Luang Prabang, Laos - November 16 - 20

Another great hotel.  This is starting to feel decadent. Constant hymns of praise to great hotels. Is the trip about seeing new elements of the world? Exploring truly foreign lands? It is. But Southeast Asia seemed so foreign and it is our first time coming. The safety and comfort of special hotels seemed warranted. Maybe next time — now that I, the fraidy cat, am familiar; now that the air of mystery has lifted — we can go less luxuriously.

That said, the Azerai Hotel is an oasis of beauty and calm.  Right in the thick of things. Next door to a temple. (Though, here, everything is next door to a temple). Near to the confluence of the Nam Khan and the Mekong Rivers. Across the street from the night market, a road with nearly one hundred street vendors. Their offerings are a mixed bag. Baggy pants in an elephant print; same ones sold in Sri Lanka and Thailand. Spoons and medallions made from the melted metal of American bombshells. But also there are beautiful hand loomed silks and traditional clothes, finely made. Eventually, you get past the vendors as you approach the confluence of the rivers. The small streets and smaller lanes and alleys become a neighborhood of locals. There is, without question, a large tourist element here, too. Guest houses, restaurants, bars. But as you pass open doorways, there are local families tending their children, making dinner, doing their laundry, sitting with their feet up, the men shirtless, electric fans blowing, folded fans waving.

One of our best experiences was on one of these narrow lanes. There was a store front. It's doors were open. It's porch was wide. It was teeming with kids; younger and older than twenty years. A Frenchman stopped us. "Will you come in for a moment. Talk to the kids. They are learning English. They love to practice with foreigners". We stepped up to the porch. Sat down. Instantly, we were surrounded with eager, shining, bright eyed faces. Their stories were similar. Lots of siblings. They start work at six in the morning. They work six days a week. They work hard. They do not complain. They feel better English language skills will improve their employment prospects. Their passion was palpable. It became a mutual admiration society. We wanted to experience a new culture. They delivered new culture to us. They humanized, for us, every subsequent Lao we met.  The program is BigBrotherMouse.com

Luang Prabang is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Our hotel is new. The new construction required conforming to the dimensions of the previous building. That is a good thing. Because of that, the hotel is a low profile two story rectangle with a large central open space filled with a large refreshing pool. We dipped several times a day. Like a broken record, I restate, it was hot steamy humid. Our room was on the ground floor in a corner. Behind us was a temple. Our first morning, we woke before sunrise. We heard a faint drum pulsing. Also we had a date. We requested to deliver rice to the passing monks at 6 AM. We went to the lobby. They had a basket of warm sticky rice for each of us. They had set a cushion on the sidewalk so we could comfortably kneel.

Since we began the Southeast Asia portion of the trip it has been an immersion into the world of Buddha. As our esteemed new nephew army officer in Sri Lanka put it, more or less, Buddha does not have to be a religion, it can be an idea of meditation and contemplation of the basic needs of humans and serving something other than yourself. On almost every street there is a temple compound. Each one has a population of novices (monks in training) and monks in residence. Life as a monk involves giving up worldly possessions and desires. Reducing their existence to the essentials. As few possessions as possible. Their needs are shelter: as little space each as nine by seven feet. Clothing: more when it is cold or buggy and less when it is sizzling. Their garments are a two rectangles of fabric; one wraps around the waist, the other creates a toga effect with the right shoulder exposed. The colorful fabric is natural fiber, hand made. The dye is from bark or stones or plants. The color varies from city to city. In Luang Prabang it is brilliant orange. Food: only enough to sustain the body and eaten only before noon.

