Moms in Laos
CHAPTER 1
Getting There
Never believe anybody that says getting there is half the fun, especially if you are talking about coach air travel over long distances. And Luang Prabang Laos is a looooooong distance. You can’t get further from here than there, unless you leave the planet. The upside is that you don’t need to reset your watch, unless you are on military time: Laos is precisely 12 hours ahead of East Coast time.
I don’t travel much, and I am easily frightened by horror stories. So, I panicked a bit when I noticed that the layover at Chicago’s O Hare – a change from my domestic flight from Charlotte to the international flight to Tokyo’s Norita airport - was only 40 minutes, or, 20 minutes between deplaning and reboarding. True, Bob’s sister Ria would be there, and she is a very experienced traveler, but I’d heard about airport Olympics at O Hare, and didn’t think she could carry me, even in an emergency. So I signed up for wheelchair service. Better embarrassed, and safe, than sorry. It proved to be an important decision.
We did make the flight, meeting up with Alex’s Mom, Judy Pearlstein, at the gate. The Three Mom Musketeers were ready for adventure! My seat was at the very front of the coach section, and, wonder of wonders, the middle seat was vacant! Space is a precious commodity in coach air travel. I also lucked out in my assigned seatmate. He had retired from joint professions as Catholic priest and college professor, and had taken up traveling as a second career, chiefly in SE Asia.
At first, he took tour groups; then, solo, visiting the many friends he had made there. He preferred big cities like Bangkok, Chang Mai, Vientienne, and Phom Phen to backwaters like Luang Prabang and Siem Reap. His opinions were interesting, and not exactly what one might expect from a retired cleric. For instance, he opined that if one were gay, SE Asia was the place to be: They really don’t care, there. “The most beautiful women you’ll ever meet in Asia aren’t women!” He had visited the transvestite bar in Luang Prabang. (See Annie’s blog at http://siamchronicles.blogspot.com/2005_06_01_siamchronicles_archive.html). And he had a rather, um, different view of the child sex trade in Asia (See Annie’s blog at http://siamchronicles.blogspot.com/2005/09/siam-chronicles-11-when-to-say-when-to.html). He said that since he was an older, single male, taxi drivers always ran him past the houses, and he’d met and talked to the girls. “You’d rather they just starve?!” From time to time, he’d stop talking and take a pill, which put him promptly to sleep. On one such occasion, he was still holding a piece of cake, which ended up mashed into his sweater.
It was from the good ex-Father that I learned that they DO serve alcoholic beverages to coach passengers on international flights. He’d pick up small bottles of wine every time a stewardess passed by, putting most of them into his carry on bag. His parting shot, as we deplaned in Bangkok, was that I was fortunate: “Had we crashed, I could have given you the Last Rites!” Actually, had he not been there to provide a modicum of entertainment, I was more likely to die of boredom: two of the four cinema offerings were “Bewitched” and “Beethoven II.”
After what seemed like 500 years, we stumbled off the plane at the Bangkok Airport, exhausted, and spent the night at a nice Marriott. We reconvened next day to board a Bangkok Air flight to Luang Prabang. It was a smallish propeller plane – the only kind of aircraft the airport that Luang Prabang can accommodate – painted all over with flowers, palm trees, cartoon airplanes, and fish, in neon colors. The inside was decorated for Christmas and New Year’s. We flew low over lovely mountains, and followed what was obviously the MeKong River to the top of Laos, and the old capital, Luang Prabang. The airport is small, and security precautions are nonexistent. That is just as well; there is nothing whatever in Luang Prabang that anybody would want to blow up.
It was a long, long journey, but there were Annie and Alex! It was worth it!!
CHAPTER 2
The Lay of the Land
So – Touchdown in Laos at last! A flashback: Early in the planning, we had somewhat parted company as to quarters. Judy and I had chosen to stay at a nice Laotian guest house, perhaps three blocks from A&A’s apartment, while Ria had selected a Western style “4 Star” accommodation perhaps three blocks further down the road. So, she had a limo waiting to whisk her away, while Judy and I waited for Alex to flag down a sang dow for us. A sa
ng dow is a uniquely Asian mode of transport. Slightly larger than a tuk tuk, it is essentially a small pick up truck with a covered bed, and plank seats around the edges. Getting both ourselves and our luggage into one of these things would be no easy task. A further flashback: One purpose of our trip was to take home with us things that A&A did not want to port about China during their last month in Asia. So, both Judy and I had brought more luggage than we really needed for ourselves. I brought the famous “body bag” – a huge, blue monstrosity capable of moving a small village – or a body. We had filled at least some of the extra space with Western consumables for “the kids.” (Hey, we know they’re not “kids” in the usual sense, but to Judy and I – and their Aunt as well - they will be “the kids” when they are 50.) But a bit of puffing and shoving did the trick, and we were on the way to the Asian leg of the adventure.
And there we were, at what would be our home for the next 10 days or so. Luang Prabang’s “Main Drag” looks like a street on a Western movie set: Small storefronts along a road so dusty that it might as well be unpaved. Instead of horses hitched to posts, small motorcycles line the sidewalk. According to Annie, everyone in Laos has one of these vehicles, and they have constructed their sidewalks, yards, and porches to accommodate them. Concrete ramp ways have been installed beside stairways up to porches, where the bikes are housed. Occasionally, whole families will scoot by on one of the things, carrying bags of luggage and several chickens.
The meeting area of the guest house overlooks the main street; room balconies in the back overlook the little alfresco restaurant. Numerous cats roam everywhere, or sleep on the tin roof at the back of the place. Dogs, too, dodge the motor bikes on the street. The rooms had everything we needed: They were clean, could be locked, and had private baths with hot and cold running water – after a fashion. The hot and cold water actually alternated out of the shower head, first scalding, then freezing, but, I suppose it could be said that on average, it was fine.
