HMONG: OUR FORGOTTEN WARTIME ALLY

Beautiful scenery outside the Hmong village of Phantao

With a new day, I’m on my way outside town. I’m looking to explore the province away from the Vang Vieng tourist trap, and I’m glad that I did. The landscape before me is the most picturesque scenery I’ve seen yet in Laos. The path I’m hiking on is sandwiched between lush green rice paddies, terraced one after the other. Steep karst mountains rise beyond, until their peaks are covered with fluffy clouds. High on the steep green hills, patches of bare rock peek out through blankets of tree cover. 

I’m on my way to a village called Phanthao, home to one of the country’s many minority ethnic groups. This particular village is inhabited by a hill tribe group that suffered greatly in Laos over the past 50 years. They call themselves, 'Hmong'. 

Back in 1961 when the war in Laos was heating up, the Pathet Lao and their North Vietnamese allies were growing in strength. To counter this threat, the Royal Laotian Government and their US supporters needed more soldiers in the north. The Laotian Army wasn’t a dependable fighting force, and bringing in American GI’s wasn’t an option. So the CIA found an excellent ally in the highland Hmong. Sometimes referred to as 'Meo', the Hmong were originally from China. Fleeing conflict there, they migrated to the highlands of Southeast Asia in the 19th century. Traditionally animists, there are Hmong minority communities in Laos, Thailand, Myanmar and Northern Vietnam. 

Bomb craters in the north of Laos (Museum photo)

Known as brave fighters, the Hmong fought French colonials for a few years in the early 20th century. Some later joined the French to take on the Viet Minh. After the French departed and the communists continued encroaching on their land, they were willingly recruited by the CIA. In what became known as the ‘Secret War’, the Hmong became America’s best fighting force during the long war in Laos. Usually fighting against the heavily armed North Vietnamese Army, the Hmong’s tactics were familiar. They used the same guerrilla warfare tactics against the Vietnamese, that the Vietnamese used against the US in Vietnam. Suffering heavy losses, the Hmong were gradually forced out of their homelands. In the decade from 1960 – 1970, an estimated 20% of all Hmong in Laos died due to the war and its effects.

The 1973 Paris peace accords to end the Vietnam War, were supposed to include Laos but it wasn’t to be. The NVA were supposed to withdraw from Laos, but they never left, so the war went on. When the CIA left, the Hmong lost their main supporters, and the communists set out to destroy the Hmong resistance. Fighting escalated in 1975 as Hmong villages were attacked, and thousands of civilians were killed. Homes, crops and livestock were destroyed. Thousands of survivors fled to Thailand. Those that remained hid in remote jungle highlands, where fighting continued. America’s war in Southeast Asia was over, but it was only worsening for the Hmong. 

Hiding in the mountains, the Hmong resistance fought Pathet Lao and Vietnamese troops off and on for years. Tactics were often brutal. Hmong refugees arriving in Thailand somberly told of massacres, including attacks on unarmed women and children. Hmong villages were being hit not only with artillery, but also napalm. Some witnesses even reported that the communists were using chemical weapons, known as ‘Yellow Rain’. Reports of atrocities were difficult to verify, since all the fighting took place behind the bamboo curtain in remote mountains. Some Hmong advocates called it genocide. 

Approaching village of Phantao

Even without hard evidence of these atrocities, nobody doubted the Hmong were paying a heavy price for their past alliance with the US. Their fight for survival continued outside the world’s spotlight, as journalists weren’t allowed anywhere near the conflict in Laos. By 1978 major fighting was over, but sporadic attacks against remote Hmong hideouts continued for decades. 

As I head for the Hmong village along narrow dirt paths between flooded rice paddies, I follow my guide, an ethnic Lao. I would have preferred a Hmong guide, but couldn’t find one in Vang Vieng. That may be by design. The Laotian government would rather have me visit a Hmong village with a government approved guide, so they can keep away foreign human rights activists. This also means that the Hmong I meet won’t trust my Lao guide; their conversation will be guarded. 

Entering Phanthao, I find Hmong children playing on the dirt road. I gets curious looks, since few Americans come here. The village is made of single story homes, but most are just shacks. Before moving here, these families were refugees in Nong Khai, Thailand, near where the 'Friendship Bridge' is now. Phanthao has only existed since 1995, when it was built from scratch.

“Government give (them) land for free”, my guide says. The creation of this new Hmong village was partly due to improved relations between Laos and Thailand in the 1990’s. Burdened with so many refugees, Thailand wanted the Laotian government to take them back. In the first wave, 150 Hmong families relocated here to Phanthao; more came in later repatriations. Now the village has about 500 families total. 

Hmong woman doing traditional embroidery

As I walk through the village, I encounter a group of Hmong women, stitching embroidery in the shade of trees. I’m disappointed that they’re not wearing their traditional dark costumes and head dresses. Most wear western clothing. The colorful embroidery they’re creating is traditional; made for belts and sashes worn on special occasions. Approaching, I marvel at their handiwork. The bright colored threads they weave form fantastic diamond-like shapes. There are various sub-groups among the Hmong, each with their own distinct weaving patterns. 

I start chatting with the weaving women. One says that before the war, her family lived in Xieng Khuang Province in the north, the region also known as the Plain of Jars. I ask why she didn’t remain living there. 

