TOWN FULL OF BOMBS

Old bombs and weapons from the war are piled together in Phonsavan

I’m in the remote northern Laotian province of Xieng Khuang. The previous provincial capital here was bombed heavily during the war in the 60’s – 70’s. It was so completely destroyed, that afterwards the capital was relocated, to the small town of Phonsavan where I’ve just arrived. Most of what I'm seeing has been constructed in recent years. Driving down Phonsavan’s main street, I find most hotels have the most bizarre choice of decorations. Out in front of the various hotels and guesthouses, are old bombs, weapons, and other war refuse! They are displayed outside their front doors, and out in their gardens. 

Later, I will see them inside hotel lobbies, and even mounted on the walls of their restaurants. There are literally, tons and tons of old bombs sitting outside their doorways. They include the deadly little round bombies, grenades, mortar rounds and artillery shells. There is also a whole range of US made aircraft ordinance: 250 pounders, 500 pounders, 750 pounders. There is even a monstrous 1000 pound bomb. Strangely, this is the local way of attracting tourist business. 

Buddhist temple bell, made from old US bomb

Since the Plain of Jars that surrounds this town was the key to controlling northern Laos, the North Vietnamese Army fought the American backed Hmong forces tooth and nail all over this region for years. Control over this plateau changed several times during the course of the long war, and the high plain was heavily bombed from the air. Since not all bombs exploded, it left the landscape here littered with the dangerous refuse of unexploded ordinance, much like the Ho Chi Minh Trail that I had seen earlier. 

There are a number of NGOs and military teams that continue the long process of finding, disarming and disposing of old explosives in Laos. 

But there are also more than a few amateurs. As it turns out, some of the unexploded bombs on display in Laos have not yet been fully disarmed!

Case in point, was a 500 pound bomb that was recently bought by a Buddhist temple to the south. The monks wished to have the metal casing cut and hollowed out, to be refashioned into the temple’s bell. Fortunately, they had the good sense to have a competent disarmament group examine it first. Inside the old bomb, they found 9 pounds of explosive still packed in the nose! 

This example isn’t unique, since I had seen a similar bell in a cave temple near Vang Vieng. Made from a 750 pounder, half of it had been cut away, and red stripes painted across it. It was an odd looking bell, but if nobody had told you, you wouldn’t have guessed that it was once a deadly weapon. 

Two wrecked motorbikes in Phonsavan. Motorbike accidents are all too common in the region.

Well, Laotian monks certainly aren’t rich. It’s much cheaper for them to buy a bell made from an old bomb found locally, than it is for them to import a real bell cast from expensive bronze. 

Looking at all the old ordinance on display, I wonder if any of these old weapons that I see down the street still have explosive inside them. New bombs are being found across Laos all the time. 

As we arrive at my hotel, we come across the remains of a modern hazard, a road accident. Just yards from the hotel entrance, are two motorbikes laying on their sides out in the street. Bits of broken plastic lay scattered around them. It seems that the riders involved in this collision were already taken to the hospital, but the bikes were left where they fell, probably for police to investigate. Like elsewhere in Southeast Asia, there is a high accident rate for motorbikes in Laos. 

I check into my hotel and head upstairs to relax. There’s a great deal for me to see on the historic Plain of Jars. 

WHERE GUERRILLAS ATTACKED THE HIGHWAY

The edge of the Plain of Jars. Some Hmong fighters still hide out in the remote northern mountains.

The last Lao passengers climb aboard our bus in Luang Prabang. I’m anxious to get started, as we have a 10 hour drive ahead to get to the remote province of Xieng Khuang. Like most bus stations, this is a drab place. At least it’s boring until the last rider gets on, as he carries very unexpected baggage! 

He's carrying a Kalashnikov assault rifle! This Laotian teenager with a peach fuzz moustache has one of the world's deadliest weapons in his hands. I watch as he slowly walks down the aisle towards me, stopping right at my side. Then he casually puts the AK-47 on the shelf overhead, and sits down behind me. 

Across the aisle, a curly haired French backpacker listening to his MP3 player stares at this process, totally wide eyed. The look on his face is something between stunned and confused. Until this moment, he has probably only seen an AK-47 rifle in the movies. 

As it turns out, the heavily armed young traveler isn’t a guerilla, he happens to be an armed guard for the bus company. His presence isn’t really needed here in Luang Prabang though, since the town is safe enough. I recall seeing a few policemen relaxing outside a police station, and they carried no weapons at all. The reason for the armed guard’s presence, is due to trouble on the highways ahead of us. 

Traditional homes in the highlands

Back in 2003 a bus traveling on Route 13 was ambushed. 10 Laotians were killed, as well as two Swiss cyclists. An attack on another bus south of Luang Prabang later that year left 12 more dead and 31 injured. Both attacks were believed to be by Hmong rebels hiding out in the highlands. These were probably revenge attacks, after Hmong civilians were killed by security forces. Hoping to keep the existence of these rebels quiet, the Laotian government tends to write them off as ‘bandits’.

These highway attacks took place before the Laotian government began an amnesty program for the Hmong rebels. Many of them finally came down from the mountains and gave up their weapons, but not all of them joined the amnesty. There are still some Hmong fighters hiding out in the remote hills. As I had already heard explosions one night in Vang Vieng, its evident that the army is still pursuing the holdouts in the mountains. With fewer rebels around these days, the roads have been quiet recently. 

The driver starts up the old bus engine, and we head east into the highlands. The little guard behind me stretches out across two seats, and goes to sleep. He’s certainly not the type of security guard to be vigilant. If our bus ends up getting attacked today, he would have to wake up, stand up, grab his weapon off the shelf, and then load it with the the ammunition clip he carries in his pocket. Only then, could he return fire. With him snoozing behind me, I’m hoping this will be an uneventful trip. 

We make good time as we ascend into the highlands. Although only two lanes, the highway we're on is well paved. The surrounding hills may not be completely pacified, but road infrastructure in Laos has improved considerably since the war years. 

