AIRBORNE ELEPHANTS LEAVING LAOS

Old domestic terminal of Vientiane's Wattay Airport

I’ve left the far north of this lovely land of Laos, and made my way to Wattay Airport, in the capital Vientiane. I’m not here for long though, I’m waiting for a flight. Soon, I’ll be departing. Leaving Laos. 

Overall it’s been an enlightening visit, and I regret that I’m leaving. I only had one close call in Laos. That was the unfortunate encounter between my trousers and a knife, which happened while I was riding on the back of an elephant!  

Walking around the shops and restaurants of the international departure terminal, I find it more modern than expected. The domestic terminal is a relic, (more like a bus station) but the air conditioned international terminal is an oddity of advanced development for such a poor country. Foreign diplomats always fly in and out of here, and just like in other third world capital airports, diplomats hate to be uncomfortable. So they were more than happy to provide foreign aid money to build this new international terminal, to make their own airport experiences smooth and comfy. 

Before I bid adieu to Laos, I stare out the departure gate window across the tarmac. Once again, Laos surprises me!

Will an elephant from Laos survive in North Korea?

Farther down to my left, I see a Russian built cargo jet. What surprises me, is the large starred flag painted across the tail. My eyes widen. There’s no mistaking that flag, this bulky jet is from another communist country. It’s flown all the way here, from North Korea! 

Straining my eyes to see what’s going on, I can see that the rear cargo doors are swung open, and a large truck has been backed up to the tail end. 

What could they be loading? This wasn’t any secret cargo. If there was, they would have loaded the jet over in the military area of the airport, out of sight from foreigners like me. What were they loading exactly? 

TWO ELEPHANTS !

Reported in the media, this pair of departing pachyderms were a gift from the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos, to their communist brothers in the People’s Democratic Republic of North Korea. (Those are strange titles for both, since neither country has any real democracy.)

Never mind that Laos isn’t really communist anymore, as capitalism abounds. There is still oppression here, but it’s nowhere near as bad as in North Korea today. But since the cold war is over and the reds lost, the North Koreans will take all the friends that they can get, even a poor landlocked friend like Laos.

It makes sense that they have to fly the elephants there on a cargo jet; they might not survive an overland trip in trucks, followed by a long sea voyage in a cargo ship. 

Leaving Laos. I'll miss this place.

Then again, I  wonder about the wisdom of sending Asian elephants to North Korea at all. Elephants have enormous appetites, and North Korea is prone to food shortages. I don’t expect that those Laotian elephants will be eating very well after they arrive. And how well will these elephants survive those cold North Korean winters, when they come from a tropical climate?

I’ll miss the simple charms of this warm locale, but now I have to leave this lovely country. My visa has already been extended, and it runs out tomorrow. My time in Laos is up. I will have to cross borders to avoid fines, or risk trouble with the authorities. 

Today I fly back to Saigon in Vietnam, but I won’t be there long either. Traveling on, I will make my way to the final country on my Southeast Asian odyssey.

Cambodia.


**NOTE** The old international airport for Vientiane has been closed. The new airport has opened, across the street.

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. 

'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. 

HEALING CHILD VICTIMS OF CLUSTER BOMBS

Artwork of cluster bomb discharging 'bombies'

A cluster bomb has to be one of the most destructive weapons in world history. If you’ve ever seen video of a cluster bomb in action, you would agree. The damage they can do over a very wide area, is absolutely devastating. 

Dropped by air, most cluster bombs first appear to be a large, standard bomb. But this is deceptive, a cluster bomb’s outer shell is only a container, a ‘dispenser’. After release from an attacking aircraft, this metal container plummets toward earth, and splits apart, opening in mid-air to discharge it’s dangerous payload. 

Here in Vientiane, I’m looking up at a cluster bomb right now, frozen in time just after it has been divided in two. With the airborne dispenser broken apart, it’s lethal cargo has been dispersed into the air below. The contents don’t look very dangerous, they resemble a scattered rain of small metal baseballs. But these spheres aren’t toys, they are submunitions, and each one can contain enough explosive and shrapnel to kill or injure a roomful of people. The Laotians have their own name for these: ‘bombies’. 

This dispenser and dummy bombies hang by thin lines from the ceiling above me, and are no longer dangerous. They're part of a sobering display of anti-war artwork in the Vientiane headquarters of COPE. (Cooperative Orthotic & Prosthetic Enterprise) Obviously COPE is not your average humanitarian organization. Even the COPE sign outside is formed from old prosthetic limbs, molded together. 

