Luang Prabang, Laos May 2011

15 June 2011

Luang Prabang is another Unesco World Heritage site. (There do seem to be a lot of them.)

The heat and humidity are oppressive and you quickly find yourself slowing down and assuming some of the gentleness of the people who live here. Luang Prabang is a tiny town with over 33 Wats (Temples). Something of that sense of mysticism or reverence is palpable as you walk (slowly) through town or hire one of the local yak yaks to take you to your destination.  Each temple is unique. Some have been handsomely refurbished by locals who have made it big elsewhere and  then come home to endow a temple to ensure good karma.  Others show their years with a sad air of neglect.

This wat needs a wealthy sponsor.

Our hotel, the Mekong Riverview Hotel, was wonderful. The Swedish owner, Urban Paulsson, hosted a wine aperitivo where he explained his philosophy in running the hotel. Many of his workers are former Monks. All the workers are paid a decent wage and must pay local taxes, as does the hotel - something which, apparently, not many people or businesses do. To avoid paying the graft which is a necessary part of doing business in the town, Urban takes on local projects. For instance, he paid to have street lights installed on the riverside street where the hotel is located and furnished a local village with electricity. He has empowered his employees to think for themselves and act accordingly. As a result, his wonderful staff seemed to anticipate our every desire. Going to visit the waterfall? As we congregated in the lobby, we were each given a plastic bag containing towels. Joan, Sanjay and Irwin throwing a cocktail party on our boat trip on the Mekong? The staff supplied a cooler with ice ... and carried it to the boat for us. They then stood on the steps and waved us off.  The air conditioned rooms were beautifully constructed of local woods, the showers wonderful but the very best part was ... the beds. These were Swedish twin beds with a tempurpedic style mattress covered with a pad made of angel down. A remote raised the head or foot to perfect relaxing/reading mode. If I'm wrong and there really is a heaven, I bet it's just like the Mekong Riverview Hotel!

Nic at our hotel.

Air conditioning. You never know just how much you need it until you no longer have it. Although our hotel rooms were air conditioned, not much else in the town was. Even cafes and restaurants seldom had the wonderful stuff.  Unlike Hoi An, where there always seemed to be at least a bit of a breeze, here nothing but the odd fan stirred the thick air. And our hotel, perfect in all other ways, had no pool. They're not allowed in the World Heritage village.

Fortunately, there were excursions.  We all trooped off to the waterfall and happily plunged into the refreshingly cold water. 

On the way, we passed the Bear Rescue Center.  These are bears that have been rescued by the Laos authorities from the illegal wildlife trade. Signs documented the horrific conditions these bears endure when they are used as living bile donors: the bile is used in traditional Asiatic medicines. Please take a moment and click on this purple Bear link. Once I read about the inspiring work done by the Free the Bears nonprofit, I sent them a donation and I hope you will, too. (Or buy some of their sweet merchandise.)

The bears had a wonderful large playground. I wanted to get right in there with them!

Joan, Jennifer and I took a tour to the Elephant Village, an elephant rescue center. When we first got there, I was incensed because I thought these "rescued" elephants were being exploited by being made to carry tourists on their backs. But, as I read more about the horrible conditions they faced in the logging industry, I soon changed my mind. The work there is hard and long (12 hour days with the elephants often given amphetamines to keep them going) and dangerous. As the logging industry is shutting down, these elephants are often set free in areas where population growth has denuded the forest and many starve to death. The rescued elephants work only 4 to 5 hours a day, have round the clock veterinary care, and get to sleep in the jungle at night. 

Jennifer and Joan rode an elephant but I opted out, having very vivid memories of my photo op on a camel.

When my friends returned, we stood on a wooden platform to feed bananas to the elephants. When Jennifer tried to hand a banana to her elephant's trunk, her mahout (trainer) told her to put it directly in the elephant's mouth. I peeled off one banana and bent over to put it in my elephant's mouth. While I was thus occupied, she nimbly wrapped her trunk around the rest of the bunch and popped it into her mouth! The photos below show the act and my befuddlement. If you go to the  Elephant Village website and check out the elephants, I'm sure mine was the one named "Buffet". Greedy wench!