Stopover town on the highway from Luang Prabang to Phonsavan, once a dangerous route

One reason for this improvement, has been road construction completed by their northern neighbors, the Chinese. Road construction by Chinese in Laos goes all the way back to the war, when Red Army road crews built roads in the far northern provinces. During all those years of bombing, by the US Air Force, American pilots were careful not to target Chinese road crews. Washington did not want to risk increased intervention from the China communists. 

These days its Chinese capitalists that are coming in droves. Today, many Chinese companies are running projects all over Laos, and they've returned to road building. Chinese road crews are completing a key trade route, a main artery running through northern Laos, that will connect China to Thailand. It’s real progress to have commerce as the driving force behind road construction, rather than war. 

Hours later, I awaken from a nap feeling familiar pressure in my ears. We are gaining altitude, and my ears are popping. Looking out the window, the mountains are giving way to rolling green hills. We have arrived on a high plateau. I’m getting my first view of the geographical place, known as as the 'Plain of Jars'. The temperature is thankfully cooler now, since we have climbed to an altitude of 3000 feet. At around 400 square miles, this highland plateau has always been strategic to northern Laos. For that reason, some of the worst fighting of the Secret War of the 1960's - 1970's took place in these rolling hills. 

Continuing across the highlands, we finally arrive outside Phonsavan, capital of Xieng Khuang Province. Fortunately there was no need for our armed guard to load his weapon on this trip. As we park he takes on another duty; unloading baggage. He hands me my suitcase, I grab a tuk-tuk, and head into the highland town. There's a great deal to be seen here on the Plain of Jars. 

KNIFED BY AN ELEPHANT !

Elephants and their Laotian mahouts. I rode the elephant in the center.

There are many ways to travel across rugged terrain in poor countries that lack paved roads. To reach my destinations over muddy tracks, I’ve ridden in all manner of four wheel drive vehicles. When there have been only paths, I’ve occasionally ridden mountain bikes, motorbikes, and horses. I even rode a camel once. But this one definitely tops them all.

An elephant!

I’m high on the back of an Asian elephant, riding the ultimate beast of burden as it ambles down a jungle trail in northern Laos. Except for the occasional flap of its great ears, the massive animal’s movements are slow and deliberate. She walks slower than I had imagined, but then again, I never imagined I’d ever ride an elephant at all.

My elevated seat is a chair shaped saddle, strapped to the pachyderm’s back. Directly in front of me a mahout in camouflage fatigues sits astride the elephant’s neck. 

Temple mosaic shows royalty rode elephants

Wondering how it feels, I reach down to touch the powerful animal’s skin. It feels thicker than leather; rough to the touch. 

I have a commanding view up here, high enough that I occasionally have to push tree branches away from my face. I have the same vantage point European hunters had as they hunted tigers from atop these pachyderms during the colonial era. King’s of old from this region used them too. Rather than horses, many Southeast Asian monarchs preferred riding elephants into battle. 

Old Laos was once known as ‘the land of a million elephants’, but there are far fewer of them in the country these days. Some remote communities still use them for labor in the lumber trade. Using their great strength, they are trained to knock down trees, and drag logs through terrain too rough for vehicles. In remote regions, there are still wild herds that survive in the shrinking jungles. 

The view from atop the elephant, crossing a river

The trees open up to a river bank, and the mahout climbs up from the elephants neck to take a seat on the chair next to me. He barks out commands, and the elephant steps into the water. Apparently we’re crossing this dark river just as we are. This isn’t the Mekong River but it’s no creek either, it looks deep. 

I want to ask the mahout how deep the channel is, but he doesn’t speak English. The great beast carefully moves ahead step by step, and the water comes up the beasts shoulders. I glance at the mahout, he’s pulled his bare feet up on the saddle to stay dry. Soon the water is high enough that the elephant lifts the tip of his trunk above water, so that she can continue breathing. 

But the water level doesn’t reach the saddle; I remain dry as the beast ascends the far riverbank and emerges from the water. The elephant probably enjoys these occasional dips, since it’s such a hot tropical day. The water drips off her hide, as she continues down a well worn path into a riverside village. 

Friendly local children greet me as our elephant passes through their village

Three petite children run out to watch the elephant lumber through their village. “Sabadee! Sabadee!” (Hello! Hello!) one calls out, smiling as he waves at the strange white foreigner. 

“Sabadee!” I yell back. Another Laotian villager on the ground greets my mahout, who commands the elephant to stop while they briefly chat in Lao. For some reason, he then hands the mahout a long knife. The knife doesn’t have a sheath, and he stows the blade just beneath my seat. I don’t think anything of it at the time, but I will regret this later. 

After continuing on through more jungle, my all too brief ride above this magnificent animal comes to an end. The mahout guides my ride toward a bamboo platform, where I can safely dismount. 

But it’s not as safe as I think. As the elephant approaches the platform, he brushes up against a nearby tree. The tree bumps the side of my chair, right where the handle of the knife is sticking out. In a flash, the knife is wedged out, and cuts right into my leg!

R-I-I-I-P! I hear the sound of my blue jeans tearing, as the long blade cuts at my right thigh. 

"YEOW!" I yell, as I jump to the side. I’ve been cut! That happened so fast, I had no time to avoid it. My mind races, I’m in serious trouble. 

The knife cut a hole in my blue jeans

I lift my knee to look, and I’m both surprised and relieved to see no blood flowing. A long V-shaped hole has been slashed open in my trousers. The skin on my thigh stings, but fortunately it wasn’t cut open. I've been saved by blue jeans! Gotta love that strong American denim. It’s a good thing that I wasn’t wearing shorts, or I would have been cut and bleeding for sure. 

I climb off the elephant onto the platform, and the mahout looks at me blankly. I’m raging at his carelessness, which nearly injured me. I point at the gaping hole in my jeans. He makes no reaction, not saying a word. He knows he screwed up, and now he’s trying to 'save face'.

I mutter a few insults at him that he doesn’t understand, and walk away. No tip for him. 

