Somewhere between South America and South East Asia, Eaman and I went from backpackers to flashpackers, which, if you’re not familiar with the term, refers to backpackers who travel with a slightly higher level of comfort.
And with that comes nicer accommodation — partly because we had some hostel-fatigue and partly because for almost the same price per person we paid in South America (anywhere from $5-15 each), we get our own — clean, often spacious — room with a quality breakfast.
Laos, in particular, had some amazing hotels and guesthouses (and staff) that became just as much a part of the traveling experience as treks and tours.
Our first day in Laos saw us in Pakse’sChampasak Palace Hotel, which used to be a prince’s playground. Being pretty much the only guests there at the time, it felt like our ownpalace. Yes, it was a splurge — $35/night — but it was also our first night’s sleep after our momentous Vietnam-to-Laos bus ride, so we just wanted some peace and quiet…and comfort.
So much to love: The detail in the decor of the Shining-esque hallways were gorgeous, two lotus ponds lined the grand entrance and sunsets from our fifth floor were a killer neon orange. Plus, the breakfasts were big enough to hold me over until dinner: baguette, eggs, coffee, juice, water and dragonfruit! My bank account is looking meager, but I definitely don’t regret splashing out on this one.
I’ve already sung our praises for Anouxa Guesthouse, the place we called home for a few days in Champasak. But I’ll say it again, the family was so friendly, the room was clean and the setting by the riverside made it all about relaxtion here. We loved it so much that we skipped Si Phan Don (Four Thousand Islands in the Mekong Delta) and stayed here longer instead. Wise choice.
We’ve generally booked accommodation in advance because where we lay our heads at night has become a bigger priority in hot, sweaty and at times exhausting Asia. But sometimes not booking ahead paid off, like when we found Auberge Sala Inpeng, an oasis in the capital of Vientiene, which to be fair, isn’t all that busy anyway. But we did want to be off the main stretch, and not only were we off it, we were basically staying in a botanical garden. Pair the beautiful surrounds with a semi-private patio and a luxurious breakfast served right on said patio as soon as we woke up, and this turned out to be the ultimate treat for a couple of (former) backpackers.
But the real jackpot was stumbling onto the gorgeous property known as Maison Dalabua in Luang Prabang. We were staying at a nice, but pretty ordinary guesthouse around the corner for part of our stay, and during one of our walks, we noticed a giant lotus pond. We walked into what turned out to be the Dalabua premises and the marketing director showed us around and we were hooked. She explained to us that the owner found the lotus pond and decided to keep it but build a hotel around its entirety. It was one of the most picturesque hotels we had ever seen, so we booked a mid-range room for our final two days in Laos. And because it was low season, we got a crazy good rate — and were ultimately upgraded to the best room. Luxury, luxury, luxury.
But in the end, it was — as was the case in the rest of Laos — all about the people we met, from the aforementioned marketing director, an inspiring French woman named Marion, who herself spent about 17 months backpacking with her partner some years ago, to getting the chance to fish for one of the staffers, a sweet Lao woman who fishes from the lotus pond each night. Definitely a fitting ending for our stay in what has become our favorite country.
After visiting so many small towns and sites that most travelers don’t venture to in Laos, it was a little strange to end our time in the most touristed city — Luang Prabang. We were worried that seeing more travelers would somewhat taint what was supposed to be a beautiful, spiritual city, but as we realized from our five days there — we were sorely mistaken.
OK, the main stretch where the great night market is located is jam-packed with foreigners, but other areas, particularly by the Nam Ou River and the area immediately outside the center, embody everything we had heard about this city. It’s no surprise that the entire city is marked a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Luang Prabang has this zen-like quality to it, accented with leafy green streets, beautiful colonial architecture and quiet avenues. (Though, why young backpackers parade around the streets in short shorts is beyond me. This is a temple city! Please go away now.)
Anywhoo, it’s easy to let days go by before you realize you didn’t really “do” anything beyond wafting through temples and sipping on fruit shakes in Luang Prabang. And that’s pretty much what we did.
We walked around gilded temples, checked out a fantastic photo exhibit about monks through the ages, ate some delicious food (though I think Vientiane has a better variety) and visited the icy blue waters of the Kuang Si Waterfalls — one of the coolest natural sights we had seen in some time. Eaman even got a haircut and shave from a local barber, who spoke zero English. (The cut was mostly a success, even if it veered a bit on the “Asian school boy” side.)