Jennifer arranged a boat all to ourselves as we enjoyed a sunset cruise on the Mekong River, made all the more fun with the cocktail hour supplied by our friends. Luckily, this boat was captained by someone who managed to get us there and back, unlike our ill fated (but hysterical) sunset Nile cruise. Greg spotted some water buffalo on an island and he and Nic went off to photograph them while Jennifer and I discussed the need for additional life insurance.

Our wonderful hotel staff returning up the long stairs after waving us off.

Best cocktail party ever.

Great white hunters.

Hmmm. Does he look friendly?

What a fun and interesting bunch of companions I had in Luang Prabang! It was a chance to really get to know Jennifer (who I already knew) and Joan Singer (a new friend). Jennifer Davidson is the author of Stop Smelling My Rose! which I highly recommend and Joan manages and is part of a quintet called QuinTango. I've downloaded her album QuinTango Live! and plan to get her other album, as well. (you can get both at www.cdbaby.com or order CDs from her website.)

We were all in Luang Prabang at Jennifer's suggestion. Jennifer's father had been the UK ambassador to Laos when Jennifer was a young girl.  He was presented to the king and dined in the Royal Palace in Luang Prabang. There, he befriended the king's cook. The result was the definitive volume of Laotian cooking which Jennifer edited for her father. Jennifer and I went together to the Royal Palace Museum (the king was deposed in the 1975 revolution). We rented one of those do it yourself tour tape recorders and each had our own headset. Thus hobbled together, we shuffled through the museum. When we got to the room where the king received diplomats, Jennifer marveled that her father had stood in that very room.  When we stood looking into the dining room, Jennifer told me the story of her father and the cookbook. Then she hit the talk button. The narrater explained various bits about the room and then he began to tell the story of Jennifer's father and his cookbook. The hairs on the back of my neck rose and the look of incredulous wonder on Jennifer's face is something I shall always remember. I mean, really, how awesome is that! Daughters - the lucky ones - share a special bond with their fathers. I wear my dad's ring and sometimes, I admit, talk to it. I'd love to be able to trace his steps.

Here Jennifer and I take a tuk tuk to the Royal Palace Museum.

Jennifer and the museum curator.

A trip to the morning market made me an instant vegetarian - a life change that did not survive lunch. Putting aside the images of fly covered raw meat, I had water buffalo carpaccio (thinly sliced raw buffalo) for dinner, which is probably the source of the bug that hitched a ride to Zurich in my gut. Bug or not, it was one of the best meals I had on the trip.

Roadkill anyone?

Yum. Grubs. Still twitching energetically.

Yup. Those are rats.

To see the morning procession of monks, one had to get up VERY early.  Greg and I kept putting it off until close to the end of our stay.  We set off in the early dawn silence, broken only by the loud self-publicising cries of "gecko".  As we waited, men and women emerged from their homes and sat on low plastic stools by the side of the road, a pot of rice in their laps. Soon, out of the silence, the first group of monks ghosted silently past. The regalness of their progress was in no way diminished by the dog that led them. Tail up, head alert, he swaggered before them like a major domo. The monks parade once around the block and when this group returned, their leader was still pacing smartly in front. 

On our final night in Loas, we shared one last supper.  At the end, we took part in our usual ritual. Only this time it was kip instead of dong.   I have no kip. I need more kip. I have extra kip - who wants my kip? I'm quite kippered. Somehow it was nowhere near as funny as when the currency was dong.

Joan, Jennifer, Nic, me, Greg, Irwin

I'll see your kip and raise you five dollars.

Vietnam May 2011

10 June 2011

 Well, we are back from two weeks in Asia and the friendly bug that hitched a ride home in my gut has at last said a sad goodbye. I've managed to reduce over 4,000 photos (I'm a very prolific but not particularly adept photographer) to a mere 991 and I'm ready to immortalize our journey in this blog. 

