Buying myself a plane ticket to Luang Prabang for my last birthday had been something of a gamble.
Yes, I had read in guidebooks and websites that this city at the meeting of two rivers in a valley in Northern Laos was “the most charming place in all of Southeast Asia” and “one of Southeast Asia’s most alluring destinations.” I knew that the New York Times placed it at the top of their list of “Places to Go” in 2008, and that readers’ polls of some European travel publications had voted it as the best city in the world to visit. And I knew that the city itself was a UNESCO world heritage site.
Still, I had a very vague idea of what was actually there. Photos showed temples, monks, waterfalls, rice fields, and elephants—but aren’t all those available in other parts of Southeast Asia anyway (which, incidentally, are easier to get to from Manila)? I had never met anyone whose must-travel-to-during-my-lifetime list included Luang Prabang, and I only knew only two people who had actually been there (and even they just said, It’s really nice, but nothing else). Reviews gushed about the city’s “intangible laid-back atmosphere”, and said "people planning to stay only a few days end up staying two weeks", but said nothing really concrete to make me say, Aaaah, that’s why I’m going. Even just a few days before the trip, I anxiously thought—what if the Southeast Asian countryside is all very charming to Westerners, but I’ll find it’s just the same as Tatay’s hometown in Compostela Valley, two hours north from Davao?
Vagueness and anxiety and possible disappointment notwithstanding, sucker for reviews and awards that I am, I booked the ticket and pushed through with the trip, joined by four friends for whom the reviews were just as convincing.
After five days in Luang Prabang, none of us had any regrets. Because what a trip it was!
The evening we arrived, we walked through the night market near our hotel, checking out colorful handwoven and hand-embroidered fabrics, cotton pants, stuffed toys, and other native crafts. Apart from the unusual wares and the cool night air, what was remarkable was how relaxed and quiet the night market was—so much so that shopkeepers’ children sleep soundly in their stalls! No shouting, no arguing, no jostling, no furiously waving calculators at tourists. Just a gentle “hello” and a shy smile whenever you would stop in front of a stall, and a few English words (“please, you buy, lucky for me”) from a merchant trying to make the sale.
Our second day was filled with package tour activities, the first of which was an elephant ride. This elephant ride was like none I’d ever seen before. No corral, no smell; and for me and Nicole, no saddle, no harness, and no reins. We rode on the backs of our elephants’ bare necks, legs dangling behind the elephants’ ears and hands on the top of the elephants' bristly heads, as the gentle giants walked along forest paths, up and down hilly dirt roads, and even into the Mekong. Later, as we were having lunch on a low hill by the river, the elephants stood right by, untied and free to roam, giving themselves a shower with water from a pail, and allowing us to stroke them, feed them, hug their trunks, and have a blast taking photos with them.
Also on our second day package tour were a trip to a “whiskey village” (we were offered a shot, but none of us dared take it—maybe because the shotglass was offered from behind a row of bottles containing snakes and scorpions?); a visit to the buddha-filled Pak Ou caves along the Mekong river; and lastly, a visit to the Luang Prabang tourist highlight, the multi-leveled Luang Prabang Kuang Xi waterfalls, where my four friends bathed in the cold water while I wandered upstream to take photos.
On the way back to the city at the end of the day two package tour, I asked our tour guide what else there was to do in Luang Prabang. He said with a laugh: “You’ve seen the elephants, the caves, and the waterfalls. There’s nothing more to do in Luang Prabang!”
“Really?” I asked, somewhat panicked. “So why do so many people stay so long in Luang Prabang?”
His reply was quick, matter-of-fact, and filled with mystique and pride: “The heritage.”
His answer was strange then and there, but we understood what he meant over the next two and a half days. Having completed the “must-do” tourist activities over a blur of a second day, we spent our remaining days ambling through the city at a slow, relaxed pace (the most relaxed I’ve ever been traveling); trying the food (very similar to Thai food) and the coffee; taking time to wander, get lost, and find our way again; talking to people; and just soaking it all in. As we did, our tour guide’s “heritage”—as well as all the “atmosphere” that the books had talked about—started to unfold before our eyes.