Seething with anger I climb into a van, for a safer ride back to Luang Prabang. I’m upset that I lost a pair of jeans, but I’m very lucky to have walked away from that knifing without needing stitches. I guess I could call that a really close shave. Literally. 

THE TEMPLE, THE HILL AND THE OLD RUSSIAN GUN

Climbers reaching the peak are rewarded with a view of the old capital and the Khan River

Today the skies are mostly clear, so I head back into the downtown of the old capital of Laos, Luang Prabang. On my way I find a coffee cart, so I stop to buy a mocha coffee shake. At 6,000 kip, it only costs me around US $.70. It’s delicious, and I slurp it down quickly as I walk away. Then I get to the bottom of the shake, and something gets stuck in the straw. 

It’s a rubber band!

Oh well, I don’t think the coffee vendor put that in there intentionally. Or did she charge me extra for it?

Tossing what’s left of it in a bin, I continue to Chomsy Hill, near the royal palace. Today I’ll climb it. I get winded as I head up the numerous red brick stairs, since this is the highest point of Luang Prabang. It’s a tiring climb, and after pausing at different levels on the way I reach the top step, number 228. I’m thankful I didn’t have to deal with anything dangerous on this climb, unlike that mishap that I had back on Marble Mountain in Vietnam. 

A young lady shaking sticks in a cup, a Buddhist ritual

There’s not a lot of room atop Chomsy Hill’s peak, but there is a small temple. Since I’m sweating from the climb, I wonder if ascending this hill is a type of Buddhist pilgrimage. 

I look through the window of the tiny temple, and two young Lao women are within praying in front of a small altar. Burning incense is in the air; one young lady is shaking a can of sticks between her hands. Resembling chop sticks with writing on them, these are Buddhist fortune sticks. The young lady shakes the canister up and down at an angle repeatedly, until one stick falls out onto the temple floor. This stick will be taken to a monk, who will interpret the stick’s message as her fortune. Each stick can also be matched to a longer written fortune, to be taken along for reference. 

Beyond the temple is the highest point of Chomsy Hill, the golden Phousi Stupa. It looks familiar, much like the immense golden stupa that I saw in Vientiane, though smaller. But the view from here is far better. As a pair of butterflies flit by me, I walk around the stupa and get a panoramic view of Luang Prabang. With fewer clouds today, I can see for miles. 

The golden Phousi Stupa adorns the peak

To one side is the Khan River and the approach to the airport. Without tall buildings, most of the cityscape is thankfully blanketed with old trees. The highest structure in view is another golden temple off in the distant hills. 

From the other side of the stupa I look down on the old colonial town, with the Mekong River and many mountain chains beyond it. It’s very tough terrain, I can only see one dirt road beyond the river that heads into the rugged mountains. Anyone hardy enough to cross the many miles beyond those peaks will find an important boundary. There is the center of the ‘Golden Triangle’, where the borders of Laos, Myanmar (Burma) and Thailand meet. Further beyond in that direction: China. Laos may be poor, but it does have its strategic places. 

I’m grateful for the excellent view, but today it’s blazing hot up here. I’m still overheated from my ascent, so I find a bench to sit in the shade. Taking a seat, I’m startled to find I’m sharing the bench with two tiny birds, inhabiting an equally tiny bamboo cage. This may seem a strange place for caged birds, but a vendor is selling them up here to the Buddhist faithful. One way a Buddhist can earn merit at a temple, is to buy caged birds, and release them back into the wild. Of course this only encourages the vendors to go back out into the wild and trap more birds, to be used for the same purpose. But it works for the Buddhists. 

Almost on cue, a Laotian Airlines plane swoops nearby in the valley, straight across from me at eye level, at the same altitude. As the plane’s engines blare, the birds hop around and chirp excitedly from within their cage. They want to fly too. 

Russian anti-aircraft gun mount on temple hill

Not long after, a Buddhist woman who bought the birds returns to retrieve them. Soon the bamboo bars are pried apart, and the feathered ones are set free. They quickly dart into the air, landing in nearby trees. I hope that they won’t be re-captured, and have to go through this all over again. 

Feeling sufficiently cooled, I walk to the other side of the temple ridge. Beyond a flagpole flying the Laotian flag, I find something completely unexpected. The communists have been up here too, and they left behind the remains of an old Soviet 23mm anti-aircraft emplacement. The gun itself has been removed, leaving the base and the mount behind. 

I wonder to myself, why on earth was this placed here next to a temple? Probably because this hilltop has an excellent view overlooking the valley, facing the approach to the airport. Perhaps this old Russian weapon was brought up here in the post-war 1980's, when Pathet Lao communists were worried about conflict with Thailand. 

I find the gun mount’s supporting arm unlocked, and I give it a strong shove. The steel arm swoops around in a full circle, creaking loudly as it rotates. The mount isn’t level, so the arm continues to swoop back and forth like a swing, until it finally comes to a stop. 

The gun’s arm is aimed straight at the flagpole, and at the temple buildings behind it. 

How eerie.

Really, they ought to drag this old gun mount down from the temple peak, and recycle it for scrap. It doesn’t belong in such a peaceful place. 

Another view from atop Chomsy Hill facing the Mekong River, with mountain ridges beyond

BUDDHISM AND RELIGIOUS OPPRESSION IN LAOS

Buddhist monks by the Mekong River

It’s as though I’ve been transported back in time. 

I’m on an old stone stairway overlooking the Mekong, when a simple wooden boat pulls up to the riverbank below. It docks at the base of the long staircase, and four Buddhist monks step ashore, then begin ascending the steps. Their bright saffron orange robes stand out against the natural earthly colors of the surrounding landscape. Like all monks, their heads are completely shaved. These humble monks carry nothing, since they possess nothing. They are silent, and the only sound they make is the light slapping of their sandals as they rise the steps towards me. They pass by me quietly, then enter the monastery that is their home at the top of the hill. 

There is no hint of modern technology in what I’ve seen. This scene typifies the simple life that has existed in Buddhist monasteries of Laos for centuries. In this quiet town Buddhism is the dominant religion followed by Lowland Lao, the country’s largest ethnic group. The Lowland Lao are traditionally Theravada Buddhists, an early and traditional form of the religion.

