Another week has gone by since I wrote last. We travelled from our heaven on earth in Pai to Chiang Rai, and then onto Laos. The contrast with Thailand was evident straight away; no meore 7-Elevens at every street corner, no more touts and hawkers plying their trade. Laos seems like a land lost in an eternal state of drowsiness. Instead of the yellow flag of Theravada Buddhism, in Laos the sickle and the hammer are usually displayed alongside the national flag. Everything seems to be moving slower in Laos. As one Lonely Planet author put it, "if Southeast Asian countries were tuk-tuk drivers, the Thai would take you to your destination via a silk-shop, the Vietnamese would almost run you over for your custom, on the other hand, you'd probably need to wake the Laotian up and convince him to take you to your destination".
After crossing the mighty Mekong at Huay Xai, we headed onto Luang Nam Tha, which was described to me as 'the Chiang Mai of Laos', on account of it being a departure point for hill-tribe trekking. What a silly comparison! There was none of the cut-throat competition found in Chiang Mai; only a handful of agencies advertising different treks and listing how many people had already joined. To give an idea of how quiet the place was, an agency had a board boasting "GOOD NEWS! WE HAVE 1 PERSON JOINING TOMORROW!". We chose Green Discovery, the pioneer of eco-friendly tourism in Laos. This was the main reason why we decided to trek in Laos; unlike Thailand, in Laos hill-tribe trekking is organized to have a lower impact on community life, with small groups and rotating the hosting villages, giving more of a 'real' experience rather than a human zoo. In addition, Green Discovery gives 35 per cent of the money paid to the villages, plus another 10 per cent is used for community development projects.
And off we were, 8 of us (the largest group size), bound for the first destnation, a Khmu village. The Khmu are the largest tribe in Luang Nam Tha province, and are believed to be indigenous to Northern Laos, although some argue they migrated from Cambodia. They live in villages, practising mostly swidden, slash-and-burn agriculture. The impact of this type of agriculture is clear immediatly to anybody travelling in northern Thailand or Laos during March-May period. What I described in a previous blogpost as an 'eerie and otherwordly mist' is in fact smoke, product of this type of agriculture. Villages have three sets of rice paddies, one is cultivated, one is left to rest and one is burnt, and ashes are used for fertiliser. It may work amazingly, but it is also detrimental for people's health; I have had some sort of hayfever since we entered slash-and-burn territory, some villagers have chronic cough. Moreover, landscape photography is hopeless. We walked for the whole day through rice paddies and forests, with no other tourists in sight. The trekking was easy, and the weather not too hot. We had a delicious picnic of grilled fish, sticky rice and stir-fried vegetables, on banana leaves laid on the ground.
Sticky rice is the staple food for most Laotians, in the cities and in the hills. It is glutinous rice which is steamed in bamboo baskets, receiving a 'sticky' consistency. It is then rolled into balls and used to scoop up whatever is served alongside it. It is lovely, but rather heavy on the stomach; we were all going to have our fill during the next 3 days. It was served at breakfast, lunch and dinner! Arriving in the Khmu village we were surrounded by dozens of children, smiling, shaking our hands and willing to pose for pictures. Most were under 8 years of age, the older ones were either working or at school in a nearby village. We spent the evening walking around the village, looking and photographing people pounding rice, small children looking after their baby siblings, old ladies smoking tobacco in silver pipes.
Khmu people struck us as very friendly. Entering their houses is taboo for foreigners, but most were sitting outside anyway and were happy to show us what they were doing and have their picture taken. There were lots of smiles and giggles at our attempts to speak Lao. We spent the night in a large hut, set aside for visitors, where we slept all huddled up on mats lying on the bamboo. It reminded me about when I was studying life in the Middle Ages as a child, hearing about how people had to sleep all together I was considering myself so lucky to have a bedroom just for me and my sister. And now, we were paying to sleep in those conditions! Of course I didn't mind, I just found it funny.
Day 2 was spent trekking, once again. The treks were rather unremarkable, nice enough but not spectacular. I believe the lack of views had something to do with it. We found out our plans had changed; we would spend the second night in another Khmu village, as the Lantan village we were meant to go to was closed for a religious ceremony. This second Khmu village did not have a separate hut, so we were going to sleep in people's houses. This village was larger, next to a road and a larger river. Something else that amazed me about village life is the fact that bathing is a communal experience. There is no plumbing in houses, so people bathe in the river, at sundown. It seemed like an occasion to catch up on the day's gossip; women on one side, sarong-clad, men on the other, just in their underwear. Rather odd for us, used to bathing in private. After more warm Beerlao and sticky rice, we headed for bed in the chief's house. I cherished this experience, as it gave us a chance to stay in a real house. The house was built in wood, on stilts, in the highest place in the village. The main room has a fireplace used for cooking plus a living-sleeping area, and a small table on the outside balcony. Khmu people have animistic beliefs, one of the most important spirits is the house's protector. For this reason, it is taboo to enter unaccompanied.
We spent the last day kayaking down the Nam Tha river. I will not dwell on the kayaking experience; just imagine me and Nick, sitting on an inflatable kayak, on a river, trying to go straight, having never done this before. Needless to say, it was really difficult, hard work, and we nearly divorced. Anyhow, the landscape around the river was beautiful, it would have been a fantastic ride had we known how to control a kayak. We visited a Lantan village, the one where we were meant to stay. Lantan people appeared more closed and less extrovert than Khmu. Lantan are a much smaller community, coming from Yunnan in China; there are 12 villages in Laos. They are known as 'the indigo people' for their traditional clothing; a long tunic for women over tight trousers, a shirt for men. The mood in the village was more sombre, solemn. Perhaps this was due to the fact that 3 days of animal sacrifices had just ended; indeed, one could still see traces of animal blood on the ground and on the bamboo gateways to the village. Children were playing quietly and seemed uninterested in us. Only two ladies we met outside the village agreed in having their picture taken, everyone in the village refused. They offered us some handicrafts for sale and refused to lower any price. There was a great difference with the happy and curious atmosphere in Khmu villages. I wonder if it's possible to talk about a 'collective personality' in the case of these tribes. If communities develop as close-knit societies, with traditions and customs and set rules, I wonder how much space there is for individual differences.
After the whole day kayaking, the experience was over. We returned to Luang Nam Tha with new friends and a new understanding. Not the usual spiel 'they have so little but they are so happy'. Rather, I felt privileged to have been able to witness a lifestyle unchanged in centuries, perhaps even millennia.
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