The Durian Apocalypse

[Written Thursday, February The 16th, Evening]

Began the day yesterday, Wednesday, picking up where’d I’d left off on Tuesday eve. In other words, I was yet to check out the temples on the other side of the Mekong.

On the way into town to get the cross-river ferry, I passed by the Buddha Factory.

Departing the ferry-boat, was greeted with yet another method of keeping da flies off da meat.

This is how we do it on the West Siyeede, bitches!

Up next, the Hell’s Angels of tomorrow (cop on the beat’s  already got his eyes on ‘em).

The West side of the river, as you see, is much like the North: small villages, dirt roads, friendly folk. Including this woman, out to sell some riverweed, but kind enough to pause and let me get my photographic kicks.

Walking through the village, yet some more Blair Witch Project action going on. Whoever’s responsible for these creations is sure to wind up depicted on one of the temples’ Murals Of Damnation!

The game of choice for the youngsters was a to-me strange and enchanting horseshoes-esque affair, played with croquet balls.

I couldn’t ever really make out the rules – but did note that cash was not changing hands. Later, Martin – my German dormmate – informed me that this is a French game called “Boules”. Looked it up, and discovered that he’s oh so correct. Thank gods for Germans!

Well, all the temples were right where the map said they’d be. But, problemo: every stinkin’ one of them charged admission. I just can’t go there. That slope is so slippery that I’m quite certain that if I were to even once pay temple-admission fees, I’d within a month be back in Patpong, turning tricks to scrounge up enough cash to visit the most obscure temple in the most obscure village in the most obscure prefecture in all of Asia.

My nearest sniff was this under-construction outdoor-Buddha, overlooking the river.

Hella nice view from this village (what else is new?).

Would like to be able to hike up that hill – don’t know whether there are trails or not. Oh, I just remembered “Hobomaps” — a great resource tipped off to me by the Latvians back in Luang Namtha. Looks like there’re trails around the hill, but not up it. Drat.

If you recall the picture of the boy, from yesterday, with the long jar-on-stick contraption…I had guessed that he must be harvesting Papayas with it. In Hawaii, we used a hook-on-stick contraption, and caught the falling Papayas with the free hand. But if they wanna harvest ‘em into jars, works for me (I was at the time thinking).

Turns out, they don’t use the contraption to harvest Papayas; but rather, as I learnt walking through this village, this grape-like fruit.

A young girl was out filling a jar up, and a man (presumably her father) appeared and told her that she’d got enough of them. Luckily, he spoke English as well, and told me that the fruit is called “Munyung” (actually, he didn’t know the English name for it), and allowed me to try one. Tastes kind of like a tart Apple, with a hint of Bell Pepper all up in there. Not bad.

As far as, if you were wondering whether villagers love their Beerlao as much as the city-folk and tourists do: wonder no more.

Even though I didn’t get to see any temples, a thoroughly enjoyable time was had on the West Side. Sitting talking with a very nice gentleman, waiting for enough riders to arrive to justify the crossing back into town; and after some time, he up and says, “Okay, let’s go,” and begins herding everybody onto the boat. Turns out he was the Captain.

The boat-captains and bus-drivers here are just too cool.

So, back in the city, passing by the school, and…another session of Boules! Two in one day.

The citified Boules is a much more boisterous occasion that its village cousin.

A most interesting character was there viewing the game as well.

He never, for even a moment, took his eyes off the game – just watching it like a damned hawk all the whole time. I can only assume that he’s a big-league scout — although I confess to sometimes lying awake at night wondering if he is in fact The Buddha, come back in disguise. Either way, I rather love him…

Look for more exciting Boule footage if ever I’m able to find a good Internet connection!

After wandering around for a while, I sat down on a bench to enjoy some bananas and watch the vendors set up their stalls for the Night Market. Was soon joined by a German couple in their early- or mid-sixties. The lady was over-the-Moon when I offered to share my bananas with them. The gentleman, not so much.

When I announced my place of residence, I was greeted not with hosannahs to Cobain, Hendrix, and ilk; but rather total silence…followed a few minutes later by the gentleman asking me, “What is the name of the town you are coming from?” Ha! Are we sure they’re Europeans?