“If we stay there, somebody will kill us,” she said, “so we move away.” Like most of the Hmong in the north, her family fled fighting and escaped to Thailand. Later, her family was repatriated to Phanthao, while other relatives gained asylum overseas. I ask where. 

“In Minnesota, and Texas,” she says. I’m not surprised, since the largest diaspora of Hmong are in America. Taking in Hmong refugees was the least that the US could do, since they had abandoned the Hmong to the communists. More than 150,000 resettled in America.

Turning to the woman’s friend, I learn she is also from Xieng Khuang. But she gives a different reason for moving here. She says her family came here for the better farmland. “There they have some bombs (in the farmland)” she says. “It’s easy to make rice fields here.”

Walking through the village I see Hmong going about their daily tasks, but I notice that one age group is missing. There are very few senior citizens. With so many years of war, and with poor living conditions that continue today, the life expectancy of the Hmong is much lower than that of ethnic Lao. I wasn’t seeing many senior citizens, because most rural Hmong never reached old age. 

Hmong children in Phantao

Although large scale fighting ended decades ago, there were still Hmong fighters resisting in remote areas of the mountains, even in recent years. Scattered attacks and clashes between government troops and hold outs continued. Living in primitive hide-outs, and chronically malnourished, it’s amazing that these hardy groups of Hmong were able to survive at all. Some Hmong had lived their entire lives on the run. 

Finally, a recent government amnesty program brought many of them out of the hills. In 2004 more than 700 Hmong, including fighters and their families, surrendered in four different provinces. In 2005 another 170 women, children and old men turned themselves in. After surrendering their old weapons, they were resettled in more populated areas. In 2006 another 400 surrendered, but the fighting still hadn’t ended. In that same year 26 Hmong were reportedly killed in a single attack; most were women and children. I was beginning to wonder, if Hmong resistance had continued for so long, is it possible that there are some Hmong fighting in the mountains yet today?

Continuing my village stroll I come to an irrigation canal, where a group of Hmong children are splashing and swimming. Their differences in clothing are a total contrast. Some of the youngest boys swim naked, while older boys wear only underwear. On the other hand the swimming teenage girls are fully dressed in street clothes, wearing trousers, and long sleeved shirts. Hmong women are very conservative. 

Yes, this is actually a 'restaurant' in Phantao!

Taking a break from our long walk, I grab a seat at a small restaurant by the canal. Calling it a restaurant is a bit of a stretch though. There's no floor, and the ground partly muddy. A stray dog lies under a table, too lazy to chase a chicken strutting past. A large pot of unknown stew bubbles over an open fire. Despite the Spartan conditions, there are still customers. I start chatting with the owner of this humble establishment, who is also from the northern mountains. He left to escape the conflict and the poverty. 

“(My) family sell (our) land, sell everything,” he said. “We have $6,000. Give to man, he say (he would) take us to Europe, or America.” But the human trafficker only took them as far as Thailand, where he disappeared with all their money. With nowhere to go, they spent years in refugee camps, before they were allowed to come back to this resettlement village. 

Despite their past tragedies, the restaurateur and his family are among the lucky ones, since they received land for a home in Phantao when they were repatriated. Life in this rural community is relatively good for the Hmong families here. They own their land, they have electricity, a school, and access to the nearby highway. Phantao is an exception though, since most other Hmong who return to Laos these days don’t want to come back. Sadly, they are being forced. 

Hmong children swim in an irrigation canal

There are still thousands of Hmong refugees in Thailand, and although human rights groups have been objecting, the Thai government has been deporting many of them. The Thais have been claiming that rather than fleeing fighting, they all fled for financial reasons. Human rights advocates say that these refugees are at risk of persecution when they return to Laos. 

“Some Lao people hate Hmong people,” a young Hmong told me later. Suffering from discrimination, the Hmong remain the most persecuted minority in Laos. 

Although most Hmong communities live peacefully today, on both sides there is still a great deal of resentment that remains just below the surface. 

RIVER OF DEBAUCHERY

Downtown Vang Vieng, haven for hard partying backpackers

The sights are familiar to anyone who has attended a western university. Sunburned, college age kids, wearing shorts and bikinis. A long strip of riverside bars, with volleyball nets and cheap drinks. Dance music pounds loudly from amplifiers. Alcohol is imbibed in large quantities. Some young adults here are even taking drugs. This isn’t a wild spring break beach party, and this isn’t ‘The Jersey Shore’ either. 

It’s Laos.

Well, a small part of Laos. Vang Vieng to be exact. In a country where the culture is so conservative, and the government’s hold on power is tight, this is an island of western decadence in East Asia. Since the government is publicly against drugs and western music, I’m astounded this kind of behavior is allowed. Vang Vieng is the exception in Laos; the one place where decadent foreign influences run wild. 

Away from the wild partying river, I take a walk down the streets of Vang Vieng. This town isn’t a tourist trap in the classic sense; there are no families here. Although it has morphed into a playground for adults, it’s nothing like Las Vegas. There are neither casinos, nor fancy hotels. This town is a haven for only one kind of tourist: young western backpackers, looking to party for cheap. Some of the bargain hotels or guest houses here offer a bed for as little as four dollars a night. Just don’t expect any air conditioning. 

With business catering to the cheap backpacker crowd, businesses on the main strip are predictable. Both sides of the main street, are packed with cheap guest houses, open air restaurants, bars, internet cafes, food carts, tour companies and tee shirt shops. 