As one of the world’s older religions, Buddhism predates Christianity. The religion is based on the idea that life is suffering. But by accepting this idea as fact, through Buddhism suffering can be avoided and happiness attained. Reincarnation is a central theme, and they believe that good deeds and charitable donations build merit for each to improve their position in their next life. 

Buddhism was first brought to Luang Prabang in the 13th or 14th century, making this town the spiritual center of Laos. It’s no wonder that I’ve walked by so many temples and shrines during my stay here. 

The old wooden temple of the Buddhist monastery

Visiting hours are over, so I come back another day. When I return, I climb the old steps and enter this revered place known as a wat, which is a monastery temple. The name of this particular Buddhist monastery is a mouthful: 
“Wat Xiengthongratsavoravihanh”. This aging complex was originally built way back in the 16th century on orders of the King. It’s one of the few wats in all of Luang Prabang that wasn’t destroyed over the centuries during various pre-colonial invasions. 

As opposed to the great stone temples that Southeast Asia is known for, this temple and most others in town are made of wood. Despite their lack of heavy stone, they are grand architectural structures. Looking up at the dark temple, curving, traditionally tiled rooftops slope over heavy wooden pillars. The tiles were at one time red, but have been heavily darkened from years of aging. Snakelike nagas emerge from the rooftop’s corners. These serpent-like figures are the only thing that looks threatening in the entire monastery. 

One of many elaborate mosaics decorates a temple building

Many buildings and shrines in this compound are adorned with mosaics, depicting life in old Luang Prabang. There are colorful scenes of men riding elephants, boats conducting trade, farmers working the rice fields, and of course monks conducting Buddhist rituals. 

As I approach the main temple, I can hear the unmistakeble sound of chanting. Reaching the door, I peer in to find an impressive sight. All of the wat’s monks, around 30 of them, are seated cross legged on the floor. They are chanting in unison. Facing them at the far end, is an immense, elevated golden statue of Buddha. Like the monks, it wears an orange robe across one its golden shoulders. Smaller Buddha statues and colorful flowers surround the tall icon. 

To the sides, six massive wooden pillars support the ceiling, with intricate gold detailing covering them from top to bottom. Each pillar has been fashioned from a single giant tree taken from the jungle. There are no windows here and lighting is dim, giving a somber feel to the scene. Since there are only monks inside, I decide to stay at the door and watch. This is Buddhist ritual as it has been for centuries.

Buddhist monks of all ages inside the temple

Buddhist monks renounce worldly pleasures, and theses men live a very basic life of study and meditation. For sustenance, they rely on donations from their neighbors. At dawn in Luang Prabang, gongs heard in the streets announce the approach of a procession of monks. Holding metal containers, they accept gifts of rice from Buddhists, who earn merit from their donations.

Looking over these chanting monks, they appear to be arranged by age. The oldest are seated in front, with the youngest in the back near me. Some of these novice monks look no older than 12. One way that families earn merit is by having their sons enter a wat, and most Lao males become a monk for at least a three month period. If they decide to become a monk for life, they may pursue the ultimate goal of 'nirvana', or enlightenment. 

Buddhism was the official state religion for centuries, until Kaysone and the communists took over. Pushing toward the secular, they began discouraging the practice of many Buddhist traditions. Families were discouraged from sending their sons into wats, and it was forbidden to give rice or alms to the monks on their morning rounds. 

But the ethnic Lao identified with Buddhism far more than they did with the communists, and these restrictions lost them support from devout Buddhists. Fortunately these restrictions didn’t last; policies were relaxed in the 1980’s. By the 1990’s, government officials of the communist party were openly supporting Buddhism again, even taking part in Buddhist celebrations. Government meddling isn’t completely gone though. Most monks now receive some government indoctrination as part of their training. In the past half century, Communism in Laos has changed far more than Buddhism has.

Young monks pile into a truck in Luang Prabang, the country's spiritual capital

Although the communists' restrictions on Buddhists have lessened, these reforms have not extended to all faiths. Government repression has shifted from the Buddhists, to Protestants. Although a small minority in Laos, the government still fears the rise of Christian converts. 

According to a 2008 report from the US State Department, “Local officials have pressured minority Protestants to renounce their faith on threat of arrest or forceful eviction from their villages in Bolikhamsai, Houaphan, and Luang Namtha provinces. In some areas, Protestants have been forbidden to gather to worship.”

Threats of arrests sometimes lead to imprisonment. One example in the report refers to oppression in Bokeo: “The village had previously experienced problems, as in late 2005 when local officials destroyed an unapproved LEC church in Houaysay Noi Village and arrested six church leaders. One of the six died while in jail, and the other five were released in early 2006."

Although freedom of religion is supposed to be guaranteed in the current constitution of Laos, what actually happens in practice is something else. The communist government has made a peace with Buddhism, but they aren’t about to grant genuine religious freedom anytime soon. 

ICE CREAM SOLDIER FOUGHT FOR 2 ARMIES

The most cheerful ice cream salesman anywhere

He’s standing alone on a Luang Prabang street corner, and you might hear him before you see him. 

“Hello!” he calls out loudly to those walking by. “You want ice cream?” He speaks energetically through a plastic cone held up to his mouth, much like a cheerleader. His outspoken salesmanship is unusual for normally reserved Laotians. But the passing potential customers still turn him down. 

Undaunted, he cheerfully sends them positive wishes as they walk away. “I wish you good luck! I wish you happiness!” Short and thin, he’s the excitable type, with an infectious energy that most street vendors lack in Laos. His mismatched clothing is too big for his small stature. He has a full head of grey hair; despite his age he still has a youthful gleam. 

His name is Tay, and he doesn't peddle his product from an ice cream truck, or an ice cream cart for that matter. He sells his treats from a simple bicycle, with a small cooler strapped onto the back. With such a positive attitude, I knew that this senior ice cream salesman must have an interesting story to tell. He did. 

