Window on Southeast Asia:
Luang Phabang: The Lao Fairy-tale City
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Luang Phabang from the sacred hill
That night, after wandering through a small food market, I walked down a residential street. It was a dirt street with lovely French colonial buildings. The street and the buildings were illuminated by Lao lanterns that hung from every building. They are made of thick mulberry paper and gave off a very pleasing light. Whatever the buildings may once have been, they are now private homes. There were many people outside, often sitting around tables. Others were inside finishing their meals at low tables on the floor. Everyone seemed to be speaking in a very low voice. All around I could hear people talking, but softly in almost a whisper. I've always known that the Lao are soft spoken, but it seemed strange to hear so many people talking so quietly at once. Yet the soft tones seemed to complement the soft, pleasant light from the lanterns, giving the place an almost otherworldly, peaceful feel.
The next day I visited a few temples that I had missed the day before. By afternoon I decided to get off the beaten path and check out life on a typical street in Laos on a typical day. So I rented a bike and started riding. I managed to find my way to a few dirt streets that seemed a world away from the touristy old city. Here life seemed to be going on as usual, oblivious to the tourists (not that I saw any in the residential neighborhoods). Nor did I see many Lao in a vertical position. I had often heard that the Lao sleep a lot. I don't think that's entirely fair, but they do seem to favor a horizontal position when there isn't much to do. It made sense just then as it was quite hot. People seemed to be napping the hottest part of the day away. That raised a very interesting question in my mind: What in heaven's name was I doing on a bicycle in the afternoon heat? So I went back to my guesthouse and did as the Lao were doing—napping. After I awoke, I rode back to where I had been. It was far more active by then. Everyone seemed to be up to something.
The first dirt street I rode down was a bizarre mixture of huge French villas with expensive cars and satellite dishes, and, in contrast, traditional bamboo houses with chickens and ducks running around. Zoning is a foreign concept in Laos. The real shock came when I rode past a traditional family compound made up of a main house of woven bamboo with a tin roof, a couple of sheds, chicken coops, and a small pond. It was like any number of such compounds except for one thing: A satellite dish on the house. Yes, a satellite dish on a bamboo hut! Roaming deeper into the maze of dirt roads the French houses disappeared and the streets were lined with bamboo fences. People were tending their gardens, sitting outside talking, carrying firewood home, making dinner in outdoor kitchens, sitting around chatting, playing badminton, playing with their children, and doing any number of other things. It was evening and wonderfully cool. Finding a place that is not pleasant at that time of day and with that temperature would have been a challenge, but the slow way of life (even among those working) made it all the more inviting.
