Laos
We left Thailand in the beginnings of the new year. We rose early to tackle a border crossing en route from Chiang Rai, in northern Thailand, to Luang Namtha, northern Laos. Before noon, the trip entailed a bus to the Thai border, a walk across the Thai border, a short bus through no man’s land to the Laos border, a relatively stress-free entry into Laos, and a van to the local Laos bus station.
The bus station was small, concrete, and quiet, and beyond two other very obvious Westerners, was populated by a small amount of Lao people charging phones, corralling wandering tots, waiting for local transport. The station was equipped with defunct forest green massage chairs and outdoor rows of dusty oxblood leather airplane seating on which to await departure. And so we waited, eating preserved salted prunes and trying to activate Laos eSIMs. At 11:30 a minivan pulled into the designated parking spot for our transport. The driver parked, emerged, and, barefoot, climbed atop the vehicle with ease suggestive of familiarity. Wrench in hand, he began tightening the nuts securing the metal racks for luggage. Only pausing to confirm with Chris that this was the vehicle to depart at noon for Luang Namtha, he continued his work before pulling up gradually arriving passengers’ packs and bags and securing them with netting. After handing off our packs, we made our way into the van and took two seats on the left side. Into this vehicle with fifteen seats, nineteen people clambered, and in the aisle typically used for walking, backless wooden boxes and fabric-covered beer crates were wedged between seats to accommodate the extra passengers. Happy to have seats, I (Marlene), against the window and forward sliding off my well-worn leather seat, and Chris with femurs wedged into the seat in front, unable to slide in any direction, we glanced at each other and hoped for the best.
Packed full of people and loaded with precious belongings, the acquiescing engine revved, and we took off, damp from the heat, and quietly taking in our new surroundings. Our driver took us along the one road heading northeast. As we wound through villages and national park area, we had our first exposure to the land of Laos. Gazing and processing our second Southeast Asian nation, my mind worked to integrate all I saw. Each observation of my own was seemingly also clocked also by the driver and the trip punctuated by the reverberating horn of the van. As we picked up speed and careered around curves the driver was loathe to slow, to check, to wait, to stay in his lane. At steady speed he tackled roads and obstacles on the offensive and on an agenda unlike the slow, leisurely style of life we’d been led to expect of Laos. All animate and inanimate were warned. Roosters considering venturing off course for some grain or roadside territorial claim were warned; HONK. Motorbikes laden with family (baby in front; bare feet toeing at the platform, uncoordinated chubby fingers feeling for dad’s hands or gripping at side-view mirror stands, dad behind; stoic and in control, next small child behind him; peaking cheekily out at the road, and still behind her, mom; in long woven skirt, lace top, and slippers) were warned strongly to reconsider merging, HONK. Dogs, seemingly with death wishes in their mid-street naps were given the signal, and rose, arthritic joints leading them mere millimeters out of the way HONK! Cows, giving us the whites of the eyes, wet mouths chawing on grass, were instructed to stay put, HONK. And with the limitless energy and unearned confidence of a Jack Russell amidst German Shepards, our little minivan swerved from potholes and rounded blind curves at speed, barking HONK as the warning to semi-trucks- ‘YOU wait…I’m coming towards you in your lane!’ Not without the sign of the cross and a deep breath, I surrendered myself to the experience and tried to stop worst-case scenario visions like trying to cease the tonguing of a tooth-wedged seed.
We awed at the villages; dirt roads with stilted houses and rice silos constructed of woven rattan, bamboo, and wood, with corrugated metal roofs. Concrete garages allowed us a peer into soot and motor oil-blackened bike repair shops. Mini markets were simply a table or tarp covered with morning glory, trays of chili drying in the sun, and fresh fish that occasionally elicited an exclamation or discussion between the driver and a nearby Lao passenger. Moms went about work with unperturbed babies saronged to their waists, small children ran afoot. There were cow, buffalo, chicken, and goat at every age of the lifespan (including dismembered and disemboweled on the chopping block), and at least one black pig was seen running to escape a similar fate.