After the bananas, I turned sideways to watch a kids’ soccer match being warmed up for. The “pitch” was a concrete temple-courtyard, set about ten feet below street-level. One shot on goal had a little too much loft to it, and…

”Oy! Look out!” I screamed as it became clear that the yard would not hold it.

“Oy!” repeated the Germans in unison as it whizzed right between their heads and bounded into a vendor’s stall. The vendor hid the ball under a little stool, and went on about her business.

After a few, a boy showed up looking for the ball; but it was like a Easter-Egg hunt, as nobody would hint him off to its whereabouts. Eventually, he did catch the scent, retrieved the ball, and returned to the game; chortles of laughter trailing in his wake.

Before leaving, I went down to check out the game. These kids were balls-out, mang: barefoot on the concrete, the keepers diving for balls and everything. As far as they knew or cared, it was the god damn World Cup final.

Standing there as night fell, watching the game and listening to the monks chanting their evening prayers inside the temple…

…I fell in love with Luang Prabang for about the nineteen millionth time.

Returning to the guest house, only a few blocks from, an Australian girl stopped me and asked if I knew of any cheap accommodations nearby. “Follow me!” I told her. “I brung you another customer!” I told the night-time staff-person.

Got to chatting with Elisabete, my Portuguese dormmate, about how much we loved Luang Prabang and Laos in general, and that we wanted to stay and stay and stay and never leave, and so on – and done lost track of the Australian girl. I went to check, but didn’t see her name on the big board. What?

I asked the staff-person, who informed me that she’d indeed registered there, in one of the private rooms. He thanked me profusely, but didn’t offer a finders’ fee.

Then, another jolt of coincidence.

Before returning to the hostel, I’d walked the Night Market’s food alley to take in the sights and smells. Chatted a while with a very nice gentleman whom, it turned out, owns a guest house in Nong Khiaw; he’s in town for some sort of tourism conference.

He’d wanted to know if I’d been there, and I couldn’t help gushing like a hepped-up Beatlemaniac. Yes! I love Nong Khiaw! I’m telling everybody to go there.

He wanted to give me a business card, as I’d told him I’m seriously considering a return visit. He was fresh out, however, and kept telling me, “Ling Tong Guest House,” over and over again.

“I’ll remember, I’ll remember,” I kept responding over and over again. He opined that his guest house was a little quieter and a little cheaper than the others.

So, later, I was trying to convince Elisabete to visit Nong Khiaw. Finally, she asked if I had any pictures of “this place”. As I began to show them to her, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Holy shit!” I wailed. “That’s the guy! I just met that guy like an hour ago!” Two weeks ago, a random photo-op; to-day, a fast friend. So weird!

This morning, Thursday, Martin, Elisabete and myself arose at 5:20 in the AM to go and see the monks. As they do in Chiang Mai, the monks go out in the pre-dawn stillness and receive alms from their city’s residents.

It’s a really big deal here – considered one of the must-see activities in any stay. There’re even rules of thumb for watching the monks – to do with not getting all up in their britches, nor taking flash photography, nor otherwise causing them discomfort.

It was a fine experience, worth doing. But nothing so Earth-shatteringly cool as one had been led to believe. A difference from Chiang Mai is that here it’s the novices, rather than any full-on monks, out to receive the daily rice; and the novices don’t offer a minute or two of blessings to the alms-giver (as do the monks in Chiang Mai).

After the monkage, Martin and Elisabete went off in search of breakfast, while I headed to the Morning Market, which I’ve wanted to see in the early morning. Dawn had risen, so I expected the Market to be wall-to-wall patronage. But hardly any customers had yet arrive; and, indeed, many of the vendors were still getting their crap all set out on display.

Soon enough, though, the market was in full thrush. Here’s a nice colourful stall.

There were as many onlookers as locals – including, I do believe, an entire bus of Japanese tourists. It’s okay: gawkers can be as much fun to watch as about anything else.

