timeless
joint observations, written up by Rach
Phonsavanh, Laos
On the way to Phonsavan, Rob commented that apart from satellite dishes and mobile phones, Laos seems stuck in a 1970s timewarp. I countered that with dirt-floored huts under thatched roofs, it is more like 19th century pioneering New Zealand. I was happy to concede the early settlers didn’t have cars……then we passed two men on the roadside, pushing and pulling a long two-man saw through a fallen tree trunk – just like the photos in pioneering NZ books!
Indeed it has only been two years since the first computer arrived in town, and electricity has been connected for only four years. There were generators for a short while before then, but while they were supposed to work from 6am to 10pm, there was only ever power for half a day every other day or so! Not much help for our hotel, which was, in a forward-thinking move, wired for power from the beginning. Funnily enough it looks much older than its twelve years. It gives the appearance of having been a grand old residence before falling into disrepair. In reality, it was never the opulent establishment the pillars, wide staircase, airy foyer, carved wooden doors and balustraded balcony would lead us to believe it was. From the outset, the floors were covered in tiles of six different patterns, the wiring was exposed and the curtains hung on a piece of string. This isn’t disrepair; it’s just the way it is.
It seems unkind to call a place a nothing-ish sort of town, but it is an apt description for this one. With one main wide and dusty street (looking like it is straight out of an old western movie!), a couple more running parallel and a few extras dissecting these ones and rice paddies, which we short-cut-ed through, there’s not much to the place. The concrete buildings lack character, although a few do have impressive war object caches stacked outside (or a BBQ and seating arrangement made from old bomb casings).
Lonely Planet tells us (we’ve been given a copy so now we are *real* tourists) the locals are friendly, but we’ve met plenty who do not even return greetings. We’re also getting a little jaded with standing out in a small town and having people constantly comment on the size of our family – we are looking forward to the anonymity of a large city again. Luang Prabang was a small town and the “she’s got eight children” conversations followed us around there too, but people would stop and talk *with* us so it felt more friendly – here we are a spectacle that gets talked about as we walk past (actually, we are surprised that we have come to understand so much after less than a month of being here here, but that’s small comfort).
Without a man called Vong, Phonsavanh would have been written off by us as the “unfriendly rat place”, never to be revisited.
But Vong changed our stay. He probably earnt some money by showing us to the rat-house our first night, he definitely earnt some money when we hired him as a guide for a day, and in the end we paid a little more and booked our bus tickets through him (instead of going directly to the station ourselves as we usually do) just because he had given us such good service. He pointed us in the direction of the cheapest buffalo stew in town, he gave us information of things to see in town on our free day, he gave us a great price on a tour and was full of information to bring the destination alive, he dropped by our hotel to sit and chat, he gave the children gifts, on the last night he came and told the kids Lao legends before bedtime, and he even arranged water bottles, biscuits and wipes for the bus trip. When we accidentally left the phone in the minivan, he located the vehicle late at night to make sure it was there and got up bright and early to retrieve it when the company opened and could unlock the van. His service was impeccable. This young man with a sense of humour, excellent English and a real genuineness, made our stay special. In many ways he seemed quite similar to us; he wore blue jeans, used very colloquial English (read: he knew all the expletives in the dictionary!), was widely-read…so it was somehow surprising to realise he was just as “at home” with Lao courting rituals!
“How do you know if a Lao girl is married?” he asked us…and then went on to explain. She doesn’t wear a ring, but if she is waiting for/looking for a husband, she will wear a snake pattern on her clothing.
If you are a single male looking for a wife, and you spot a pretty girl with snake clothing, you have to find out where she lives. After dark you go to her home and make some music on a flute. Hopefully she will bring her embroidery outside and sit with you. If she does, you can then sing to her – actually, rather than “can”, this is the next expected step and without it, the courting will proceed no further. If she is impressed, you may well soon find yourself married (unless it’s July to September when no wedding ceremonies are performed, because it’s Buddhist Lent). It was intriguing to think that this denim-wearing swearing young man with two children and a divorce behind him and a new girlfriend on his arm, had performed these rituals for nine years! And he insisted he couldn’t sing 😉
Modern man, old ways. Newly expanding town, old ways.
Timeless Laos.
(our first guesthouse, the ratty one)
Tags: dress, housing, postcard: Laos, tradition
rayres
I’m impressed with your diligence, dedication ,and down-to-earth observations, day by day. All that reading you have done over the years has certainly left it’s mark. You are a travel journalist par excellance, and I sit in humble admiration.
The fact that you produce these gems at the end of a sometimes very tiring and sickness-fraught journey adds only to my admiration.
A great story, and it will indeed be interesting to see how you all react to BK this time round, coming out of the other end of the time-warp
Keep up the good work, and I am praying that you will all be rid of these tummy-troubles very soon
ps have you got a good publisher lined up?
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