First of all, for such a small city, Luang Prabang has an amazing number of temples. They line the city’s main streets with their graceful silhouettes and elaborate trim. Even steep Phou Si hill, at the heart of the city, has a garden of sacred buddha images and elaborate naga-bannistered staircases on one side, and a temple at its summit. What’s remarkable is that most of these temples aren’t show temples—they’re live temples, where monks actually live and pray and study in the courtyards, and where locals actually kneel and light incense and offer food. With so much activity in these temples, the structures are far from perfect—cracked walls, faded gold paint, chipped mosaics, dried leaves on the ground. But rather than looking run-down or poorly maintained, this creates an antiquated air that adds to the city’s spiritual atmosphere.
With all these temples comes a large population of monks—books say Luang Prabang has over 600—and though they begin to become commonplace after a few days in town, they still are a sight to behold, with their shaved heads and eyebrows and their saffron robes. We saw them walking briskly along the streets and along the river; we saw them sweeping flagstones and talking intently to western visitors in their courtyards; and one afternoon, my friend Nicole and I were able to closely observe their sunset prayers, sitting just outside the doorway of one temples through a 20-minute chant.
Twice too we were able to witness the monk’s dawn procession, when they pour out of their temples with their begging bowls to collect alms from women kneeling on mats along the roadside. Cynics would assume it’s a commercial gimmick for tourists, but Lao people still do regard it as a highly traditional and deeply spiritual activity.
Luang Prabang is also unbelievably, no, impossibly pure. If any other country had been given the top honor in a "places to go” list, its roads and riverbanks would by now be lined with gardens, its shophouses would be sparkingly restored, and safety and comfort measures for tourist attractions would be impeccable. But Luang Prabang is not built to impress: it is unflashy, unmanicured, uncontrived. I already mentioned the authentic, lived-in temples; alongside these are tastefully restored French colonial buildings and old wooden Lao buildings, all of which are still in use as well as hotels, restaurants, shops, and government buildings; dirt roads and overgrown foliage (yes, even in the city center); and a large Royal-Palace-turned-National-Museum that uses only natural ventilation and requires you leave your footwear at the door.
Add to that how the city remains unadulterated by the west. Imagine a place with no Starbucks, no McDonald’s (and no fastfood for that matter), no multinational hotel chains, no supermarkets, no shopping malls, no buildings above four stories high, no outdoor advertising, no beauty products, and no designer brands? The sole western logos are Visa and Mastercard signs in hotels and restaurants, occasional Western snacks and personal care items at roadside groceries, ubiquitous jars of Nutella at every sidewalk baguette stand, and a single Kodak outlet (that operates purely on trust, with no claim stub system for photos printing). In Luang Prabang, you stay in old houses turned into guesthouses and hotels; you eat and drink lovingly prepared food, fruit shakes, iced tea and coffee; you shop at open-fronted stores along the streets; and you shop for things not because of their brand, but because they charm you.
With a city this pure, the people are naturally some of the gentlest, most easygoing, most uncomplicated you’ll ever meet. Sure, they’re not warm and effusive; some might even come across as rude or antipatiko because of their lack of English proficiency (I read that a lot of them are actually shy and embarrassed at poor grasp of English). I mentioned that Luang Prabang's night market is the quietest I've ever been to; apart from that are the least pesky touts I've ever encountered, and a simple sense of fun comprising evening videoke and picnics at the falls. These people, it seems, are never malicious, or out to get you, or out to get ahead; and with this, a huge feeling of safety and security follows you everywhere.
Lastly, wandering around the city for two and a half days, you notice how many signs there are all around calling for help for Laos, particularly in the area of literacy. You can’t miss flyers and posters for “Library Boats” and “Book Exchanges.” After all, Laos is one of the poorest countries in the world. (Interestingly and sadly, one travel app also said Laos is “the most bombed country in the world”, with the US dropping more bombs on Laos during the Vietnam War than the US did during all of World War II.)