Every day, they rise before the sun. They line up in order of age. They prepare their special bowl for the alms they will receive. It is forged from eight thin wedges of iron and fired five times. It stays with them for as long as they are a monk. For some it will be a lifetime. After chanting and pulses of the drum, they step out of the temple grounds and on to the city streets. They are respected. People know to ensure their heads are lower than the monks's heads. If people sit on the ground, they know to aim the soles of their feet away from the monks. The same goes for being in the presence of a Buddha statue. From our cushions in front of the Azerai, we know they are approaching because at the corner it looks like a paparazzi feeding frenzy. Like piranha. Chaos. We begin pinching the sticky rice into balls. When they walk by us, they will not stop, only slow down enough to raise the lid on their bowl. Suddenly, they were upon us. They passed faster than we'd anticipated. Take a deep breath. It will all be fine. Get in sync with their rhythm. One monk. Next monk. Another monk. So far, so good. We could not look at their faces, so preoccupied with putting the rice ball in each bowl. And that was okay because one of the 227 rules of conduct they commit to does not encourage smiling or eye contact. It would be immodest. They might be tempted to enjoy the attention. As the lined neared it's end, it was hard to keep our heads lower than the monks's because the final few were little children. It is expected every boy will, before the age of twenty, live as a novice monk. It brings honor to their family. Plus it is, for the less able families, a guaranteed education for the child.  Maybe it was the early hour. Or the surreal sight of photo hungry people who took our picture while we waited for monks. Or our fingers molding warm rice into balls. Or the face-to-bowl encounter with people and children who say no to possessions and ambition and competition and poverty; how can you be poor when you desire no possessions. Money loses it's power.



That was the morning. We were done by 6:30 AM. There were two other hotel guests who gave rice. A conversation began and we ended up joining them on their day of waterfalls and caves. An hour later, we were together on benches in the back of a bouncy pickup truck racing through rice harvests toward the falls. After 45 minutes, we arrived at the parking lot for Kuang Si Falls. It was also a food and souvenir area. We parked in front of our driver's mother's concession of flip flops and coconuts. She had tiny customers.



As for us, we had an eager beaver. Let's go!



The falls were splendid. They fell from on high. Not huge like Niagara, but still wonderful to feel the spray on our faces.



We followed a staircase up. It went this way and that. It ascended parallel to the falls. Near the top was a place for a swing and a dip.



We saw a sign for a cave and decided to go farther.  In all we walked several kilometers to the cave entry. There, the ticket man gave us each a flashlight and a tiny banana. We ate the bananas. The man said something. We didn't know what.  Once up top and in the cave, we knew he'd said, "the banana is your offering to Buddha".

On the way down, we met a pig. Say hi.



Back down the hill, and at a lower level of the falls, where they settle into pools, we swam in celadon water. The setting was paradise. Was Eden more beautiful?



We got back in the truck and bounced ninety minutes over rutted dirt roads to a village, it was smaller than a village. It had signs: "healthy village," "crime-free," "village women union - 3 aspects to be considered as good".



A woman offered me a sip of her rice whiskey. We bought tickets there for a short boat ride. Across the river, we ascended stairs and stairs to caves with assemblages of small Buddhas.







Then back to the boat, across the river, back through the village. Children played games from their imaginations, like children would do anywhere on the globe, laughing and tumbling. In straw half dome baskets, birds were kept from escaping dinner. Chickens pecked and clucked. Then back in the truck bed. Bounce bounce bounce. Dust clouds. We stopped to admire the sunset view over the river. Around the bend an elephant came walking. A teenage boy walked nearby. He was the boss. If the elephant ate foliage for too long, one word from the boy made him straighten up and walk. As they approached us, the boy climbed up on top. Good thing, too. People see elephants and think cute. This week, a dose of reality was served in the Chiang Mai Zoo. An elephant tired of his long time keeper. He rolled him up in his trunk and squeezed the life out of him.



One thing I have not mentioned, is the prevalence of cold fragrant towels. In Thailand, Cambodia and Laos, the hotels greet us constantly with cold damp towels, typically scented with lemongrass oil. They are the best.

One day at the Azerai, we met a yoga master. She teaches in San Francisco, East Hampton and elite hotels around the globe. Earlier, at one of the caves, we interacted with her boyfriend, a cheese master with great and welcome enthusiasm for Siem Reap. Later, we got acquainted.  Her brother is a major music person in New York. I have known his name for many years. Before they departed the hotel, she posed on her head at the pool for a half hour for a few souvenir shots.  The Azerai was an outstanding watering hole. Four new friends.

On our final day, we took a boat across the Mekong to visit the Botanical Gardens.



It has been open eight years. Young for a garden of it's type. It sparkles. It has fine paths. The open-sided teahouse is beside a lotus pond. The gift shop sells handmade traditional Lao objects, useful things. The plants are well marked. All it needs is time to grow. While we waited to board the boat across the river, an orchid master explained the vanilla producing orchid to us.

Later in the day, we walked on the riverside as the sun set on the Mekong.



Next stop, Siem Reap, Cambodia and Angkor Wat.

Wes and Marlow
Luang Prabang, Laos
November 2017