Returned to the hostel for some more shut-eye, to find that my German and Portoguese dormies had beaten me to the punch. After a few more hours’ sleep, and the shaving of my head, and the doing of some laundry, set out for a lazy day in town.

Wandering around some lanes I’d not yet wandered, I came across a temple with Husky colours on its outside!

At the same temple, made what I think may be an important discovery. Namely that I do believe that Dr. J will be required to abdicate his title…

…for, the Ultimate Greatest Afro Ever resides right here in Luang Prabang – being worn by none other than…

Sorry, J. Your rule was honourable, and it was true. But as all things do, it must on this day meet its end.

Later, yet another jolt. Sitting on the wall enjoying the scene on the river below, and from out of nowhere pops the goofy Russian from the dorm in Chiang Mai! The Russian-Facebook aficionado, and newly minted Sapodilla fetishist.

He was traveling with a friend name of “Olga”; whom he’d gone down to meet in Bangkok, before making back up through Northern Thailand, and then down to Luang Prabang via bus.

Small frickin’ world, it is.

Spent much of the afternoon down at the swimming hole (one of many along this stretch of the Nam Khan). The kids were diving off the rock…

…and generally having a splashingly good time.

And they were right, too: so refreshing! I’ve possibly spent too much time seeing the sights and drinking in the culture whilst not enough time lazing it at the swimming hole. Just possibly.

[Written Wednesday, February The 15th, Night]

Christ on a crutch, I love this town! I’m telling you straight: were the air quality a little bit better, and the fruit quality more than a little bit better, I should love to stay here possibly forever.

The plan for yesterday, Tuesday, was to visit some temples East, North, and West of the city. Started out well enough, as there’s one I’d not yet seen located straight across from the guest house.

The next was not too far down the road. But the third, Wat Phon Phao, was a bit of a hike. This temple’s tree-shrouded stupa is one of the highlights of the vista from the top of Mt. Phousi – have been eager to visit since having spied its glory from on high.

So, I battened down the hatches for a walk on a heavier-trafficked inter-city road. No sooner than, I missed two excellent photo opportunities. The first was this girl…

…doing a hop-skip across the street with her little pink umbrella in tow. She was getting air, man – I think she’ll be dunking a basketball in about two years’ time.

The second was these crazy moto mofos and their pane of glass.

Still looks okay from this angle; but from the front was much better, as the glass-holder had an absolutely hi-larious look on his face. You can see it’s not a very pedestrian-friendly thoroughfare.

The Wat is located right near to the New Bridge. Somehow I missed the turn-off, and ended up at the new bridge. I could see the Wat towering on its hill above me, but was hoping I wouldn’t have to walk all the way back to the driveway to get up there.

So I took this one dirt road that I hoped would lead me up to a back entrance, and soon came to an eco-lodge, whose owner happened to be out lounging around with a guest. She explained me of a shortcut to get up to the temple. Following her directions, the trail was much less-well maintained than I’d expected – even had to do a little bit of bushwhacking. I was being extra careful not to annoy any snakes that might be in the area – me in my bare feet and all.

Got in through to a clearing, where a family had a little dwelling. It felt a little awkward, the trail leading right through the family’s “yard”, but nobody seemed to mind. Then it was back into some jungle, for a hearty up-slope, and then a pain-in-the-ass muck through a bunch of downed coconut fronds. Just as I was muttering to myself that this temple had better god damned be worth it, I received my first glimpse, and knew instantly that it’d be all good in the ‘hood.

But, the temple was closed for lunch. With an hour-and-a-half to kill, I set out to explore the temple grounds – whose were far bigger than any other temple I’ve visited. I guess it’s a major centre of the so-called “Vipassana” school of Buddhism – to do with the means of meditation, I guess.

Anyhow, the grounds are very beautiful, set up on the hill, surrounded by woods and jungle. Even gots a public shitter – which is de rigueur in Thai temples, but basically unheard of here in Laos’. As at Phousi, cicadas rule the soundscape, and there are so many lovely trees around-abouts that it’s never difficult to find some shade in which to hide.

Was checking out this cool set-up…

…and was joined for conversation by a novice name of “Sampaeng”.