Of course, from time to time, it went off altogether. The electrical grid in Luang Prabang seems to be wads of black spaghetti hooked randomly to telephone poles. And when the electricity goes off, as it does a couple of times a week, so does the water. Still, the concierge thoughtfully placed a large bucket of water in our rooms, each with a large scoop, so we could flush in an emergency.
The storefronts of the street were not shops that catered to Laotians. Luang Prabang depends heavily on tourists of the rugged sort. Young backpackers roam the streets, and sang dows regularly disgorge packs of tanned, healthy looking Germans or Australians. The shops sell wares for these people: Beautiful scarves from the Weaving Village, or film and disposable cameras. And every other storefront was an internet café.
Laotians shop instead at the main market, at the far end of the street. Here, you can buy everything you need, from clothes to farm implements, to all varieties of food.
Laotians eat little meat, but what they do eat, they purchase at the market. Shopping there would make anyone a vegetarian; the vegetables are beautiful and crisply fresh; the meats are dry and covered with flies.
Laotians also grow much of their own food. The MeKong River is their lifeblood. It was the low season when we were there; the level of the river had dropped sharply, leaving banks the height of a tall building. The Laotians use fertile river silt to construct terraces along the banks to grow a variety of food.
For protein, they rely on fish from the river, water buffalo, wild boar, and eggs from the chickens that ubiquitously roam the city, followed by black and yellow puff balls, cheeping away. Roosters strut by and fill the air with raucous singing, at all hours, but particularly, early in the morning. Alex has written a hilarious blog on the subject: http://adventurespecificasia.blogspot.com/2005/12/excerpts-from-memoirs-of-rooster.htmlcificasia.blogspot.com/2005/12/excerpts-from-memoirs-of-rooster.html
Not to worry: Bird flu has not found its way to Laos, and it is unlikely to be a big problem there. The birds are not kept in the large, closely packed flocks that breed disease; they wander the yards and streets in individual splendor.
Other sorts of birds are kept as pets. Judy made friends with a handsome mynah bird, kept in a cage on the stoop of the internet café across from our guest house.
The economy of Laos is rather free form. The Laotian currency, the Kip, is set at 10,000 or so to the dollar, so even small purchases can involve large stacks of bills. It is at first hard to process the information that a dinner bill for 4 is 200,000 kip, and that our guest house bill would run to the millions of kip. There is little industry beyond tourism, and given the paucity of amenities, tourism has its limits. Laos is one of the poorest countries on earth. Still, Luang Prabang is hustling, after its fashion, to cash in on the tourist boomlet. New construction is everywhere, and while there is little noise from industry, the daylight hours ring with constant hammering and sawing. The sidewalk in front of A&A’s house has been under construction since they have lived there, and one fine day, it may actually be completed.
But the people are a treasure. The culture is deeply Buddhist/animist, and the people seem calm, happy, and peaceful. Storekeepers will take off for lunch, leaving the till sitting there, unguarded, for hours at a tim
e. If you miscalculate your bill in a merchant’s favor, they will firmly hand you back the extra. Businessmen – or what passes for businessmen in Laos – will walk the streets at all hours with large, conspicuous bags of money. (Since there is no real banking system, all deals are cash and carry). There is no crime to speak of. Other religions, chiefly Christianity, are attempting to become established in Laos, but whatever progress they are making may be illusory. (See Annie’s blog at http://siamchronicles.blogspot.com/). Small spirit houses are a feature of every yard, filled with small balls of sticky rice, incense sticks, and marigolds. Sticky rice balls for the spirits dot fences and posts and tree limbs. During the time we were there, we never heard an argument; never saw a face that looked angry. Small children and tuk tuk drivers would laugh openly at my rotund form, but the laughter was accepting – a laughing with, not taunting, that led me to laugh with them. Their own lifestyle consists of hard work and a largely vegetarian diet, and Luang Prabang is not the vacation destination of many tourists of my general age and shape.
And so we settled in, and prepared to explore the wonders of a very different place.
CHAPTER 3
10 Days in Laos
Each morning during Ria’s stay, we took the short walk down to the “Villa” to join her for a buffet breakfast. It was a great way to start the day: Strong, black Laotian coffee, feather light, buttery croissants and chewy bread (French influence, there), individually made omelets, and an interesting mix of Western and Laotian dishes. It was unclear whether or not they were charging Ria for our meals; in the end, they charged her for three guests each morning, rather than for the four of us. Laotian efficiency at its most charming.
The first morning, we began by hiring a boat to transport us across the river, where we would tour a small Hmong village. Achieving the boat involved a steep descent to the rocks along the river’s edge, th
en, negotiating the rocks to a rickety gangplank.
After a short trip across the river, we reversed the process, hopping over rocks to the shore, then climbing a steep set of stairs to the top.
We were met by a small cadre of Hmong children, led by a 10 year old girl who spoke excellent English. The village was unprepossessing; Alex met one of his fellow teachers, who lived there. We took pictures of a large spirit house and some drying honeycomb.
The trip back reversed the trip over, including the great rock hop, and an ascent over steep, irregular stairs. Nobody tripped. Back safe and sound to rest up for dinner.
The next day, we did the Wat Walk. Luang Prabang is famous for its many wats – more per capita than any other place on earth. Orange clad monks are everywhere, subsisting on the charity of the residents and visitors.
The wats are uniformly serene, beautiful places, although some of them are in better repair than others.
Many of the monks are Alex’s students, and we met one of these on the grounds of Wat Xieng Thong. He introduced us as his two mays (mothers) and his baa (aunt), whereupon the smiling monk informed him that his pronunciation made it sound as though we were his two fish and his goat. Laotian is a tonal language, and “may” said with a rising tone is “mother;” with a falling tone is “fish.”
The next day, we grabbed a couple of tuk tuks, and lit out for the weaving village. Luang Prabang is justly famous for it’s hand woven, pure silk cloths and scarves. A pure silk scarf requiring a week to make can cost as little as $5. Needless to say, we all bought several.