With a lot coming up on our travel agendas — visas, flights, etc. — we did get bogged down a couple days with enough time spent on the iPad to make our eyes pop out, but that comes with the territory. On the upside, we did all that research on the balcony of a fabulous hotel we checked into for our last two days in Laos. (More on that and our other awesome hotels in the next post.)
In any case, we certainly didn’t get too distracted from this lovely city, which, despite its upmarket cafes and fancy antique shops, hasn’t lost touch with the beautiful Laos spirit. (Though not sure what’s in store for this city 5-10 years from now.) Luang Prabang is best understood not with narrative, but with visuals, so take a look!
A charming grandfather — who spoke to me in French — and his too-cute grandson.
Young crepe-maker.
Coconut lime lassi-bliss.
DIY soup at a restaurant by the Nam Ou River: Pour broth, noodles and veggies into moat-like portion of the pot, which is heated by coals, and cook the meat on top. Fun, if a tad pricey by Laos standards.
Dinner across the river in our own bamboo hut.
Kuang Si Waterfalls, which had the most insane icy blue color. It felt like Patagonia plopped in the middle of a rain forest.
Rope-swinging into the Falls wasn’t the only fun part; the waters are also filled with Dr. Fish, who nibble off your dead skin. It may sound gross, but people actually pay for this at spas. We got it for free. Ha!
Last but not least, there’s a bear rescue center at the falls — equal parts cute and random.
We bus-ed it pretty much everywhere during our 26 days in Laos — the exception being our flight out of the country to Chiang Mai, Thailand — and the best way to paint the picture of how crazy, mind-boggling and ultimately rewarding overland transport through Laos can be, I’ll give you three very different examples.
Hue, Vietnam to Pakse, Laos or To Hell and Back. This is a long story, but bear with me. We had booked an air-con bus through our Hoi An, Vietnam guesthouse, and they assured us it would be a nice bus for the 18-hour haul. When we got to the bus station, we were directed not to one of the coach buses but to a rickety local bus, the kind you wouldn’t even want to take for a jaunt within city limits. As soon as I realized this was our ride, I started chanting, “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, oh mygod.”
The bus was packed with all locals except one Australian traveler named Tony, whom we later befriended. And as it turns out, there weren’t enough seats…allegedly. One local man wouldn’t give up the seat next to him, claiming he was saving it. That was complete BS. But for the time being we didn’t argue, and I sat in the front. A few minutes later, a Vietnamese couple came back on board and told me I was in their seats. I explained, “But where will I go? There are no seats!” Of course I wasn’t going to kick them out of their rightful seats, but I thought this confrontation would spur the local man into giving me the vacant seat.
Then people started to push me, telling me to get up and sit in the aisle for all they cared. (I thought that was ridiculous but later learned that it wasn’t that odd of a suggestion.) Others were shouting. It was a complete nightmare. Eaman told the locals not to touch me and told me to stay put, explaining that we were getting hassled just because we were foreigners.
And that’s when the (light) waterworks came. I wasn’t actually scared; I was just frustrated. I just wondered, what the hell are the next 18 hours going to be like?
In the end, time was running out, so Eaman and Tony worked it out so Tony would forcibly sit on the falsely saved seat, giving me a spot next to Eaman.
The next adventure came when we reached border control between Vietnam and Laos. Tony already had his visa, so it was just Eaman and I as the only riders on the bus who had to go through the laborious process. (Vietnamese nationals have an easier time getting entry into Laos.) Vietnam officials held onto Eaman’s passport for a good 20 minutes, an annoying, reason-less tactic we’ve heard they employ to mess with Americans in this post-Vietnam War era. When he finally got his passport back, Eaman joined me in line on the Laos side to get our visas.
But calling it a line is generous. It was more of a giant blob of Vietnamese and Laos people huddled together, each trying to bribe the officials so they can get his visa first. (We had to pay the official $1 extra each just ’cause.) This place was crazy. One woman was even even ejected from the line for trying to smuggle through her child.