I told him that there’s a “Sampaeng Market” in Bangkok, but he didn’t really seem to give a shit about that. Nice guy, fairly thick accent.

He asked me what kind of food I liked here, and I named off a bunch of the fruits I’ve been eating. “No, not fruit,’” he protested, “Food!” I tried explaining him that I didn’t eat meat, nor fish, nor fowl, nor rice, nor noodles – only fruit and veggies. I just don’t think he was ever able to accept such a ridiculous notion, however.

When a gap in the conversation arrived, I asked if he’d been painting (you’ll notice the paint on his shoulder and chest)? He didn’t know what in Hell I was talking about, so I pointed to the blotches. He was completely shocked, and had no idea from whence they’d come. Then, he politely ended the conversation and ran off! I guess showing one’s face in public with a paint-splotched body is a major no-no.

Went to visit the auxiliary temple, which was also closed; but whose outside is almost as beautiful as the main temple’s.

I set myself to photographing the temple’s many murals – you can see some of them there – and was soon joined in another conversation, this time by a civilian. He asked me where I was from, and I told him, then returned the question. He said he was from Laos, and I tried to get from him which province in Laos; but his English wasn’t so good, and I was unable to find out.

He offered to let me listen to his mp3-playing device; which I was quite glad to do — always want to know just what it is the kids are listening to these days. Turns out this kid was listening to, as nearly as I could determine, the audio track from a porno movie. In which language, I know not – possibly Thai or Lao. I silently returned to him his ear-buds, and went back to the picture-taking.

He left, returning about five or ten minutes later. Noting my still-active camera, he whipped out his johnson, and requested me to take a picture of it! I mean…I guess I could have done – I can’t deny that his was a fairly good-sized specimen. But right there on the steps of the auxiliary temple?? I respectfully declined, and he went back to his listening.

After making the grounds’ rounds, I had about fifteen minutes to chill out and enjoy the view. Finally, they let us in, and…it was much more understated than I’d expected.

But the airiness and the open windows gave it an incredibly peaceful feeling.

The murals cover the walls in matching pairs. The top set, I believe, is a numbered catalogue of the glories awaiting the devout. The bottom, meanwhile, is entirely filled up with more shocking scenes of violence: impalements, sawings-of in-half, cleavings of skulls, the pulling out of nekkid ladies’ tongues with calipers, and so on. Many of the victims are man/beast half-breeds.

The implication, of course, is all too obvious. And this is precisely what I detest most about organised religion: the preying on of people’s fears of hellfire and damnation for power over them (and let’s not forget money from them) here on Earth. But I, personally, love all the hellfire imagery; and the artists’ abilities – and their imaginations! – are the tops.

It’s kind of a quandary: without all the fucked-up religions, we’d have missed out on so much wonderful architecture and so many wonderful artworks – and yet, there’d have been so much less pain and suffering in this world. The one is clearly not worth the other…but it’s too bad we couldn’t have the artworks without all the bullshit.

Anyways, continuing on around the perimeter, and, what’s this?, a stairwell? Wasn’t for-sure it was a public stairwell, as I’d not yet been to a temple with a second floor. But I trod on up, and…the second floor was a delight to behold.

The many open windows – and two balconies – afforded a great 360-degree view of the environs.

The space itself featured many more beautifully depicted murals, as well as objets d’art (vases, carvings, antiques, and cetera), with a more modest Buddha set-up than even the first floor’s.

Also, a wooden staircase up to a third floor. Wow! On up we go, the third floor’s rather small interior’s murals are all stupae from (I’m guessing) different parts of the world. You can see some of them in the background here.

And then, crapping you negative, another wooden staircase, up to a fourth floor. On the way up, you can stop and check out the little Buddhas lining the third floor’s windowsills.

The fourth floor is a small dome – getting right up to the tippy-top now – with murals depicting scenes of Buddhist bucolia.

You see it there, don’t you? The ladder/stair to the fifth floor! All up in that motherfucking stupa, I’m talkin’ about!

The top’s murals are portraits of what I’ve come to realise are Luang Prabang Buddhism’s five most important animals – the chicken, the buffalo, the turtle, the naga, and the griffin – as well as tastefully rendered capturings of The Buddha in repose.