How things have changed for tourists in Laos. Back in the country’s post-war years, westerners were expelled, and the country became isolated. Foreign tourism here was virtually non-existent. 

Vang Vieng restaurant/bar, where you can watch episodes of 'Friends' for hours on end...

But then the cold war thawed in the 1990’s, and neighboring Vietnam and Cambodia began cashing in on tourism. Soon after, the Laotian government decided to hop onto the tourist bandwagon. Visa restrictions were dropped, and borders were flung open. Now this communist country welcomes foreign visitors, anxious to take their tourist dollars. Better late than never. 

The backpackers here are mostly young adults of university age, from western Europe and Australia. Every afternoon they can be seen lounging inside the main strip’s open air restaurants, watching DVDs of American sitcoms for hours. These run all day long, as many backpackers are recovering from a hang over. Perhaps they come here because their guest houses are too cheap to install TVs in their bedrooms. 

Some young women wear skimpy beach attire, and some young men go shirtless. This is nothing to Americans, but conservative Laotians find this scandalous. Showing so much skin is taboo everywhere else in Laos, but here the massive backpacker presence has overwhelmed local culture. 

These frugal foreign travelers were originally drawn to Vang Vieng for the lovely scenery. There are beautiful mountains, caves to explore, scenic rural villages and Buddhist temples. As the first visitors came, tour companies sprang up, selling trips for hiking, canoeing, kayaking and mountain climbing. But those are really just side shows now. Most backpackers come here for two reasons: the partying, and the tubing. These two intertwined events have made Vang Vieng infamous, and even dangerous. Backpackers anywhere in Southeast Asia, are often seen wearing tank tops bearing the same message: “Tubing on the Vang Vieng”, the number one activity here. 

Like this bridge, more than one drunk backpacker has not survived the Nam Song River

I take an afternoon to check this out for myself, and after paying six dollars, I’m given a large truck inner-tube. Then I pile into the back of a crowded tuk-tuk, and we’re driven a few miles north of town. Arriving upriver, we’re dropped off at the first of many cheap riverside bars. Here I encounter a scene I haven’t seen since college. Throngs of rowdy western college kids are drinking cheap beer at several flimsy bamboo bars on the river bank. Many are dancing and carousing to loud popular music. Some have been here for hours already, and are already heavily drunk. One bar is giving away snake wine and scorpion wine for free; I grab a Beer Lao instead. 

Dotted among the riverside pubs are rope swings, water slides and zip lines for thrill seekers. Several circus style trapezes drop revelers from on high, where they shriek as they fall before splashing into the Nam Song river. There is also volleyball, and a muddy tug of war for those who prefer exercise on land. Feeling energetic, I head into a game of 4 on 4 mud volleyball. I get thoroughly filthy in a losing effort, but enjoy the fun. After the game ends, the players scatter to explore other diversions. I’m anxious to get the mud off my face and hair, so I pick up my inner tube and head into the river. 

My next stop is one of the larger drinking holes on this river of debauchery. It’s called the 'Slide Bar'. It has a fairly modern, elevated water slide lined with bath tiles! I pull in, stow my inner tube, and grab some lunch. Then the rain starts. As this is rainy season, the river's running fast. Coming down lightly at first, it’s soon a monsoon. The fun continues, since all the revelers are already wet from the river. As I eat, I view the surrounding action. 

An Argentine died in one of these area caves

Above me, a young man flies off the end of the high water slide, dropping ten feet into the river. He lands right next to an unsuspecting lady tuber, nearly landing on top of her! Both were lucky, it was a near miss. I soon realize, that the emphasis here is on fun, with little regard for safety. As I watch the water slides, trapeze and rope swings at the bars, I see no safety systems in place, no lifeguards. There's little to keep young drunks from falling off high muddy ladders onto the shore, or to keep rope swingers from falling onto other tubers floating by. Nobody wears lifejackets. Swimming drunk in a murky, fast moving, unfamiliar river could easily turn deadly. I hear later that cuts, concussions, and broken bones are a common occurrence when tubing in Vang Vieng. 

The rain lets up, and grabbing my inner tube I continue down river. The shores grow quieter, and bamboo bars give way to tree lined shores. Finally, I stop at a pub known as ‘Last Bar’. I paddle my tube into an eddy, while a couple Canadians float up behind. Standing in shallow water, one spots a dark lizard attached to an overhanging tree. He captures it by hand, and we climb a long flight of stairs to the dumpy little shack bar high over the river bank. As we grab a bench seat, the Canuck plops the reptile on the table. At a foot and a half long, the lizard looked ill or injured. It was breathing, but barely moving. 

An old Lao woman with blackened teeth approaches the table. Her dark teeth are caused by betel nuts, her drug of choice. (The locally grown nut is chewed as a mild stimulant.) The woman points towards the lizard, and motions with her hands that it makes for good eating. She then opens a little bag. Apparently, she was ready to barbecue the reptile right here and now. The Canadians pondered this offer for a while, but the more they discussed the lizard, the more they got attached to it. They declined her offer to cook their newfound pet. 

7 foreign tourists have died in Vang Vieng, some drowned under the influence of drugs or alcohol

While I order my second and final beer, the Canadians order marijuana. They are soon lighting up, disappointed when I turn down their offer to smoke with them. This pair were hoping to hang out with some heavier partiers. Soon after, they found some. Down by the river where we’d arrived, three more westerners pulled up in their inner tubes. These young men had partied too hard already, and never made it up the steps. 