But then, all of a sudden, as we waited for our visas — the only ones from our bus still waiting — we saw our teal blue bus go bye-bye. No panic. No shouting. We just thought, “Oh, that’s nice. Very fitting.”
We did try to tell a tour guide waiting for his group’s visas what happened, but he merely pointed in the direction of two motorbikes and said, “Pakse!!” Did he mean take two motorbikes to Pakse, which was still a good 6 or so hours by bus? Whatever. We jumped on the motorbikes, hoping they’d take us somewhere with an answer. As it turns out, our bus had left for lunch and had been waiting for us at a divey restaurant. When we arrived, the driver rushed us onto the bus. No lunch for us, of course. I barely had time for a bathroom stop.
I spent the rest of the ride flicking off ants and squeezing even further into my seat as people began to sit on our backpacks in the aisles (and step all over them with their shoes, gross!). We also stopped about 583 times to drop off goods (i.e. chickens) at various shops and pick up bags of rice and boxes that eliminated any false hope of leg room. I was never sure when we were actually Pakse, that is, until the bus driver shooed us off, left to find a taxi in the dark night on a random road by ourselves. We arrived in one piece, albeit ravenously hungry.
I make it sound horrible, but I look back on it kind of fondly. It’s a good backpacking story and was the supreme test of my patience. And to be fair, I think it was a Vietnamese bus, which accounts for most of the mayhem. People from Laos are a little more, how shall I say it…low-key.
Ban Kong Lo to Vientiane or Scantily Clad Thai Girls Dancing on Cars. Everything about this ride was pretty comfortable: clean bus, empty enough so that Eaman and I had two seats each to ourselves and few to no stops. What’s the catch, you ask? Oh! You mean the X-rated music videos our young trio of bus drivers played?
To give you some background, buses in Laos love to play Thai karaoke music videos, preferably loudly and nonstop. That’s all fine and well — I even found a couple of the songs catchy — but then one bus driver kid inserted a new DVD. On it were videos a Ginuwine-wannabe Thai singer rapping — in a strip club, of course — about wrapping some lady’s legs (that bit was in English) around him and the other was taken presumably at an autoshow in Thailand, where Thai girls in bikinis and bras gyrated on cars to Pitbull and Flo-rida songs. The worst part? I had to sit through a replay of each.
Exhibit A.
Exhibit B.
Vientiane to Luang Prabang or The Most Beautiful Bus Ride Ever. Our “VIP” bus broke down twice and the third time, we waited while a mechanic fixed it. Also, the AC barely worked. And it was a bumpy ride so people were barfing left and right. But none of that mattered because the scenery on this ride, particularly between Vang Vieng and Luang Prabang, was Lord of the Rings-style spectacular. There were rolling hills, steep limestone cliffs and every color of green this side of the Crayola box. We had heard it was a stunning view, but man, what a wonderful choice for our last Laos bus ride.
Bus breadown x 3.
Everyone we talked to about traveling in Laos glossed over Vientiane, as if it were just a transit stop along the way. We beg to differ. We loved so much about Laos’ capital city during our four-day stay there — seven things in particular.
1. The pace. Everyone calls Vientiane the world’s most chilled-out capital, so I said, I’ll be the judge of that. I’ve changed a lot and get really overwhelmed and uncomfortable in big cities — my NYC days are definitely behind me — so if I think it’s chilled-out, then it really is. And as it turns out, this is the most quiet, laid-back, lazy capital in the world. There were times I felt like I had to whisper, times I wondered where everyone had gone and times when I took a three-hour mid-day nap and missed out on nothing. If I had to pick an Asian city to live in as an expat, it wouldn’t be the ever-popular Chiang Mai, Thailand; it would Vientiane. (By the way, the expats in Vientiane are refreshingly not-annoying. They speak Lao pretty well, mingle with locals and don’t eat just cheeseburgers.)
Wandering through wats.
Sleepy riverside. OK, this segment of the Mekong isn’t picture-perfect, but I liked these two men lazing by the water.
