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.