As we entered into the lush national park area, and our wheels kicked up dust that added to the fine ash-brown coating of the roadside flora, I fell asleep only to wake as a sharp turn knocked my head against the window, to a pothole generated jolt of vertical displacement, or to the crackles of plastic from our Lao co-travelers snacking. It was at the midpoint coffee-toilet (of course) where at the roadside restaurant we mimed our way to a bag of plain sticky rice for lunch that Chris informed me the crackles of plastic were not snacks but bags for vomit as one by one the locals around him succumbed to the turns, their guts not tightened down like the racks of our luggage.
Chris watched in horror as like dominos they fell; wordless shoulder taps produced plastic bags that were filled, tied, and flung out windows. One poor gentleman, sat between two women who never quite got used to the turns, was seen, on beer crate seat, with shirt pulled over his nose and head in hands as bags were filled and tossed to his left and right. Those with access to a window hung heads out for fresh air. The driver, well stocked with bags for the occasion, made no concession and hustled along apace.
We were all happy, five hours later, to reach the Luang Namtha bus station. Weak and grey, the locals emerged and we all took our bags and went gingerly on our separate ways. Chris and I had yet one more vehicle to get to our final destination. We boarded a songthaew (larger than a tuk-tuk: a truck whose bed has been converted to two rows of seating)with a couple of others from the bus, all grateful regardless of speed, and lack of seatbelts to have the fresh dusk air in our faces and a straight road as the small downtown, accommodations, and night market of Luang Namtha approached.
Luang Namtha
In numbers, Laos is quite different from its neighbor Thailand. The population is much smaller (just ~7 million in Laos vs ~69 million in Thailand) and the Laos GDP is $18.83 billion vs $506 billion in Thailand (as of 2021). That’s $2535 GDP per capita in Laos and $7000 GDP per capita in Thailand. Driving from Thailand to Laos, levels of development reflect this reality. Most villages here are “functional places,” rebuilt with little money, with material from the forest and assistance from neighbors after the widespread bombing during the Indochina wars (more on this at the end of this post).
Our first stop in Laos was the city of Luang Namtha. This small city of about 30,000 people is the gateway to the Nam Ha National Bio-Diversity Conservation Area (860 square miles of federally protected jungle and tribe lands). Our plan here was to hire a guide and do a multi-day trek in the jungle.
Luang Namtha is small. Beyond a disproportionate number of tourist-oriented trekking outfitters, the place is very much Laos establishments intended for Lao people. Westerners are seen in several accommodations, in restaurants that have pictures and English wording, and in one of two quiet cafes before they move on; off to the jungle or south to larger cities.
The dust of the streets of Luang Namtha coats everything, creating an almost sepia-colored atmosphere. The open garage door mini markets acquire both the dust of the street and that from age, as seemingly only the tourists are infrequent customers. Lao natives are unlikely to purchase Oreos and Pringles. They’re more often seen at proportionally far less expensive large informal markets. These markets house various local sellers under roof or tarp awnings serving cooked meals as well as fresh meat, local produce grown or harvested from the forest, and other various necessities.
Navigating the streets are some trucks, songthaew, and copious motorbikes and scooters, their original bright colors faded with age and dust and use. Motorbikes and scooters are the primary transportation of locals. An austere Laos woman, with orange-red lipstick, dark hair, and the olive green of a military uniform complemented by yellow and red epaulets, breaks the sepia tones as she scoots down the road. Women in long woven fabric skirts often sit side-saddle behind men or other women. Not infrequently are little boys no older than seven or two sisters a similar age seen navigating the streets by scooter, making their way home from school. Women with infants are seen making their way across town with one hand on the throttle and the other holding an umbrella against the sun.
The brightly lit, thousand-stand chaotic night markets of Thailand were in the past. The local night market here was about the size of an elementary school gym and with the same lighting. Closed by about 9PM, it until then fed the locals and tolerated the westerners. Before we’d learned much Laos language, we attempted a few purchases and were humbled to be absolutely nonverbally informed that our kip (the Lao currency) did not entitle us to anything. We managed a few purchases with miming. And the two young girls who simply giggled at our struggle and gave us a different quantity of product for an unchanging price each night aside, we managed to consistently get a dinner and chose then not to stray from who and what we recognized.
