Traveling Through Laos, At Last

Go Now to Experience Authentic Cultural Immersion!

Article and photos by Sheila Signer

Children riding an elephant in Laos.

We waited a long time to go to Laos. A small and much-abused country, used as a dumping ground for bombs during the American war, Laos has kept a low profile during its recovery. Now, we anticipated elephants, caves, temples, and Buddhas. We were not disappointed. Our mode of travel would be sawngthaews (easier to pronounce than to spell), converted pickup trucks with wooden benches that went from town to town in rural and not-so-rural towns and villages. Although perhaps not a comfortable form of transportation, we enjoyed the intimacy and the social contact. Hitchhiking and buses were backups, depending on the circumstances.

There is plenty to learn and grieve about in Laos, but plenty to enjoy. With a government softening toward the foreign visitors, its people are finally getting their piece of the tourism pie. Go now while most of the country retains its pastoral pace! The guesthouses are popping up like mushrooms, and busy towns are already "zoned for partying."

Getting Go Laos

The trip from the U.S. to Laos can be pricey, but once you are there, traveling costs are low. You can take a comfortable and affordable overnight sleeper train from Bangkok, plus a couple of vans or buses — and you are in Laos. From that vantage point, you will probably spend your first night in the town of Pakse. When we arrived, the town was jammed with travelers. We had to try several hotels before settling on one for about $12 U.S. We walked all around the town before finding a place to eat with local people. We were lucky; two workers had noodles and drinks and spoke a little English. They were in high spirits and entertained us well.

From Pakse, we headed to the countryside, starting with Champasak, a sleepy 1-road town with a few simple guesthouses along the road. We had our first view of the Mekong, and it was sobering to experience the formerly war-torn region so quiet now that you could hear the splash of a fisherman's net downriver.

The half-a-dozen guesthouses housed a fascinating panoply of international travelers, including Western Europeans and Americans. Other travelers were new to this scene: a Japanese man who had lost his wife, a young American and her travel partner who met on the couch circuit, Swedes escaping the cold, a few people from eastern Europe, and Yang, a solo young man from China we befriended, who was traveling with his computer and spoke good English. We were fascinated to hear about the changes in China since our trip there in 1984 when China had just opened up. In fact, by the end of our journey in Laos, we would have met travelers from more than 35 countries.

The big draw to Champasak was the Wat Phou festival. One afternoon, while relaxing at our guesthouse, we glanced toward the road and saw an elephant walking by. Making a beeline, not stopping to get a camera, we saw not one but nine of these placid behemoths calmly marching down the road. The Wat Phou festival was coming to town. It was irresistible, and we followed the elephants a couple of miles to the temple grounds, where the area around the Wat was filling up with families and their elephants and watched them settle down in the dusk. Later, there would be seven arenas with painfully blaring Asian pop, food, clothing for sale, games, plastic toys, and endless lines of people squeezing each other to and from the temple. We preferred to spend the celebration at our guesthouse with Yang, watching the midnight moon and its reflection shining across the river.

On our last day in Champasak, Yang told us a story. He had gone to Si Phan Don, a popular area consisting of 4,000 islands, with beaches and fishing villages near the border with Cambodia. Yang had wanted to go there but needed more money to hire a boat. Neither did he know how to swim. Therefore, he bought a life jacket and proceeded to dog paddle across to the island. It took him two hours to get there. A fisherman found him on the beach, exhausted and freezing gave him a sarong and a bowl of soup and took him back to the mainland.

"What courage," I said, "what compassion." Yang was wearing the fisherman's sarong when he told us this story, and his eyes were shiny with tears.

Elephants and Happiness

We were developing a passion for elephants. We scanned the guidebook for places to go where we could see more of them. Kiatngong was the place to go. Elephants walking down the road, elephants waiting for their dinner, elephants herded home in the evening. We took a 2-hour elephant trek to the site of an ancient ruin, sitting in a woven basket on the elephant's back (this mode of transportation is not for those afraid of heights). For some, watching the elephants in their daily routines may be just as rewarding or even more so. Riding an elephant at least once in one's life is worthwhile and good for the elephant economy.

We also spent time in the Bolivian Plateau, where we watched elephants treated to daily baths in the river and where waterfalls and good hiking abound. A bonus was a guesthouse that offered, in addition to comfortable digs, friendly family management, and community dinners where you could help with the cooking or bring something to contribute to the family-style meal.

Our guesthouse owner had hired a young man to teach English to the neighborhood children. A group of students, from babies to teenagers, arrived on the deck by our room every night at 7 p.m. for their lesson. Since we were right there, we offered help with the pronunciation. The Rs and Ls are always the most difficult. We were skeptical about the archaic materials and pedagogy the teacher used, but amazingly, within a few days, the older children were learning English vocabulary and even sentences.

Beautiful children in Laos.