The biggest cause of postwar related injuries in Laos has been, and continues to be, from cluster bombs. A caption for this unique artwork explains the hazard well:

BOMBIES

There are many types of cluster bomb. All work in similar ways scattering explosive ‘submunitions’ over a wide area. In the case of the large casings suspended here, one case would contain enough small ‘bombies’ to cover an area equivalent to three football fields. 

Each case contained up to 680 individual cluster bombs, each with a killing radius of 30 meters. The fins on the outside cause the bomb to spin to arm the device. With impact the explosion occurs. In test conditions 30% of this type of device did not explode. This means that out of the 260 million dropped there could have been 80 million unexploded cluster bombs left after the bombing ended. 

The 'COPE' sign is made of prosthetic limb parts

While I look at the hanging artwork, a Laotian boy walks up, and grabs one of the bombies suspended on its transparent line. Pretending it explodes, he feigns pain, and walks away. At least he’s aware that bombies are dangerous. Another boy approaches later, but he’s in a wheelchair tricycle. I wave hello to him, since I don’t speak Lao. He smiles, and waves back to me. This unfortunate boy is a patient here at COPE, and he’s wearing a prosthetic leg that he probably lost to a bombie. Some patients here have stepped on unexploded ordinance, (UXO) and lost both legs. Others picked up a live bombie and lost an arm, sometimes going blind. 



 

Balls for the game 'Petang' resemble bombies

There's been more than 13,000 casualties in Laos since the war ended from UXO and landmines, and about half were children. In the countryside wherepoverty is rife, children have few toys. When they happen upon bombies or other unexploded munitions, their curiosity may get the better of them, and results can be deadly. In 2008, a group of rural Laotian children went out looking for land crabs, and found a cluster bomblet instead. Four boys were killed, and five others injured. There are still about 300 civilian Laotian casualties every year from bombies and other UXO. 

Days before, I recall seeing men on the river front playing petang, a French game where balls are tossed back and forth, similar to horseshoes. Petang is popular in Laos, and unfortunately for children, the steel balls used in this game resemble bombies. How many children have been killed or injured in Laos, when they picked up a bombie, thinking it was only a petang ball?

With so many civilians still being killed or injured by cluster bombs not only in Laos, but in other post-war countries, public outcry arose against these devastating weapons. Like the earlier campaign to ban landmines, recent years saw a similar campaign to ban cluster bombs from the world’s armories. In 2008, the Convention on Cluster Munitions was signed by 107 countries, prohibiting the use, stockpiling, production and transfer of cluster munitions. Although a major step in ridding the world of these weapons, the world’s three largest weapons producers, the USA, Russia and China, did not sign the treaty. 

Here in Laos, the treaty came far too late. With millions of bombies still lying around the Laotian countryside, COPE will have no shortage of patients in the coming years. As I walk around the displays COPE’s Communications Advisor Tracie Williams joins me, telling me more of COPE’s noble work. “Our service is provided for free for those who can’t afford it,” she says. “We provide the prosthetic, rehab and other expenses.” 

Discarded patients' prosthetics hang from ceiling of the COPE center

I would expect this to be a very expensive process, but I’m pleasantly surprised at how cost effective their system is. Each below the knee prosthetic costs only about $100 per patient. Artificial limbs are made on site, just next door in their prosthetic and orthotic workshop. “They use International Red Cross Standards,” Tracie says. “They’re all handcrafted. Low cost.”

By not relying on expensive foreign doctors or manufacturers, their partnership with the Laotian government makes the operation more sustainable, “COPE is a local project, that works in conjunction with the Ministry of Health,” says Tracie. “Most staff are government staff.” Their well received operation now has five COPE clinics across Laos.

Among other UXO displays, is another somber artwork. Also hanging from the high ceiling are numerous prosthetic legs. These are old artificial limbs and some are homemade. A few are fashioned from wood. One is even made of bamboo, with the base made from half a coconut. It looks much like a peg leg from pirate

Homemade leg prosthetic at left, made from bamboo, and half a coconut!!

lore. All these limbs are from former patients. They discarded these prosthetics after receiving new ones here at COPE. 

Among the interactive displays, is a prosthetic leg you can try on. While I watch, a British visitor straps it on. I ask him if it’s comfortable. 