2. The food. Having come from a strict rice-lettuce-egg regimen in Ban Kong Lo, we were ready to eat, and Vientiane did not disappoint. There are plenty of cusines to choose from but some of our favorites were Turkish food at Istanbul, Vietnamese pho at a nameless restaurant, sweet street-stand parathas, fruit shakes at PVO, and Jamil and Zahid, a divey Indian restaurant so good we went back twice. And it was the only place where the return trip was just as tasty as the first visit. We had chicken curries, chana masala, samosa, outrageously good pakora, pineapple shakes and garlic naan made from Zahid’s own tandoor. The semi-outdoor restaurant sits at the front of Zahid’s house, so don’t be surprised to see his young son, Jamil, cycling around the restaurant — or walking around naked before his bath. And don’t be surprised if the owner starts videotaping you either. He films everyone who eats at his restaurant and puts them on his YouTube channel. My favorite part was when he said to me, “You look like me. Where you from?”
Riverside street by night.
Street parathas (Indian-style bread), pan-fried, filled with chocolate and drizzled with condensed milk. Holy moly.
Jamil and Zahid.
Fruit shakes at PVO, a Vietnamese restaurant in the lovely suburb of
Talat Sao outside the city center.
3. COPE Visitors Centre. Did you know Laos is the most bombed country per capita in the world? Did you know cluster bombs dropped during the Vietnam War are still littered throughout the country, inflicting serious damage to people who weren’t even alive during the war? If not, you should consider making a trip to the COPE Visitors Centre. COPE has helped rehabilitate victims of cluster bombs and other post-war-related afflictions through emotional support and professional prosthetics. On display are exhibits and mini-films as well as longer documentaries you can watch in an air-conditioned “cave,” meant to replicate the caves that Laotians had to hide in during the war. I’m not one for museums, but this place is so engaging and powerful. During our visit, we also met Peter, a 20-year-old Lao boy, whose hands were amputated after he came into contact with a cluster bomb. Having learned English on his own — and quite well, I might add — he talked to us at length, but not once about his injury. Instead, he hit on me, asked me to hook him up with one of my many cousins and told us about his favorite soccer teams. What an inspiration.
Prosthetic legs (left) and cluster bombs (right).
A child’s drawing with a translation of the caption.
4. Lao massages. These aren’t found only in Vientiane, but we did have our first Lao massage in the capital city. (We had less skillful massages in Luang Prabang.) For $5, we had our bodies stretched, pulled and cracked for one hour. Torture for some; bliss for me. I think soft Swedish massages are pointless; when I get a massage, I want to feel it. And in a Lao massage, similar to a Thai massage, muscles aren’t so much rubbed as they are pressed, and it was just what we needed after walking around the city and sitting in meditation for an hour the previous day. See below.
5. Free meditation. Every Saturday from 4-5:30 pm, Wat Sok Pa Luang — a peaceful temple hidden in a forest with one of the most beautiful settings for a wat I’ve ever seen — offers free Vipassana meditation sessions. One monk leads the meditation with English explanation and time for Q&A. This was a good primer for a 10-day Vipassana meditation we’ll be doing in India…in that it revealed how painfully hard those 10 days will be. Ouch.
6. The night market. Luang Prabang’s night market can claim the best products, but Vientiane’s claims local cred. Of course, you’ll see tourists, but you’ll see more locals — families, couples, teenagers splayed out on the lawn. I haven’t been too impressed by the souvenir shopping in other countries, but Laos sucked my wallet dry, and at this market, we picked up quite a few goodies.
7. Alms-giving. Every morning at dawn, saffron robed monks walk barefoot through the streets to collect food donations.This will be the only food they eat that day. It’s a sacred experience and happens all over Laos, but in Luang Prabang it’s now a flashy tourist activity. (Travelers in our LP hotel told us about tourists chasing after monks to get their pictures and getting up in their faces. Totally disgusting.) We were staunchly against doing it there, and I was even more adamant about not taking photos. Instead, we woke up at 5:30am one morning in Vientiane, hopped our hotel fence (which was padlocked) and headed out with a bag of lychee. We settled onto the sidewalk of a quiet street with just one old lady. She let me kneel on her mat — I didn’t know to bring one — and lent me a cup of water, which is poured onto the ground after the food collections have been made and while the monks chant a prayer. It felt real and special. I have no pictures to show of it and, in my opinion, that’s the way it’s meant to be.
I think some people are cave people. What I mean is, some people get a kick out of exploring caves. I am not one of those people. So when the idea of visiting Kong Lo Cave in central Laos came up, I wasn’t sure if it was worth it.