The Mekong Delta:

We flew into Bangkok, Thailand, changed planes in Ho Chi Minh City (HCM City on the map), flew into Danang, Vietnam and were met by a car which took us to Hoi An. There Greg dutifully attended every one of the sessions at the Nanotribiology (don't ask) Conference while I hung out by the pool. We spent several hours in Hanoi en route to Luang Prabang in Laos, followed by two days in Bangkok and then home.

Most airports have a bland sameness ... but not Bangkok! 

Mekong River and yup! That's a prop!

To the majority of Americans Greg's age and to a generation of Vietnamese and Laotians, the Mekong Delta will be forever associated with the Vietnam War. This led to some trepidition on our part as to how we, as Americans, would be received. We needn't have worried. In describing the people of the Mekong Delta, the first word that comes to mind is gentle, almost shy. The second is friendly. A greeting is met with a quick smile that betokens genuine friendliness.

For me and many of my fellow Americans and Canadians, there is an awkwardness in introductions and greetings.  Hands that aren't sure of their reception are shoved into pockets and an overwide smile makes a feeble attempt to bridge the gap between greeter and greetee. The Swiss, being Swiss, have rules in place: a handshake or three air kisses, although it is often hard to know which to use.  In Thailand, the former Siam, the hands are clasped together as if in prayer and tucked under the chin along with a low bow to indicate hello, goodbye or thank you. In Laos, the bow is not as low and in Vietnam, it's a short bow of the head. It's good to have set procedures for greetings!

Hoi An is a Unesco World Heritage site and so has a high cute factor. We stayed just outside of town at the River Beach Resort, a $2.00 (or 41,000 Vietnamese dong) taxi cab ride into the old town.

Our room was in the wing on the left - third floor about four rooms over with an awesome view of the river.

Let me stop here to say something about dong.  You would think that a bunch of people, all eminent scientists (except me) would be above making crude jokes about money that is called dong. Well, you would be wrong.  Since the two nearest ATM machines were frequently broken (one fatally), there was a constant scrabbling among our changing groups for enough dong to get us through one more night on the town. Commonly heard exchanges: "I need more dong", "I have no dong" and "Have you lost your dong? Here, have some of mine." Pathetic (but somehow hysterical at the time.)

We were - briefly - millionaires.
1 million dong is about $49 US

Breakfast and lunch were supplied by the hotel, paid for by the Nanotribiology Committee. At first, I felt reluctant to join in as I wasn't officially there but I was made to feel eminently welcome and so tucked in.  Toward the end of the week, I did meet a couple of other wife "groupies" but I was perfectly content to spend those few days blissfully alone. Vietnam, as everywhere we went, was a sweatbath: weather so hot and humid, you stepped outside your air conditioned room and were immediately sticky and gnarly, fervently hoping your antipersperant was as good as the ads promised. So I early established a routine of reading on our balcony overlooking the Mekong River and submersing myself in the pool as needed. One of the conference attendees heartily remarked every time he saw me (which was all too frequently), "Are you still in there? You're going to turn into a prune!" I might have pushed him in if I could only have worked up enough energy to get out of the pool.

This is a view over the shallow pool towards the river. I'm in the larger, attached pool. Hmmmmm. Nice.

view from our balcony

There was always something going on on the river.

A rare motor powered boat. Most of the small fishing boats were poled or paddled.

Twice, I took a cab into Hoi An and shopped for bargains: $5.00 silk scarves and handmade silk ties. Many of the group took advantage of the high quality, inexpensive hand tailoring but I didn't, knowing that soon I would be devoting myself to shedding my weight like a snake sheds its old skin. (We'll see about that as this old skin has been waiting to shed for a decade or two.)  I want to point out that, alone or in a group, I never once felt threatened anywhere we went: frequently implored to buy stuff but never any feeling of risk.

making lanterns

street food

elementary school

I meandered down a side street and discovered a "sweat shop" (literally) where some of that handmade tailoring is done.

Transformer Asian style

In all the areas we visited, there were WAY more scooters than there were cars... and people used them just as they would the family car.

Bicycles are also a family car substitute. Look at those pineapples - so delicious! I really miss all the exotic fruits we had in Asia: so delicious and just at the perfect stage of ripeness. Yum!

