Life by the River in Laos
It was a grey and drizzly day in London. I was sitting in the small office of my workplace, gazing at my computer screen while replying to emails and typing up itineraries for various globe-trotting clients. I often daydreamed about jetting off on those tours myself, from the Mayan temples in Mexico to the colourful streets of Cuba, but today a certain country had caught my eye. “Far-away jungles”, “exotic wildlife”, “misty greenery”. I looked out the office window and at the view of the concrete tower block that stood opposite. It couldn’t have been further from those mystical words.
That wild land was a whole other world away and I was desperate to get there.
It was one of South East Asia’s last untouched hidden gems: Laos.
Before I decided to add Laos to my backpacking itinerary, I didn’t know much about this tiny country. Landlocked between Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam, I was aware that it was one of the quieter, less-travelled and less-developed destinations of South East Asia. It was a land of dense jungles and waterfalls. And there were elephants. That was about all I knew. But after lusting over dreamy photos on Instagram, reading about the sweet and humble nature of the Lao people, and then speaking to another backpacker in Thailand about the most beautiful waterfalls he’d ever seen in Laos, I knew this country was special.
Fast forward to September 2017, and I was sitting on the edge of a wooden slow-boat floating down the waters of the great Mekong River, watching as we drifted past bathing water buffalo, silent fishermen and excited children splashing in the shallows. After three weeks in Northern Thailand, I’d just crossed the border into Laos. Setting off from Houay Xai, we had an 8 hour journey ahead of us along the river before stopping off for the night, and then a further 6 hours the next day before reaching our destination of Luang Prabang. With nothing other than the steady chugging of the engine, the gentle patter of rain drops on the surface of the river, and the endless surrounding views of emerald jungle-clad hills, that long journey didn’t bother me at all.
Anxious at the prospect of travelling solo for the first time in South East Asia, I’d decided to ease my way into my travels by booking onto a hop-on hop-off bus with Stray Asia around Northern Thailand, Laos and Cambodia. Stray prides itself on its more off-the-beaten-track routes, combining the must-see sights with unique local experiences. For my first day in Laos, I was lucky to take part in one such experience: a homestay in a remote village on the banks of the Mekong River.
With the day’s journey over, the boat slowed to a halt, and we grabbed our overnight bags, docked up and hopped off onto the shore. An enthusiastic puppy was first to greet us, bounding between our legs as we set off up the hill towards the cluster of wooden buildings. Groups of women and children began to appear from the doorways, welcoming us with smiles, waves and a happy “sabai-dee“. We’d been told that this particular village had been hosting 2 groups a week with Stray for the past month or so, but we were warmly welcomed as if we were their first ever visitors.
It was late afternoon and the village was sleepy and peaceful as the day’s chores started to wrap up with the setting sun. We took our place on a bench outside the local convenience store where we would be sleeping that night, and watched as the villagers finished their final chores for the day, while the children played together in the dusty paths. Every so often, they would nervously edge closer towards us, curiosity over this strange group of foreign people getting the better of them, while more and more dogs gathered at our feet for some strokes.
After a delicious dinner of sticky rice, chicken curry, river weed and spicy morning glory, we were invited by the Chief to take part in a special welcoming baci ceremony. Heading over to the village hall where the elders gathered in a circle inside, we were directed to sit in the middle with our hands placed on a central table laden with ornate candles. The Chief lead the ceremony with his prayers before the villagers followed, their voices echoing through the night. According to superstition, if just one person doesn’t join in, the blessing is broken. Offerings of tiny bananas and sweet coconut sticky rice encased in a banana leaf were then passed round, while shot after shot of potent Lao whiskey were poured. I certainly hadn’t envisioned my evening in this quiet little village ending with shots, but it would be rude not to!
Feeling pretty merry, we then turned to face the elders, who individually spoke their blessings to each of us while tying 32 cotton threads to our wrists, representing the 32 components of the soul. It is thought that the ritual brings protection, good luck and health, all secured in place by the threads. After the bad fortune I’d received in Thailand just a few days earlier, it was a relief to have those threads of protection tied so tightly!
Finally, the ceremony ended with a song-song, first from the villagers in Lao, and then from us in English. After all, you can’t have shots without ending the night with a bit of karaoke!
That night a storm ravaged outside, rain battering against the wooden slates of the roof, while lightening lit up the walls of the convenience store where we slept on the floor. I stared at the bright pink mosquito net above me, and hoped that our new bracelets would also protect our boat tied up and waiting for us at the side of the river.
The morning came quickly with the villagers waking up to begin their morning chores at 5am – no lie ins here! Luckily we had another hour before our morning started, and we were soon waving good-bye to the village and the happy puppies. We walked down the hill towards the shore of the river, where I was relieved to see our boat hadn’t been swept away in the storm.
The engines fired up again and we drifted off back along the river, another 6 hour journey ahead of us until we would reach colonial Luang Prabang. I settled back in my spot on the window’s edge and waved back at the smiling villagers standing on the shore.
I was right when I had gazed at those beautiful photos of Laos all those months back in the office on that grey, drizzly day: Laos was a truly special country.
