, especially having
taken the time to climb to the top. The falls were several hundred feet high
and flowed into a series of about a dozen different pools on their way down.
At the top, there was a beautiful marshy sort of area that you could walk
across and look down to see all the different pools and you could swim in
the biggest pool, just below the source of the falls. The climb up was a
pain in the ass -- with dry sand over slick rocks -- and it was hot and
sweaty going; but it only took about 20 minutes and the reward was a cool
swim and great views. Unfortunately, by the time you got down again, you
were hot and sticky so the reward had to be a cold shower and cup of Lao
coffee. Speaking of which...

My favorite time of the day was early morning, sitting at a table outside
Nittaya guest house where I was staying, drinking a cup of strong Lao
coffee. As is commonly the practice in Laos, as in many Asian countries, the
coffee is dripped into a mug into which a couple of tablespoons of sweetened
condensed milk is already sitting. The combination of the two result in a
rich, almost mocha flavor. Those who feel they do not have enough hair on
their chest can take the coffee black.

Now getting up in the early morning for coffee did not mean my usual
Canadian "early morning" in Vancouver. Back home it meant a relaxing 10
a.m. latte on Commercial Drive. In LP, it meant more like 6:30 a.m. to catch
the first movement of life in the morning. It's the time of day when
tourists are few because they're still sleeping; guesthouse, restaurant
and store owners sweep the sidewalk or street in front of their
establishments; people are heading off to work or school; and kids have
started playing around their houses outside. They play this game where they
stack a bunch of small, folded pieces of cardboard into a little pile and
then fling their thongs along the pavement from about 20 feet away, trying
to knock the pile over. It was easy enough for kids of all ages so no one
felt left out and I loved hearing the squeals of laughter from the younger
five-year-olds as they hit the pile when everyone else had failed.

I enjoyed and was actually surprised by the tranquility I felt, sitting
outside in bare feet when you could see your breath still in the air. (Being
northerly, the nights got quite cool, even though it might get up into the
low 30s at midday.) It was surprising because generally, only a few hours
earlier, when the traffic and roosters and life started in earnest before
the sun rose, I would be lying in bed panicking about my life. What was I
doing there? How would I make it to my next destination? Where should I go?
Would there be Israelis there? (Please, no.) What if I had all my things
stolen? What if the next guesthouse had no bathrooms or, worse, no coffee!
It was a frequent and unrelenting nagging that the trip I had gone on to
somewhat "find myself" would leave me penniless, in debt and sick with
some life-long malady, having garnered no more sense of what I wanted to do
with my life than what I might have gleaned reading one of thousands of
best-selling self-help books over a relaxing 10 a.m. latte on Commercial
drive. It was depressing.

But the guesthouse I had chosen was run by a nice family who's grandmother
always sat outside with me. She didn't speak a work of English but was
always happy to see me in the morning. I think she was quite lonely and,
while everyone else ran around taking care of things, she just sat outside
and watched, since she was quite old and frail. On the third day of my stay
there, she motioned me to come over and pulled out four short strands of
string. She picked up one of my hands and tied two pieces of string around
my wrist, knotting them together in a series of three knots. As she tied
them, she muttered something that sounded a bit like an incantation. She
repeated the process on the other wrist. Afraid that I was now either her
servant or I owed her my life (or first born), I asked her grandson what it
meant. They were for good luck, he said. They are given to someone
considered a member of the family.

The next day, I was invited to a wedding of a cousin of the people in the
guesthouse that was to take place the following weekend (five days away). I
had been planning on moving on but figured I couldn't pass on this
opportunity, especially since I was a "member of the family." But I
didn't think I could spend five more days in LP, with nothing to do. So I
took off to Nong Khiaw, a little hamlet a half-day's ride north of LP.

Next entry: to Nong Khiaw and back. In which I become a farang bitch.