Japanese Bridge between the old town of Hoi An and the Unesco World Heritage part. I actually preferred the Old Town side - more happening there.

Many Asian cultures paint eyes on the bows of their boats to ward off evil spirits.

The old lady on the left wanted me to take her picture but the Toothless One on the right wanted to be in it as well (for cash). The old lady gave her a drop dead look and it took me a while to get rid of her.

She looks so lost - just like my mother who has dementia. But my mom's in a retirement/nursing home where she is well looked after by the staff and my Canadian cousins. This lady sells rice on the streets, bearing the weight of the heavy load on her shoulders. I gave her five bucks and hoped the Toothless One didn't bully it from her.
The average annual wage in Vietnam is about $1000 but I think that's more for jobs in the city. In rural areas, it's much lower.

On one of my forays into Hoi An, I found a handicrafts village. There, I got a fascinating introduction to the silk industry.

live silkworms

spinning the silk

Silkworm cacoons. The one on the right has hatched. To make silk, they first boil the cacoons to kill the worm and make pulling the threads easier.

My guide showed me how they pull the thread from the cacoon. One cacoon yields a single thread 300 - 900 meters (1000 - 3000 feet) long. It takes 600 cacoons to make 1 silk tie.
So, son-in-law, 4800 silkworms gave up their lives for the 8 ties I bought you, seven of which you will no doubt give to Goodwill when I'm not looking.

In the evening, various groupings of people would hail a cab into Hoi An for dinner or walk to a local restaurant.

On Wednesday afternoon, the sessions ceased to allow for an afternoon at My Son (pronounced Me Sun), another Unesco Heritage site (there seem to be quite a few of them - I'm considering having our house in Florida nominated in the hopes it will increase its value). My Son is a cluster of ancient Hindu ruins (4th to 14th century AD). Unfortunately, it was heavily bombed by the US during the Vietnam War and now only 20 of the 70 original temples remain. The biggest mystery is how they managed to get the red bricks to stick together with no mortar.  So much for our advanced technology!

They gave us hats on the bus (Greg found they make great frisbees. Sigh.) The old white shirted peasant dude trailing the group is my husband.

It was awesome being at the site surrounded by well read, extensively travelled professionals discussing the ruins in a babbel of languages. Of course, the same people were grinning idiotically as they posed with gigantic dongs and headless gods.

Touching this dong with one finger supposedly gives men great power. In your dreams, honey! I wonder which tour guide came up with that one?

Note serious scientist in rear.

The Nanotribiology Conference was organized by Nic Spencer, an ETH professor with whom Greg works, and Nic's wonderfully able admin Josephine Baer. Kudos to both!

After six days in Hoi An, seven of us flew to Luang Prabang via Hanoi. Nic and Sanjay were both well familiar wih Hanoi and so we wandered around downtown for a while between planes. 

Greg, me, Joan, Irwin, Sanjay, Juliette, Nic

outside cafe

A few of us sat at a table by the road for some refreshment. A man came along, his bicycle loaded with baskets. I took his photo and then felt obligated to buy something. (My daughter, the Barter Queen, is heaving a sigh of frustration as she reads this.) However, I, being a damn good barterer myself (ha!), cunningly haggled a set of five baskets for less than $3.00. Proudly returning to the table, I noticed a look of extreme exasperation on my beloved's face. Turns out I had mixed up the monetary conversion and paid fifteen dollars for my loot. The owner of the cafe was standing in the doorway while all this was going on. She asked to borrow the baskets and then held them up, yelling to her workers in back. They all had quite a chuckle. I was feeling quite low - especially knowing what Katie would say when her father told her - as he surely would - the story. My new friend Joan came to my rescue and pointed out that I had probably helped feed the man's family for a week. So there!

Small altars are found all over in Asia - in houses, outside of houses and everywhere else. I was trying to figure out why this one had a pack of cigarettes by it - do the gods smoke? Then our waiter came along and, lighting one of the cigarettes, stuck it upright in the sand in front of the altar. I guess they do.

Fun over, we headed back to the airport. Our Vietnam adventure was over, our Luang Prabang about to begin.