“Hey! We need help!” One of them shouted, “we have to get to a hospital!” The vocal backpacker’s two friends were very stoned; one was so far gone, he was completely unconscious. Soon one of the Laotian bar staff descended to the river bank, loading the three druggies into his long tail boat. Then they were off downriver, just another backpacker overdose headed for the local band-aid station that they call a hospital. 

It’s quite a racket this bar has going. Not only do they make money by selling drugs to backpackers, but they also make additional money from backpackers by turning their boats into ambulances when they overdose. I noticed the boat driver wouldn’t leave for the hospital, until he saw the cash in hand from the backpacker to pay for the trip. 

I don’t know what particular drug his friend overdosed on, but he’s far from the first foreigner to need medical attention in Vang Vieng. In recent years at least seven foreigners have died in this permissive tourist town. Shortly before I arrived in Vang Vieng, an Argentine tourist died in a caving accident. He had been exploring a local cave alone, never a good idea. Other tourists here died from overdoses, drowning, or from driving drunk on rented motorbikes.

A couple weeks after I left Vang Vieng, there was another death. An Irishman who came to town with his newlywed wife drowned in the river while tubing. His poor widow was left to organize the search for his body on her own. It cost her $1,000 out of her own pocket to pay for the search. They finally found his corpse down river, three days later.

CORRUPTION, DAMS AND GULAGS

Once dry land, the water level has risen due to a dam

Gazing out our vehicle’s window, palm trees wave in the breeze as we cruise down a narrow rural road. While watching the world pass by, I see an odd looking lake in the hills to the east. Out in the brown waters of a lake, are small hilltop islands close to shore; longtail boats cruise their way between them. On one small island, I spot cattle that have been stranded. They have a confused look about them, as they wait to be rescued. That’s when I realize that that this isn’t a natural lake. These waters come and go, and these islands are only temporary. What the cattle are standing on, is really just a hill that became an island after recent rains. This isn’t a natural lake at all, it’s a vast reservoir for the Nam Ngum Dam, north of Vientiane.  

Built with foreign aid, Nam Ngum was built during the war, opened in 1971 to provide hydroelectric power. After the communists took over, the dam’s reservoir took on an additional function: as a prison. The islands held not loose cattle, but Laotians associated with the old regime. Out on larger islands of the reservoir, two prison camps were built. One island prison was for men, another for women. 

When the Pathet Lao took over in 1975, they rounded up an estimated 20,000 – 40,000 Laotians. These included soldiers, policemen, teachers, Royal Laotian Government officials,  and office workers who had worked for westerners. Just as had been done in Vietnam, the prisoners were sent to remote prison camps for ‘re-education’. Added to these 'enemies of the state', were other undesirables that didn’t fit in with the new ‘communist paradise’. Also sent to the bamboo gulags, were prostitutes and opium addicts from Vientiane. 

Fortunately, with the liberalization of government policies, that dark chapter has for the most part passed. The prisons on the reservoir were closed years ago. 

The Nam Ngum resevoir (Photo: 123 rf)

Nam Ngum Dam is still in operation today, and some of the electricity produced provides power for Vientiane. The rest of the electricity is exported to Thailand, and I remember the power lines across the Mekong that I had seen at Friendship Bridge. As a poor landlocked country, Laos has few prospects for development, and hydropower is being pushed even more these days. As one Laotian government official boasted, “Laos will be the battery of Southeast Asia.”

Hydroelectric dams in Laos are controversial, since there is an ongoing boom of dam construction. There are currently seven dam projects under construction in Laos, and even more are being proposed for the countries many rivers. 

One of the larger dams, called the ‘Nam Theun 2’, is currently being built in central Laos, on the Nakai plateau. Although the project is backed by the World Bank, it’s been running behind schedule. Since the Nam Theun River is a tributary to the Mekong, the project has received a great deal of criticism from environmentalists, and sociologists concerned about affected communities. 6,000 villagers from the area have already been relocated to make room for the reservoir, and nobody knows what the long term effects of the dam will be on the environment. Initially I thought that hydroelectric dams would be good for Laos, but an Australian scientist I spoke with in Vientiane convinced me otherwise. 

“Laos doesn’t need any more dams,” he said knowingly. According to him, it wasn’t need that was driving their creation. “A guy shows up with a suitcase full of money,” he said, “then they get approval to build another dam.” 

Hydropower, as well as increased logging and mining, have been a mixed blessing for Laos. The rise in business has brought in much needed foreign capital, and more villages are receiving electrical power. But the Laotian people are still not the main beneficiaries. With the return to Laos of large scale infrastructure projects as well as mining and logging, the resulting rise in corruption was predictable. Local government officials who had been earning less than $100 a month, soon found fat contracts crossing their desks that were worth millions of dollars. 

The Vientiane Times gave one example of the problem. This rare story condemning corruption by government controlled media, is startlingly frank. 

Laotian power lines. Most hydroelectric power here is sold to neighboring Thailand.

“Prosecutors fail to bring corrupt officials to trial

Prosecutors are still unable to bring to trial government officials who break the law and abuse their position of power because of lack of cooperation from the sectors concerned. The Lao People’s Supreme Prosecutors’ Office has identified a number of criminal cases among government officials, ranging from corruption to helping people illegally sell timber and provide land concessions. 

