Monks. Baguettes and Rock & Roll

Eight Days in Laos

 		Monks, Baguettes and Rock & Roll

Laos wants to be your #1 travel destination for 1999. And why not? Landlocked and wedged between Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, China & Burma, it does enjoy a central location of sorts. There are no major insurgencies, revolutions, sanctions or messy government human rights crackdowns to spoil your fun. And most important, the Laotians are friendly -- "downright hospitable," we'd say back in the wilds of upstate New York. It is uncanny how eager to receive foreign visitors the Laotian people are, especially considering that the US dropped about a billion tons of TNT and defoliants on their country just a few decades ago.

The Laotian People's Democratic Republic is, like most countries with the word "democratic" in their name, a one party communist state. Recent Laotian history is a story familiar in the region. I'm no history major, but I'll try to summarize as best I can. A French colony at the beginning of the century, the French were driven out by the Japanese in thirties. The French came back and were driven out again by the Laotians, leaving only their superior Baguette making technology and some nice architecture. American airplanes dropped a lot of high explosives on the Eastern border regions in attempt to get the Vietcong from marching through Laotian backyards. American bombings stopped after satellite surveillance revealed that everybody living there had either been killed or fled. Laos, devoid of the dramatic genocide, famines or economic miracles of its neighbors, spent the next few decades being pretty much ignored. And this lack of tourist hype provides one of the best reasons to visit.

Getting into Laos is no problem. At the border though, communist ideology has given way to capitalist greed in a big way. Visas to Laos are issued with a smile for $50.00 cash, and nothing but US currency will do. The fee rises to $51 if you show up between the hours of 12 and 1. "You come during lunch, you buy us lunch" Explains the border guard. I believe that Karl Marx would have approved.
Mold Glory
The trip from the Australian-built friendship bridge into Vientiane took 20 minutes, and I took in the sights, sounds and smells of the Vientiane suburbs. The first thing I noticed right off the peace bridge overpass (the country's only overpass) was the huge weather-beaten sign proclaiming something politically uplifting in Laotian. I can't read Laotian, but the larger than life mural of happy workers hoisting tools and weapons beneath the intermingled Laotian and Soviet flags spoke volumes. We passed by Vientiane's industrial heartland, a stretch of road with a cigarette factory, garment mill, and the offices of the Laotian power company. It was around noon, so I suspect that the proletariat were inside sleeping. We also passed by many members of Laos's Bovine majority, looking fairly well fed and content with the system that keeps them that way.

Money in Laos --- The mighty Kip

Hitting Vientiane proper, my first stop was the foreign exchange bank. According to the latest Lonely Planet Guide, it is illegal for the Laotian people to do business in anything but Kip. Few Laotians read Lonely Planet, however, and everything in Laos that you can buy can be bought with Dollars or Thai Baht. People take Kip, but they don't prefer it. The Kip is a currency that makes currencies like the Chinese Renminbi and the Italian Lira stand tall. Forty dollars US bought me a stack of nearly one hundred 1000 Kip notes, which took up most of the space in my backpack. A Laotian joke goes like this: "Why don't Laotians own cars? Because it would take two cars to transport the cash to the dealer." Using this conversion rate saved me a lot of hassle, and made me far more popular with the locals. Vientiane is a reasonably cheap city to stay in. My lovely old room in the well maintained & charm loaded Syri Guest House was a whopping $13 US a night. The town is loaded with flophouses for the Lonely Planetoid living on the cheap, but I tend to place comfort over savings. Meals were paid for in Kip, and the amount of cash paid seldom outweighed the meal itself. By the end of the day, my pockets would be filled with 100 Kip notes, each with an approximate dollar value of 4 cents.
 

Dharma Bums -- The youth of Vientiane

After a shower and a shave, I hit the dusty streets of Vientiane to seek out the pulse of this town -- Its youth. You can always tell a lot about a society from the nocturnal behavior of its teenagers. In Taichung, teenagers race their scooters down the main drag and hack each other to pieces with machetes. This tells us that they are pissed off at society. In New York, we dyed our hair blue and scrawled meaningless words on the sides of subway cars. We were also pissed off at society. I wondered what it was that Laotian kids did as an adjustment to society. Walking the streets of Vientiane, I found out. When the going gets tough, The youth of Laos become monks.