And so there it is: my favourite place in the city. If these are the digs, I think I could go in for a life of monasticism.

But for this day, it was onward, across the New Bridge, to the North side of the city (had not yet been). Where, visiting a small market, I came to a realisation.

This blog would perhaps be better titled “The Barefoot Farang”. For, nobody fails to notice them.

I said before that that Laotians don’t give me shit for them the way that Thais do. But here in Luang Prabang, many are, without being vocal about it, fairly openly hostile. These (usually smartly dressed women) make a big show of looking down at me feet, then back up at me and not returning my smiles. Most of the rest just think I’m a nutter.

But the old geezers love it. When I motion to them that I’ve shoes in my backpack, it’s all they can do to keep from crapping in their pants, such is the gaiety of their laughter. At the market, a young shop-owner even pointed out to me a stall at which to buy flip-flops.

So long as they don’t deport me, I’m okay with it. I’ve noticed that the soles of my feet have adjusted to the egg-fry pavements much better that my scalp has adjusted to the hot glaring sun. Funny thing is, in Bangkok it was just the opposite: I don’t think I once put on a hat, but I frequently had to dance to and fro’ in waiting for the light to change.

North of the city is a more laid-back, village-like atmosphere. Then, as one works one’s way west, and then north as the Nam Khan makes its confluence with the Mekong, it becomes literally a number of villages, dirt roads and all.

On the map, there’re four or five temples along this route. The first featured a leaning stupa.

One may in the back of one’s mind be wondering, by the way, “Why taking so many pictures of the Naga? Can’t it be given a rest?”

But, here we go, north of the city, not only first Naga with a wafer-thin tongue; but also first Naga with a rice offering on its tongue.

Another first: Naga under construction.

This temple appeared to be on the receiving end of a general makeover, as it was also, at the time of my visit, getting’ a fresh coat of paint.

Found the first two or three temples in their advertised locations; but apparently either took a wrong turn or the map was wrong – as I never did find the others. Found, however, a shitload that weren’t on the map. Every little village heading north along the Mekong has its own temple. Must’ve passed through eight or ten of them.

At one such, stopped to take a pic of some novices splashing away in the river below…

…and was treated to an impromptu riverside jam session.

One temple’s stupa’s ruins are like something out of Close Encounters (or what).

Walking through the villages of a late afternoon was, of course, a delight. The people are just the best. Here, as everywhere else in the country, the children love to vamp for the photographer’s lens.

Not only the children, however. As I was busy taking a picture of this boy…

…up the road a piece, these dudes were urging a bicyclist to take their photos. I was able to horn in on some of that action as well.

Name of “Nadia”, the bicyclist was born in Russia (retains a slight accent), but has lived most of her life in the US of A, with a brief time in Japan as well. Living in Chiang Rai, Thailand for two months to help a friend of hers working (for five years now) in a Montessori school there, she had a week to spare, and decided to take off to Laos.

Like everybody does, she’s totally fallen in love with the country and its people, and laments the all-too-brief time she’ll be spending here. Tried to convince her to include Nong Khiaw in her itinerary, but it doesn’t look like it’ll be in the cards this time around.

One of her ports of residence has been San Diego; which, I was keen to know a bit about her experiences there, as I’ve considered possibly relocating to as well. Particularly, I wondered whether the military presence didn’t bother her. Of course, it does, she says. But she lived in a hippie-commune type of neighbourhood, right on the beach, with very low rents on account of its right under the airport’s flight-paths. Well, might be worth checking out.

I feel much the Stranger In A Strange Land here, but after a week’s time, I was able to give her any number of tips and suggestions in re travel in Laos; so that was pretty cool.

Like me, she’s in thrall with the village scene, so we walked up north for quite some ways. At one of the temples, some riverweed had been put out for the drying.

I explained that it’s on all the menus here – but always cooked. We decided to try a little bit, and…it’s pretty decent! Taste and texture a bit like spinach.

Down a little side-lane, this family was even friendlier than most.