On the way back, the tuk tuk drivers offered to drop us at the Golden Wat at the top of the mountain – a wat that not even Annie and Alex had yet seen up close. The little tuk tuks didn’t have the horsepower to drive all the way up, so we started huffing up the last steep bit of incline. I was all for pooing out half way up, urging the others to pick me up on the way down, but our jolly drivers urged me into a tuk tuk and literally pushed me up to the top in the thing. It was worth it, if only for the view from there of the surrounding mountains. Annie took a picture of one little kid, and showed it to him. He was thrilled, and ran to get his friends.
Night brought the Royal Laotian Opera, presenting the exciting story of the beautiful queen rescued from the evil demon by the white monkey army. She proves her loyalty and virtue by walking through the sacred fire unscathed, and is reunited in triumph with her consort. A happy ending!
We capped the evening with dinner at Ria’s villa – a rare treat of Western food for Annie and Alex. I decided to try the traditional Laotian offering of boiled water buffalo, just to say I’d done it. Interesting. Chewy. Odd. The drinks were pretty, but also oddly flavored.
Apparently, Laotians drink rather a lot (See Annie’s blog at http://siamchronicles.blogspot.com/2006/01/siam-chronicles-17-great-joy-in-muong.html) but their drink of choice is a fiery distillation of sticky rice called lao lao. Not for the faint of heart. Lao beer, now, is another story entirely: Cheap and delicious, one could end up drinking far more of it than one should.
During Ria’s last full day in Laos, we hired a sang dow and headed for the sacred falls. The trip is a good hour over unpaved, very dusty road. Our own vehicle raised quite a cloud; when we passed another, both would disappear in a sandy, yellow haze. Both Judy and I covered our faces from the worst of it.
The falls were lovely, well worth the short but steep climb to achieve them. Bobby Googled the falls, and wrote that they were very special indeed: “The river you stepped and Judy fell in is renowned for restoring fertility. Triplets for sure by next Christmas!” He wanted Annie and Alex to go there frequently.
We all waded in the icy water of the falls; it felt wonderful after the dusty trip and the climb.
Yes, Judy, braver than me, waded right in, and slipped into the water – but, no harm done. Then, back down, and back to town, stopping on the way for a bit of coconut milk.
On Ria’s last full night in Luang Prabang, we marched over to Annie and Alex’s apartment, as his landlord had promised a home cooked Laotian meal as a “gift” for us. He had wanted us all to stay at his house, but the prospect of sharing one bath with his family wasn’t our idea of a grand vacation. However, he did seem pleased that we’d at least share a meal with him and his wife – who really is a great cook. Ria, always the generous sort, decided to get him a bottle of whiskey in return for his hospitality – Johnny Walker Red. Mo – the landlord - spent the evening regaling us with tales of his various business deals, while his wife served. The food was wonderful. As we left, he allowed as how the bill was $25. Sigh.
Ria left us at noon the next day, and we took a day or so off from adventuring, and just visited.
Wednesday brought the all day Laotian cooking school. The proprietress was a piece of work - an old Australian lady who has past ties to Laos, and has lived in Luang Prabang for about 9 years, during which time she seems not to have learned any Laotian. The rest of the class consisted of a rather charming, if overbearing, Austrian couple; a lovely Midwestern lady; another Australian, and the 4 of us. We started things off by tooling on down to the Market - again - but this time, we got a detailed discussion of what things were. Loved the blood clots and the hunks of meat with flies all over. Needless to say, we didn't buy any of that; she got her meats elsewhere. I hope. Then she turned us over to two of her “boys,” young Laotian men who do the actual cooking at her restaurant. They demonstrated a couple of dishes, whereupon we cooked them ourselves and ate them for lunch. After that, we got another demonstration, cooked a couple more things, got a third demo, and cooked some more. Finally, we ate the results for dinner. It was pretty good, especially if you like fresh vegetables and cilantro.
Our last adventure was in many ways the best. We hired another boat to take us down river to the Buddha caves, high on one of the local hills/mountains. It was a good hour’s trip, and to break it up, the boatman stopped on the way there at the paper village. Rough paper making is another local industry – sosa leaves are pounded down to mush and dried on frames. Often, flowers and bamboo leaves are dried into the mix. The result is beautiful.
The Buddha caves are lovely – especially, the view from them. We lit candles in offering; then started the long climb toward the upper caves. Annie and Alex went ahead to ensure that it was worth the climb; they met us coming up on the way back to say it probably wasn’t. But the view of the mountains and Mekong from the stairs was.
Then, back down the river. We stopped on the way, again, at the whiskey village, where they distill sticky rice into the local variety of moonshine called lao lao. As noted, it’s pretty awful stuff - makes mountain corn likker taste rather like Johnny Walker Black - and it is made with Mekong river water - but it was interesting to see the process.
During our last day in Laos, we wanted to celebrate Alex's birthday in style before setting off on the long foray home. We tuk tuked over to the road fronting the Nom Ou River, and found a restaurant with a great view. The view was a lot better than the food. Then, back to our street, to scour the night market for the things we wanted to take home: Silk scarves, hand sewn bedspreads, place mats, a “peasanty” shirt for Bobby, some black pants for Ria.
The Hmong Night Market is a magical place: The entire street is blocked off every night, and people spread their wares for sale. You are expected to bargain, within limits, and Annie and Alex have both gotten pretty good at knowing what the limits are. Judy and I were advised not to shop without a guide.
We made our purchases, and went home to pack – our own clothes, our new purchases, and all the stuff we could fit of Annie and Alex’s things, to lighten their journey through China.
One special purchase was made by Annie for her Dad: A beautiful hand carved teak cane. She picked the size for him, and chose one with a handle resembling our hideously ugly Llasha Apso, the Frumious Bandersnatch (Bandi, to her friends). None of us realized that it was magic.