I had my heart set on doing a two-day trek through Phu Hin Bin NPA (National Protected Area) that involved a village homestay, emerald-hued lakes and our money going mostly to the villagers themseves. Unfortunately, because they can’t subsidize costs, it was out of my budget. It didn’t help that rainy season meant much of the regular path — and the emerald lake — would be impassable. (If you can afford it, please go on my behalf!)
In that case, there was just one other equally well-reviewed sight in central Laos — Kong Lo, a 7km cave that actually sits within Phu Hin Bin and gives you a great look at the park’s outer boundaries. That was the hook for me. And once we heard you could do homestays in the village, we were sold.
The cave was, in fact, really cool. It was interesting to navigate for more than an hour each way through the dark space with ceilings that, at times, were more than 300-feet-tall. We happened to be the first ones there — the boatmen were whittling paddles and playing games with beer caps when we arrived — so going through first was a nice treat, at least just to say we were first. The cave is just 1km from the village, you pay about $2 in entrance fees and each boat costs roughly $12 per boat with a max of 3 people. I’m so glad we went, but for me, it was more about our experience in the village that will always stay with me.
–
After a supremely relaxing three days in Thakhek — worth a visit if you want to chill out, talk to locals, and eat good, cheap Lao and Thai food — we headed off to the village right outside the cave, known as Ban (village) Kong Lo.
It involved three modes of transportation. At 9:30 am we took a cushy (by Lao standards) AC bus that was en route to Vientiane, but we hopped off after just one hour at Vieng Kham. We then took a dingy local bus to Nahin. Once in Nahin, we were notified by a songthaew bound for Ban Kong Lo that we had another two hours before he’d be leaving, which really meant, “we’ll leave when I have more people.” So we finally arrived at 4:30 pm.
It sounds like we knew exactly what we were doing — and we did know where we needed to go every step of the way — but since it was a matter of flagging down buses and songthaews, we were never 100% sure we’d make it to the next leg.
As it turns out, this was one of the most fun rides we’ve ever taken — and one of the most scenic. We wound up the mountains through jungle (and Phu Hin Bin, I think) and the last 45 minutes were the best. This was our (unPhotoshopped) sight through the songthaew toward the end:
Do NOT take a tour bus; the three-way transport is a part of the experience. And really easy.
We had done some research and knew we wanted to do a homestay. There are homestays on the other side of the cave as well, but from what I read on blogs, these villages were a bit too real for us…like frogs-for-breakfast-lunch-and-dinner real. We just weren’t ready for that kind of authenticity, so we settled for a happy medium: a homestay on the entrance side, where the villagers are used to foreigners but haven’t greatly changed their ways. We simply said to our driver, “homestay,” and he knew where to go.
He dropped us off at the home of a retired military man named Boolhaan (sp?), who lived with his wife, who was sadly withering away from a cancer, as well as his daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren, a girl named Sim and a baby named Pot (rhymes with “moat”).
Of course, we don’t know this for sure. They didn’t speak a lick of English, so this is what we inferred from some family photos and our meager Lao-English phrasebook. Accommodation was simple but clean. We were set up with mattresses and mosquito nets in their family room, had a squat toilet (yay) and were provided all meals for 50,000 Kip/night (about $6/night).
They seemed to be one of the more well-off families, but we were still so grateful to be eating their food. That said, they served us copious amounts of rice (a given at any homestay), sauteed lettuce and an omelet for dinner #1. We were served a dome of rice mixed with lettuce and egg bits for breakfast #1 and lunch #1. We we served ramen noodles with lettuce for dinner #2. We feigned fullness to avoid a different rice-lettuce-egg iteration the morning we left.
Life in the village moves at a snail’s pace, giving us time to appreciate the mountain surroundings and lime-green rice fields. The village has a few simple guesthouses, but I guarantee in a few years the village will be filled with eco- and luxury resorts. A sad, sad thought.
Anyway, time in Ban Kong Lo also gave us the chance to play with the kids, the cornerstone of any village visit.