But prosecutors are unable to pursue these cases and submit the results of their inquiries to the court for subsequent trial and judgement because other government agencies do not provide the necessary cooperation, according to a report from the office. At present, the only stop most state agencies take against offending officials is to ask them to make a commitment not to repeat their wrongdoing. Those who commit a serious crime are removed from office without the case going to court. 

The Supreme Prosecutor urges the government to use its administrative powers to address the isue, saying unless it does so people will lose confidence in the leadership of the Party and government.”

With the lack of accountability, the Laotian judicial system is failing to reduce corruption. It’s no wonder that Transparency International’s 2012 Corruption Perception Index ranked Laos as 160th out of 174 countries in the world. That makes Laos more corrupt than Vietnam. 

Since Laos lacks high tech professionals, it continues to be foreigners supervising the work on these big projects. I recall a dinner in Vientiane, where I met Tatiana, a twenty-something Moscovite who had been here for a year.

“I work for construction company, (they) build dam,” she said from behind her glasses. She told me that even though the dam wasn’t yet finished, the power had already been sold to Thailand. 

Although Tatiana enjoyed her work, she didn’t like Laos. In less than a week, she would go back to Russia for vacation. She missed home, and missed Russian cuisine. But it wasn’t just the food that made Tatiana dislike Laos. She'd been sick lately, home in bed for a week with a bad fever. “I had ra tifis,” she said.

“Excuse me?” I said. “Sorry, I don’t understand.” She repeated herself a few times, and I finally got her meaning. 

“Oh!” I said realizing, “Rat Typhus!!!”

That poor young lady. She came all the way here to work in a foreign country, and ended up with a disease transmitted by vermin. I’m enjoying my time in Laos, but I wouldn't be surprised, if Tatiana never came back from her vacation. 

'FRIENDSHIP BRIDGE' CONNECTS OLD ENEMIES

'Friendship Bridge' crossing the Mekong River, from Laos to Thailand

“You! You –You –You !”

I hear this sharp and repetitious voice calling out to me from behind. Wondering what all the fuss is about, I turn to see a uniformed soldier quickly approaching. 

Uh – oh. 

Fortunately, he’s unarmed, but the look on his youthful face tells me that he means business. I realize now that I’ve somehow wandered into a restricted area. Oops.

I’m in the village of Tha Na Leng, a half hour from Vientiane. I hadn’t walked into a secret military base, or a government compound. The restricted area that I had walked into, was simply beneath a bridge. But this is not your average bridge. 

It’s not my fault really; there was no sign posted warning me not to enter this grassy area by the Mekong River. Well, I didn't see any ‘No Trespassing’ signs in English anyway. There was a hand written Laotian sign back at the gate where I entered, but that could have said ‘Joe’s Restaurant’ for all I knew. The gate was wide open, with no guards in sight.

Since this young soldier’s English is limited, he merely points back towards the gate. I get his meaning, and he escorts me back out to the road.  Having been turned away from my original vantage point, I walk go looking for another bridge view. I find a path through an overgrown lot, and soon I’m back at the Mekong's edge. Further upriver, my view of the bridge here is even better. 

Flapping in the wind above the bridge, is the flag of Laos. Flying above on the far side, is the flag of Thailand. This is the ‘Friendship Bridge’. Stretching far across the Mekong, this is the busiest and most important border crossing that connects these two Asian countries. 

Oops, sorry soldier, I didn't know I'm not supposed to be down here... 

The relationship that Laos has had with Thailand is a complicated one. On the one hand, Laotians remember that Thailand destroyed Vientiane in the 19th century, and dominated Laos for years afterwards. Laotians still distrust the Thais to this day. On the other hand, Thailand is the largest foreign investor in Laos, and one of its biggest trading partners. That’s easy to see here, simply by watching the freight trucks that drive back and forth across this bridge. 

As far as bridges go, the Friendship Bridge is impressive in both length and height. It’s not just that the Mekong is a half a mile wide here; beyond that the bridge stretches even further. Beginning over in Thailand, the bridge slopes upwards, enabling it to reach high over the mighty river. Though this is the rainy season and the river is high, the gap still leaves plenty of room beneath for large riverboats, though I don’t see any. When the bridge reaches the Laos side, it descends gradually onto a ramp leading to customs and immigration.

Built with the help of foreign donors, the Friendship Bridge opened in 1994, and it’s symbolic of the improving relations, and increasing trade between Laos and Thailand. Good relations increased further, and Laos entered ASEAN in 1997, bringing it into a more open relationship with it’s regional neighbors. 

As I look at the steel structure, I can make out four people high above crossing the bridge on foot from Nong Kai, the city on the Thai side. That’s a very long walk for a border crossing. From one immigration point to the other, the whole crossing is close to two miles. Crossing the Mekong here nowadays is a safe affair, but for Laotians it was not always so easy. Back in the days after the communist takeover in the 1970’s, crossing the Mekong from Laos to Thailand was very dangerous indeed. 

When Laos turned communist in 1975, this border with Thailand became a new cold war dividing line. On the Laotian side, the communists could not afford to build their own Berlin Wall like the East Germans did, so they relied on the natural border of the Mekong. This became part of what was called, 'The Bamboo Wall’. 