CHAPTER 4
The Magic Cane and the Airport Angels
Well, now. When we left the story, Annie and Alex were leaving their poor, gray-haired old Moms at the airport at Luang Prabang, to fight their way home through 30 (or was it 300?) hours of trials and tribulations. The Magic Cane had refused to fit, even cross ways, in the big blue body bag, so I was porting it. The little plane dumped us off at the big, scary Bangkok airport, looking a little dazed and confused, with me leaning on the cane. 5 or 6 planes had landed at once, and the immigration lines were mobbed. Suddenly, a neat little man in a smart uniform demanded our passports. We were both pretty flustered, and somehow, our passports were switched. The man marched us over to the VIP immigration gate, which had no line, and after some confusion about whose passport was whose, sent us on our way, neatly processed. We guessed he felt sorry for us.
The next stop was the taxi stand. Wise daughter Annie had booked us a hotel near the airport, so we had a destination. We had been warned by Ria and Annie, both experienced travelers, to get a cab only from the cab line, which would ensure that it would be metered, and that we wouldn't get an unwanted tour of the outer reaches of Thailand.
We were looking for this mythical stand, again looking a little dazed, when another gentleman approached us and asked if we needed a cab. Wary of being led astray, we said we were looking for the taxi stand. He asked if we had a hotel; we replied that we did, and showed him the reservation. "Ah!" he said, "Ebina House! You catch the limo over there! No charge!"
And so it was. Ebina House is an older hotel, but it was, as advertised, near the airport. The concierge gave us a form to complete that had only my information, then gave us one key. Somewhat taken aback, I mentioned that there were, in fact, two of us, and we'd need two rooms. "Ah," said the Concierge, "Since you are traveling together, we gave you a suite!" And so it was, two bedrooms, two baths, off a living room and kitchen. The rooms were clean and spacious, although they were getting pretty tatty with age. The restaurant was very good. The wake up came promptly at 3 AM, as requested. We treated ourselves to a cold shower, then checked out. The staff had prepared us a boxed breakfast, and sent us off in the limo. No charge.
And so, back at the Bangkok Airport, security was very tight; every checked bag was opened and examined. Then to check in. I had obsessed about the weight of the body bag. As it happened, they plopped both it and my little bag on the scale, and divided by two. I could have ported an anvil in the thing.
Next stop, airport tax. Since we weren't staying in Bangkok, we got no Baht, so naturally, the airport tax people accepted only Baht. We were looking at the prospect of going back outside the airport, where the exchanges were, and were once again looking pretty dazed. Then, a nice gentleman behind us popped up and said, "You know, they really ought to tell people these things! Here - give me twenty dollars, and I'll give you that amount in Baht!" Saved again!! (For the cynical among you, Judy had already figured out how much Baht a twenty would equal.) Finally, we achieved the gate, and set down to our boxed breakfast. It was a dry cheese sandwich and some fruit. Some of it looked like melon balls. They were definitely NOT melon balls. Perhaps Alex can tell us what fruit it was: it looked like a melon ball, and tasted sort of like wet orange cardboard. We gave it a pass.
And so we made the flight from Bangkok to Norita, Japan.
An aside, here. Afraid of missing my connection at OHare on the way out, given that the asthma was kicking up a bit, I arranged for a wheel chair there. I'd heard horror stories about the airport Olympics at Ohare. Anyhow, what I did not realize was that the wheel chair brigade would meet me at every flight on the trip, coming and going. Unbidden. And so, when we stepped off the flight from Bangkok at Norita, there was a perky Japanese woman, holding up a sign with my name, next to a wheelchair. Sigh. I was tired. So I took the thing, and kept Judy right there as necessary companion. We went around all the lines, and ended up at the right gate in jig time. In Japan, they even wheel you right up to the airplane, so, when boarding time came, they came and got us all (there were a bunch of us) and parked us on the ramp way. There, a very jolly fellow from Chicago held court, and set about arranging wheel chair races and so forth. He REALLY admired the teak cane, and said he'd like to steal it away. He was impressed that Judy and I had ventured to Luang Prabang to get it. Suddenly, he announced that Hey! He had a bunch of upgrades that were expiring tomorrow - would Judy and I like to go business class to Chicago? Would we ever! So, he called over the gate agent, and then and there, we were upgraded to Business Class. The magic cane strikes again! He was quickly wheeled off to first class, and we never even heard who he was. Later, on the flight, one of the stewardesses told us that he was a Mr. Cohen, who was always doing things like that. Needless to say, the trip from Norita to Chicago was LOTS more fun than it otherwise would have been. We were feted and fed and waited on hand and foot. I could get used to that kind of travel.
And so to OHare, once more. There, we were met by a cadre of Polish fellows, who laughed and joked in Polish, and seemed to have a good time ferrying us about (one of the wheel chair race gang was going on to Charlotte as well). If you have ever done foreign travel, you know that you have to reunite with your checked luggage at your first entry into the country, and go through customs. So, off to baggage claim. While we waited, a cute little mixed hound sniffed all the carryon that people had. When he found something, he'd sit and pat the bag with his paw. He found something in Judy's bag! As it happened, she had followed advice to carry a lot of snacks, and had a left over apple in her bag. It did not matter that it was an American apple; it had to be confiscated. The dog was very pleased with himself. "Good boy!"
Anyway, it took a very long time for the bags to appear, and when they did, our carriers asked to see our boarding passes to see where to port us next (assuming no problems with customs). When he saw mine, he turned pale, and we took off. It seems that my gate was about as distant from where we were as you could get and still be at OHare. So off we went at a good clip, after depositing my bags someplace. Nearly there, we ran into Judy again, and my porter was glad to call her over. Everybody loves Judy. I once again took my daughter's huge black art box (did I forget to mention that? I was being such a weinie about overloading the luggage that Judy volunteered to carry Annie's art box back to Kansas) on my lap, and we headed to our gates, which were in the same general area. Although Judy had more time, as her flight left later. We found Judy's gate, but she decided to come on along and see me off. When we got to my gate, they were already boarding. Had I tried the airport marathon on my own, I'd likely have missed the flight. But there it was - the last leg of a long, long voyage. And at the end of it, there was Bobby, waiting with a steak, an excellent wine, and most of all, himself. I had a great time, but I am SO glad to be back!
