After a couple of long night flights our plane thuds down on the tarmac in Bangkok, and we grab a cab to find a pillow somewhere close by, due to an early departure the next morning. Our choice is a funky little spot close to the airport and right beside the Mekong River. We opt for a quick massage followed by a fixing of Pad Thai the riverside gazebo. The river is full of humongous and ravenous catfish which are apparently protected by the Buddhists. Feeding them some bread, and all goes well until an overly aggressive monster, just slightly smaller than a submarine, slaps his tail – soaking me with the murky Mekong H20. This quickly put to an end that fintastic tail. We are tired, so instead of catching catfish we head to bed to catch a few z's.
Early in the morning we fly into the ancient royal city of Luang Prabang, in the landlocked kingdom of Laos. The quaint town is surrounded by mountains at the junction of the Mekong and the Khan River. Unlike the usual mayhem of other Asian cities - LP is anything but. It feels more like Thailand of thirty years ago, or like Vietnam without the hustle and hassles.
The atmosphere in LP is very laid back, and it has a great vibe. Scattered about, there are something like 66 Buddhist temples in this sleepy little town. Cars are somewhat rare, and most transport is by colourful angelic relics called tuk-tuks. In the mornings there is only the soft swish of early morning road sweepers, as their bamboo brooms clear rubbish left over from the previous day. Even the street mutts are well behaved.
Our guesthouse (Villa Sayhkam) is lovely, and we read over the 'house rules' which has some beauties – including #5 which states: "Do not any drugs, crambling or bringing in both women and men which is not your own husband or wife into the room for making love." Yup, I would never consider 'crambling' here!
Right next door to our hotel is a Buddhist temple, and during breakfast we are entertained by the chanting of the monks that wafts through the blaze of burgundy bougainvillea hedge that separates us. Very en-chanting mornings indeed.
Every early morning, as day swallows the night, a magical daily ritual unfolds. From the century old monasteries that dominate this river town, a drum signal sets in motion a river of orange robbed Buddhist monks. Carrying ornate bowls to collect their daily alms, they move along silently except for the swishing of their robes. This is as romantic a scene as one could experience anywhere in Asia.
We enjoy exploring the surrounding areaa both by bicycle and by foot. Along the way we are greeted by the people's whisper-like hello greeting of 'Sabaidee'. When not burning off calories we were ingesting them, as we munch and forage our way along the cobbled streets on our Lao culinary safari. And then of course, there are the Lao massages which we're all over, like hair on soap. Oh yes, an hour of being pulled, poked, prodded and pampered to perfection.
Walkabouts include an interesting trip to a paper making village where crafts are created from paper made from Mulberry bark, banana leaf, and elephant dung! Yes, we made a few purchases, so this should prove interesting should we encounter any sniffer dogs at the airport!
At a silk making village Christine demonstrates why she has a black belt in shopping. Out back of the shop we watch how the amazing process of making silk is accomplished from the worm to the weave. Ms. Shopalot cannot contain herself, so she does the buying, whilst I play the part of the pack mule, transporting back her purchases. It could be worse - fortunately she wasn't buying stone works!
During our temple-hopping I enjoy several encounters with the monks who were eager to practice their English. An interesting opportunity for a monolingual like myself, to get a peek inside their daily lives. Such a contrast from the way we live but I can't help but wonder if perhaps they are the ones that have it right.
Since I'm always up for a little adventure, early one morning in the pitch black, I decide to head out of town to find an old bombed out monastery we had seen yesterday while out for a bike ride. I hope to capture a good picture at daybreak.
I make my way down to the Khan, which is a tributary of the Mae Kong, to a rickety old bamboo bridge, and with the sound of water rushing below, I grope my way across to the other side. An exercise that in the dark, certainly focuses the mind and tightens the sphincter!
I am pleased that I've actually managed to make my way to the monastery in the dark and now am waiting for daylight. Within minutes I am startled by a monk who came out to see what I am doing there. As I explained my purpose to him, he became more curious and we strike up a good conversation covering many topics, including their perception of tourists, life as a monk, collecting of alms, etc.
Then, as the darkness starts to fade, a sudden burst of orange appears, as 11 other monks gather outside. The monk I was chatting with asks me "Where you go now?". I tell him that I have no set plans, remarkably his reply is … "You come with us." Fascinated, I can scarcely contain my glee, and agree faster than a snowbird with a stolen Winabego!
Quickly and silently the twelve monks and I are off. We stride out behind the monastery walking through rice fields on narrow little mud paths. With barely enough light to see, I am tagging along behind the bare footed monks trying to keep pace and remain on the 'paths' and not plant myself along with the rice.
We approach the first little village, and several people are kneeling in prayer on hand-woven bamboo mats offering alms and hoping for a blessing from the monks. The robbed monks collect their alms then walk past the people then stop in a line on the dirt road. Unsure what to do with myself, my friend sees me with a blank stare probably akin to a pig looking at a wristwatch. He instructs me to join at the end of line with the monks. Now the entire group (except myself), join in some kind of chant or blessing for the people – then without a word, we are off again.
I can't help but wonder what the people must think as they see me with the monks, and I wonder if they have ever seen this before. The people bow to me with clasped hands in prayer mode, and one lovely lady kindly offers me some rice. Who'd ever of thunk - Mr. Mark – 'The Thirteenth Monk'!