Vientiane is a city of Temples, and every temple is pretty much filled with monks. My dorm in college was an ugly six story cement tower. In this respect, Laotian kids seem to be much better off -- their dorms are ornately designed gold plated houses of worship. Every temple that I visited was populated by young novices milling about, taking care of the temple grounds, feeding the temple animals, studying scripture, and Adjusting their saffron robes for maximum coolness. These guys may not have had a lot in the way of wardrobe, but they made the most of what they had. After a while of hanging around Vientiane's most awe inspiring temple, Pha That Luang (A 45 meter high golden spire atop a temple surrounded by thirty other golden spires) Taking pictures and generally feeling like a big white dork, I was approached by Syam, a teenage novice with good English skills and neatly pressed robes.
 Youth in Asia
"I became a novice because it allows me access to education" Syam told me. "In my village in Southern Laos, schools are scarce and not as good as in Vientiane. As a novice monk, I can attend lessons for free, and have a lot of time to read and study." Syam's family is very supportive of his decision, and hopes that he can use his years in the monastery as a stepping stone towards a better life for himself. "Did you learn your English at the monastery?" I asked him. "No, I've been taking classes in Vientiane, but they're very expensive, 28000 Kip a month (About 12 dollars)." Syam showed me a battered copy of Side by Side, an English grammar primer, that looked like it had been passed down to him by the Bhudda himself. I promised to mail him some new books when I got home.

Later on, Syam asked me if Monks in Taiwan signed on for life, or if every young person became a monk for a short time, like in Laos. I tried to picture my own students back in Taiwan giving up their 12 hour per day study regiments and endless bushiban cramming to go live as monks for six months or a year. In the end, I just claimed ignorance. In Laos, however, most young people become monks for a while. But for people like Syam, a 2-4 year stint is not uncommon. Indeed, it is the logical career path to take, the only chance for higher education that many cash poor Laotian youths have available to them.

Vientiane Nightlife -- The youth are restless

Not all of the teenagers in Laos become monks, as I found out on my second night on the town. I had run into two American women who were fresh in town from trekking up the Ho Chi Minh trail. We decided to go to one of the clubs in Vientiane where teenagers hang out in front and smoke Marlboros and show off their tattoos. A tuk-tuk driver had told me that the Chess Cafe sometimes had a live band that could sing in English and play their instruments (a winning combination anywhere). We got to the club around nine and found it neon lit and almost devoid of people. The stage was set up for a five piece rock combo, but unless the Bartender was going to play all the instruments simultaneously, it didn't look like we were in for much of a show.
But first impressions are often deceiving, for as soon as the Bartender saw a group of Farrangs (foreigners) had entered, he greeted us wildly and led us to one of the twenty empty tables. We ordered some Lao beers and black teas, and explained that we had heard there was a rock & roll band playing. "Oh, yes, we have a band here, you wait a moment". He disappeared into a back room, and a few minutes later five guys piled out and got up on the stage. At last the moment I had waited for -- A teenage rock combo in a communist country. What sort of seething, thinly disguised anti commie rock would they play? Would it be like those underground cold wave bands in Warsaw that sang depressing ballads about the futility of life? I could barely contain myself as they tuned up.

I was naturally somewhat disappointed at their first song -- A cover of John Denver's "Rocky mountain high". The next few songs were equally well done renditions of some equally bland western fair. I began to get gloomy. Was this what socialism reduced it's young people to, playing mid seventies feel good songs in dimly lit bars? As the band played, some more people, locals and Farrangs, came in and soon the place was filled with people and cigarette smoke. After about eight songs, the waitress came back with some slips of paper and told us we could write down any requests we might have for the band. I took one and scrawled

Iggy Pop? Velvet Underground? Nirvana? Death Metal?
And handed it back to her. A few minutes later, there was a commotion from the stage.
"Ee-gee pop? (Laotian) Nirvana? (Laotian) OK? OK!"
 