Getting There
Never believe anybody that says getting there is half the fun, especially if you are talking about coach air travel over long distances. And Luang Prabang Laos is a looooooong distance. You can’t get further from here than there, unless you leave the planet. The upside is that you don’t need to reset your watch, unless you are on military time: Laos is precisely 12 hours ahead of East Coast time.
I don’t travel much, and I am easily frightened by horror stories. So, I panicked a bit when I noticed that the layover at Chicago’s O Hare – a change from my domestic flight from Charlotte to the international flight to Tokyo’s Norita airport - was only 40 minutes, or, 20 minutes between deplaning and reboarding. True, Bob’s sister Ria would be there, and she is a very experienced traveler, but I’d heard about airport Olympics at O Hare, and didn’t think she could carry me, even in an emergency. So I signed up for wheelchair service. Better embarrassed, and safe, than sorry. It proved to be an important decision.
We did make the flight, meeting up with Alex’s Mom, Judy Pearlstein, at the gate. The Three Mom Musketeers were ready for adventure! My seat was at the very front of the coach section, and, wonder of wonders, the middle seat was vacant! Space is a precious commodity in coach air travel. I also lucked out in my assigned seatmate. He had retired from joint professions as Catholic priest and college professor, and had taken up traveling as a second career, chiefly in SE Asia.
At first, he took tour groups; then, solo, visiting the many friends he had made there. He preferred big cities like Bangkok, Chang Mai, Vientienne, and Phom Phen to backwaters like Luang Prabang and Siem Reap. His opinions were interesting, and not exactly what one might expect from a retired cleric. For instance, he opined that if one were gay, SE Asia was the place to be: They really don’t care, there. “The most beautiful women you’ll ever meet in Asia aren’t women!” He had visited the transvestite bar in Luang Prabang. (See Annie’s blog at http://siamchronicles.blogspot.com/2005_06_01_siamchronicles_archive.html). And he had a rather, um, different view of the child sex trade in Asia (See Annie’s blog at http://siamchronicles.blogspot.com/2005/09/siam-chronicles-11-when-to-say-when-to.html). He said that since he was an older, single male, taxi drivers always ran him past the houses, and he’d met and talked to the girls. “You’d rather they just starve?!” From time to time, he’d stop talking and take a pill, which put him promptly to sleep. On one such occasion, he was still holding a piece of cake, which ended up mashed into his sweater.
It was from the good ex-Father that I learned that they DO serve alcoholic beverages to coach passengers on international flights. He’d pick up small bottles of wine every time a stewardess passed by, putting most of them into his carry on bag. His parting shot, as we deplaned in Bangkok, was that I was fortunate: “Had we crashed, I could have given you the Last Rites!” Actually, had he not been there to provide a modicum of entertainment, I was more likely to die of boredom: two of the four cinema offerings were “Bewitched” and “Beethoven II.”
After what seemed like 500 years, we stumbled off the plane at the Bangkok Airport, exhausted, and spent the night at a nice Marriott. We reconvened next day to board a Bangkok Air flight to Luang Prabang. It was a smallish propeller plane – the only kind of aircraft the airport that Luang Prabang can accommodate – painted all over with flowers, palm trees, cartoon airplanes, and fish, in neon colors. The inside was decorated for Christmas and New Year’s. We flew low over lovely mountains, and followed what was obviously the MeKong River to the top of Laos, and the old capital, Luang Prabang. The airport is small, and security precautions are nonexistent. That is just as well; there is nothing whatever in Luang Prabang that anybody would want to blow up.
It was a long, long journey, but there were Annie and Alex! It was worth it!!
CHAPTER 2
The Lay of the Land
So – Touchdown in Laos at last! A flashback: Early in the planning, we had somewhat parted company as to quarters. Judy and I had chosen to stay at a nice Laotian guest house, perhaps three blocks from A&A’s apartment, while Ria had selected a Western style “4 Star” accommodation perhaps three blocks further down the road. So, she had a limo waiting to whisk her away, while Judy and I waited for Alex to flag down a sang dow for us. A sa
ng dow is a uniquely Asian mode of transport. Slightly larger than a tuk tuk, it is essentially a small pick up truck with a covered bed, and plank seats around the edges. Getting both ourselves and our luggage into one of these things would be no easy task. A further flashback: One purpose of our trip was to take home with us things that A&A did not want to port about China during their last month in Asia. So, both Judy and I had brought more luggage than we really needed for ourselves. I brought the famous “body bag” – a huge, blue monstrosity capable of moving a small village – or a body. We had filled at least some of the extra space with Western consumables for “the kids.” (Hey, we know they’re not “kids” in the usual sense, but to Judy and I – and their Aunt as well - they will be “the kids” when they are 50.) But a bit of puffing and shoving did the trick, and we were on the way to the Asian leg of the adventure.And there we were, at what would be our home for the next 10 days or so. Luang Prabang’s “Main Drag” looks like a street on a Western movie set: Small storefronts along a road so dusty that it might as well be unpaved. Instead of horses hitched to posts, small motorcycles line the sidewalk. According to Annie, everyone in Laos has one of these vehicles, and they have constructed their sidewalks, yards, and porches to accommodate them. Concrete ramp ways have been installed beside stairways up to porches, where the bikes are housed. Occasionally, whole families will scoot by on one of the things, carrying bags of luggage and several chickens.
The meeting area of the guest house overlooks the main street; room balconies in the back overlook the little alfresco restaurant. Numerous cats roam everywhere, or sleep on the tin roof at the back of the place. Dogs, too, dodge the motor bikes on the street. The rooms had everything we needed: They were clean, could be locked, and had private baths with hot and cold running water – after a fashion. The hot and cold water actually alternated out of the shower head, first scalding, then freezing, but, I suppose it could be said that on average, it was fine.
Of course, from time to time, it went off altogether. The electrical grid in Luang Prabang seems to be wads of black spaghetti hooked randomly to telephone poles. And when the electricity goes off, as it does a couple of times a week, so does the water. Still, the concierge thoughtfully placed a large bucket of water in our rooms, each with a large scoop, so we could flush in an emergency.