Until we’d learned words for the frequently used denominations, and until our pronunciation was good enough that locals understood we were actually speaking Laos (a challenging tonal language), they used calculators or showed us bills to inform of us cost.
While working to organize our trek, we enjoyed a few afternoons exploring the town. On one day we rented mountain bikes to cycle through the valley. The road quickly took us from the small town to rice-paddy-strewn and buffalo and chicken-populated farming villages in the Luang Namtha valley. As we cycled, small school children practicing English would run out to shout “HELLO! HELLO!” to us. Intermittently we got a ‘GOOD MORNING!’ regardless of the time of day. A middle finger was seen once or twice, at which we were mildly perturbed until we saw the school kids giggling as they clandestinely expressed the same to each other. Village after village kids on bikes greeted us and passed us, better able for the rocky roads and shakey bridges, and we, elated to be acknowledged (regardless of whether the interaction with westerners was for their own entertainment) responded “SABAIDEE!”
Passing through one particular village, we joined a small group of cyclers headed home after school. They waved for us to join and we followed a dusty trail through the farms.
Our road ended at a river and we thought perhaps we had made a wrong turn. As it turned out, a small (and seemingly quite unstable) suspension bridge was nearby. After watching a motorcycle (with passenger) ride across, we figured it must be safe and walked our bikes across.
A typical dirt road between villages seen below.
Nam Ha Trekking
A good trek can feel a lot like summer camp: Long days are spent with new friends. Camp counselors (guides) share wisdom about nature, survival, food, culture, and language. Trail breaks are filled with stories, jokes, songs, sound effects. With heat, fatigue, and the prolonged time together that diminishes privacy, inevitably barriers break, and with the right group uninhibited giddy giggly chaos ensues. If you’re lucky the performative and competitive posturing we’ve come to see in travel dissipates. There can be a bit of magic to it all.
I do think we got particularly lucky on this one. Our guide, Kham Thong, was open, wildly funny, and full of information on the jungle and life in Laos. We have a much better understanding of this country, its language, and its culture thanks to the short time we spent with him. Other trekkers in our group included one guy from the Czech Republic (Lukas) and another from Australia (David).
Our trek started with a visit to the local market to pick up lunch provisions. This market was unlike any we had seen before in Southeast Asia… Nothing here was catering to tourists. The butcher section of the market was particularly different than anything you might see in the states (see below picture of a pot containing coagulated blocks of blood). It’s the same animals and the same product… just without the cost and effort that goes into western attempts to deny ourselves the very visceral reality of meat consumption. And maybe without the investigating dogs. Our guides knew exactly what they wanted, moving quickly from stall to stall to collect small amounts of freshly prepared meals wrapped in banana leaves. After being questioned about dietary restrictions, Lukas denied any, but reported sheepishly that he didn’t really like fish… to which, after a pause and with a bit of a side-eye, Tong replied, “So…Lukas does not like fish but….he CAN eat it!” We laughed..unsure of what the future held.
This and other interactions with Thong and his co-guide Touy allowed us a perspective on Laos they may not have known they provided. Tong’s grasp of English gave us a subconscious impression of similar life experiences. But discussion of eating, bathing, travel, and home life gradually painted a picture of difference. One that forced a serious consideration of wealth and privilege.
After the market, we bumped along in the back of a pickup for about an hour into the Nam Ha Conservation Area. With Thong and a guide who was a resident of a village within the Conservation area (a national requirement), we walked. Of course, the local guide hiked in a jacket and sandals, never breaking a sweat nor getting short of breath. We hiked up, as the trail left the road, and winded through a few rubber tree farms. We learned that the villagers here get about 12,000 Kip ($0.58) per kilo of rubber. Most products in this region are sold to China.
Bamboo grass and cardamom seeds are also collected here and sold to China. Cardamom is also used locally but only for tea. The bamboo grass can be used for broomsticks.
