As soon as we get out of the airport in Luang Prabang, Laos it feels like we’re in Asia. I think it’s the tuk tuks and dusty roads that are missing in Vietnam. The city feels like a bustling small town nestled between the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. There are wooden buildings and bamboo bridges to cross the river. We like it immediately.
The morning market is, as typical markets are, a wide range of colours, scents, and sights. I am surprised by many new types of produce that I’ve never seen before.
We buy and taste a few things as we walk along, including a roasted honeycomb snack I had read about. It’s fresh off the grill and wrapped in a delicate banana leaf.
I unwrap it and as I bite into it I can feel each little waxy hexagon explode, releasing a squishy bee larvae into my mouth. Talk about a mix of textures. You would think that maybe the flavour would be ok because it’s honeycomb and honey is delicious. Imagine my surprise when it is salty like it had been marinated in some type of brine prior to the grill. Somehow I manage to swallow that mouthful and amazingly keep it down. This little delicacy wins the ‘worst food of the trip’ award. It is often used as one of the alternatives in the ‘would you rather’ game that Rox and I play. For example, would you rather eat a whole honeycomb snack or burn to death. I think you know my answer.
One afternoon we hike up the 329 steps up a hill to a stupa with great sunset views. On the way up people are selling these tiny birds in tiny bamboo cages. A sign says that you can release a bird and make a wish. Rox and I can’t bear to hear the helpless squeaking for freedom, so we each buy one and watch little Nelson and Sakura fly off into the sunset. Then we spend 10 minutes destroying the torture cages so they can’t be used again.
Luang Prabang is a Unesco-protected spot because of its 33 wats (Buddhist temples). We spend time exploring the different peaceful spaces, each a little different. At 4am and 4pm each day the monks pound out this repetitive drumming/cymbal smashing rhythm that can be heard all around town. It’s mesmerizing, though also an unexpected alarm clock with our guesthouse surrounded by 3 wats.
One of the things that I’ve been looking forward to is seeing the daily ‘Alms’ practice. Every morning at sunrise monks in various shades of orange walk through the streets while people put sticky rice and other offerings into their bowls. The monks also distribute some of the offerings to needy people along the route. It is a religious practice demonstrating humility and giving. When we walk through town we see these signs:
One morning we wake before dawn and head to the main street with our cameras. We choose a quiet vantage point across the street from the action, make sure our flash is off, and wait. What unfolds next is one of the most disgusting displays of tourism I’ve ever seen. Vans loaded with loud tourists descend, fill the chairs and street, and proceed to put on a clinic of all of the things that the sign says not to do. It is a mob of amateur paparazzi making this religious ceremony into a circus. I feel so bad for the monks.
I just want to go back to bed, but Roxanne has a better idea. We follow the route a little way and find that off of the main street is where the respectful tourists seem to be. As we watch from there I have a brief moment of eye contact with a young monk. In that instant there are so many things that I want to say that it feels like my eyes are shouting. I’m sorry. I saw what you have to go through. We’re not all like that. I guess actions speak louder than words, so we mindfully observe the peaceful process and snap a few photos from a distance.
We have a few more days here with lots on the agenda, so stay tuned for more Rock-Awn adventures.