The storefronts of the street were not shops that catered to Laotians. Luang Prabang depends heavily on tourists of the rugged sort. Young backpackers roam the streets, and sang dows regularly disgorge packs of tanned, healthy looking Germans or Australians. The shops sell wares for these people: Beautiful scarves from the Weaving Village, or film and disposable cameras. And every other storefront was an internet café.
Laotians shop instead at the main market, at the far end of the street. Here, you can buy everything you need, from clothes to farm implements, to all varieties of food.
Laotians eat little meat, but what they do eat, they purchase at the market. Shopping there would make anyone a vegetarian; the vegetables are beautiful and crisply fresh; the meats are dry and covered with flies.
Laotians also grow much of their own food. The MeKong River is their lifeblood. It was the low season when we were there; the level of the river had dropped sharply, leaving banks the height of a tall building. The Laotians use fertile river silt to construct terraces along the banks to grow a variety of food.
For protein, they rely on fish from the river, water buffalo, wild boar, and eggs from the chickens that ubiquitously roam the city, followed by black and yellow puff balls, cheeping away. Roosters strut by and fill the air with raucous singing, at all hours, but particularly, early in the morning. Alex has written a hilarious blog on the subject: http://adventurespecificasia.blogspot.com/2005/12/excerpts-from-memoirs-of-rooster.htmlcificasia.blogspot.com/2005/12/excerpts-from-memoirs-of-rooster.html
Not to worry: Bird flu has not found its way to Laos, and it is unlikely to be a big problem there. The birds are not kept in the large, closely packed flocks that breed disease; they wander the yards and streets in individual splendor.
Other sorts of birds are kept as pets. Judy made friends with a handsome mynah bird, kept in a cage on the stoop of the internet café across from our guest house.
The economy of Laos is rather free form. The Laotian currency, the Kip, is set at 10,000 or so to the dollar, so even small purchases can involve large stacks of bills. It is at first hard to process the information that a dinner bill for 4 is 200,000 kip, and that our guest house bill would run to the millions of kip. There is little industry beyond tourism, and given the paucity of amenities, tourism has its limits. Laos is one of the poorest countries on earth. Still, Luang Prabang is hustling, after its fashion, to cash in on the tourist boomlet. New construction is everywhere, and while there is little noise from industry, the daylight hours ring with constant hammering and sawing. The sidewalk in front of A&A’s house has been under construction since they have lived there, and one fine day, it may actually be completed.
But the people are a treasure. The culture is deeply Buddhist/animist, and the people seem calm, happy, and peaceful. Storekeepers will take off for lunch, leaving the till sitting there, unguarded, for hours at a tim
e. If you miscalculate your bill in a merchant’s favor, they will firmly hand you back the extra. Businessmen – or what passes for businessmen in Laos – will walk the streets at all hours with large, conspicuous bags of money. (Since there is no real banking system, all deals are cash and carry). There is no crime to speak of. Other religions, chiefly Christianity, are attempting to become established in Laos, but whatever progress they are making may be illusory. (See Annie’s blog at http://siamchronicles.blogspot.com/). Small spirit houses are a feature of every yard, filled with small balls of sticky rice, incense sticks, and marigolds. Sticky rice balls for the spirits dot fences and posts and tree limbs. During the time we were there, we never heard an argument; never saw a face that looked angry. Small children and tuk tuk drivers would laugh openly at my rotund form, but the laughter was accepting – a laughing with, not taunting, that led me to laugh with them. Their own lifestyle consists of hard work and a largely vegetarian diet, and Luang Prabang is not the vacation destination of many tourists of my general age and shape.And so we settled in, and prepared to explore the wonders of a very different place.
CHAPTER 3
10 Days in Laos
Each morning during Ria’s stay, we took the short walk down to the “Villa” to join her for a buffet breakfast. It was a great way to start the day: Strong, black Laotian coffee, feather light, buttery croissants and chewy bread (French influence, there), individually made omelets, and an interesting mix of Western and Laotian dishes. It was unclear whether or not they were charging Ria for our meals; in the end, they charged her for three guests each morning, rather than for the four of us. Laotian efficiency at its most charming.
The first morning, we began by hiring a boat to transport us across the river, where we would tour a small Hmong village. Achieving the boat involved a steep descent to the rocks along the river’s edge, th
en, negotiating the rocks to a rickety gangplank.After a short trip across the river, we reversed the process, hopping over rocks to the shore, then climbing a steep set of stairs to the top.
We were met by a small cadre of Hmong children, led by a 10 year old girl who spoke excellent English. The village was unprepossessing; Alex met one of his fellow teachers, who lived there. We took pictures of a large spirit house and some drying honeycomb.
The trip back reversed the trip over, including the great rock hop, and an ascent over steep, irregular stairs. Nobody tripped. Back safe and sound to rest up for dinner.
The next day, we did the Wat Walk. Luang Prabang is famous for its many wats – more per capita than any other place on earth. Orange clad monks are everywhere, subsisting on the charity of the residents and visitors.
The wats are uniformly serene, beautiful places, although some of them are in better repair than others.
Many of the monks are Alex’s students, and we met one of these on the grounds of Wat Xieng Thong. He introduced us as his two mays (mothers) and his baa (aunt), whereupon the smiling monk informed him that his pronunciation made it sound as though we were his two fish and his goat. Laotian is a tonal language, and “may” said with a rising tone is “mother;” with a falling tone is “fish.”
The next day, we grabbed a couple of tuk tuks, and lit out for the weaving village. Luang Prabang is justly famous for it’s hand woven, pure silk cloths and scarves. A pure silk scarf requiring a week to make can cost as little as $5. Needless to say, we all bought several.