As we moved along the trail, Thong pointed out many different edible plants (and bugs). At one stop we were encouraged to try what Tong calls a “cinnamon bug.” It smells like cinnamon and is always found on the same plant but is…“a bit ‘spicy’ in taste” he informed. The Australian was the only one brave enough to try one with Thong. He described the experience as akin to putting a cigarette out on his tongue.
Thong, like most people in northern Laos, has a subsistence farm. He has chickens for eggs and to eat, a few cows which he sells as needed, and a field of rice. “No rice, no life,” he says. Unlike in Thailand where irrigation access is more common, rice is only grown once here during the rainy season. Thong's multigenerational household survives off 3.5 tons of sticky rice per year, all grown on his farm.
We’d had to stop by Thong’s house before the start of the trip as he’d forgotten his machete. Later Marlene asked if Thong grew up in the house he lives in. To our surprise he responded equivocally; “Yes, this is the house I grew up in… but not the location.” He explained that several years prior, the government approved an airstrip extension and seized the land where Thong's village was built. Over a couple of weeks, the villagers emptied, de-roofed, and physically picked up each house and walked each to new plots of land approximately 500 meters away. 1–2 houses per day, 100-200 people per house, they moved the entire community. The government unfortunately provided very little money or support for the operation. Worse yet, while Tong’s previous plot of land was 100 square meters, it is now 20 square meters. I (Chris) asked if people were upset and he replied, no, they they just had to accept it. He did indicate he’s not thrilled with his new neighbor and occasionally steals his radio when he plays music too loud at night! With income from treks, he is very gradually building a new house.
As we continued on our trek, we met villagers who were collecting rattan. This thorny plant can be used as a food source when young and as a building material for woven furniture when it’s older. Below you can see Tong preparing rattan for lunch (slicing off the thorny exterior) and the rattan for sale at the morning market. Not pictured is a large grub that lives in and eats the rattan. The people of Laos capture, sell, and eat these grubs which, seen; fat, beige, and pulsating in a bowl in the Luang Namtha market were reminiscent of those eaten by Timon, Pumba, and Simba in The Lion King. “Slimy yet satisfying” I’m sure (but will take their word for it for the time being).
After a few hours of trekking, we stopped for lunch. A bamboo leaf was laid down (nature's placemat) and the morning market’s provisions were distributed. In the top left you can see what looks like enormous cheese sticks (the rattan, with thorny exterior removed).
As one can imagine, the jungle is filled with small rivers and streams. Below is one of several crossings from our trek.
After arriving at camp, dinner was prepared over the fire by our guide and a couple of locals who’d hiked up from their village. Our assistance was declined and the men showed prowess in constructing an incredible meal from local ingredients. The rattan and banana flowers were used to make “furniture soup” as Thong calls it. “You will not eat fish…so you can have furniture soup!” he exclaimed to Lukas, later noting the communal bowl hadn’t been finished and asking “Oh… Lukas… soup not very tasty?” The very subtle digs left us in stitches. There was also fish caught from the river crossing (served as both a soup and as a ceviche… Having just read about liver flukes, I (Chris) was a bit apprehensive to try the ceviche but eventually gave in. Herby and delicious. My new liver flukes and I think it was well worth it).
We finished off the night with rice whiskey referred to as Lao Lao, star gazing, fire-roasted bananas, and then bed on a bamboo platform. The sounds of the jungle (a cacophony of insects) lulled us to sleep. But the turns from prone to supine and the toilet-seeking exits of what Thong called our “big western bodies” shook the entire structure and meant a bit of tired delirium the next day.
We woke the next morning to a dense fog. Breakfast hours were focused on drying wet socks by the fire (some of us had ignored sandals listed on the packing list in favor of a lighter pack, and regretted it come river crossing) and roasting eggplants for lunch. Notice the bamboo “pot of tea” brewing in the center of the fire.
Our second day was long. We hiked deeper into the jungle up a fairly steep trail to a ridge.
Six hours of hiking later, we arrived at a Khmu (tribe) village.
Celebrating the long day with a few Beerlaos, we then joined our guides (and the village ducks) for a river bath. A group of small kids stared at us from the bank until David, unsuccessfully gesturing for them to join us, ran out of the water to chase after them. I’m not sure if the gleeful screeches and shouts from the kids or the laughter from the guides was louder.