A Week on My Own

In the middle of a two-month-long trip to Laos, my travel partner Greg went to Bangkok to meet an American friend coming to Asia for the first time. I opted to stay alone at a hotel in Thaket, a pleasant small town on the banks of the Mekong River. We had seen many women of all ages traveling on their own in Laos, solo, in pairs, and in groups, although I did seem to be, at 68, the rare senior. Laos is generally an ideal country for female travelers, with no apparent hassles. Even when some young women ignored the government's request for modesty (no short shorts — no revealing thighs), the local people seemed to tolerate the transgressions. As an older woman, I was treated with respect and consideration.

Being on my own was a bit daunting because of my poor sense of direction and difficulty using the local currency, which consisted of small, well-worn paper money in various sizes and colors. After a serious self-tutoring session, I still had trouble paying an ice cream vendor. He calmly took hold of my wad of small bills, pulled out the required amount, and returned the remainder to me. After that, when I couldn't figure out the money, I would pass over my handful of bills to the merchant, confident that I would get the correct change. I didn't worry about it anymore. In fact, knowing that I could get help with the money when I needed, it lowered my anxiety level to the point where I could handle it with more confidence.

As to what to do with myself alone in Thaket, I admired the river, the colorful street scenes, and the brilliant sunsets. One day, I saw a sign that said, in English, "Acupuncture." I just so happened to have a sore toe from all the hiking we had been doing on the Bolivian Plateau, so I popped in to see if I could get it healed. The practitioner was a small, sweet-faced woman in her 50s who spoke French but no English. I speak Spanish but no French. So we patched it all together, along with gestures and counting fingers and managed to eke out a conversation, first about my toe and then about all the things women talk about — husbands, children, earrings, clothes, our ages — albeit to a limited degree.

Two treatments did not do much for the toe, but our hugs and smiles were therapeutic, and I returned to visit two more times. It was interesting to see local people coming and going for advice and remedies and socializing. I returned to say goodbye with warm hugs and an exchange of small gifts — a bracelet for her and a bamboo rice steamer for me.

I started going to one particular restaurant/international bookstore after a while. However, there was rarely anyone else with whom to share a conversation. However, one night, a dinner of spring rolls and noodles spiced up nicely when five neatly dressed men entered. "American?" I heard the word happily, and it did not take long to accept their invitation to join them for a drink. Although only a few knew much English, one spoke excellent English and six other languages. They were an erudite group, each with a doctorate and corporation. However, the thing that brought them here was butterflies. They met at a butterfly convention several years ago and became friends and travelers. Several times a year, they would get together for a trip to a different region, seeking exotic butterflies.

On the fourth day on my own in Thaket, I knew I had to do something besides eat and walk up and down the waterfront. I had managed to move around town within a few blocks without getting lost by paying careful attention at every turn. A trip to the market sounded doable. I began by asking the pleasant young desk clerk at my motel, who spoke a little English, if the market was a near enough destination and whether a tuk-tuk driver would know how to bring me back. Another time, I asked the desk clerk how much I should pay for a tuk-tuk. Finally, after sorting and studying my money, I walked to the tuk-tuk stand. I stated my destination: "To the market, please."
No response. I searched their faces for a sign of comprehension.

No response. I searched the faces of the drivers for a sign of comprehension. "Market, please," I said again. Still, the blank faces. Then it dawned. They did not speak English! I had forgotten the most important word for "market" in Lao!

Waving to one of the drivers to wait, I dashed back to the hotel and up to the desk clerk. With a gentle smile, the word she gave me was "talat," or "dadat," or as close to what she said as I could replicate. Then I ran back down the road. My driver patiently waited until I returned and understood my rendition of the destination perfectly. I made a game of practicing the word as we rode along and shared many good laughs with my driver.

As the only foreigner in the market, for the most part, I was politely ignored. I purchased a couple of sequined purses for gifts, bought some enticing tangerines from the gorgeous display, and then just walked around and around. Finally, a fabric merchant took pity on me and offered me a chair to sit and rest in his stall. He knew some English from a childhood trip to the U.S. and was pleased to have a chance to use it. In a generous gesture, he sent his daughter out to bring me a knockoff Coke. I sipped it politely while we thought of things to discuss as his wife, working on her sewing machine in the corner, smiled at me across the room.

The most meaningful experience in Thaket had begun when we first arrived. The guesthouses were full, and we had difficulty finding a place to stay. Finally, we settled for the last room in a run-down hotel with mattresses on the floor. There were people in a room. At least the desk clerk spoke some English and was as accommodating as possible.

We found a nicer guesthouse the next day. We were checking out when we noticed a notebook of English sentences below the counter. What was that, we wondered? We asked the desk clerk. He told us he was teaching himself English. He picked a word from his tattered dictionary and transformed it into a sentence. He asked if we would help. We made some corrections and tried to explain. He had a lot to learn.