On the way back, the tuk tuk drivers offered to drop us at the Golden Wat at the top of the mountain – a wat that not even Annie and Alex had yet seen up close. The little tuk tuks didn’t have the horsepower to drive all the way up, so we started huffing up the last steep bit of incline. I was all for pooing out half way up, urging the others to pick me up on the way down, but our jolly drivers urged me into a tuk tuk and literally pushed me up to the top in the thing. It was worth it, if only for the view from there of the surrounding mountains. Annie took a picture of one little kid, and showed it to him. He was thrilled, and ran to get his friends.
Night brought the Royal Laotian Opera, presenting the exciting story of the beautiful queen rescued from the evil demon by the white monkey army. She proves her loyalty and virtue by walking through the sacred fire unscathed, and is reunited in triumph with her consort. A happy ending!
We capped the evening with dinner at Ria’s villa – a rare treat of Western food for Annie and Alex. I decided to try the traditional Laotian offering of boiled water buffalo, just to say I’d done it. Interesting. Chewy. Odd. The drinks were pretty, but also oddly flavored.
Apparently, Laotians drink rather a lot (See Annie’s blog at http://siamchronicles.blogspot.com/2006/01/siam-chronicles-17-great-joy-in-muong.html) but their drink of choice is a fiery distillation of sticky rice called lao lao. Not for the faint of heart. Lao beer, now, is another story entirely: Cheap and delicious, one could end up drinking far more of it than one should.
During Ria’s last full day in Laos, we hired a sang dow and headed for the sacred falls. The trip is a good hour over unpaved, very dusty road. Our own vehicle raised quite a cloud; when we passed another, both would disappear in a sandy, yellow haze. Both Judy and I covered our faces from the worst of it.
The falls were lovely, well worth the short but steep climb to achieve them. Bobby Googled the falls, and wrote that they were very special indeed: “The river you stepped and Judy fell in is renowned for restoring fertility. Triplets for sure by next Christmas!” He wanted Annie and Alex to go there frequently.
We all waded in the icy water of the falls; it felt wonderful after the dusty trip and the climb.
Yes, Judy, braver than me, waded right in, and slipped into the water – but, no harm done. Then, back down, and back to town, stopping on the way for a bit of coconut milk.
On Ria’s last full night in Luang Prabang, we marched over to Annie and Alex’s apartment, as his landlord had promised a home cooked Laotian meal as a “gift” for us. He had wanted us all to stay at his house, but the prospect of sharing one bath with his family wasn’t our idea of a grand vacation. However, he did seem pleased that we’d at least share a meal with him and his wife – who really is a great cook. Ria, always the generous sort, decided to get him a bottle of whiskey in return for his hospitality – Johnny Walker Red. Mo – the landlord - spent the evening regaling us with tales of his various business deals, while his wife served. The food was wonderful. As we left, he allowed as how the bill was $25. Sigh.
Ria left us at noon the next day, and we took a day or so off from adventuring, and just visited.
Wednesday brought the all day Laotian cooking school. The proprietress was a piece of work - an old Australian lady who has past ties to Laos, and has lived in Luang Prabang for about 9 years, during which time she seems not to have learned any Laotian. The rest of the class consisted of a rather charming, if overbearing, Austrian couple; a lovely Midwestern lady; another Australian, and the 4 of us. We started things off by tooling on down to the Market - again - but this time, we got a detailed discussion of what things were. Loved the blood clots and the hunks of meat with flies all over. Needless to say, we didn't buy any of that; she got her meats elsewhere. I hope. Then she turned us over to two of her “boys,” young Laotian men who do the actual cooking at her restaurant. They demonstrated a couple of dishes, whereupon we cooked them ourselves and ate them for lunch. After that, we got another demonstration, cooked a couple more things, got a third demo, and cooked some more. Finally, we ate the results for dinner. It was pretty good, especially if you like fresh vegetables and cilantro.
Our last adventure was in many ways the best. We hired another boat to take us down river to the Buddha caves, high on one of the local hills/mountains. It was a good hour’s trip, and to break it up, the boatman stopped on the way there at the paper village. Rough paper making is another local industry – sosa leaves are pounded down to mush and dried on frames. Often, flowers and bamboo leaves are dried into the mix. The result is beautiful.
The Buddha caves are lovely – especially, the view from them. We lit candles in offering; then started the long climb toward the upper caves. Annie and Alex went ahead to ensure that it was worth the climb; they met us coming up on the way back to say it probably wasn’t. But the view of the mountains and Mekong from the stairs was.
Then, back down the river. We stopped on the way, again, at the whiskey village, where they distill sticky rice into the local variety of moonshine called lao lao. As noted, it’s pretty awful stuff - makes mountain corn likker taste rather like Johnny Walker Black - and it is made with Mekong river water - but it was interesting to see the process.
During our last day in Laos, we wanted to celebrate Alex's birthday in style before setting off on the long foray home. We tuk tuked over to the road fronting the Nom Ou River, and found a restaurant with a great view. The view was a lot better than the food. Then, back to our street, to scour the night market for the things we wanted to take home: Silk scarves, hand sewn bedspreads, place mats, a “peasanty” shirt for Bobby, some black pants for Ria.
The Hmong Night Market is a magical place: The entire street is blocked off every night, and people spread their wares for sale. You are expected to bargain, within limits, and Annie and Alex have both gotten pretty good at knowing what the limits are. Judy and I were advised not to shop without a guide.
We made our purchases, and went home to pack – our own clothes, our new purchases, and all the stuff we could fit of Annie and Alex’s things, to lighten their journey through China.
One special purchase was made by Annie for her Dad: A beautiful hand carved teak cane. She picked the size for him, and chose one with a handle resembling our hideously ugly Llasha Apso, the Frumious Bandersnatch (Bandi, to her friends). None of us realized that it was magic.
