Young Lao

Arrived in Luang Prabang, Laos around dusk on a noisy propeller plane from Chiang Mai. From the plane, Lao seemed a verdant, sparsely populated land with mountains, the occassional village and the ever present Mekong river that winds through the landscape like a brown serpent.

Going into town, I saw a golden temple with a shining stupa, illuminated on a hilltop, visible from all parts of the town in the evening. I could hear once again the sounds of insects chirping and away from the main streets, smell country air.

After checking in to my guesthouse not far from the center, I grabbed a simple lao vegetarian dinner (tofu, morning glory, and roasted sea moss) on the main night market strip near the Royal Museum and walked around the riverfront.

It was too dark to tour the sites, so I eventually wandered over to The Hive, a place my guidebook made out to be a rather interesting, albeit out of place lounge with electronic music. The Hive was devoid of customers but I chatted with the Lao staff - who were down to earth and friendly. The one who seemed to be in charge was from the rural north and had spent 7 years as a monk, studying Sanskrit and Pali (contemporary language of Buddha's time in northern India). He nodded in recognition with the Pali/Vipassana terms I'd mentioned, such as Annichea (the law of impermanence, whereby all phenomena arise and pass away, including all pleasure and pain) and Anapana (a meditation technique for concentrating the mind using observation of the breath). I'd come to be familiar with them from a Vipassana course I'd taken a few years ago in the US.

For many rural Lao of simple means, the Sangha, or the monastic community, was a place where free education was available (and often where english lessons were taught). Doing time as a monk significantly added to the respect one gained in his village and was a way to gain merit (positive karma) for the monk and his family. Infact everyone who worked at the Hive had at one time or another donned the saffron robes. Their english was amazingly good.

He acknowledged that he's felt somewhat lost, working in a French-Canadian owned bar, surrounded by alcohol, high concept decor, and the latest eccentric music from the West. He missed the life of monk where once studied ancient discourses, meditated, woke at 4am, and collected alms at 6am, chanted sutras at 6 in the evening. The newest member of the staff was going to university during the day and working during the evenings - he made 8,000 kip or about 80 cents a night working there.

They were leaving early as there were no customers and invited me along to go to a local disco. We took a detour on their motorbikes to avoid a police checkpoint through quiet, rustic streets (they didn't have the proper papers for their bikes) and found our way to a large white tacky building ringed with Chrismas lights. Inside were Lao youth dancing away to a frenetic techno music imported from Thailand. The style altered every few songs or so and soon, the crowd began to dance the slow, wrist turning style of traditional Lao dancing. Not long after, a live band performed some Lao ballads and the entire dance floor lined up to perform a synchronized group dance that reminded me of a very slow version of the funky chicken (except done with a hundred or so people at once). Things took a jarring turn when the DJ changed the genre once again and played a song by Dr. Dre - West coast gangsta could not be more of out of place here in the midst of gentle Lao youth (where the couples are hesitant to show affection in public) - but they really got into the heavy bass, beats and plucky, dingy melody that seems to afflict commercial hip hop these days.

By law, all commercial establishments close at midnight and before soon, we left. I was dropped off at my guesthouse and dozed off to the effects of Beer Lao.