“Not really,” he replies. “It’s really awkward.”

The artificial leg is mostly plastic and metal, with a foot made of rubber. With a bent leg, I insert my knee, and tighten the velcro straps. I put weight on it, and the first sensation I get is immediate pain. Since it isn’t fitted for me, this is not unlike the pain that legless UXO survivors endure when they wore homemade prosthetics. Also here are training stairs, used for patient therapy. I slowly walk up the steps, using the hand rails. It’s definitely awkward. Reaching the top, I look at a mirror. I see I've one normal leg, and one artificial. This is how Laotian patients here see themselves every day. 

A few other patients are here as well. Using crutches, they don’t have a prosthetic yet. The total process of getting a proper prosthetic limb isn’t easy, it entails fitting, manufacture, therapy, and occasionally surgery. But the alternative for these unfortunate folks is to remain crippled and dependent for life. A prosthetic is all about regaining mobility, and many of these patients can return to work. In time, they feel empowered, and self-esteem improves. Some will even be able to walk through their villages without a limp.                                                                                        

“You can see the difference it makes in peoples lives,” Tracie says proudly. “They can go back (to their villages), and cultivate rice.”

Visitors to COPE can try on this prosthetic leg

Artwork of woman and child fleeing an attack

 

SNAKE AT THE PRIME MINISTER'S HOUSE

Old Prime Minister's house in former US built village known as '6 Clicks City'

I'm continuing my visit to former Prime Minister Kaysone's compound. His homes are in a suburb originally built for US government workers, living here in Vientiane, Laos during the war.

Having finished looking at Kaysone's simple ranch house, my helpful guide takes me outside to the back yard. Here was the big boss’s final home. After his health declined in later years, they built a larger residence for him in the yard behind. The two houses nearly touch, they're built so closely. White with blue trim, it’s a much more cheery home than his small old American house. Although modern it’s built on stilts, giving it a Laotian look. Perhaps in his old age, Kaysone wanted to get back to his roots. We’re not allowed inside, but we are able to walk up on the front porch.

“They build for him, his doctor say it more healthy,” explains my guide. “He move in 1990. He die there 1992.”

Coming down the far stairs, my guide suddenly sticks his arm out in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. There on

I nearly stepped on this poisonous snake!!

the stairs right in front of me, is a snake. Slithering across the steps, it’s more than 2 feet long; green with dark spots. I’ve never seen this type of snake before.
 
“If it bite you, then you die,” he says.  

I’m glad he stopped me.

The serpent slides off the steps and down into the grass, where it slithers under the shade of the staircase. Strangely, after we pass, the snake emerges and climbs back up on the stairs again. Apparently it likes that vantage point.

Further behind Kaysone’s final house, is a wooden building unlike the rest. Curious, I ask what it is.

“That Russian sauna house”, he says “they make for Kaysone.”

During the 1980’s,  Caucasians seen around Vientiane were no longer the Americans or French. They were from the Soviet Union and the Eastern Block. These were advisors, engineers and

Russian sauna house built by USSR near former Prime Minister's house

technicians, trying to fill the gaps left by the departed westerners.

A heavy dependence on foreign aid was a rallying cry of the Pathet Lao during the war years. Despite their claims that they would eliminate that dependence, they merely shifted their reliance from the west, to the east. From 1975 onward, Laos was heavily dependent on their new patrons: the Soviet Union and Vietnam.

Round about the time that Kaysone moved into his new house here, the Soviet block was coming apart. Laos desperately needed their communist donors, and it lost them.  Kaysone had already begun returning to free markets, making the dubious claim that ‘state capitalism’ was the road to socialism. But without the millions in foreign aid from their brother communist countries, Laos was headed towards economic disaster. Soon they were begging USAID (United States Agency for International Development) to come back, and full diplomatic relations with the USA were re-established in 1992.

Now USAID is back in town, and American aid projects are once again happily promoted in the state controlled newspapers. The cycle of aid in Laos has come full circle, although nowadays the budget and scope of US projects is far smaller. The country’s big brother to the north, China, has become the biggest patron of Laos. 

Continuing to exert political influence in Laos, are the Vietnamese. Near this complex on Route 13 is their recent museum project, the Kaysone Phomvihane Memorial. Partly funded by Vietnam it cost $8 million to build, a ridiculous expense in one of Asia’s poorest countries. Unlike in Vietnam where Ho is nationally revered, the communist party’s attempts to create a personality cult for Kaysone after his death have fallen short.