The father spoke quite good English.

Eventually, Nadia decided to bike it back down to the city, hoping to be able to get up to Mt. Phousi for the sunset. Meself, I took it in on the river.

Then, climbing back up to the village, seen my first gobbler of the tour.

Also seen this little kid mis-applying the faucet’s pressure – and paying for it in spades.

This lady was happier than you could imagine to be having her picture taken.

Back down to the confluence, loitered around at the beautiful scene for a while, then hoofed my ass across the bamboo footbridge.

Back in the city, nightfall had not prevented this youngster from practicing, with his older brother’s aid, his goaltending skills. The ball is there in the left-center sector of the image.

Felt much better Sunday, but still very tired; so decided to take another day of resting. The good part was that my dormmates were very cool.

On Saturday, it was just myself and a fascinating Italianess name of “Roberta”. Aged mid- to late-twenties, at a guess, she’s hitchhiked her way throughout more less every continent. She said that locals in Thailand were begging and pleading with her not to do, saying it was far too dangerous — but she found it not to be so.

The only dicey place, she’s found, for hitchhiking is in South America, where she got robbed, including her passport was stolen — but no way would she let that stop her from her (it seemed to me) somewhat maniacal cause.

Here in Laos, the locals told her that it would be impossible; but she’s begged to differ. She arrived to Luang Prabang in with a Korean expat living in Vientiane, heading here for a little holiday with a Korean friend of his unseen by him in the last four years.

They’d apparently brought their own little camp-stove with them; and at one point, the three of them pulled over and asked a family if they could use their outdoor table. She said that the family considered them absolutely crazy: two Koreans with very poor English skillz, and an Italian, cooking up Korean dishes with the camp-stove, right there on the lawn.

They did the same at their hotel, inviting her along both nights they were here.

She’s also a bit of an exotic-cuisine fanatic, having sampled anything and everything she could find — including dog here in Laos. Which, it’s illegal to be eaten here, so they had to go way out in the sticks to some bootlegging operation which serves it. Only time she’s really gotten sick was from some Mexican iguana she’d eaten.

Also scored many points with me for not having drunk the Obama Kool-Aid. She figured that he was maybe a teeny bit better than Bush; but I assured her that they were exactly the same — no difference whatever.

I told her she should write a book; then tried to convince her to take the slow-boat up to Nong Khiaw, but I think she went ahead and went back down to Vientiane with the Koreans.

Sunday eve, a buncha Europeans arrived from the two-day Huoay Xai slow-boat. In our dorm was a Portugese girl, a German, and a Frenchman. They’re all very cool and interesting as well.

In other guest-house news, wish this sign were more assertive; as I done, on two or three different occasions, bumped my head (real good one) exiting the pisser.

So, this morning, Monday, I was feeling quite good, and decided to head into town. Now…

…what possessed this gentleman to bring his fricking crossbow to the Morning Market? Does he use it as an aid in the haggling? Is he some manner of city-wide vigilante, taking a little snack-break? Don’t know. But I do know this: I was not gonna fuck with him.

Broke my sixty hours’ fasting with a nice, juicy watermelon. While doing, managed to photograph a butterfly. I feel for those who take up butterfly photography as a hobby, as it seems to me deuce difficult. Photo is lame, but it’s a first.

After walking around some, began to feel very tired again. So, took a bit of a rest, before heading to visit the National Museum. On whose grounds sits the Buddha-less temple I love so much. So I first went in there again and soaked up the goodness.

On the way out, an European couple requested that I took their picture. After doing, the gentleman asked if he could return the favour? Okay…why not?

The Museum knocked me on my ass, then stomped my throat in ’til almost my very last breath. Alas…

…no photos. Just gotta trust me when I say that’s it’s a must-visit if ever you pass through.

Later on, visiting a temple I’d not yet been into, was engaged in a conversation by a seventeen-year-old novice name of “Bounlanth”.

He’s from Bokeo province, which is about a fourteen-hour bus ride from here. Has not seen his parents since arriving about a year ago, but thinks he may next year. I think he’s the best English-speaker yet; hardly any accent at all, too.