After getting cleaned up, Thong gave us a quick tour of the village, stopping at the many campfires built on the roads to chat with the locals and when possible teach us a little bit of Khmu. Our guides spoke English, Lao, and a little Khmu.
A bamboo bridge (reminiscent of the one we crossed with the bikes) connects the town with the farms.
Oxen are used to plow the rice fields.
The following morning we woke to more dense jungle fog.
Before leaving the village, we learned how rice is processed and then joined the crossbow shooting practice. Despite the bows’ benign appearance, these weapons are quite powerful, and capable of killing a large bird or small mammal.
In the below photos, the rice grains are being removed from their husks.
One of our guides (and a dog) warming up before hiking.
Back on the trail
On our final day of hiking, we were joined by a kid from the village. He showed us a few bamboo rat traps he had set (a meaty animal the villagers are often hunting out here).
And we played a few games along the way.
Further along the trail, Thong encouraged us to try a berry he’d picked. Tannic and bitter, admittedly as advertised, it was unpleasant but we were encouraged to persist until we’d consumed an entire berry. He then encouraged us to drink some water and tell him what we noticed. After the berry, the water tasted bizarrely sweet. He then told us an old fable about a man who shot a deer and then, on the walk home, ate one of these berries and then drank from a small stream. Not knowing about the berry’s effect, he thought he found the first “sweet water stream!” He collected as much water as he could, left the deer behind, and ran back to the village to share what he had found. Tasting the water, the villagers didn’t notice anything. The man tasted the after again too and then realized it was just plain water…
Final few miles on the trail.
We ended the trek at another village to wait for pickup. The small structure below (left photo) is for storing rice. Reminiscent of the grain storage structures we saw in Spain (right photo) at the start of our big trip. The locals attempt to use plastic-seen at the top of the stilts- to prevent rodent infiltration of their stock.
With a celebratory Beerlao in hand, we jumped back in the songthaew for the return journey. We tried to sing a Lao song we’d been taught and Thong trialed an Australian assessment of the experience (with instruction from David), calling it a “Bloody good hike mate!”
Luang Prabang
The next stop on our Laos trip was the city of Luang Prabang (the former royal capital of the Kingdom of Laos until the Pathet Lao takeover in 1975), located a few hours south of Luang Namtha along the Mekong River. Unlike our journey from Chiang Rai to Luang Namtha, this trip was via high-speed rail. This modern railway, financed by China, looks a bit “out of place” amongst the tiny villages of Northern Laos. The railway is not without controversy… a couple of interesting reads on the topic are below.
Stepping off the train in Luang Prabang, it was clear we were in a different part of Laos. As one of the biggest tourist destinations in the country, there is a lot more money here, more English language spoken, and starkly different architecture (a fusion of Lao traditional architecture with the French influence of the colonial era).
After checking into our accommodation, and finding and removing a tick each (!) we joined up with Lukas at the night market for a Beerlao tower and food. He’d informed us he had a surprise for us… something he didn’t want to try alone. We were happy to see it wasn't rattan grubs… AND that he hadn’t tackled a Beerlao tower alone!
We enjoyed a few lazy days in this city exploring the various markets and temples.
While walking along the Mekong, we were offered a sunset ride in a long boat. While normally turning down these types of things, we couldn’t pass up what eventually became a good offer.
Nong Khiaw
Another 6-hour ride in a 15-passenger van filled with 20 people (Chris in the back on a beer crate seat and Marlene up front wedged between the driver, a Lao mother, and 2 small children, one of which was carsick) brought us to the beautiful northern city of Nong Khiaw. Thong had informed us that unaccustomed to long-distance travel, local Laos people often get car sick.
Here in Nong Khiaw, we trekked up the nearby mountain for views of the valley and the Nam Ou River, a Mekong tributary.
Another sunset from our side of the river.
And a quick stroll through town.
Sleeping Lady Viewpoint
While most mornings here are foggy, we thought we could get above the clouds if we hiked high enough. We woke early and strolled through the city to our trail.
But alas, despite climbing to about 3000 feet, our summit was in worse shape than the valley floor.