There are no visitors today at museum honoring ex-Prime Minister Kaysone

Like his buddy Ho Chi Minh, Kaysone would not have approved of this attempt at hero worship. The people of today’s Laos seem to agree. Although filled with photos and memorabilia from the strong man’s life, the quiet museum gets few visitors. The current generation in Laos is too focused on the present and the future, to be concerned with old communist leaders from the past.

I think Kaysone himself would get a good laugh out of some of the official attempts to  idolize him. One example sits downtown in the Lao National Museum. In a small case displayed in a corner, is an old piece of exercise equipment. It’s a four spring chest expander, the type that was briefly popular in America back in the 1970’s. The caption for this display was worth reading. “This spring was used by Comrade Kaysone Phomvihane in the gymnastic session during the elaboration of the plan to seize power.”

Hilarious.

I ponder over another of history’s 'strong men'. Somewhere in the not so distant future, I can picture another display in a museum in Austria. Beneath a display case of exercise equipment, there will be the following caption: “These barbells were used by Arthur Swarzenegger, during the elaboration of his victorious campaign to seize power as Governor of California.”

USA VILLAGE OCCUPIED BY COMMUNISTS

After US government workers and their families moved out, the Prime Minister moved in!

I’ve entered a quiet American neighborhood, and I’m having a feeling of deja vu. White, single story ranch houses line both sides of the street. Each home has a driveway where Dad can park the car. Low chain link fences surround landscaped lawns, where children can play after school. Big old, GE air conditioners sit in the windows. These are American made houses, built with American architecture, made with American money. And yet, this isn’t the USA, this is Vientiane. It’s as if I’ve been instantly transported from Laos, all the way back to 1970's suburban America.

“This was house of the American family,” says my guide. That's true, Americans did in fact live here. Made of more than 200 buildings this was known as ‘Six Clicks City’, since back in the 70’s it used to be six kilometers outside of Vientiane. Many of these old homes were torn down, but these originals remain.

”(This) same style (as) homes on American military base,” my guide says. Looking around, I see he’s right. Like standard US government housing, each

Ancient US made GE air conditioner. It still works!!

ranch home is almost identical to the next. This insular community was organized like base housing for families of US government workers posted in Laos during the war. There used to be a swimming pool, tennis courts, a club, commissary, school, and American office buildings. All these facilities were right here in this quiet neighborhood of Americana, that just happened to be located in a remote, war torn Asian third world country.

As the war in Laos heated up, American support for the Royal Laotian Government increased, as they sought to hold back the communists. At its peak Laos was receiving $250 million a year in aid, an enormous amount for a country with less than three million people. With that support came an ever increasing need for government advisors, intelligence men, diplomats and staff working for USAID. (United States Agency for International Development, the governmental arm for foreign aid.)

As the war was ending USAID became a target for the Pathet Lao, who were now able to walk Vientiane’s streets freely. As the communists took over, the Pathet Lao orchestrated ‘spontaneous’ demonstrations, pushing for USAID to close and leave Laos for good. American installations were targeted with demonstrations.
 

Visitors wear shoe covers on this 'hallowed ground'

 

Prime Minister's shoes, as though he just stepped out

There were strikes led by communist infiltrated unions and student groups. (One student leader from those days, was a young communist named Bouasone Bouphavanh. He later became the Laotian Prime Minister.)

Soon mob attacks led by plain clothes Pathet Lao took over government buildings, and left the Royal Laotian government paralyzed. One such group occupied USAID’s headquarters, and the writing was on the wall. Finally in 1975 USAID closed down and left the country. 

Prime Minister's safe, with whiskey bottle atop

Here in Six Klicks City, the Americans and their families were forced to pack up and get out, and the communists moved in. I head toward one of the better maintained ranch homes. Before entering, my guide has me put cloth foot covers on over my shoes; they want to preserve this quaint American house just as it was. I step inside the front door, and sitting there on the floor by the door, are a pair of slippers, and a pair of tennis shoes. It’s as if the owner of the house has just stepped outside, and will be coming back soon.