Says that life at the temple is very difficult, as the novices are required to do an assload of chores; not to mention gots to arise at 4:00 in the AM for the morning meditation session.

Nearing evening, and still quite tired, decided to sit and watch the bicyclists. The two most absolutely essential accessories in Luang Prabang are the bicycle and the umbrella (maybe better termed a “sunbrella”). Very often, the twain doth meet.

It’s great fun to watch the cyclists, ’cause the bicycles here are like snowflakes: never see two of like design. (Odd, seems to me, given how many of them are rentals.) Best of all, cycle and rider are quite frequently ridiculously incongruous — especially good is the big dudes riding kids’ bikes for which they’re about four sizes too large.

Difficult to get a photo of this phenomenon, for some reason. A bit like hunting for Snuffleupagus, in fact: one may sit without luck, camera poised, for hours on end; then as soon as the camera goes into the pocket, twenty-five in a row ride by. Did finally manage to get something approaching half-way decent (though the rider-to-bike ratio here is not as large as is often seen).

This tuk-tuk driver perked right up when I stopped near him, thinking he’d reeled in a fare. I only wanted a picture of him and his bare feet, though. If ever I see him again, must be sure let him know that it turned out really great.

Thanks Buddha there’s at least one restaurant in this world which helpfully illustrates, for those mystified as to what might possibly be included in such an exotically-named dish, what it’s all about.

This lady is setting up her Night Market stall. I had earlier seen her having some difficulty in pushing the cart up an incline, and was about to offer my assistance (depleted though I’d felt); but she bore down and sealed the deal all by herself.

And speaking of four sizes too large, check this guy’s suit of clothes.

Whoa, 6,000 Kip for these adorable loaves? I’m sure you can recall how batshit-insane I used to be for the Banana Bread…

Speaking of batshit-insane, though not in a good way: the greatest annoyance in Laos (if not the European smokers — though I must confess that they’re generally very nice folk) is these god damned shoes many of the toddlers wear. They loudly squeak with every footfall; making me want to catch a rocket-ship to the moon, that I might escape the nuisance.

Lastly, I do believe that that’s just what the Hebrews thought:

Hopefully back at full strength tomorrow!

[Written Friday, February The 10th, Night]

This city is…some kind of a something.

Had intended, to-day, to do some relaxation; stereo on and cooking bacon (AKA the dangling of one’s feet in the Mekong whilst catching up on some reading), yeah yeah. Can you guess what I ended up doing instead?

Yes…that one was too easy: Temples! I’ve got it bad, my Droogs. It’s interesting about Luang Prabang. There aren’t nearly so many temples per block as in Chiang Mai, they’re not nearly as well maintained (though many are currently undergoing restoration), many of the temples are closed even while the grounds are open, many of them charge admission. But somehow, the temples here are possibly more awesomer even that their Chiang Mai cousins.

I’ll again point in the direction of my Luang Prabang Temples Flickr set for all the serious damage. Here are the most fascinating goings-on at one particular temple, which actually was closed, but which had some great mural action on the outside walls. Including panels that seem to suggest that the Buddha was hatched out of a egg. Possibly egg of chicken…

…possibly egg of turtle, naga, or buffalo…

…or possibly egg of some sort of griffin.

Me, I vote for the chicken! Natch!

But around the corner from this whimsy is where it gets shockingly grisly. Don’t know exactly what’s going on in these scenes…but that it ain’t good is all too clear.

At a different temple, the first Standing Buddha I’ve seen. (Well factually, I’d thought that such was against the protocol.)

In addition to visiting temples, also checked out quite a few galleries. Yep, wicked-good artists may be added to the ever-growing list of this town’s charms.

Got into a conversation with a local name of “Pheng”.

When he met me, he was headed down to water the garden – hence the pail. The banks of both rivers are lined, far as the eye could see, with veggie gardens. I think it’s probably like a P-Patch kinda deal, where whosoever helps to take care of an area gets to reap the bounty.

Pheng is twenty-two, arrived two years ago from Nam Bak. In addition to studying English, he also works in a nearby restaurant. He’s an intensity to him suggesting a world-weariness; and he chooses his words with some deliberation. I liked him quite a lot.