Of these calls to help Laos, our favorite was an organization called Big Brother Mouse, whose mission is to publish and distribute books to Lao children, towards their vision of improving literacy and creating a love for books in a country where many children have never even seen a book. I had first come across Big Brother Mouse online when researching the trip, and had decided I wanted to visit them. We stumbled upon a Big Brother Mouse bookstall at the night market on our first evening, where the young man watching the stall—himself one of Big Brother Mouse’s book illustrators—sold us bundles of books to give to children while touring the countryside. He also told us that the Big Brother Mouse center welcomed foreign volunteers to help Lao high school and college students practice their English—which is what we decided we would do.
Helping young people practice English was probably one of the memorable parts of our visit to Laos. It’s part question and answer, part helping them figure out and practice the pronunciation and usage of words and phrases they write in their notebooks over the past few days. At the Big Brother Mouse center on the morning of Day 4, our session lasted two hours, with each of us assigned to two young locals. One of the toughest questions I got was, “What’s the difference between ‘just’, ‘just then’, ‘just as’, and ‘just now’?”
That afternoon, when we climbed to the top of Phou Si to see the hilltop temple and enjoy the panoramic view of the city, some of the kids we had met at the Big Brother Mouse center that morning were also there, this time with more of their friends, and we got to chat more. There we learned how clever and eager these kids are. One of them, for instance, lived in a countryside village and traveled an hour to Luang Prabang each day just to speak to foreigners, and develop his gift for languages--he was already conversant in English, French, Korean and Japanese.
The kid I sat with atop Phou Si was a bright and eager high school boy named Her, who picked up words quickly and enunciated very carefully. Apart from his studies in school, he said, he and a few other boys were tutored by an American living in Luang Prabang.
When I asked Her what he wanted to do after high school, he said that he wanted to take an exam to study in Australia. Pleasantly surprised at his ambition and clarity, I asked, What do you want to study?
His answer came in slow and carefully-enunciated English: “I want to come back to Laos after studying in Australia to help Lao develop.” He thought a bit, then continued: “I want to teach people to stop cutting down trees.”
Moved, I asked: Do you know the word “environment”?
He shook his head. So I took his notebook and wrote environment in it. “It’s the trees, the forests, the land, the rivers, the mountains, the air, everything around us,” I explained. “And what you want to be is an environmentalist. Someone who cares for nature.”
He grinned and nodded in agreement.
I hope Her aces his Australian exam. His country needs it, not only because of the present levels of poverty and literacy, but also because Laos is going to boom very soon, and bring with it the downsides of any boom. Already there are signs, with rubbish lining the sidewalks every midnight after the night market has packed up and gone home; and sadly, tourists at the monks’ dawn procession shove cameras in monk’s faces and use their camera flashes despite the many signs around town reminding tourists about the spirituality and solemnity of the ritual. Many publications say that Laos is in a period of rapid economic development, with tourism as the number one driver. And when that development does come, and the west descends on Luang Prabang with fangs and claws bared, keen on exploiting the country’s resources, and infecting its gentle, simple people with a love for profit, acquisition, and other matters of consequence—then Laos will need to have young people to defend it.
I hope Luang Prabang stays as authentic, pure, and gentle as it is—the way the world deserves to experience it—for a long time to come. Sure, it has no iconic landmarks, legendary shopping, awesome theme park, influential art or party scene, or world-renowned cuisine to speak of. But rather than awe or entertain you, this city slows you down, strips you of your defenses, makes you forget yourself, melts your heart, and brings out your simplest, most introspective, kindest self.
Early into the trip, my friends and I asked ourselves if we should have just planned a shorter stay. But at the end, we were all glad we stayed five days. Just like every city, Luang Prabang has its list of things to see and do. But being there for a leisurely few days—taking it in slowly, and allowing it all to sink in, rather than rushing through the checklist and heading off somewhere else, as most tourists tend to do (myself included)—showed us just what the guidebooks were talking about.