I wonder who the American family was that lived in this house, but that fact is lost to history. What is remembered, is who moved in here after their hasty departure. In 1975, a Laotian named Kaysone Phomvihane moved in, and he ended up staying here for 15 years. A hard line communist, he was the unquestioned leader of the Pathet Lao. This simple, two bedroom, ranch house built with American aid, became the official residence for the Prime Minister of newly communist Laos!
Kaysone was half Laotian and half Vietnamese, which tells you where communism in Laos really came from. Originally from Savannakhet to the south, Kaysone went to Vietnam to attend university, since Laos had no universities at all back then. While studying in Hanoi, he learned the ways of the communist party. He actually took part in an election once as a candidate. Back in 1950, Kaysone ran for office in a reasonably fair election. He lost. Discarding democracy, he went on to lead the Pathet Lao in their armed struggle to overthrow the government.
As I enter the living room, Kaysone’s décor is not quite what I was expecting for the leader of a nation. Striped furniture sits on simple brown carpeting. Two elephant tusks stand in corners of the room. A pair of stuffed turtles and a stuffed lobster appear to be climbing the blue cinder

The odd decor of the Prime Minister's living room

block walls. It looks like the home of a bachelor, not a Prime Minister. 

Nearby a couple of comfortable pillows sit on a traditional carpet, in front of a boxy old television. It looks as though Kaysone preferred to watch TV while he was lying down on the floor. A large 1980’s era satellite dish outside brought him access to foreign programs. Besides foreign TV, Kaysone enjoyed his whiskey as well. Home made bottles of local Lao Lao whiskey are on the shelves, and a half empty bottle of Black & White Scotch sits on top of a large green safe. The guide tells me that after Kaysone died, they opened the safe, finding nothing of value inside. Hmmm… if there was nothing of value inside, then why would the Prime Minister keep a big ugly safe in his living room? 

Also adorning the room, are photos of his family. There are black and white portraits of his Vietnamese father, and Laotian mother. A color photo of Kaysone with his wife, adopted son, and other relatives sits on a desk.

Kaysone's overcoats, and a US made suitcase?

“How long did Kaysone’s family live here with him?” I ask my guide.

“Two months,” he replies. I don’t doubt it. Obviously, the scattered décor of this house lacked a woman’s touch. Peeking around the furniture in the back sitting room, I spot a small bed behind a bookshelf.

“Bodyguard sleep there,” my guide says. Kaysone needed him. As the most powerful communist in Laos, there were at least three assassination attempts on his life.

Heading for his bedroom, I find it very basic. There’s only simple wooden furniture here, a double bed, a dresser and closets. There isn’t room for much more, since bedrooms built by the US government weren’t built for size. I’ve seen children’s bedrooms in America bigger than this. And yet, this was good enough for the most powerful man in Laos. Much like his friend Ho in Hanoi, Kaysone shunned the colonial mansions, favoring more simple accommodation. 

Inside the closets are what’s left of his clothes. Curiously, there are two heavy overcoats. Kaysone never needed these in the heat of Vientiane, they were for his official winter visits to the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. Up on top of the closet, lay his suitcase. I pull it towards me for a closer look, and I see that the manufacturer’s tag still there: Samsonite. The old commie not only liked American housing, he liked American luggage too.

For a head of state this building certainly isn’t the White House, although the building, and much of its contents, are still American made. Since Kaysone needed not only a residence but offices too, he took over the house next door. Inside I find a reception room, meeting rooms,

Kaysone meets Ho Chi Minh in 1986, a miracle, since Ho died 17 years before!

offices, and lots of old US office furniture.  The old style American grey filing cabinets and heavy lockers are easy to pick out. A tell tale sticker still at the top of one gives away the origin: “Victory Steel Art Office Equipment”. What an ironic name.

Atop a bookshelf, is a painting of Kaysone, and a certain elder Vietnamese politician with a goatee. Amused, I ask my guide what this is.

“1986. President and Ho Chi Minh.”

“Really?” I say disbelievingly, “They met in 1986?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.  If my guide was correct, this was a miraculous meeting. Here was Kaysone sitting on a couch next to a smiling Ho Chi Minh, a man who had been dead for 17 years. 

Obviously, my guide knows his Laotian history, far better than Vietnamese history. 

FRENCH ARCH IN ASIA

The 'Patuxai', modeled after the Arc de Triomphe

I'm on Lane Xang Avenue, and a towering arch before me rises high above the surrounding city landscape. As I approach, I’m impressed by the architecture. The Arc de Triomphe immediately comes to mind. But I’m not in Paris, I’m still in Vientiane.