Tay is 74 now, but he’s not originally from Luang Prabang. He grew up in a village further north. As a youth in French colonial Laos there was little opportunity available, so he decided to join the military. 

“1952, I go to French Army,” he tells me. At that time the colonial years were waning, and Laos soon became independent. But the French Army's departure didn’t end Tay’s military career. 

A Royal Laotian Air Force T-28, taxis during the war (Photo: Wikipedia)

“French go back to Paris,” Tay continued. “1957, Americans come to Luang Prabang.” 

Now he was in the Royal Laotian Army (RLA), on the side of the Americans. Tay gestures across the Khan River towards Luang Prabang airport.  Back when the Americans were here, it was a major air base for both Laotian and American aircraft. Tay was based there.

“T-28 fly here,” Tay says, recalling the days when US made T-28s flew combat missions from the base. The T-28 Trojan was an old World War II propeller plane, refitted for combat use by Laotian pilots. He remembers the much faster US Air Force jets as well. F-104s and F-105s flew in from bases in Thailand, and circled overhead. 

In those years Tay already knew how to speak Laotian and French, and soon he picked up English too. So the military put his language skills to use, assigning him to communications. His rank rose to Sergeant. He frequently operated a radio while airborne, assisting the Royal Lao Air Force. 

This former military air base is now Luang Prabang's current airport

“I see my friend (below),” Tay said, while pantomiming how he would wave out the window to his army buddies, as their plane swooped down low over RLA ground troops. In those days Vietnamese infantry were pushing into Laos, and American air power joined together with Laotian government soldiers on the ground to push them back. 

Tay summed up all three eras of power here, in three short sentences: “In Luang Prabang, French responsible. Then America responsible. Then Lao responsible." 

When control of Luang Prabang shifted for the last time, it meant the end of Tay’s 23 year military career. When the communists took control of Luang Prabang in 1975, the RLA ceased to exist, and Tay was stripped of his military rank.  He was sent into the 're-education' camps. Imprisoned far from his family, he won't talk about those years. But everyone knows conditions were bad in those prisons, and some prisoners died. Tay survived.

When he was finally released five years later, Tay made his way back to Luang Prabang. Barred from working any government job, he sold ice cream for a while. Then foreign tourists began returning to Luang Prabang, and his language skills served him again. 

“I go to travel with the tourists,” he says, describing his tour guide job. In those post-war years there weren’t any Americans visiting Laos, it was mostly French and other Europeans. To this day he still speaks French well, even better than his English.

The war veteran advertising his delicious ice cream

In 2004, he decided he was getting too old for the tour business, so he retired from it. But without any pension, he still needed an income. “I go sell ice cream again,” he explains, “because I’m poor.” 

As we’re chatting, a light rain starts to fall. Tay’s ice cream business is always slow during monsoon season. He’s looking forward to the dry season, when sales pick up during Luang Prabang’s annual festivals. 

I purchase one of the ice creams Tay has on offer. I’m a little leery of the quality, but after tasting its sweet coconut flavor, I have to admit that it was delicious. I give him a generous tip, although it seemed such an insignificant gesture. Tay had joined the side of two powerful foreign armies, hoping to better himself, and provide for his family. Both of those armies departed. Both of them let him down. Rather than having the good army pension he deserved, he was imprisoned, and left in poverty. 

Still, like most Laotians, Tay’s life is not focused on money. He may not have much cash in his pocket, but he is rich in family. His four children are grown and married, and now he has grandchildren. 

As I shook his hand to depart, Tay said goodbye in his usual positive manner. “I wish you good luck, I wish you good health, and prosperity!”

I wish that I could give him all of those things. 

MEKONG RIVERFRONT AND OLD TOWN NIGHT MARKET

Laotian paddles traditional boat on Mekong River at Luang Prabang

This afternoon I'm strolling through the historical neighborhood of Luang Prabang, in the old capital of Laos. Walking downhill, I arrive at the famed Mekong River. Having been on it before, it's as though I’m reunited with an old friend. It doesn’t disappoint; I’m treated to another fantastic view. The majestic Mekong flows before me, and beyond it are ancient forest covered mountains. Since the sun has returned the colors are bright, and the intense green colors of the jungle blanketed hills really stand out. 

There are no tourists around this serene scene, so I find a walkway down from Khem Khong Street to the riverbank. There are no speedboats here, like everything else in Laos, movement on the river is slow. There’s no bridge either, any one crossing uses their own small boats, or takes the ferry. With the ferries docked, river traffic is light. The only sound is the putt-putt of one longtail boat chugging upriver.

Buddhist monk by Mekong River, opposite Luang Prabang. This side of river was once part of Thailand.

Far downriver is Vientiane,  but unlike in the south, the Mekong is not an international border here. The bank on the far side here is now Laotian territory, but it wasn’t always this way. There was a time when the land west of the Mekong was part of Thailand. That back and forth change of frontiers led to border battles further west in the 1980’s. But all is calm now; the far bank is now home to quiet ethnic minority villages.

I head further down the Khem Kong river road, behind the royal palace. This was once the royal pier, a miniature port where the world’s dignitaries arrived by boat for official visits with the king. Back before there was a decent road between here and Vientiane, the Mekong was the main highway of Laos. 

Long houseboats lined up on the riverbank

With the rise of roads in Laos, river traffic has dropped, but there are still some boats that carry passengers up and down the Mekong. This area has become a passenger port for journeys on the river. A whiteboard outside the booking house promotes a two day boat trip to Huay Xai, a town upriver bordering Thailand. It claims that the trip is by ‘VIP boat’. I let out a chuckle, since I spoke with some travelers that dispute that classification. They arrived in Luang Prabang on that same river route, and the boat they traveled in was far smaller than they expected.

“It was so crowded, full of cargo and passengers, there was little room to spare,” a young lady complained. “We only slept a little, and that was in hammocks.” Well, when those backpackers travel, they like the true local experience. They certainly got one. 