We did catch a few great views on the way down, however.
We finished the day relaxing in the afternoon sunshine.
Muang Ngoy
We took a riverboat north on the Nam Ou River to the small town of Muang Ngoy. Despite our boat being very full and having engine trouble…twice (one time requiring a return visit to Nong Khiaw), we made it there in one piece. Until recently, Muang Ngoy was only accessed by boat.
The skillset of the boatmen was impressive. As we passengers made cautious and tentative transition from land to our wood plank seats, they climbed with ease and confidence atop the boat and at times scaled the outside length of the boat to reach the engine and troubleshoot the intermittent sputtering.
Beautiful view from around the pier and from our accommodation.
A little north of the town was a viewpoint located on a farmer’s land. The entrance to the trail was almost as exciting as the view, as goats, chickens, peacocks, ducks, and dogs all ran about his land.
Huay Bo Village
We woke early to hike out to Huay Bo Village to meet up with a few folks we’d met on the ride to Nong Khiaw. Our road was shared with the local buffalo.
Since it is the dry season in Laos, the rice fields are dormant. Still quite beautiful.
Which made it easier to spot this guy.
After having a cup of instant coffee in the village with a local man and his family (who, despite the stoic face, excitedly demanded that this photo be taken), we hiked back to Muang Ngoy.
Muang Khua
Back in the boat, we continued our way north. This portion of our journey was a bit longer and required a tuk-tuk transfer around a hydroelectric damn. The weather turned cold and we huddled for warmth. Excited faces seen below…
Five hours later (again with multiple engine breakdowns and river bank deliveries), we made it to the small town of Muang Khua.
As the sun was setting, our driver used a small flashlight to check for river hazards.
We finished the day with a final round of BeerLaos and a goodbye to Laos.
Goodbye Laos
The following morning we woke early to catch a minibus over the mountains to Vietnam. On our walk through town to the bus stop, we observed a local almsgiving. Almsgiving is a common Buddhist practice, taking place at dawn, where food (primarily sticky rice) is placed in baskets worn by the monks. The practice is spiritual, respectful, and quiet, showing great respect for the monks who depend on the locals' generosity to eat.
A Dark History
If you need a quick refresher on the USA’s history with the country of Laos, (we did) you can follow the link below.
Unfortunately, the effects of the US bombing campaign in Laos are still felt today. Unexploded ordnance (UXO) are found throughout the country (due to their 30% failure rate when dropped as cluster bombs) and continue to kill people (especially children). Sadly, one person is killed or injured by a UXO almost every two weeks. And, despite efforts to help clean up the millions of UXOs found here, less than 1% have been cleared since the war ended.
Here is a UXO sign we saw while hiking in Nong Khiaw.
A sadly topical read on these weapons can be found below:
Other:
In the vein of the tea cozy in England and the double teapot situation in Turkey, my (Marlene’s) favorite unfamiliar appliance/object in Laos is seen below. Sticky rice is the primary rice eaten in Laos. This is not so in the rest of Southeast Asia where it is restricted to particular dishes or deserts while steamed rice is more common. Thus at all markets in Laos, the container below symbolized the presence of hot sticky rice for sale. At restaurants and in homes this is served in a small woven rattan container to keep it warm whilst you eat.
Language:
Sa bai dee: Hello
Sa bai dee boar: How are you
Sa bai dee kop chai: I’m fine, thank you
Kop chai (lai lai): Thank you (very much). We found this really lends itself to The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkle… Kop chai la lai… kop chai la lai lai lai la lai… kop chai la lai!
Baw pen yang: You’re welcome/Everything is fine
La kha todai: How much is it?
Ha pan: 5000
Si pan: 10,000
Ha si pan: 50,000
Falang: Foreigner
Man Falang: Potato (translates literally to foreigner potato)
Jow: Steamed rice
Khao Niew: Sticky rice
Sep lai: Tasty
Hong nam you shai: Where is the toilet
You shai shong bong: behind the bamboo (this was more specific to trekking…)
Currency:
LAK/Laotian Kip/Kip
$1= 20,667.62 Kip
