(Editor’s Note: This is part of a series of travel correspondence from Dan as he travels around southeast Asia. Click the “continued” link to read the full message.)

July 16, 2005

Greetings from Luang Prabang!

I apologize in advance for the awful use of local currency in this email, but you can all do the math. $1 = 40 Baht = 10,000 Kip. Also, this keyboard is terrible, but what do you expect for internet at 100 Kip per minute?

We left Chiang Khong by slow boat, and spent two days on the Mekong river. Smells are the dominant sense. The river is full of silt, and runs brown. The fragrance is a quarter of the smell of a farm. Rich earth, animals, waste. The hills loom high around us, and the mountains beyond that. Everything is lush and green. Square patches of slash-and-burn farm abound, each with its own farmhouse, and square patches of scrub brush show where farmers were years ago.

For our one night stop, we landed at Pak Beng. Here, I realized that we are in sync with some travelers we met in Chiang Khong. Marcus (23, UK, normal, remember?) and I were having dinner and drinks at a restaurant run by a Finnish man and a Thai woman in Chiang Khong when we met David, Eva, and Simone. David is Swiss, and the two girls are Austrian. Hell of a lot of fun. Chiang Khong works on an interesting system: slowness. People order dinner for a particular time, then return to eat. They had ordered dinner for 9 pm, so they went back, and we got a bunch of our friends from our guesthouse, wandering the streets with an open beer in my hand. Chiang Khong has no closing time. The Finn served us until we were falling over. At 3 am we staggered back (no beers in hand) and settled down for our 7 am wakeup call.

The guesthouse in Chiang Khong had a modest facade at entry, but the inside was beautiful, all teak wood. The floors wee strong and broad, and lacquered to a shine. The walls were stained beautifully. The guesthouse in Pak Beng was the opposite. Two-story columns and a second-story porch reminiscent of a Southern US plantation. Inside, the shower sprinkled lightly (I was happy when the hose fell out of the nozzle: I simply hosed myself down). There is only electricity from 6pm - 10pm, and I was in bed as the fan shut off and the mosquitoes came in. We lit up a coil and took our malaria drugs.

There’s an Australian woman on the international phone here, telling her parents where to put her mail. This is not the dumbest conversation I’ve overheard. That was Gemma: “Hi mum…[shrieking: Oh my baby!]…I’m having a great time…no I’m in Laos…yes, I was expecting to go to Laos…Yes, I told you…I don’t care if you don’t remember…Yes, Laos is a country…Mum, this call is very expensive…OK, just tell dad I send my love.”

Luang Prabang is a wonderful town. It’s a traveler’s crossroads, with a well-known backpacker’s bar. People come in from Vietnam, Bangkok, Northern Thailand, Cambodia, all with stories to tell. We’re spending three days here so we can see most of what’s here. I could stay another two days. This is my favorite town so far, and if I were alone (and traveling without end date) this is the first town where I’d consider taking a waiter job.

The night market here is amazing. It’s full of textiles from local tribes. The patterns and colors are beautiful, and many peoples’ gifts are coming from here. Unlike Bangkok and Chiang Mai, the market is approachable and the people friendly. When you buy something, the woman will wait until you have left, then touch everything in her stall with your Kip, saying “lucky lucky” in her language. If there’s someone behind you in line, she’ll do it in English.

When I changed money yesterday, I counted it and inspected it. Laos is paranoid about counterfeit, and money changers will not accept damaged money for exchange. So I rifled through $100 worth of Kip and exchanged bills which were drawn on or damaged. Some replacements were more damaged. The guy behind the counter did this in good humor, and at the end, he gave me a 500 kip note. So of course, I thanked him and said “lucky lucky.”