I look down towards the river bank now, and there some passenger boats, but they are outnumbered by much larger craft. There are more than 20 blue houseboats, all lined up on the bank, one right after 

A family lives on this houseboat

another. This part of the shoreline has been transformed into a floating residential area. I’ve never seen houseboats like this before, long and narrow, most are more than 80 feet in length. This makes for affordable housing, in an exclusive neighborhood. These boats are docked next to the most expensive land in northern Laos, and their rent to dock here is  probably quite low. Some of these families seem to do well; a number of the rooftops are adorned with solar panels and satellite dishes. 

Still, this isn’t a very sanitary lifestyle. I see a few children playing about, and laundry is drying in the windows. The laundry water and the bath water both come from the river. Unfortunately the river is also the neighborhood toilet. 

Leaving the river I go to check out more of the town’s commerce, so I walk up the hill into the heart of this historic town. I notice Laotians walking into a market resembling a barn, and I follow them in. Inside is a market not for tourists, but for local folk. Booth after booth is selling cheap clothes, costume jewelry and pirated DVDs. 

Old basketball court is now a market

The ceiling is unusually high for a local market, and looking up, I notice familiar hoops hanging from each end. This barn-like building wasn’t originally a market at all, it was a basketball court. Given that basketball is an American game, I wonder if these old backboards were installed when pilots of the CIA's Air America used to be here during the war. Since most Laotians are fairly short, they don’t have much use for a game favoring tall people. At least they’re putting the building to good use with the market. Not to miss a place to display their merchandise, one vendor has hung her colorful t-shirts from the far hoop. 

Leaving the market, I turn onto the main street of the town’s old part, Sisavangvong. Passing the palace I visited earlier, I reach the best preserved section of town. There are French shophouses, cafés, popular restaurants, and stores selling works of local artisans. And yet, there is a distinct, un-Laotian feel to this street. Also occupying these old buildings are travel companies and internet cafés. The foreigners have invaded.  

Looking around, I see Laotians on Sisavangvong have been outnumbered by white foreigner tourists. Walking down the busy street, I hear German, French, Swedish, and various English accents. In 1995 Luang Prabang was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site, which helped to preserve the old French colonial houses. After the war Laos was a forbidden land for foreigners, but they have come back to Luang Prabang in droves. 

Passing one tour company, I pause to read the elaborate placard out front. It advertises elephant rides in the countryside, a favorite of foreign visitors. Ride an elephant for a couple hours, or all day. For those who want to spend even more time with the great Asian elephants, they advertise a mahout school for $140. In learning the mahouts ways, you are taught the basics to be an elephant driver, or handler. The introductory course takes three days. 

Local vendors set up for Night Market in Old Town Luang Prabang

Or if you prefer an old fashioned jungle trek like the colonial explorers used to do, you can take a four day elephant caravan into the Hongsa Forest. That will only set you back $800 a head. 

Walking on, another elephant tour company advertises this: “Three days trek to visit old opium fields”. 'Old' opium fields? Really? Are they saying that there aren’t any more new ones? 

I head back to the guest house to rest, but there's more coming in the evening. Sisavangvong is known for its night market, and I return later to check it out. 

This is actually my second time to the night market; I had seen it five years before. It was a unique night market back then, the street was closed to traffic, and each vendor had their wares laying out in the open on the roadside. There were no tables, their goods were laid out on the ground on top of colorful woven blankets. Each lady vendor had only a small light bulb to brighten their merchandise beneath the moonlight. 

Lady vendor smiles at customers in Luang Prabang Night Market

Many ethnic minority women came in from the countryside to sell their goods, some of them working with a baby still strapped on their back. There was a wide selection of Buddhist statues, incense and silver jewelry of traditional designs. The best wares were the hand woven fabrics and traditional clothing. These weren’t just cheap tourist souvenirs, this was real craftsmanship. Almost everything you could see was made by hand.

In the years since my last visit, I return to the night market to find it has expanded exponentially! There are now so many vendors here that they don’t just line the roadsides, they are crowded together out in the street. It'ss no longer open to the skies either, most vendors have erected pop-ups for the rainy season. They're all packed so tightly together on the road, that there isn’t much space to walk through. To make my way down the street through the pop-ups, I'm forced to duck up and down repeatedly like a target in an arcade game! 

2005: The Night Market before it became swamped with tourists

Having Luang Prabang declared a world heritage site has been a mixed blessing here. The old buildings have been preserved, that’s true, and business is booming. 

But I fear Luang Prabang’s old district has become a victim of its own success; its romantic allure is fading. The high season now has mobs of tourists here, with most businesses catering solely to foreigners. 

This historic street is losing the old world charm that made Luang Prabang a world heritage site in the first place. 

RAINING ON THE RED PRINCE

I'll have a Coca- cola to go... in a bag??

A double rainbow, what a rare sight. Having just left my guesthouse, I’ve stepped out into the quiet afternoon streets of Luang Prabang, Laos. I’ve seen the colorful phenomena of twin arches only a few times in my life. I feel a good day ahead of me; I turn and head towards the Mekong River. 

On my way, the precipitation that brought the rainbows returns, and the clouds loosen into a steady rain. I quicken my steps, and take shelter in a small roadside drink stand. It’s not much; tables and benches are made of scrap lumber. But it’s dry inside, and with the rain turning into a deluge, I stay for a while. I’m not that worried about the downpour; most monsoon showers don’t last very long. Besides, I prefer the rainy season here in Luang Prabang. In the dry season, the air here is terrible. Since local farmers still practice slash and burn agriculture, the air becomes filled with acrid smoke from burnt brush, with the skies always hazy. I’ll take the rainy season, thank you. 

The lady vendor in this drink stand doesn’t speak English, but I make do with hand motions and order a soda. Reaching into an ice cooler, she removes a glass bottle of cola. But instead of handing it to me, she opens it and pours the contents into a clear plastic bag! After inserting a straw, she seals the bag's top with a rubber band. 

I had forgotten about this little ritual. This is the usual Southeast Asian manner of dispensing a soda to go. By doing it this way, she keeps the glass bottle to return for deposit. 

