Feb 11-16, 2011: The bus had spent the day heading further and further north, past soaring limestone crags and up and down both forested slopes and others scarred by slash-and-burn agriculture. Finally, as afternoon turned to evening, we crested the last hill, and I saw the city below me – neat streets clustered round a small green hill and cradled by two rivers.
It was November 2002, and I was about to fall in love. A misty, magical city lost among the hills, where orange-robed monks padded barefoot between rows of gently-aging colonial buildings to reach their painted temples, Luang Prabang captured my heart and my imagination. I wandered the dusty back streets, slipping in and out of the temples, lingered by the rivers, hung out in the Scandinavian Bakery on the main drag, and wished I could stay longer. Once I rose early to watch the long, long line of monks, mostly young, on their morning alms round. Twice I sat mermaid-style on the floor at the back of Xieng Thong’s main hall as dusk settled over the Mekong, and rows of monks bowed low to the Buddha. With the evening chant rising like incense around me, I felt oddly as if I belonged there.
Even then, Luang Prabang was already on the UNESCO list, even then a couple of fine restaurants and a pricy silk shop had joined the cafes and guesthouses that served the scattering of backpackers. And I was with a small Intrepid tour group – the town had already been discovered.
Still, when I went back in 2004, needing a rest on a long trip, most of the magic remained. A night market took over the main street in front of the royal palace each evening. The cafe and shops section had expanded and more and better lodgings had opened. The sidewalks were being rebuilt in bright red brick. Formerly free Xieng Thong now charged admission, although not if you were going to the evening prayers. But the back streets were still quiet, the town was not overwhelmed with tourists, and the tourists themselves respected the culture and atmosphere of the place – I saw only one young woman in a backless top.
Seven years later, though, I had doubts about going back again. The reports I’d read weren’t good, but I still remembered the place that had captivated me in 2002. This time I arrived by plane, and slept in a big room in a brand-new guesthouse – wide-planked wood floors, bright pink sheets and more pillows than I knew what to do with – at the quieter, northern end of the main street, opposite a big red-and-gold wat.
The bright red brick had mellowed to dusty pink. The 33 temples still drowsed among the French-colonial buildings. The rivers still ran either side of the old quarter. But just as the February sun had chased away the December mist, an influx of tourists had chased away the magic and mystery. Luang Prabang was still charming, but just another stop on the south-east Asian tourist circuit.
The night market had undergone a major expansion, although the merchandise displayed little variation, the commercial section had also grown, although the Scandinavian Bakery had disappeared. Respectful dress was clearly a thing of the past – most of the young women wore very short shorts or skirts with strappy tops. The beer and bikini scene hadn’t fully migrated up from Vang Vieng, but a beach on the far side of the Nam Khan was trending that way.
I did find some peace and quiet across the river, after I paid the toll for the dry season footbridge, notably at Dyen Sabai, where I capped a quiet morning with their excellent tasting menu. I also ate well at L’Elephant (western), 3 Nagas (Lao) and Tamarind (also Lao), although I found that now I needed reservations at all three. After I tasted the delicious lime and mango pie at Saffron I stopped off there every afternoon for pie and macchiato.
I did enjoy a boat ride on the Nam Ou with the Australian woman I had met on the train from Bangkok. I attended evening prayers at a couple of different wats. I paid admission to visit some wats that used to be free. I skipped the royal palace as it was overrun with tour groups every time I stopped by. I bought Lao coffee in the local market for half the price I would have paid in the tourist market. And I mourned the city I had loved nine years before.
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