With a population of less than 3,00,000, Vientiane, capital of the People’s Republic of Laos — one of the world’s poorest and few remaining officially socialist states — is a modest town by any but Laotian standards.
Mercifully, it has been spared the terrors of crass capitalist ‘development’, although things are gradually changing. The town has almost no high-rise buildings or sprawling malls and little vehicular traffic. Life moves slowly on Vientiane’s sleepy streets, with most people either walking or using bicycles and tuk-tuks, a roomier version of the Indian auto-rickshaw.
The major sites to see in Vientiane are wats or Buddhist temples and monasteries. They are set in large, neatly-tended gardens lined with stupa-like votive structures for the dead, spirit-shrines and residential quarters for monks. Each wat is a unique work of art, decorated with statues and carvings of earthly and other beings, or of the Buddha in his various forms and, in several cases, of Hindu mythological figures.
A massive gilded image of the Buddha occupies the centre place, surrounded by several dozen smaller Buddha statues, some of them made of semi-precious stones. Before these is set a wooden altar table on which devotees place their offerings — brass bowls filled with water, bunches of fresh lotuses, plates with grains, little stubs of incense, and, sometimes, even bottles of Pepsi! The inner walls of the hall are decorated with paintings depicting scenes from Jataka tales about the Buddha. Friendly, ochre-robed monks sit in rows, chanting mantras in Lao and Pali. My first two days in Vientiane were spent wat-hopping, and although I must have visited almost two dozen wats, I had hardly completed half of these magnificent shrines that the town boasts of.
By way of historical monuments, Vientiane has little to offer besides its magnificent wats, although that does not make the town any less charming. Vientiane’s main market is the perfect place to explore some local treasures. Spread over several acres, it consists of thousands of stalls run mostly by women. The handicrafts section is a curio collector’s treasure trove, selling heavy carved silver knives, swords, plates and ornaments, antique metalware and porcelain from China, slim, long wooden opium pipes, broad-brimmed straw hats, giant food containers made from bamboo, and bolts of hand-embroidered weaves in a range of colours. Housewives, dressed in conical straw hats, traditional long-sleeved shirts and batik sarongs, haggle over the price of meat, which comes in an amazing variety like live eels, tiny frogs and baby turtles. I even spotted a dead civet cat (no doubt a rare species hurtling towards extinction).
When the sun goes down, large crowds gather on the banks of the Mekong at one end of Vientiane. Country boats and wooden dug-out canoes float lazily past ferrying passengers. Makeshift hairdressers set up stalls on stools shaded by giant parasols on the banks of the river, as do masseurs and women offering facials. Children peddle colourful, pathetic-looking birds trapped in bamboo cages, calling out to passersby to acquire religious merit by paying and then releasing these hapless creatures. Mobile food stalls do brisk business, selling round bits of dried meat stuck on slivers of stick-like lollipops or wrapped up in leaves, dried frogs pinned with clothes’ clips onto bits of string, an amazing variety of fresh fish straight from the river, and loops of noodles. Also, on sale is a potent brew made from fermented rice filled into bottles, each of which contains a dead cobra or scorpion to add to its fire — a Laotian-brand aphrodisiac.
A five-hour bus ride from Vientiane is the settlement of Vang Vieng. The bus passes through stunningly beautiful countryside. Range upon range of towering, thickly forested mountains spread out in all directions. Massive lakes glimmer in the soft sun, and in these bathe peasant boys and sleepy-eyed buffaloes. With its easily available drugs, Vang Vieng is a favourite haunt for Western junkies and the havoc this has caused on local culture and traditions is evident. But that aside, the place is famous for its marvellous limestone caves located deep in the forests, which is a tough trek up steep mountains beyond the Mekong, where the only sounds to be heard are of crickets and frogs and where the only company one has are dragonflies in a dozen electric colours, massive water spiders and butterflies the size of small birds. Deep inside the caves, gnarled pillar-like stalactites trail down from the roofs above, twisting and turning around several hundred statuettes of the serene Buddha in various poses.
Luang Prabang, further to the north, is the country’s premier tourist destination, retaining much of its unhurried, old-world charm. In the town centre is the former colonial quarter, with cobbled streets and French-style bungalows strung out on the banks of the meandering Mekong. Every evening, it transforms into a colourful, chaotic, street market.
Village women from the mountains, dressed in conical straw hats and hand-woven sarongs, set up makeshift stalls on pavements selling touristy bric-a-brac. As in the rest of Laos, the main sites in town are an enormous number of fascinating Buddhist temples.
An overpowering sense of peace is just one side of Laos, which the visitor to the country cannot escape. There is a brutal counter image as well, which tourist brochures don’t advertise — the country’s gruelling poverty, its one-party communist junta, live legacies of a secret war, and now, Western cultural invasion with the advent of mass tourism. Yet, Laos is worth a visit for those with a penchant for adventure.
Mercifully, it has been spared the terrors of crass capitalist ‘development’, although things are gradually changing. The town has almost no high-rise buildings or sprawling malls and little vehicular traffic. Life moves slowly on Vientiane’s sleepy streets, with most people either walking or using bicycles and tuk-tuks, a roomier version of the Indian auto-rickshaw.