A tribute to the 'Red Prince' on his 100th birthday... but where are the crowds??

Soon the rain relents, and I resume my walk along Luang Prabang’s red brick sidewalks. Despite wet streets, this is a great place for a stroll. The scenic town has well preserved French villas, friendly folks, and a laid back lifestyle. As the former capital, it retains some of the old allure that the rest of Southeast Asia has lost.

While wandering the streets, I chance upon a statue and park dedicated to President Souphanouvong, a.k.a. the 'Red Prince'. It’s a new looking park, and it appears that I’ve just missed some kind of public event. There are fresh flowers and colorful ribbons strung about everywhere. Perhaps the rain chased everyone away. 

An impressive display of old photographs depicts Souphanouvong’s career as a communist. A new billboard bears the likeness of the former Prez, and lists his birthday, which is today. He died years ago but by coincidence, I found his memorial park on what would have been the Red Prince’s 100th birthday.

The ex - President, with frozen applause

That explains all the decorations. I have arrived here just after an official government ceremony commemorating his birth. I look up at his brown likeness, and it’s an odd pose for a statue. The Red Prince seems to be frozen in the midst of applauding. Yet he applauds alone. On his centennial anniversary, I am now the only person in the entire memorial park. If his well wishers left due to the rain, nobody has returned. 

Government officials were here for the ceremony, but with their departure, there are no other Laotians here paying tribute to his memory, fans or otherwise.

I saw far more people visiting the royal palace of his cousin, the king, that Souphanouvong had helped his communist comrades to depose. 

Apparently people have a lot more interest in old kings, than they do in old communists. 

PALACE OF THE DOOMED KING

This was the palace for the King of Laos, in the years before communism

I'm outside an unusual looking building, and what I’m seeing is not what I expected at all. With its long white layout, topped by a red tiled roof, this appears to be some sort of important auditorium. Two architectural features hint at the importance of this landmark. High on the rooftop, a narrow golden stupa points to the sky. Just above the main entrance, there is a golden, three headed elephant. This emblem is a mark of royalty, and once adorned the Royal Lao flag. 

This happens to be the palace of the last King of Laos. 

Nearing the palace, I see where the visual peculiarities come from. Its exterior is a mixture of two vastly different styles of architecture, French and Laotian. Doors and the shutters are French, but the roof is Asian. Snake-like naga figures protect the palace corners, while the stupa shaped spire peaks up to the center of the rooftop.

This architectural blend is not surprising, since the royal residence was constructed for the king by the occupying French colonials in 1904. Laos was such a poor country when the French took over, that the royal family couldn’t even afford to build a decent palace. 

Ornate decor in a Buddhist shrine on the royal palace grounds

The Laotian line of royalty reached back six centuries, and the country wasn’t always so poor. There were several ancient kingdoms. The most powerful was called 'Lane Xang', based here in the town of Luang Prabang. At its zenith, Lane Xang’s territory included not just northern Laos, but also parts of Thailand, China and Vietnam. These same three neighboring countries would later dominate Lane Xang in succeeding centuries.

This may not be the most picturesque palace from the outside, but what lies within is more impressive, so I climb the front steps to enter. Waiting my turn to buy a ticket, two European backpackers ahead of me complain that the three dollar admission price is too high! I wonder why they bothered traveling thousands of miles to see this exotic land, if they are bickering about spending a few dollars to see one of the most cherished places in all of Laos. 

Once inside, I make my way into the throne room, where King Sisavang Vong held court. Here I get a sense of royal luxury; the décor is impressive. Gold trim lines the royal pillars. Red ceilings and red walls, make way for colorful mosaics depicting everyday life in old Luang Prabang. France is again represented, with their crystal chandeliers. When the French built this place Laos was already a French colony, so the display of opulence was not a true reflection of the king’s power. Still, the king remained an important part of the Laotian identity, culture and religion.  

Without any need to hold court in this royal room anymore, golden cases with Buddha statues and ceremonial swords are displayed around the room. But the main focus is the throne itself. From a distance, the royal chair appears to be made of gold all around, save for the royal purple seat cushions. Behind where the king’s head would have been, is the royal symbol of three gold elephants. Three levels of mythical nagas heads seem coiled and ready to strike, as if to protect the king. I'd love to take photos in here but if I do, they'll confiscate my camera. 

Statue of King Sisavang Vong of Laos

The monarch that held court here, King Sisavang Vong, died in 1959 as Laos entered another period of conflict. He was replaced by his son, King Savang Vatthana. This succession occurred in an era when the world's monarchies were quickly disappearing. At the funeral, the king’s heir was heard to say, “Alas, I am doomed to be the last king of Laos.”

Although he replaced his father as the monarch, King Savang Vatthana chose to delay the coronation ceremony until the war ended, so in the end he was never crowned on this throne. By the time Savang became king Laos was independent, and the reins of power were again connected to the royal family. Prince Souvanna Phouma, the king’s cousin, would become the on again, off again Prime Minister of Laos, as he struggled to keep the country together during the war years fighting the communists. 

Taking the other path was Souvanna Phouma’s half brother, Prince Souphanouvong. Here was a unique figure. As a prince, he became one of the few royals in world history who became a committed communist. He left the good life of Luang Prabang, and went to the highlands to join the Pathet Lao. He became known as, ‘The Red Prince’. Souphanouvong took a Vietnamese woman as his wife, endearing him to his communist patrons in Hanoi. If he was to remain true to the monarchy, he would have married a Laotian. 

Over in a nearby reception room, a red embroidered wall hanging bears dragons and a phoenix. This was a gift from Hanoi, presented to King Savang in 1963. What an insincere gift. More than any other country, it was North Vietnam that would bring about the downfall of the Royal Laotian Government, and this king with it. 

I meander to the back of the palace, where the royal residence is located. Some of the palace rooms appear much as they did as the day when the king was arrested. In the dining room, Wooden chairs with wicker seats surround an antique table, beneath another French chandelier. Here over dinner, the king discussed affairs of state with his princes. 