CHAPTER 4
The Magic Cane and the Airport Angels
Well, now. When we left the story, Annie and Alex were leaving their poor, gray-haired old Moms at the airport at Luang Prabang, to fight their way home through 30 (or was it 300?) hours of trials and tribulations. The Magic Cane had refused to fit, even cross ways, in the big blue body bag, so I was porting it. The little plane dumped us off at the big, scary Bangkok airport, looking a little dazed and confused, with me leaning on the cane. 5 or 6 planes had landed at once, and the immigration lines were mobbed. Suddenly, a neat little man in a smart uniform demanded our passports. We were both pretty flustered, and somehow, our passports were switched. The man marched us over to the VIP immigration gate, which had no line, and after some confusion about whose passport was whose, sent us on our way, neatly processed. We guessed he felt sorry for us.
The next stop was the taxi stand. Wise daughter Annie had booked us a hotel near the airport, so we had a destination. We had been warned by Ria and Annie, both experienced travelers, to get a cab only from the cab line, which would ensure that it would be metered, and that we wouldn't get an unwanted tour of the outer reaches of Thailand.
We were looking for this mythical stand, again looking a little dazed, when another gentleman approached us and asked if we needed a cab. Wary of being led astray, we said we were looking for the taxi stand. He asked if we had a hotel; we replied that we did, and showed him the reservation. "Ah!" he said, "Ebina House! You catch the limo over there! No charge!"
And so it was. Ebina House is an older hotel, but it was, as advertised, near the airport. The concierge gave us a form to complete that had only my information, then gave us one key. Somewhat taken aback, I mentioned that there were, in fact, two of us, and we'd need two rooms. "Ah," said the Concierge, "Since you are traveling together, we gave you a suite!" And so it was, two bedrooms, two baths, off a living room and kitchen. The rooms were clean and spacious, although they were getting pretty tatty with age. The restaurant was very good. The wake up came promptly at 3 AM, as requested. We treated ourselves to a cold shower, then checked out. The staff had prepared us a boxed breakfast, and sent us off in the limo. No charge.
And so, back at the Bangkok Airport, security was very tight; every checked bag was opened and examined. Then to check in. I had obsessed about the weight of the body bag. As it happened, they plopped both it and my little bag on the scale, and divided by two. I could have ported an anvil in the thing.
Next stop, airport tax. Since we weren't staying in Bangkok, we got no Baht, so naturally, the airport tax people accepted only Baht. We were looking at the prospect of going back outside the airport, where the exchanges were, and were once again looking pretty dazed. Then, a nice gentleman behind us popped up and said, "You know, they really ought to tell people these things! Here - give me twenty dollars, and I'll give you that amount in Baht!" Saved again!! (For the cynical among you, Judy had already figured out how much Baht a twenty would equal.) Finally, we achieved the gate, and set down to our boxed breakfast. It was a dry cheese sandwich and some fruit. Some of it looked like melon balls. They were definitely NOT melon balls. Perhaps Alex can tell us what fruit it was: it looked like a melon ball, and tasted sort of like wet orange cardboard. We gave it a pass.
And so we made the flight from Bangkok to Norita, Japan.
An aside, here. Afraid of missing my connection at OHare on the way out, given that the asthma was kicking up a bit, I arranged for a wheel chair there. I'd heard horror stories about the airport Olympics at Ohare. Anyhow, what I did not realize was that the wheel chair brigade would meet me at every flight on the trip, coming and going. Unbidden. And so, when we stepped off the flight from Bangkok at Norita, there was a perky Japanese woman, holding up a sign with my name, next to a wheelchair. Sigh. I was tired. So I took the thing, and kept Judy right there as necessary companion. We went around all the lines, and ended up at the right gate in jig time. In Japan, they even wheel you right up to the airplane, so, when boarding time came, they came and got us all (there were a bunch of us) and parked us on the ramp way. There, a very jolly fellow from Chicago held court, and set about arranging wheel chair races and so forth. He REALLY admired the teak cane, and said he'd like to steal it away. He was impressed that Judy and I had ventured to Luang Prabang to get it. Suddenly, he announced that Hey! He had a bunch of upgrades that were expiring tomorrow - would Judy and I like to go business class to Chicago? Would we ever! So, he called over the gate agent, and then and there, we were upgraded to Business Class. The magic cane strikes again! He was quickly wheeled off to first class, and we never even heard who he was. Later, on the flight, one of the stewardesses told us that he was a Mr. Cohen, who was always doing things like that. Needless to say, the trip from Norita to Chicago was LOTS more fun than it otherwise would have been. We were feted and fed and waited on hand and foot. I could get used to that kind of travel.
And so to OHare, once more. There, we were met by a cadre of Polish fellows, who laughed and joked in Polish, and seemed to have a good time ferrying us about (one of the wheel chair race gang was going on to Charlotte as well). If you have ever done foreign travel, you know that you have to reunite with your checked luggage at your first entry into the country, and go through customs. So, off to baggage claim. While we waited, a cute little mixed hound sniffed all the carryon that people had. When he found something, he'd sit and pat the bag with his paw. He found something in Judy's bag! As it happened, she had followed advice to carry a lot of snacks, and had a left over apple in her bag. It did not matter that it was an American apple; it had to be confiscated. The dog was very pleased with himself. "Good boy!"
Anyway, it took a very long time for the bags to appear, and when they did, our carriers asked to see our boarding passes to see where to port us next (assuming no problems with customs). When he saw mine, he turned pale, and we took off. It seems that my gate was about as distant from where we were as you could get and still be at OHare. So off we went at a good clip, after depositing my bags someplace. Nearly there, we ran into Judy again, and my porter was glad to call her over. Everybody loves Judy. I once again took my daughter's huge black art box (did I forget to mention that? I was being such a weinie about overloading the luggage that Judy volunteered to carry Annie's art box back to Kansas) on my lap, and we headed to our gates, which were in the same general area. Although Judy had more time, as her flight left later. We found Judy's gate, but she decided to come on along and see me off. When we got to my gate, they were already boarding. Had I tried the airport marathon on my own, I'd likely have missed the flight. But there it was - the last leg of a long, long voyage. And at the end of it, there was Bobby, waiting with a steak, an excellent wine, and most of all, himself. I had a great time, but I am SO glad to be back!
posted by Mooms at 11:25 AM
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