After the communist takeover, private businesses were closed, property was confiscated, and freedoms declined. Most Laotians with money or education fled the country. This included thousands of businessmen, landowners, teachers, and government workers. The iron fisted policies of the communism created a brain drain. A great deal of wealth left with these migrants, and the economy collapsed. In those years, 10% of all Laotians fled as refugees. With so many departing Laos, numerous refugee camps sprang up across the river in Thailand. Back in the late 70’s and 80’s, the refugee camp across from here in Nong Kai was one of the largest. Pathet Lao patrol boats cruised the Mekong, searching for refugees attempting to escape. Many made it safely across to Nong Kai, while others weren’t so lucky. 

Immigration arrivals and departures are processed here on the Laotian side. Shopping anyone??

I recall the words that a refugee named Truong said to me in America back in the 1980’s. “If you go to Laos,” he said bluntly, “they shoot you.” Truong was a Hmong refugee, resettled in America. He’d spent years in Nong Kai, after escaping across the Mekong. More than a few refugees had been shot, and died on the river as they attempted to escape the communists back in those difficult years.

Most Laotian refugees in Thailand have since found asylum in third countries. While most conflict ended, some refugee problems continue. In recent years small groups of Hmong have been forcibly returned to Laos against their will. There are still an undetermined number of refugees in Thailand today. Since Thailand already had its own Hmong minority before the war, exact numbers are difficult to tabulate. More than 100 Hmong are being held in a Nong Kai detention center, while a few thousand more still live in refugee camps. Other undocumented refugees are still in hiding in Thailand, living under the radar. 

Here at Friendship Bridge, Laotians heading over to live in Thailand these days are mainly economic migrants. With more prosperity in Thailand, plenty of poor Laotians move there to work, both legally and illegally. Crossing for these migrants is now peaceful and orderly, and the military and police presence is greatly reduced. Looking around, I don’t see any patrols, armed police are few, and even the soldier I encountered earlier was armed only with a radio. Most conflict today, is over smuggling. Some contraband is hidden in cargo crossing the Friendship Bridge. With such a long unguarded riverbank, other goods are brought across by boat. But this is not without hazards. There are still reports of Laotian militia firing at boats on the Mekong after dark. 

Across on the Thai side, I see an old abandoned riverboat beached on the riverbank. Except for that old boat, everything else on the Thai side looks newer, and far more prosperous than in Laos. Thai houses are larger, more modern, and more numerous. The difference in numbers isn’t surprising, since the population of Thailand is nearly 10 times that of Laos. 

Here on the Laotian side, is another imposing feature. Just upriver from me, enormous red and white power transmission towers rise high into the sky. You wouldn’t expect these in a country where many villages still don’t have electricity. These must be the tallest electrical towers in all of Laos. They reach from one side of the Mekong all the way across to the other. These lines provide one of the country’s top exports: hydroelectric power. Sent through these lines to power hungry Thailand, Laotian hydropower is fueling factories in the Thai northeast. These days, Laos is sending electric power to Nong Kai, rather than refugees. 

I’ll see more of the country’s controversial hydroelectric dams, and more on the plight of Hmong refugees, as I continue my journey north. 

NIGHTLIFE AND DRUG TRADE IN VIENTIANE

Night time on the Mekong riverfront

It's late evening in Vientiane, Laos, and I’ve left the lively bar called 'Bor Pennyang'. Stepping onto the Mekong River front, I hail a tuk-tuk, and follow the main road downriver. We pull into Don Chan Palace, though it isn’t much of a palace, it’s really more of an odd river front hotel. With 14 floors it’s among the tallest buildings in Laos, but for rustic Vientiane it looks rather gaudy. It does however, have the town's best disco.

It’s my first time here, and walking in I find the place dark and crowded, with music pumping. Peering across the crowd, I look for the dance floor. Not seeing one, I walk the entire length of the place. There's no dance floor to be found. This is a disco, but only in the conservative Asian style. Here the patrons dance only next to their tables!

I eventually find a friendly group to hang out with, a mixture of westerners and Laotians. Grabbing a beer, I join the dancing by their table. A Dane with them explains why there's no dance floor. “They don’t understand the concept of a discotheque,” he says. 

Unfotunately for those who enjoy night life, there are strange culture laws that restrict evening entertainment here. This gives Vientiane the reputation as one of the more boring capitals in Southeast Asia.

A recent story in the Vientiane Times, mentioned that the government was closing some discos down. The Director of the Vientiane Information and Culture Department was quoted as saying, “Each district (of the city) should have only one disco.”

The Don Chan 'Palace' in Vientiane

The fun squashing bureaucrat complained of the “overuse of imported music at the expense of local songs.” That ‘overuse’ is evident tonight, since I don’t hear any Laotian music at all. The selection here is mostly pop music from Thailand, with a smattering of western dance tunes. The bureaucrat also complained that according to law, discos must close by 11:30pm. Since I just arrived at Don Chan near to midnight and the party’s going strong, I see the law isn’t enforced here. Varied disco closing times are often connected to corruption.

Eyeing up the clientele, there is not a hint of Laotian attire; everyone wears western clothes for clubbing. Looking around, there are plenty of drunks. Some Asian men of smaller stature, seem to be intent on drinking as much as the larger bodied westerners present.

