I’ll admit it: As a sworn beach junkie, the fact that Laos is devoid of any oceanfront real estate had me worried before I visited, particularly because I was lying on a stunning stretch of white sand adjacent to Hoi An, Vietnam when my travel companions and I began to discuss what we’d be doing there. Thankfully, my excitement began to ramp up during the two-day overland journey that took us into the country.
Laos’ being landlocked certainly doesn’t equate with it being de-void of natural beauty. Quite the opposite, in fact: Its rolling green hills, towering limestone karsts and mighty rivers give the clearest waters of Thailand and Vietnam a run for their money. Interestingly, Laos did seem a bit claustrophobic to me in other respects — and not just because such a high percentage of the people I encountered there were fellow Western tourists.
Our first official stop in Laos was Luang Prabang, the major city of the northern part of Laos. We arrived just after midnight, following two full days of overland travel starting in Hanoi, Vietnam. While the fact that the city had been almost completely deserted when we arrived wasn’t surprising, it did seem strange to me that Kale, Amber and I were among the only tourists to be out and about when we headed out to see the city in the morning. Of course the number of people around us did pick up as the day went on, but the relative desolation of what was supposed to be a major city stood in stark contrast to what we’d just experienced in overcrowded Vietnam.
Closer to the end of the day, however, the foot traffic picked up in a huge way. Every evening a few hours before sunset, local vendors and food sellers set up a night market in the middle of Sisavangvong Road, one of the city’s major thoroughfares. The flurry of activity is exhilarating, but I couldn’t help but feel disappointed by the types of items most vendors sold: At least half of the tents sold either tank tops with beer logos printed in Lao and Thai scripts or blended shakes made with fresh fruit and evaporated milk. Of course, I don’t fault the locals who sell this by any means. Economics if after all a continuum of supply and demand — and when the vast majority of your demand comes from foreign tourists in search of cheap souvenirs and not-so-strange food, you don’t have a lot of room for innovation.
Thankfully, the vast majority of Luang Prabang outside of Sisavangvong Road and the city’s other major roads is decidedly local, with wet markets and local food stalls dominating many of the city’s alleys and side streets. It was actually almost unnerving how much the energy and aesthetic of the city changed walking just a few blocks off the main drag, where humble produce sellers offered their fresh, beautiful fruits and vegetables to an almost entirely Laotian clientele.
In spite of it being scorching hot, the majority of local Laotians seemed perfectly content to hang out outside, even during the warmest parts of the day. I’m sure some of this is practical: Without air conditioning, it’s probably hotter to stay inside than it is to rest outside. I don’t doubt, however, that part of locals’ willingness to be outside for long periods of time is because people in Southeast Asia simply aren’t as obsessed with privacy as Westerners. I encountered many Laotians napping in public places, for instance, something that happens frequently even among people who are clearly not homeless.
After a few days in Vang Vieng, we took a minibus down Laos’ ominously-numbered Highway 13 to Vang Vieng, a charming town located along the Nam Song River roughly halfway between Luang Prabang and the national capital of Vientiane. Among other things, Vang Vieng is famous as a spot for water-related outdoor activities such as kayaking and river rafting. I opted not to participate in these activities during my visit to Vang Vieng, however: Nearly everyone I met who got in the water came down with pink eye. Nasty!
In spite of its incredibly scenic settings — limestone karsts tower above the impossible greenery that almost engulfs the town — the town of Vang Vieng itself is something of a tourist wasteland, dominated by guest houses, restaurants and offices for booking tours, flights and excursion — It’s kind of like if Khao San Road were the only district of Bangkok. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing: Delicious crêpes and baguette sandwiches stuffed with meats and cheeses — no doubt a leftover of Laos’ French-colonial heritage — can be had for around 25,000 kip or just $3 per massive service. Still, I can’t help but feel that locals end up losing out on the deal — and not just because the majority of tourists hanging around drunk, obnoxious children.
Thankfully biking five or ten minutes outside the town center takes you into remote seclusion, the only sights and sounds the aforementioned limestone karsts, seemingly endless rice paddies and turquoise-colored water flows that look almost impossibly inviting. My favorite part of the time I spent in Vang Vieng was cycling to Poukham Cave, an actual that is more famous for the so-called “Blue Lagoon” that runs just past it. As is often the case in life, the journey to Poukham Cave was just as beautiful as the destination: It was nice to finally see local Laotians living and working without directly serving foreign tourists.
For me, the Blue Lagoon was the second most beautiful sight within the vicinity of Poukham Cave. Almost immediately after paying my 15,000-kip entrance fee, I noticed a flying insect my five-year-old, butterfly-obsessed self would’ve killed to see. In spite of the fact that I was covered in mud — a surprise monsoon rainstorm during my ride had liquified the dirt path in front of me — I decided to stalk the beautiful creature in hopes of getting an open-winged shot. Lucky me: He just so happened to open fully the moment he landed on a sleeping dog, who just so happened to open his eye and look upward the moment the butterfly landed, which just so happened to be the moment my shutter opened and closed. Lightning strikes once — and it struck me in Laos.
Robert Schrader is a travel writer and photographer who’s been roaming the world independently since 2005, writing for publications such as “CNNGo” and “Shanghaiist” along the way. His blog, Leave Your Daily Hell, provides a mix of travel advice, destination guides and personal essays covering the more esoteric aspects of life as a traveler.