This arch, known as the Patuxai, was obviously inspired by the Parisian version. Built after the independence of Laos, the French colonial influence is obvious. Even the street lamps in the surrounding park are French in style.

Constructed in the early 60’s, the arch at one time was originally to be a monument to Laotian war dead. The cement used to construct it was stolen from an American aid project, that was meant to build a runway. The theft was no surprise, given at how corrupt the Royal Laotian Government was back then.

An informational sign on the arch has the following amusing sentence: “From a closer distance, it appears even less impressive, like a monster of concrete.” That’s a rather harsh observation. It does have a drab grey concrete color, since the arch was never completely finished, and left unpainted. From a closer viewpoint, what is more noticeable is the detailed artwork. Pointed Asian spires reach for the skies from three towers at the top. Buddhist figures appear as though they were carved right out of the walls. The arch may need a coat of paint, but it’s still very impressive.

There are three viewing levels, so I head up the arch's stairwell. Looking down from the highest tower, I can see all the way to the Mekong River. Surveying the surrounding scenery, I notice that no building in all of Vientiane is taller than the arch, and apparently that’s by design. There’s an old local law requiring that all buildings constructed in the capital must be shorter than the Patuxai, which helps Vientiane keep its small town atmosphere. The only exception is the rather odd looking Don Chan Hotel, down by the river. The rest of the view is serene.

View from atop the arch, looking down Lane Xang Avenue

From high above, I look down on Lane Xang Avenue, which runs straight towards the arch. As usual, traffic is light. The boulevard was named after one of the old powerful kingdoms of the north, and as such it became the widest street in all of Vientiane. It’s the only six lane boulevard in all of Laos.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the best view of the city. I can see far off mountains, the Buddhist temples, the Mekong, everything. It’s from this viewpoint that I notice that Vientiane is the greenest capital in Southeast Asia. There are plenty of trees reaching higher than the surrounding buildings. Only the mobile phone towers reach higher. Like in Vietnam, Laos has leapfrogged past land line phones, and opened up their markets to the mobile phone craze. 

Before I descend down the arch, I stop in a souvenir shop. Looking through a stack of framed photos, a striking image stands out. One shows a group of US soldiers holding up an incredibly long snake skin! The caption says: “Queen of Nagas (a mythical snake) seized by American

US soldiers hold up the skin of a 7.8 meter long snake! (Photo: Patuxai Shop)

military on Mekong River, Laos military base on June 27, 1973 with the length of 7.8 meters.” That has to be some kind of a record for snake length.

Besides the other usual gifts of figurines, jewelry, and coins, I notice something else on offer that isn’t sold back home. Disturbingly, they are selling what appear to be tiger claws! Laotian laws prohibit the sale of products from endangered species, but it’s not often enforced.

I ask to see one, and the salesman pulls one from the glass case. It looks and feels real; judging by the size it must have come from an adult. I decline to purchase it, since buying it would only encourage more poaching. Being caught with one at the border might even get me arrested.

I head for the stairs, and soon I’m back on the ground, walking the streets of Vientiane. There’s still a great deal to be seen in this city.

MEKONG RIVER AND THE FAILED PEACE

Late afternoon overlooking the Mekong River

It’s late afternoon, and I’ve taken a seat on a wooden platform, high on the riverbank. The river’s waters are calm, and the slow but steady current flows by silently. The sun drops behind a cloud upriver, as it continues its descent toward distant trees.

A few Laotian couples are also present along the riverside, taking in the romantic view, sitting in pairs atop their parked motorbikes. There are no deep kisses in public here; Laotians are too conservative for that. The young lovers cuddle together, talking quietly in the late afternoon.

Soon the sun peeks out from beneath a grey cloud, and heads for the horizon. Before it does, it casts its warm yellow glow across the serene scene. Sunset on the Mekong.

I have a view of the river that's almost horizon to horizon. As always, the Mekong River is impressive. Yet here river traffic is light, with few boats to be seen. I remember the busy floating market I'd seen down in the Mekong Delta

A longboat heads upstream on the Mekong River

in Vietnam, but here there are only three small boats, each with a lone fisherman aboard. The only others out are four fishermen wading the shallows.

As one of the world’s great rivers, the mighty Mekong seems vastly underused, at least here in Vientiane. When the French colonists took over Laos, their explorers marveled at the size of the Mekong, raving at its potential for commerce. Their surveyors believed they had found a new trading route north into China, where the great river originates. That potential was never realized.