Most of the time, we played with Sim, watching Thai soap operas in their den during the afternoon heat or making up games like, “Let’s make a shape out of these six Jolly Ranchers” or “Guess which hand the Jolly Rancher is in?” But I’ll always remember her for her love for drawing. From the minute we met her, she showed us her drawings, drew new ones for us and asked us to contribute to her notebook. It breaks my heart to think she’ll never have the opportunity to take advantage of her innate talent. I wished I had a notebook and some colored pencils to give her — and I’m still thinking of a way of getting some to her — but in that moment, all I could do was draw and encourage her.
Pot is just a baby, but his energy was through.the.roof. He had watched me play Thumb War with Sim, and misinterpreting the game, he tried to play with me, too. In fact, up until the very moment I left the village, he would grab my hand, take me to “the Thumb War spot” and play.
Other times, we walked around the village, playing and photographing little kids along the way. (We always asked their parents first and were always obliged. I had said Chamapsak was the friendliest place in Laos/on earth but I think Ban Kong Lo beats it.) These kids were a riot. So excited to have their pictures taken and always eager to see the results, they posed, they showed off and they wanted to be picked up. All of them.
On another day, we came across Sim and her two girlfriends playing with makeup. One grabbed my hand, said something in Lao and made a freestyle swimming motion. They wanted to take Eaman and me swimming. Rivers and lakes are an integral part of village life; it’s where locals cool down in the heat and bathe — women wear sarongs — at night. We figured they’d be taking us to the main one we had previously seen, but instead, they took us to a serene lake hidden behind the village that we never would’ve found. We played a lengthy game of “Who can hold their breath underwater the longest?” before they escorted us home. One thing I’m continually amazed by is how inventive village children are. They can have fun with practically nothing, and their happiness is infectious.
I know I use the word magical a lot, but Laos is just that, a place still immune to the commercialism and materialism found so often along the SE Asia backpacker trail. Take a look at our two-day stay through some pictures. I’m going to be using them to relive our stay in Ban Kong Lo for a long, long time.
View from our homestay during a rainy day.
Our space in the family room with mosquito nets.
Our gracious host, Boolhaan.
Sim.
Pot, with the little girl who took me to the lake for a swim.
World’s best beer garden?
The last part of our southern tour of Laos was a three-day motorbike trip around the Bolaven Plateau, a higher elevated chunk of land with cool temps, dramatic waterfalls, coffee plantations and friendly villagers. Touring the region by motorbike is no longer a secret, but it definitely hasn’t reached epic tourist proportions. It’s easy to feel alone on the road, and at times, like when your bike has a minor failure — like when we failed to realize our spark plug ignition wire tube thingy was disconnected — it can feel frighteningly isolated. (A car connoisseur I am not.)
On Day 1, we headed out from Pakse on a rented motorbike (60,000 Kip/day) to Tad Lo, a village-town with three waterfalls. We stayed in a gorgeous bungalow in a jungle facing Tad (means waterfall) Hang. (The staff, who I’d like to think were more lazy than unfriendly, were less lovely to contend with.)
The bungalow was beautiful but not sure how I felt about the guesthouse’s caged monkeys.
Rainy season makes for brown water.
OK, I know we’re a little jaded, but it’s hard to be truly amazed by a waterfall after seeing Iguazu Falls in Argentina. But we found a new way to have some fun: elephants!
The luxury resort Tad Lo Lodge is home to three elephants, who can take visitors on a 60-90-minute rides. Interacting with elephants has been high on my Asia-goal list, but I’ve been particular about giving my money only to an establishment with good practices. I was happy to see the elephants unchained and unenclosed. (Crazy how they won’t up and leave the premises.) And considering this was a less-touristed elephant-riding site than those in Chiang Mai or Luang Prabang — we had to practically wake up the receptionist to ask her about riding — at least these elephants aren’t worked 24/7. Most of all, I didn’t see the mahouts (elephant trainers) use any sort of sticks or prods.
With that in mind, Eaman and I hopped on a relatively young, gentle elephant for a 70-minute ride through jungle, forest and village, where the kids would come out to wave at us and shriek at the sight of the pachyderm. Though, I did feel a little guilty parading through the village on a fancy elephant ride I splashed out on.
After we dismounted, the mahouts could see the stupid grin on my face and my love for these elephants, so, since it was the end of the day, they let us feed the elephants mini bananas — for free! One of the elephants was too impatient for my one-by-one banana-peeling method, so he took the entire bunch right out of my hands and ate the whole thing.