This is about as crazy as it gets in this town. The wild, ‘anything goes’ bars that Vientiane was known for during the war years, like the 'White Rose' and the 'Green Latrine', are long gone. The only remnant of that tradition here, are a few prostitutes trying to catch the attention of western men. Prostitution exists in Vientiane, but in the more subdued Asian manner. This isn't Thailand, there are no strip clubs in Laos.

I’m less worried about violence here since night life in Vientiane is known as the safest in Southeast Asia. Since Laos is landlocked and without ports, they don’t have to worry about drunken sailors going out looking for trouble. That’s not to say that bar fights don’t occasionally happen though. In between swigs of Beer Lao, an English teacher tells me about a bar fight here a couple weeks ago. “I turned around, and see a foreigner down on the floor,” he says. “This Laotian was beating him with a bottle.”

He stepped in to stop the beating, but not for long, as his Laotian girlfriend pulled him away. Fortunately for him, she recognized the bottle wielder as a Laotian involved in the drug trade, and wisely kept him out of the melee. When the rare beatdown does happen in a Vientiane night spot, it’s often drug related. Vientiane was once known as a place where opium was easier to get than a cold beer. That has flip-flopped, and the drug trade has gone underground. But it does occasionally rear it’s ugly head, such as in this case reported in the Vientiane Times.

“Police arrested a Nigerian man on June 21 in Khualvang Village, Chanthabuly District, Vientiane, after finding him in possession of 900 grammes of heroin, according to the Khomsangoh (security) newspaper yesterday.”

The story went on to report on another sensationalized case, that gained international attention. “British national Samantha Orobator was sentenced to life in prison after being found guilty of possessing 600 grammes of heroin. Ms. Orobator was born in Nigeria, but is now a resident of the UK and has British citizenship.”

A Tuk -Tuk, these are 'taxis' in Vientiane

The story neglected to mention that the young lady became pregnant while in prison. Whether she became pregnant intentionally or not, it helped her case. She was originally given the death penalty for drug trafficking, but pregnant women are exempt from this punishment. In the end, she was extradited to the UK to serve her sentence there.

I continue to dance and chat with my newfound friends, until closing time nears. Some wish to party on, but there are few options for Vientiane’s night owls when discos shut down. “If you want to drink after three a.m. you can only go to the bowling alley,” the knowing Dane tells me. “You can drink there until four or five a.m. It’s the only place open.”

I’m not the type to drink until dawn, so Don Chan is my last stop of the night. I leave the late night revelers, and head for the tuk-tuks.

THE 'NO PROBLEM' BAR IN LAOS

The 'No Problem' Bar in downtown Vientiane, one of the best in town

Bor Pennyang in Laotian language means, “no problem”. The saying is a reflection of the laid back Lao lifestyle. Expatriates who stay in Vientiane long term, tend to share the Laotians preference for quiet, stress free living. Like the Mekong, life here flows along slowly. 

Bor Pennyang also happens to be the name of one of the better restaurant bars in Vientiane, and it’s an expat favorite. I’m playing pool tonight, and luckily for me, playing pool here is free. Located on the top floor of a four story building, the necessity of climbing three flights of stairs keeps the lazy customers out. 

The establishment is open air, with a roof protecting patrons from the elements, but there are no walls. There are only railings, with catch nets beneath. The nets keep inebriated bar patrons from dropping their beer bottles onto unsuspecting pedestrians below. 
(I wonder how often that has happened.) When winds blow the monsoon rains inside, waitresses lower bamboo shades to keep the water out, rolling them up again when the skies clear. 

As far as a night spot goes, Bor Pennyang has the best night view of the Mekong River. Looking out over the railings I don’t  see Vientiane, I see… Thailand. Since the building is located on the river front thoroughfare, I’m getting an unobstructed view of the Mekong, with the riverbank homes of the ‘land of smiles’ beyond. It makes for a very romantic view when the Thai lights are lit up at night. For those who enjoy the nightlife, Bor Pennyang  is one of the few locales that make Vientiane worthwhile.

Looking down across the street onto the river front, the open grass lot atop the riverbank has been transformed. As night has fallen, enterprising cooks have hauled in gas stoves, coolers of food, and plastic tables and chairs. Extension cords have been strung up, with bare bulbs to light up the diners. Voila, an instant line of river front restaurants. 

Every night, instant restaurants pop up on the Mekong riverfront

The downtown riverfront is filled up every night with these mobile restaurants, popular with Laotians and visitors alike. I’ve enjoyed traditional Laotian dishes there, and they even have fresh seafood. One of the small restaurants keeps a huge bowl of live shrimp ready for cooking. With Laos landlocked, they must have been brought in from Thailand. 

Turning back from my view of the river front, I step up to the circular wooden bar, and order a cold Beer Lao. This is one of the few pub’s in the city that has the national beer on tap. I'm greeted by the manager, a friendly Aussie named Ian. He's the key to Bor Pennyang’s success; he runs a bar business that both locals and foreigners enjoy. A former chef, he has lived in Vientiane for years, enjoying the slow pace of life. Even among foreigners he stands out, with his odd choice of hairdo. Although balding, he still grows his grey hair long in the back, keeping it in a ponytail. Thankfully, he’s a much better bar manager than hairstylist. 

Tonight is a Friday night, and the crowd begins to roll in to play an early game of pool, or grab a late dinner. After a few games, I notice a Russian couple playing at the next table. Russians aren’t very common in Vientiane these days, there were far more of them here during the post-war years, when there the Soviets were in town working on infrastructure projects. 