His father was killed eleven years ago, I think from some sort of head injury, but not quite sure. Very interesting and genuine fellow. But soon the mosquitoes came calling for pints and pints of blood, so I had to let him go. He requested my e-mail address, which was happily given; so perhaps I shall hear from him again.

Walking down the street, I done passed his restaurant.

I’m planning to head to the Plain Of Jars, east of here, after leaving Luang Prabang. Found a little bit of back-story along a street.

Love the bit about “the evil chieftain, Chao Angka”. As long as we’re into informative signage, here’s a general Luang Prabang Q&A, posted outside the Lao Lao Beer Garden.

“Bike! Bike! Rent a bike; it’s the perfect way to explore the city.” So says everyone. They’re out they minds. Walking is the only way to go; and my pace is measured in blocks per hour.

Other sights from another fantastic day walking about the Old Quarter included this set-up, reminiscent of Bangkok’s “Brain Power Center”.

These kids are totally righteous, I think you’ll agree.

Passed some other kids in the schoolyard, just as they were moving the goalposts into place for some down-home barefoot soccer.

Santa Claus made an unexpected riverside appearance. (The walk down the Nam Khan river at dusk is pretty special, as all the riverside restaurants, galleries, bookstores, cinemas, and whatnot are all lit up to kill – and in the perfect natural setting.)

Still on the Xmas tip, been seeing this hairdo around town; I call it the “Heat Miser”.

The bit of blurriness seems only to make better this outrageously great wheelie-pop.

And…to say again: I just love, love, love, love, love my camera. This is maybe my favourite photograph that I’ve ever taken, but ever:

This city…

[Written Saturday, February The 11th, Evening]

A day of relaxation, by dint of circumstance: woke up and began poring over the map to see what to do on this fine morning; but then gradually began to fall under the weather. Low-grade fever, slightly upset stomach, a general bu-larhgh.

I don’t think it’s anything I et, as yesterday I dined only on one quite-tasty Watermelon, and two kilos’ worth of quite-tasty mandarins. If I were to guess the cause, I might name out an over-abundance of sunshine this past week; or I might select the country’s poor air-quality finally catching up with me. As I say, by my reckoning, Luang Prabang’s is about on par with L.A.’s. A stay in the latter will certainly give me a scratchy throat – maybe LPB’s air is a little worse, or maybe I never really got a chance to flush out my system from Luang Namtha’s and Udomxai’s disastrous breathing experiences.

So, I retired to bed for a bout of fasting/resting/hydrating. Hopefully the morrow will have me once again prowling the streets and alley-ways of this insanely wonderful city.

On the bright side, ’twas not an entirely an unproductive day; as I did manage to upload more than four hundred photos to the Flickr account; and I did score a nice little 4-0 sweep in the day’s hockey wagers. This last was keyed by the Sabres having netted an equalising goal with fewer that thirty seconds remaining on the clock – which event almost completely making up for Ottawa having yesterday surrendered, with ten seconds’ time remaining, a to-them meaningless goal, eighty-sixing a big, fat puckline chicken which was that close to hatching.

Best of all, I think I’ve solved a riddle which’s been wracking my innards for now near-to a week’s time. Viz.:

Know that on the bus from Udomxai to Nong Khiaw, I did make witness to three or four of its opposite (i.e., an all-blue background with a white bugle pasted in, and without the red slash). What could it possibly mean?

Something to do with one’s radio. Something literally to do with bugling or marching bands? With ungulates? What???

I think I’ve got it! (If you desire to puzzle it out for you own self, do not read on…)

That Is To Say: Spoiler-Alert

No blowing-of the horns on city blocks (or at least this particular city block) – perhaps because of a nearby schoolyard? Meanwhile, do sound the call when driving ‘round and ‘round narrow, windy mountain roads – so as to alert oncoming traffic (including there’s a lot of foot-traffic on the mountain roads) of your approach.

I guess all y’alls figured out immediament what took my little pea-brain for near-on to a week’s time. But I’m pretty happy with myself.