This procedure is repeated at several more locations along the route, with many interesting encounters along the way including one with a curious army guy on a bike who wants to know what is going on. Then, as day is breaking, alms is finished, and we arrive back at the monks temple. I thank my new found friend for the wonderful privilege and honor he and his fellow monks had bestowed upon me.
We shake hands, and then the monks disappear as quickly as cookies at a pot party, leaving me alone to make my way back to town. I am lost in thought about this soul nourishing experience that was a whole lot of special!
The weather is quite unusual in that the mornings are very chilly, but by noon it is lovely and warm with the canary yellow sun in a robin's egg blue sky. Now, with 'Mr. Yellow' bringing out his 'A' game in the afternoons, some serious liquid intake is required, and my first choice is grain alcohol. Fortunately, I just happen to be one of natures most perfectly engineered beer predators, with a smeller capable of finding a fix of my favorite frothy fluid at fifty paces! Whew … now I have to check myself into alliteration rehab!
One such spot we sussed out is appropriately called Utopia, tucked away in an eclectic setting mix of old military ordinance, hammocks, water gardens, and a BBQ made from an old bomb casing. A great place for some liquid inspiration, perched on a bamboo platform suspended out over the cliffs. We enjoy our drinks sitting on bamboo mats with tables adorned with bizarre bottles of snake wine, as we view the Khan River far below. Okay then, just five more beers, then I really must be going!
One day on the spur of the moment, we decide to head out of town to see the 'Whiskey Village'. We jump in the back of a tuk-tuk which is an old sloppy jalopy that looks like it's been around since Jesus was in Pampers.
We negotiate a price then endure a buttock-pummeling ride, over roads with potholes so big they had tides, before eventually arriving at the village which is out in the middle of nowhere!
This small village has two industries - whiskey making and weaving. Hmmm .. I've also been known to partake in a little weaving after whiskey J! I digress. In addition to whiskey, the funky bottles are stuffed with all kinds of different snakes, scorpions, or whatever other nasty little crawlies that can be harvested. This brought back some memories of drinking a goat penis wine in Vietnam (gag), so we pass on the piss, and opt to purchase some scarves instead.
A trip highlight for us was the hiring of a guide and van for an all day trip up into the mountains to visit remote Hmong and Khmu villages. Whilst la-de-daing our way through the villages, we distributed toys, dolls, and dozens of pencils to the village kids. What a neat experience - the little ragamuffins just loved them and would all politely bow with hands in prayer mode to thank us – absolutely delightful. T'was truly a camera-clicking day!
On our last day we hired a narrow covered wooden boat to take down the Mekong River for a nice view of the sunset and scenery. We had the boat to ourselves and when we stopped along the riverbank a group of curious kids came running up to check us out. We had a little fun with them, and watched some fishermen while we waited for the sun to set. Laos is a magical place, and certainly rates as one of our favorite places in all of Asia.
With our time in Laos finished we have a notion for the ocean, and are making our way to Koh Lanta an island in southern Thailand. We fly from LP to Bangkok, then on to sleazy Phuket where, unfortunately, we must spend the night. The cab can't locate our hotel and we are starting to be concerned as it's quite late at night and all the rowdies are out. Fortunately, we find a little dump that has one room left and drag our fatigued carcasses and bags up four flights of stairs to crash for a few hours.
Phuket is a loud, chaotic, and dirty place with hundreds of bars and lotsa naughty hotties with pouty lips, sassy hips, and a fabric shortage over their lovely little burros, strutting about looking for a paymate to dance the horizontal mambo. I think if they ever give the earth an enema, Phuket is where they will insert the tube.
Next morning the good news is we are leaving, the bad news is we are sick. Another busy day of travel by bus, tuk-tuk, boat to Phi Phi, boat to Koh Lanta then a final tuk-tuk. A very long day, and the journey under the circumstances I dare say, was about as pleasant an experience as trying to baptize a cat!
Koh Lanta is predominantly a Muslim Island with not a lot to offer other than some great beaches. Our hotel called the Ancient Realm was a nice little place right on a magnificent sand beach. The biggest drawback we were soon to discover was the mozzie mayhem. Our room was full of the little bad beaked bastards – both day and night. You know, it's amazing how loud they can sound inside your ear in the dark! In the mornings we would count our bites as we emerged from our blood splattered sheets. We are having second thoughts about this travel choice.
Escaping outside to the beach was a welcomed relief. Our walks along the sprawling sandy beach were wonderful, walking along the waters edge and sending little crabs fleeting sideways on their tiptoes across the sand in evasions mode. We ate all our meals at the many little beach cafes, as they were ideal to much out and enjoy a cool one. They were also the perfect spot to watch the glorious sunsets while the humongous mango orb slipped silently and slowly down over the horizon.
After a few days, and having checked out the entire island on a motorbike we find ourselves somewhat bored. And as beautiful as the place is, the mozzies finally get to us, and we decide that staying here any longer as part of a mozzie buffet, would be just slightly more fun than pulling out splinters. So, we opt to leave a week early, and head back to Bangkok for a few final days before the journey home.
I could go on about Bangkok, but I've already done that in too many other journals. As usual we brought back a few collectables – but none more valuable than our memories of our time in Laos.
Final thoughts on this trip were that we have pretty much covered the best of Asia over the past twenty five years, and now, perhaps, we have finally broke our Asia addiction. However, we have said that before - stay tuned!
The Thirteenth Monk
Jan 2010
Mark Colegrave