Such a wonderful experience because it felt so natural. No official tour, no other tourists. Just the mahouts letting me take part in their daily routine.
The mahout gave ample time for snacking.
Elephant head.
Elephant butt.
Stand-off.
Day 2 involved relaxing in Tad Lo, making friends with the cheery Lao guy in the tourist information office, and high-tailing it to Paksong. (A more scenic route through the Bolaven jungle was unfortunately too dangerous in this rainy season.) And it’s a good thing Eaman went a little speed-crazy; we found a hotel just as the sun set. Dark roads and inexperienced motorbikers are interesting bed fellows.
Our “rustic” guesthouse in Paksong, where Eaman tried in vain find one channel in English.
Day 3 had us en route back to Pakse, stopping in between at the famous Tat (waterfall) Fan. It was a helluva ride to get there thanks to a muddy path, so I got off and walked, while Eaman pushed the bike. (It was then that we got our only injury: a minor, but bloody cut on Eaman’s leg.) Well, mist completely shrouded the waterfall. We saw one big cloud and heard some impressive roaring. That was just great.
But as it turns out, we had a reason to be there after all. On our way out of the waterfall area, a group of little girls ambushed Eaman, asking him to buy some of their famous Lao arabica coffee. We had no way of saying no, so we drank coffee from one booth and bought ground coffee to-go from another to spread our money.
I have no idea why Lao coffee hasn’t made a bigger splash abroad, because that stuff is good. Like, best-coffee-I-ever-had good. Our cup was bold but sweet with the condensed milk mixed in, and I’d like to think the flavor was enhanced by the beautiful setting, sitting on stools as we watched the rain and were served by a few adorable local girls.
In the end, we had to get some assistance from an old Lao man.
We arrived back in Pakse, cleaned up in a hotel bathroom as best we could and hopped on a 10-hour bus to Thakhek, Laos to start our exploration of central Laos…
Of course it was raining.
We seem to have a knack for visiting major sights only when it’s a downpour. (See Machu Picchu and Torres del Paine.) But on we went. It’s rainy season, after all, and the best we could ask for was for the rain to stop just as we arrive at the temples.
We were biking 10 km from our guesthouse in Champasak, a town that’s more like a village in southern Laos, to Wat Phu Champasak, a three-tier religious complex that was originally Hindu before it was converted into a Buddhist worship site.
After a few days in Pakse, relaxing at the very much palatial Champasak Palace Hotel, we headed by songthaew — like a big rickshaw with benches in the back — to Champasak. We didn’t have accommodation set, but decided to choose between Anouxa, a simple, authentic and well-reviewed guesthouse and a cushy, modern new hotel upon arrival. (OK, sue us if we don’t love rough living anymore.) When the driver of the songthaew turned out to be Anouxa’s owner, we took it as a sign.
And as it turns out, we loved his place so much that we changed our one-night stay to three and nixed plans to go to Si Phan Don, or Four Thousand Islands, further south. (A wise decision, according to a French traveler we met, who said Si Phan Don was a bit dirty, less charming and not as relaxing.) Anouxa is set by the Mekong River, with spotlessly clean, often spacious rooms, air-con and TV in some, and a sleepy riverside restaurant that was a prime example of mellow Laos. His staff and family were always smiling and so sweet, and their dogs were a riot. I fell in love with one in particular, who was nursing some serious wounds after he was hit by a car.
Happy to be without TV and WiFi, we spent our days sitting on our porch (unfortunately the hammocks were littered with red ants), fishing in the river (no loot) and cycling around the village. Food was generally so-so; Anouxa did serve amazing pho, but the second time I ordered it, it was filled with dead ants. You win some, you lose some.
Here in Champasak were some of the friendliest people we have so far encountered in Laos. Men, women, kids — all shouting “Sabaidee!” with a huge grin on their faces. It was the tranquility we had been searching for in Asia.
But back to the rainy ride. We gave in and bought some garish polka dot ponchos before plodding onto the site. I thought about turning back, but I’m so glad we didn’t; it made the reward that much sweeter.
When we arrived, we did our best to ignore the loud Thai tourists and the music blaring from their VIP tour bus. It was just us and our cameras — in our minds anyway.