And the band broke into a head stomping tribute to Nirvana that consisted of the first ten seconds of every song from Nirvanas "Nevermind" album. They didn't know any of the lyrics (few English speakers could decipher them either), so after about six minutes of this they broke into a cover of Metallica's "Enter Sandman" that would have done any American cover band proud. I don't remember much of the rest of the set, which consisted of more death metal standards and saw me flailing wildly around the club while the manager tried to figure out what to do to get me to stop. They were the best bar band I had ever seen.

 After the metal jam the band took a break, and I followed them into the managers office for an interview. Between the five band members and a friend who spoke some Laotian we managed to have a pretty decent conversation about rock and roll and the future of Laos. Some highlights of the interview:

 
 
I bought them a round of drinks, and they went to do their second set, which was a lot more sedate. I think somebody complained that their first set had been attracting a bad element, but I couldn't be sure.
 
 

Road construction ahead -- Expect some delays

Much has been written about the relative lack of traffic in Vientiane. There is a simple reason for this absence -- Vientiane has almost no roads. Whereas many third world countries have streets with potholes, Vientiane manages to have potholes without streets. Motorized vehicles make their way through the city by sheer bravado alone. The elder comrades of the city are now busy building the roads that will one day crisscross this city, but as their equipment is all rented by the day, they've decided to do it all at once. They are currently in the grading process, turning the ancient dirt roads into modern dirt roads. In theory, they are supposed to return the grading equipment and use the deposit money to buy asphalt. A local man pointed out the flaw in this plan.

"In 4-6 weeks, the rainy season will set in, and all of their work will be ruined" He told me "At this rate, we'd be better off widening the trenches into serviceable canals".

But getting around Vientiane wasn't a hassle. It was impossible to walk ten yards without a tuk-tuk driver trying to bark the foreign visitor into a ride. Explaining to them where to go presented some difficulty, but since Vientiane is pretty small, it was impossible to get lost for very long. On my second day there, I decided to grab a tuk-tuk and see where it took me. The driver, sensing that I needed to trade my cumbersome Kip for something more interesting, took me to Talet Sao (the Vientiane The Marketmarket), a black hole of third world Asian shopping which sucked me in and refused to let go until I had spent four hours and several days budget. Beautiful hill tribe women selling handmade traditional Lao fabrics, old crones selling ornate silver fingernail extensions, brand new Khmer antique statuettes, opium pipes. The market was a maze of stalls, good laden blankets laid on the floor, and currency exchange booths. I found myself overwhelmed, haggling with my fingers for a double headed conga drum and three genuine Lao cotton peasant shirts. I handed my tape recorder to some kids and they recorded a Laotian nursery rhyme on it. I bought fruits I had never seen before, and had no idea how to eat. In short, the market was cool, vastly more interesting to me than the soul dampening neon glitter malls of America. Exhausted and slightly poorer, I returned to the guest house as the sun went down, clutching the drum, the shirts, and a few miscellaneous Lao musical instruments.
 

Failing to get around Laos

As a tourist destination, Laos is a mixed bag. The country scores about a million points in my book for pure, unhyped cultural relics, but quickly loses those points in the "basic infrastructure" category. The magical city of Luang Prabang is the kingdoms ancient cap by rolling lush hills. Getting there, however, requires a 14 hour trip along semi-paved roads. To add to your excitement, the road from Vientiane to Luang Prubang is known to be plagued by bandits, and the man selling bus tickets says "good luck" to you when you buy your ticket. The planes to Luang Prubang were built in Mainland China sometime during the great leap forward, and one can almost see the shape of melted down cooking pots and gardening tools bulging out of the wings. Tickets are expensive, schedules erratic, and the ticket lady doesn't even wish you good luck. Laos is basically a destination best suited to the traveler seeking adventure, the type who is unconcerned with little inconveniences like 20 hour rides on ancient buses. I spent a lot of time with a woman I'll call Lynn, one of several people I met in Laos who are basing their future livelihoods on the hopes that Laos will become a hot tourist destination. "Laos is basically the flavor of the month" She told me "Backpackers come here because it's cheap and interesting, and its a cool stamp to have in one's passport. But the government here is hoping for a different kind of tourist, the type who'll pay a hundred dollars a night for a nice hotel, drop fifty on a meal, leave with a suitcase full of trinkets and maybe a business contract or two. But this type of traveler wants air conditioned trains and paved roads. They're not going to pay big bucks to sit in the back of a Tuk-tuk for 29 hours to get to the Plain of Jars".