Back to my tour group. Gemma (22, UK, never traveled) is nice and a little overmatched here. She’s doing well, but she’s fraying a bit. Heck, I am too. Pom (20-something, UK, Sikh) is also a bit young. Ginny and Jo are not as bad as I thought. They started socializing and are great fun. Ginny’s sister has already traveled these regions this summer, and is feeding us tips. Butterfly (30, Canadian, mysterious) is a friendly BFA student in Halifax. She’s had a checkered past and is a continuous revelation to talk to. She’s been a reflexologist, and specializes in textiles. The night market in Luang Prabang is her paradise. Nic (34, Kiwi, funny) works on a yacht with her boyfriend. He’s off at a piloting class, so she’s off having fun. She says wonderful things like “yeah Yeah YEAH!” and apologizes for Sam a lot. Susan (26, US, LA reality TV producer) is fun to have around in a group, but has a persistent pout. That’ll get old soon. She’s single, and we want to get her some action. Gemma is also single, but we don’t have that level of interest in helping her. Naomi (mid-thirties, Aussie, married) has ben traveling for 18 months. Her husband is currently on a motorcycle ride across Asia with his mates, and she wanted something a little social during her 3 months alone. She’s an absolute blast. Combination den mother and overgrown child, she’s very flirty and very safe to flirt with. Wayne, you’d love her.

That’s everyone. Including David and the Austrian chicks, who will likely fall off our pace tomorrow when we fly to Vientiane. I told Marcus we’ll need to find a few more like them. We’re very lucky on this tour, pretty much eleven for twelve, and Sam is a good guy when he’s in a comfortable situation.

Natural affinities abound. Even among twelve people there’s almost a high school hierarchy. After the first few days, this trip changed from an independent adventure to a very social one. The advantages are obvious, but the disadvantages are insidious. We move much slower, and each person sees less of what they want to see. We defer to the group when we should be independent. On the other hand, it’s not that hard to convince a handful of people to get a two hour massage for 60,000 kip. After that, four of us went to a delicious restaurant and racked up a 1,050,000 kip bill. I was so proud. That’s going in the scrapbook.

Lao food is distinct from Thai food. In the cities, there’s a French influence (sidenote: Thailand was never conquered by a European power, so they have less Euro influence in their food. They also have a strong nationalism and a strong currency. Baht are essential. In Laos, I could get by with a fistful of singles. But I don’t have singles, so I changed 1000 Baht at the border, and got 260,000 kip (I did the math for you because I love you) in 5000 kip notes. Seriously. Can a brother get a 20? My first three days (yes, $25 lasted 3 days) I walked around with a pimp roll of 50 bills, paying for little items). The French influence is in the food, the architecture, the government. Signs are in Lao and French, allowing me to make an ass out of myself with my eighth-grade french skills. Sorry Mom and Dad, but French since nursery school doesn’t have staying power when I don’t practice for 14 years. On the other hand, I can say three things in Lao: Hello *sabaidee*, thank you (very much) *kop jai (lai lai)*, and see you later *pop gan mai*.

Today I decided to walk around Luang Prabang alone. I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t see much of Chiang Mai because I chose to go play with elephants. Tough call. I think I did well. But when half the tour wanted to go whitewater rafting today, I opted out so I could see the city. I wandered through the old city, sweating and taking fun pictures. The architecture is beautiful, and the juxtapositions striking. UNESCO designated this city a World Heritage site recently, so there is money for rebuilding key building s from different eras. Consequently, you see a colonial French villa-turned guest house next to a corrugated tin shack with a satellite dish next to the best small monastery I’ve seen yet.

After having a bowl of noodle soup from a woman who looked like my mom (same hair color, same posture, same haircut, same shoulders, but Lao) I walked a path where the Mekong river meets the other major river in town. Heart of the old city, and few people come this far…it’s a three-block wide peninsula, and there are better ways of getting where you want to go. The path took me past a monastery where the novices were goofing off. A monk was sitting outside the wall of the monastery, underneath them, talking to a friend. Seven or eight novices were hanging on the wall as I walked by, so I smiled, yelled out “Sabaidee!” and waved. They smiled and waved back, each yelling “Sabaidee” and one boy asked “How are you?” I was amazed. I said “Good. Kop Jai. How are you?” There’s a long pause, as the boys confer with each other, and the boy tentatively yells back “Good.” I smile and cheer, “That’s right!” and the boys smile and cheer too. I yell “Pop gan mai” with a smile and a wave, and they cheer me on my way. As I’m walking away, I hear the monk teach them “Have a nice day.”

I hope all is well with you. This trip is incredibly fun, and there are many stories I don’t have time to tell now. But at 100 kip per minute, I get shelter from the sun and a fan on my back.

All the best, Dan