The Mekong at Luang Prabang Laos
Story and all photos © Russell Johnson

Do you want to get away. I mean, really, really away?

I remember, as a child, listening to JFK talk about Lay-osh, in his Boston accent, about how Southeast Asian nations (for starters) would fall like dominoes in a monsoon if Lay-osh turned Communist. Few knew that within a few years, this poorest of countries would be even poorer, claiming the distinction of being the world's most bombed.

Luang Prabang, the former Royal Capital of Laos is now at peace, almost asleep. But it is gently awaking as one of the most enchanting places on earth.

Laos did turn Red, which didn't help its economy, but it is run by aging apparatchiki who, to their credit, don't want to see Laos hyper-westernized like neighbor Thailand. Luang Prabang is as culturally pure a place as you can find anywhere in the world. Markets wrap food in banana leaves instead of plastic bags.

Luang Prabang is one of quietest, most scenic, most restful places I have ever visited. Some friends suggested that it might be an idyllic spot to retire. I would not go so far. Laos has average wage of less that $1 a day, only one-fourth of its people have clean drinking water and it has few medical facilities. 

Designated a World Heritage Site in 1996, the town lies on a lumpy verdant carpet between the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. It was christened the capital of the "Land of a Million Elephants" in the 14th century, a title that was ceded to seedy Vientiane long ago. Despite the turmoil Laos has been through, more than half of its original 65 temples remain.  The sunsets along the Mekong, across the street, are blindingly beautiful.

Mornings, streets swarm with monks who later give way to bicycles and children. The usual Asian tradition of hanging out, cooking and burning stuff occupies the nighttime (I have fond childhood memories -- before pollution laws -- of the social ritual of communing around a pile of burning trash). There is not a lot to do for foreigners except talk to other foreigners. I paid a visit to the bar in the Phousi Hotel, more remindful of an Old West saloon than a Graham Greene hangout.

I was expecting to meet fellow travelers - perhaps some old tattooed CIA guy who fell in love with a local girl and went native. Instead I was faced with suspicious looking eyes staring at me from the bar. I slogged down my beer and discreetly made my exit. Bandits, smugglers and all manner of mountebank allegedly prowl Laos. I suspect, however, that the stares were aimed at me as a 6'3" Man from Mars than a target for mischief.

Bicycle is the best way to navigate Luang Prabang. I would be wary of public transportation. Photographer Alison Wright told me the story of her almost fatal millennial New Year's Day on a bus near Luang Prabang. You can read it in Outside Magazine.

One of the most beautiful, easy river stolls you can take is up the Mekong about 25km to the Pak Ou caves. These aren't your typical guano-floored dripping stalagtite caverns. They are lined with wood and golden Buddhas. The lower Tham Ting and the upper Tham Phum caves have been sacred sites for centuries, first of animists and, by the 14th century, Buddhists. Kings made yearly pilgrimages here until 1975 when most of the Royals took off for France. They are still important sacred sites, however.

We applaud Laos for being very careful about embracing mass tourism. We hope, as the country recovers, greed doesn't change that.