“When I was young, the only foreigner I see was Russian,” I recall a Laotian woman telling me. “When I see them, I scared,” she said. “They have blue eyes.”

I take a break from pool, and strike up a conversation with these new Russians. They prove to be an interesting pair. Yuri and Olga are both funloving, outgoing, and young at heart. Yuri says he makes a living importing cars from the USA, shipping them to Russia. Olga is a part time interior designer, and mother to their two children. He’s 45 years old, fairly fit, and balding. She’s aged 29, thin, blonde and very attractive. Olga tells me that when Russians get married these days, age differences like theirs are very common. 

Stepping away from the pool tables, conversation shifts to their home in Moscow. I’m taken aback when out of the blue, Yuri mentions that Moscow has nude sunbathing, on the banks of the Volga River. I tell him that I didn’t know that was possible in Moscow. I didn’t think that it was hot enough there either. 

Interior of rooftop bar 'Bor Pennyang'

Yuri corrects me, “In Moscow, yes. In Siberia, no!”

I ask if he ever sunbathed nude. “Yes,” Yuri says in a matter of fact manner, “we are nudists.” 

While we are chatting, Olga is getting a lot of visual attention from others in the bar, since she’s wearing a very short skirt, and a tight shirt with no bra. Conservative Vientiane is no tourist beach town; she’s probably the only woman in the city showing so much skin in public. 

“She likes to go to strip clubs,” her husband tells me, confessing more personal information. As I continue chatting with Yuri, I eventually find out why the pair are so outgoing. 

They are both swingers. 

“We have alternative lifestyle.” Yuri explains. 

No kidding. After hearing that, I’m not surprised to learn that they are presently living in Pattaya, a beach town in Thailand with a seedy reputation. The only reason that they came to conservative Laos with their kids, was to make a visa run. This is their first trip to Vientiane, and they’re bored. They haven’t found any other couples in Laos who share their lifestyle, so they are disappointed with the city’s nightlife. 

It’s been an interesting conversation to be sure, but since I don’t share their lifestyle, I decide to move on to my next evening destination. I say goodbye to the Russian swingers, who continue their evening’s search for a like minded couple. 

TV AND FORBIDDEN FOREIGN MARRIAGE

Local TV seems locked in the 1970's

Taking some time to relax in my downtown hotel room, I stretch out on my twin bed that’s too small, and turn on the boxy old television. Flat screen TV’s aren’t so common in Laos these days. 

Surfing the channels on offer, local shows aren’t much to look at, since Lao TV is still government controlled. Like their communist neighbors in Vietnam and China, Laos has allowed economic liberalism, while maintaining tight control of public media. Production quality is low; some of the current shows on television look like they were made in the 1970’s. 

Fortunately for the viewers of Vientiane, TV’s here receive broadcasts from the other side of the Mekong. The highly developed media from the relatively free country of Thailand produces the most popular shows in Laos, especially the Thai soap operas. Since the Thai and Lao languages are very similar, most Laotians comprehend Thai TV shows quite well. These shows add to the ongoing love-hate relationship that Laos has with Thailand. 

I don’t speak Thai or Lao, so I’d like to go online, but my room doesn’t have wifi. There’s no hardwire internet connection either. Fortunately the hotel lobby has a computer for internet use. There are also a few internet cafés in town, filled with foreign backpackers doing email, with a few Laotian teenagers doing chat. There isn’t much internet censorship in Laos yet, for the most part it remains relatively open. Relatively few Laotians can even afford internet access, so it's not much of a threat to the current government. Not yet anyway. 

While the internet and Thai TV continue to get around the Laotian government censors, the local Lao newspapers don’t. Case in point is a copy of the local English language newspaper that I’ve bought, ‘The Vientiane Times’. 

I scan the front page, and a front page headline says, “Recognition for Skilled Workers on the Way.” Great reading, if you want to go to sleep. To a westerner like me, government controlled news is hardly news at all. 

Lane Xang Hotel in Vientiane, you foreigners with Laotian girlfriends, stay out!

I find one notable and story inside, with a misleading title: “Police ensure Lao women have good husbands.” While the title sounds ludicrous, the story actually refers to Laotian women and their foreign husbands, and to the ongoing problem of human trafficking. It’s a fact that arranged marriages are sometimes connected to human trafficking, a serious problem in Southeast Asia. Some women are pushed into sham marriages, and then forced into prostitution. Others have been pressed into jobs with slave labor conditions. 

The story goes on to mention that some foreigners with criminal backgrounds had been marrying Laotian women, solely so that they could stay in Laos indefinitely without visa problems. 

Foreigners with serious Lao girlfriends are not allowed to bring them into local hotels. This brings up the issue of senior westerners coming to Laos, and marrying young Lao ladies. These marriages are officially discouraged; clear discrimination. A local news story cites a case where the government is withholding official approval of a marriage between a 21 year old Laotian woman, and a foreign man in his 60’s. 

 “Police were suspicious about the marriage, believing the man would treat the young woman like a servant,” the newspaper says. Obviously that's a double standard. In this male dominated society, police believe it’s ok for Laotian men to treat their wives like servants, but not foreigners. 

The paper later quotes a Laotian Brigadier General as saying, “it is unbelievable that a man aged over 60 is unmarried.” 

Apparently this general has never heard of bachelorhood, or a western divorce!