Leaving my river side perch, I walk along Quai Fa Ngum, the city’s river front road. A couple blocks on, I come across an imposing, new red roof building constructed with familiar Asian architecture. In a landscaped planter out front, red flowers are carefully arranged to spell, “MRC". These are the offices of the Mekong River Commission.

Formed by Laos, Cambodia, Thailand and Vietnam, the commission was founded in 1995. According to the MRC, they are

Headquarters of Mekong River Commission in Vientiane

working, “for sustainable development”, with a vision for, “an economically prosperous, socially just and environmentally sound Mekong River Basin”. This vision has little resemblance to the current reality in Southeast Asia, especially related to the environment.

With growing populations, these countries that line the Mekong’s river banks need more and more of the great river’s water for agriculture and hydropower. There are 11 proposed dams in the area, an ongoing threat to the environment and wildlife. Given the levels of corruption in Southeast Asia, the future of the Mekong is anybody’s guess. 

World Wildlife Fund reports Irrawaddy Dolphins are at risk of being eliminated from the Mekong River. Less than 80 of these rare animals are left here. The dolphins' immune systems seem to be suffering from river contaminants. I once asked an Australian environmentalist about their chances of survival on the river. “It doesn’t look good,” he said. “The river is just too polluted.”

Decaying ex-offices of International Commission for Supervision and Control (ICSC)

A block past the MRC, the pavement turns to dirt and I find the remnants of another Laotian commission in an abandoned three story building. Back in the day, this was one of the more modern office buildings in town. Now it’s just a crumbling shell, overgrown with weeds. Despite its decrepit present condition, this was once a place of great political importance in Laos.

These were the offices of the International Commission for Supervision and Control. (ICSC) Born out of the 1954 Geneva Agreement that ended the French war in Vietnam, the ICSC was supposed to monitor and verify terms to end the conflict in Laos as well, and keep the country neutral. It was hoped this independent commission would aid with the integration of Pathet Lao rebels into the Royal Laotian Government. 

Since the conflict dragged on for two decades, what was supposed to be a short mission for the ICSC dragged on as well. Like most of the peace attempts in Southeast Asia at the time, there were good intentions, but the ICSC was over politicized, with little means of enforcement. Made up of teams from Canada, India and Poland, their monitors were rarely allowed into rebel areas to verify if the Pathet Lao were following the treaty’s terms. Often, they weren’t. As for dealing with their opposites in Vientiane, the ICSC had to deal with multiple changes in government, due to frequent coups. 

In the end, Laos was unfortunately just a pawn, and it was outside forces that determined the end of the war in Laos. When the Paris Peace Accords ended America’s war in Vietnam in 1973, a cease fire in Laos was signed less than a month later under pressure. After more agreements, communists became part of a coalition government. Soon, Vientiane’s residents woke to the bizarre sight of Pathet Lao troops patrolling the streets jointly with police of the Royal Laotian Government. (RLG)

Pathet Lao Politburo meeting to seize power in 1975 (museum photo)

What should've been a power sharing agreement between the two opposing groups was soon subverted by the Pathet Lao. No longer stuck in the jungle, the communists gradually took over the central government by orchestrating riots and demonstrations. Subverting the government from within, they gradually forced RLG ministers out of their jobs Most fled to exile.

On November 28th of 1975, Prime Minister Souvanna Phouma finally resigned. By then the Pathet Lao had already declared to the populace that Vientiane had been ‘liberated’. The reality was that individual liberties were ending. With their takeover complete and the war over, Laos became the final domino to fall in Southeast Asia.

With the conflict finished the teams of foreign monitors left for home, and the ICSC closed its doors. I look at this hollow derelict, and familiar yellow colonial paint is faded and peeling. Left to the elements and the homeless, even the doors and windows have been looted. Green grass grows on the top balcony. 

Seeing movement near the back, I notice this building isn’t totally empty. Just outside, four construction workers are taking bucket showers in their underwear. Peering up through the windows, I see more signs of life. Laborers are hauling building materials inside. It seems that this old derelict is being reborn, as they prepare to renovate.

Heading back the way I came, I pass the Mekong River Commission on my way home. These ‘Commissions’ didn’t seem to have a very successful record in Laos. The ICSC’s mission failed, and so did the chances for democracy Laos.

I sincerely hope that the Mekong River Commission is far more successful.