The King's tennis court, which hasn't been used in decades

The old wooden floors creak, as I reach the separate bedrooms of the king and queen. It’s 1970’s era furniture, mixed with Asian accessories. Black and white portraits of the royal couple still hang on the walls. The king’s bed has mosquito netting over it, a reminder that even royalty worried about malaria here. The royal rooms give the feel of undisturbed time capsules. 

Outside the king’s bedroom in the hall, I take a seat by an open window, listening to the light rain falling through the tropical trees outside. I wonder if the king ever sat here to collect his thoughts by this window, as the drama of Laos unfolded. As the end neared, the US government offered him asylum, but he declined. The king had declared long ago that he would never abandon Luang Prabang. As the heart of Laos, he vowed to stay here until the end.

Since the rain isn’t very heavy, I exit the royal residence to peruse the palace grounds. Walking on the grass near the back, I find an old weather beaten tennis court. The king himself enjoyed playing tennis here, a sport he learned while attending school in France as a youth. With the net gone, this court hasn’t been used in years. 

Red Prince (in black) with Ho Chi Minh and other communists

Behind the palace is the Mekong River, and to the other side is the king’s garage. I head in to see what kind of wheels the king favored. Inside, I’m amused at his choices of automobiles. Besides an old Landcruiser and a Citroen without headlights, there are three American cars. Two are full size Lincoln Continentals from the 50’s and 60’s. Except for the red logos of the three headed elephant painted on the doors, they are all white. His poor chauffeur must have spent a lot of time wiping mud off of the pristine white finish, since Luang Prabang had few paved roads back then. 

The last of the royal rides is, egads! It’s a four door 1950’s Ford Edsel. I’m surprised that the king held onto such a low quality vehicle. Then again if you think about it, the Edsel makes a fitting metaphor for America’s commitment to Laos. In the beginning, it was big, and it was powerful. But it wasn’t popular, it wasn’t dependable in the long term, and in the end it was a failure. 

Laotians sell food and drinks outside the royal palace, now an official national museum

I open my umbrella, and head back out into the rain. Leaving the palace, I head down the long driveway, passing between tall palm trees and smartly trimmed hedges. This is the same route that the king took when he departed the palace for the last time. After the Pathet Lao forced him to abdicate in 1975, he was arrested and forced to leave his home for good. As the communist era in Laos began, the monarchy that had survived for 600 years, was gone in a flash. 

The only royal that retained any power with the communists was the Red Prince, who became their ‘front man’. As a member of the royal family, he gave the Pathet Lao legitimacy in the eyes of the populace. He was named the 'President of the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos', a position which held more symbolism than power. He had brought the neutralists hope that royalists and communists could rule in peace together. But they were fooled, since the real power behind the Pathet Lao wasn’t the Red Prince, it was the communist chief Kaysone Phomvihane.

As for the other former prince, Souvanna Phouma resigned as Prime Minister in 1975. He retired to Vientiane, where he died in 1984. His fate was far better than the rest of the royal family. After his forced abdication the king, queen and two other princes were imprisoned and sent into internal exile. They would never return to Luang Prabang. The last king of Laos, Savang Vatthana, died in a remote jungle prison camp, and the Laotian monarchy died with him. 

The communist government of Laos has never given an account as to what happened to all of these members of the royal family. How they met their tragic deaths in prison, remains a mystery to this day. 

SHOOTINGS AT THE BRIDGE

View through window of the tragic bridge shooting site

I’ve departed Vang Vieng in northern Laos, and Route 13 is taking me due south, into the town of Hinh Heup. Slowing down, we approach another of the roads many river crossings. Unlike others this is no small creek; the Nam Lik River is hundreds of feet wide. 

As we cross the old bridge I hear an unexpectedly loud racket beneath our vehicle. It’s the rude sound of clanking metal. The weight of the bus is coming down on each of the crossing’s heavy modular panels, sided with creaking criss-crossed rails. Rather than the huge modern 'Friendship Bridge' that crosses the Mekong River, this structure is built more from an old military style. 

The way across is only a single lane bridge. This may pass for a highway crossing in Laos, but with only one lane this bridge is prone to congestion, which backs up traffic as vehicles wait their turn to cross. 

In 1975 this bridge was the scene of congestion of a different kind: fleeing refugees! As they descended from the mountains, this narrow bridge became the scene of an atrocity wrought on the minority Hmong people. 

Hmong in traditional dress (Source: Wikipedia)

That year, the Pathet Lao communists and their North Vietnamese allies unleashed a major campaign of violent retribution against the Hmong, as punishment for their siding with the Americans and the Royal Laotian Government during the war. Hungry and fearing for their lives, the survivors were fleeing the fighting to the north. An exodus of more than 20,000 Hmong civilians flooded this road south towards Vientiane. 

As they reached this bridge in Hinh Heup, Pathet Lao soldiers blocked their way. Despite their desperate situation, they would not allow the refugee families to cross the bridge to flee to safer regions! 

The Hmong were ordered to return to their homes in the north. With many of their houses already destroyed, the Hmong didn’t have homes left to return to. Desperate with nowhere to go, and with nothing left to lose, the refugees rushed the bridge on May 29th.

The soldiers opened fire. At least five Hmong civilians were shot dead, and dozens were wounded. Rather than returning north, the survivors scattered. Many fled to Thailand by other routes.

As I listen to the banging of the loose steel panels while we drive across the bridge, I look out across the water. Just a couple hundred yards upriver, I can see work underway on a modern two lane bridge, built by a Japanese construction company. 

We reach the far side of the river, and as we drive on I look back to where we have just passed. There is no memorial here at the old bridge, to mark where the massacre happened. Since a new bridge is being built, this old bridge where this atrocity took place may soon be gone as well. 

The rutted highway through Hinh Heup

There may not be a memorial here, marking the site where the civilians were killed that sad day. 

There may always be official denials by the government of Laos, saying that the shootings here on this bridge never happened. 

But the Hmong will always remember.