I fall in between these two types of travelers, too poor to charter an ATV, but too soft to spend more than six hours on even an air conditioned Greyhound. There is much to see in Laos, much more than I possibly could have seen in eight days even if the roads were all paved like Los Angeles. Luckily, there is enough around Vientiane itself that is culturally expanding (and in some cases just bizarre) to justify sticking around the capital. The smell of the city alone -- fragrant Jasmine mixed with Lao cooking spices -- makes the visit worth it. There are enough temples in Vientiane alone to provide days of cultural splendor, and if you need a guidebook to find them a trip to Laos might not be your cup of tea. If you're planning to leave Vientiane province, you'll need to get entry stamps for the provinces you're planning on visiting. Apparently the government doesn't want travelers to get too spoiled by the otherwise easy Outside of the city, things get spread out quick. There's a lot to see within Vientiane province, but you'll need to know where to look. North of the city is the Nam Ngum reservoir. Picturesque, pristine and accessible the area a likely candidate for future development. You can get there by bus in a few hours, and stay in lakefront cottages or camp out. Any travel agent in Vientiane will be glad to make the arrangements for you.
 

Monkey DoorMy choice for "most bizarre spot in SE Asia" has got to be the place 25 Kilometers South of the city that local expatriates call Bhudda Park. Little has been written about the park, and I can only repeat here what I gleaned from my own Lonely Planet guide and local legend. Created by a "Brahman Yogi-Priest Shaman" named Luang Puu Bunleau Surirat Luang Puu in the mid seventies, the park is a collection of statues juxtaposing heroes, deities, and parables from various theologies. Words fail to describe the scene -- it is as if a seriously devoted student of Eastern religion decided to drop a lot of acid and build 50 or 60 statues as his Graduate thesis. Central to the scene is the reclining Bhudda, which is a few bus lengths long, and the four story high tower that you enter by climbing into it's gaping maw. Why the government hasn't publicized this national treasure is hard to figure out. There is another, similar park just across the Mekong in Thailand, made by the same holy man after he'd been asked to leave Laos. Good things often come in pairs.
 
 

Farewell Laos -- Trouble at the border

I could have stayed in Laos another few days. After eight days, I had barely managed to spend two hundred dollars, and had already been offered two teaching jobs that would have kept me in grilled chicken and durian for life. But responsibilities beckoned, and besides, I needed to check my Email (Intenet access is in the works, but the international lines keep getting dug up by road crews). After an Excellent meal on the Mekong I boarded a tuk-tuk and headed south. The border was quiet -- unusually so. At the exit booth the guard glanced at my passport and shook his head. He said, flipping through an English phrasebook. I made the natural assumption. Somehow the government had found out that I had come to write a story. They would want to comb through my notes with a fine tooth comb, to make sure I had not written anything critical. My film would be exposed...there would be interrogation, perhaps even torture. I had seen The Manchurian Candidate. I knew the effectiveness of their brainwashing techniques. I contemplated making a run for it, diving into the Mekong and making a desperate swim for freedom. Finally, the guard found the page he'd been looking for and turned to me. He almost seemed apologetic. Relieved, and at the same time disappointed, I walked back towards the parking lot. I caught the last Tuk-tuk back to Vientiane as the sun sank slowly down in the Mekong.

Joshua Samuel Brown
4/20/98
Originally printed in The China News,