A couple of days later, after my travel partner left for Bangkok, I returned to James's hotel and offered to help him with his sentences. It started with a short session that became longer each time. We developed our own ways of working on language. Many of these sentences were odd or hilarious, but he was a good sport and a diligent student. We were both sad when lessons ended, and it was time to move on.

Making Yourself Useful in Laos

We encountered many travelers volunteering in Laos, including at schools, hospitals, reconstruction, and even in fields of unexploded ordinance (UXO). Our style of travel is informal. Helping locals with their English was a good match for our skills and fit in with our passion for making friends.

For example, in a small village, we walked across a bridge and along the river and encountered a group of high school students on their way home. They got off their bikes so they could walk along with us, and we took turns speaking English with them, switching conversation partners and topics. For example, one young man was painfully shy, so we gave him a long time to put his words together, and he warmed up as he felt more comfortable. Another was interested in religion in America. Another spoke English well and told us he tutored his classmates after hours and invited us to attend his after-school practice.

On the way home from a 15th-century Buddha and the Plain of Jars nearby, we discovered we had missed the last sawngthaew back to Phosavan, where we were staying. We were going to have to try to catch a ride. Luckily, a truck loaded with young men on their way from home came by and picked us up. We discovered that some of these young men were English students. So we worked with them, especially on pronunciation, yelling at the top of our lungs to be heard.

Back in Phosavan, we had a real chance to teach English when it turned out that our hotel manager was also an English teacher. He asked if we would come with him to his classes and spend some time conversing with the students.

We were considering the invite. Then, a shy young English couple arrived at the hotel and were invited to the classes. Despite the young Englishwoman's trepidations, we all agreed to go. We showered and dressed in our best travel clothes. On the tuk-tuk across town, we wondered what we were getting into. It was already late afternoon.

The schoolroom that we entered was dimly lit. In front was a blackboard but no chalk. The students sat quietly in their rows: four rows, ten seats in a row.

The teacher introduced us, and then we introduced ourselves. We were still determining what to do next. Somehow, we did it. The young Englishman chatted with his group about Asian rock. Greg got the students to talk about their families. I taught them American children's songs and worked on pronunciation. The young Englishwoman spoke so softly I could not hear what she was doing, but it was clear that she and her group were engaged.

After an hour with this group, the students thanked us and filed out, and a group of older teens came in. This time, the conversation was about sex and love and how long they should wait to have babies. The discussion turned to what they would like to do after school.

When the second hour was over and we had been warmly thanked, we returned to the awaiting tuk-tuk, which took us home at dusk. We left the hotel, walked on air, and danced down the street to the homemade ice cream shop. We all treated ourselves to ice cream on a stick before dinner.

Final Thoughts

Often, the most memorable experiences differ from those we seek. We took a sawngthaew to a small village near Thaket, where we planned to stay for three nights, hoping to find the famous Mahaxi caves. Walking all around the area on a hot and sweaty day, we realized we had made a mistake and were far from the location of the caves. We saw lots of vibrant green rice fields but no caves.

Finding a place to stay in the village took a lot of work. Villagers pointed us to one unmarked house where we could get a bed for the night. The bed was OK, but we realized we were sleeping in the family bedroom when we had to cross a room of people sleeping on the floor to get to the bathroom during the night.

There was only a broken-down temple under repair and a couple of stands with soft drinks and hard-boiled eggs. The highlights of our long, sweaty day of walking were the watermelon we ate for breakfast and the watermelon we ate for lunch. Delicious, but not much of a meal! We decided to deviate from our 3-day stay policy and leave in the morning.

It was dusk, and we were making one last turn around the town. I was listlessly trying to photograph the temple without getting the rubble in the shot when I heard Greg calling me to come to the end of the lane.

'We have an invite for a beer," he said, twinkling, knowing that would perk me up. Therefore, we sat on wooden stools on a rough table with our host. We gratefully accepted the invitation. Our host knew a little English, so we learned he was a farmer and 34 years old. He had learned his English working with an NGO on an agricultural restoration project.

We used everything we could think of to communicate using our ten words of Lao and his 30 words of English, gesturing, counting on our fingers, using facial expressions, pointing, and acting things out to get to know each other and to develop a warm feeling between us. As we talked, others joined us, first an older man with a small boy, then two women who pulled up a bench and sat down, followed by three small children peeking from behind their skirts, cautiously coming out, and then smiling. We used everything we had in the cause of loving friendship, and it did not fail. We said goodbye with many hugs and thank-yous. When traveling, these are some of the treasures we take home in our hearts.

Sheila Signer met her travel partner Greg Kaufman in Cartegena, Colombia, in 1976, and they have been traveling together ever since. Drawn by shared good humor in the face of discomfort, they made a pact to continue their adventures between the necessities of our respective careers and to travel to one country every two years. Since then, they have taken 20 trips together, including northern and South America, India, western and southern Africa, Indonesia, and Borneo, always focusing on making friends in small towns and villages.