Wat Phu is magical. It felt a bit like Machu Picchu, cascading up the mountain, which on that morning, was grey and misty, making for an even more romantic visit. It’s incredibly serene, thanks in part to landscape but perhaps more to the fact that it’s still under the radar. Go as soon as you can; this place will be big.
If we could go back in time, we probably would’ve spent the whole day there, bringing along a lunch and eating it hillside. But we had spa appointments awaiting us.
Yes, there’s a fantastic spa right next to Anouxa run by a French expat, Natalie, who has lived in Laos for four years. She started the project out of her love for spas and as a way to give local work opportunities to Champasak women, who would otherwise have to leave for Thailand.
Champasak Spa, as the Lonely Planet guide says, is as much worth a visit as Wat Phu. The whole operation is admirable. Natalie constantly referred to her and her staff as a team; you could tell she truly wants them to succeed.
Goodwill aside, this is a professional, tropical resort-style spa at dirt-cheap prices with all organic ingredients sourced from Champasak. Eaman treated us to a five-hour spa day with a facial, coconut oil scalp treatment, body scrub (much needed for us travelers!) and coconut oil massage with tea and snack breaks in their beautiful garden. Grand total? $55. We even walked away with a parting gift: a local Lao soap bar made in Vientiene. It was a surreal experience.
After our massage, Natalie took the time to tell us about her journey to Laos and all the struggles she faced in opening a spa in a Third World country. She taught us a lot about just going for what we love, no matter how hard or how impossible it may seem. It’ll be interesting to look back on this year and pick out the life-changing moments. This may have been one of them.
It was hard leaving Champasak. We really connected with its people and pace of life. Laos has been amazing, but I think we will always feel a little different, a little more emotional about this tiny on-the-surface-nothing little place.
Dear Laos,
It’s now been two weeks since we arrived in your country, and I have to say, expectations were high. Hong Kong was too busy, Vietnam (and as we’ll probably see in Thailand) too touristy, and Myanmar is still so new to the game that we figured you would be the perfect middle-of-the-road destination, one still in its tourism infancy but with enough infrastructure to keep us from pulling our hair out.
Well, I hate to be rash, but before I tell everyone about each particular adventure, I feel confident in saying: You have exceeded all expectations.
Your landscapes are unspoilt, your pace is so refreshingly slow, and the people? Oh, the people. Never have we mingled with a more friendly, smiley, carefree bunch. We’ll never tire of kids squealing “Sabaidee (hello)!” as we walk or bike past. (Your little ones are seriously some of the cutest we’ve ever met.)
We sometimes feel a bit ashamed to say we’re from the U.S., considering the pain our country-of-residence inflicted upon you, an unassuming country, who got caught in Vietnam War nonsense. (What a tragedy it is that it will take 150 years to remove all UXOs, or Unexploded Ordinances, from your fields.) But your people have never bat an eyelid or shown a glimpse of sadness. They’re a resilient lot.
We’ll admit, the bus ride from Vietnam into your country wasn’t easy. Ducks on the roof, people sleeping in the aisles, that feeling that we’re going to tip over — but now we see that transportation here should be taken with patience and a laugh. It’s just as much about the journey as it is the destination.
Thank you for letting us hear our own footsteps whilst walking among your many beautiful wats. Thank you for tasty rambutan and sweet (and seedless) mangosteen. Thank you for the best coffee we’ve ever tasted. Thank you for the endless number of cute dogs and puppies I meet everyday. (And thank you to the young waitress in Thakhek who let me hold her puppy through our entire lunch.) Thank you for empty streets, charming villages and the serene Mekong River.
But most of all, thank you for giving us back our travel mojo. As you may know, we needed it badly. We may still be a smidge tired of roughing it and less than keen to play 20 questions with other backpackers, but we feel different. The morning we set foot in your country, we exhaled a deep breath we had unknowingly been holding. The anxiety just melted away. We feel so refreshed, so at peace and so encouraged to explore more.
Really, we’ve never smiled so much. Can’t wait to meet the rest of you.
Love,
Arch and Eaman
The beautiful — and kind of Shining-esque — Champasak Palace Hotel in Pakse. Really made us feel like royalty.
Rain don’t matta.
