Loving Luang Prabang in Laos

There was a brief pause between the songs of Karen Carpenter in which the brother-in-law of my exceptional interpreter Viengsavanh Khounsavath asked how I was enjoying his home city of Luang Prabang in north central Laos. I had to be quick because Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft was coming on soon and once that song began Viengsavanh\'s brother-in-law the biggest Carpenters fan in all of Laos, coincidentally possessing the most God-awful singing voice in all of southeast Asia would be lost in a beer-fuelled midnight ramble about the existence of most extraordinary and anti-adversary craft. \"Where do I begin?\" I said, slugging back on my fourth can of Beer Lao and chewing my last strip of grilled hillside wild boar skin, a delicacy in these parts. The night market seemed a good place to start. It was the perfect way to get a feel for the wonders of Luang Prabang, a bustling market strip with French-influenced bakeries and cafes sharing space with market stalls boasting all manner of local handicraft: finely woven silk and cotton garments; loud T-shirts with hammer and sickle motifs harking back to the country\'s communist past; all kinds of silver weapons, tools, necklaces and wristbands.Then I raved to Viengsavanh\'s brother-in-law about all the weird and wonderful food on offer in the market. There must have been 50 different forms of rice. There were snake heads and pig toes and so much catfish. Boiled catfish; marinated catfish; dried catfish, all scooped out of the mighty Mekong River down the road. There were dazzling desserts and live, wriggling creatures dug fresh from the ground, the perfect addition to any hearty Laos soup. The morning after, I explained, I woke before dawn to participate in an offering of alms to hundreds of saffron-robed monks passing through the streets of Luang Prabang. My hotel, La Residence Phou Vao, organised the whole bizarre, awe-inspiring thing. It arranged for me a gifted interpreter, Viengsavanh. He had spent his teens studying with monks and knew exactly where to stand to best appreciate an early-morning ritual that dates back generations. I stood on a quiet corner just before sunrise and waited as 100 monks slowly made their way up to my space, taking offerings from locals along the way. As each monk passed, I dug out a handful of cooked rice from a pot I was holding at my waist and dropped it respectfully into their baskets. La Residence Phou Vao had suggested the experience. It is good like that. But there\'s plenty else that is good about the hotel, starting with its position on a hill with a swimming pool looking out to mountains. Rooms are light, airy and cool. There\'s a massage room a few doors down and a bar a short walk up a gentle hill. The restaurant is so good there you\'ll be tempted to have all your meals out in the courtyard. The man at the front desk knows all. And, critically, he will put you in touch with a solid guide and interpreter like Viengsavanh, who will organise a bike ride for you that takes you through the countryside, introducing you to riverside families who can create a pottery vase in minutes before your widening eyes; telling you about Laos\' dark and fascinating role in the Vietnam War, which left the countryside littered with unexploded ordnance; introducing you to silk workers with magical fingers that work silk threads the way Jimi Hendrix worked a guitar fretboard. And this brought me to one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life, cruising down the Mekong River in search of the Pak Ou caves. We stopped on a beach along the way, where the boat driver and his assistant fixed me a Laotian feast at a table set under a makeshift shade. The Pak Ou caves are set into a dramatic and soaring rock face rising from the banks of the Mekong. The limestone caves house thousands of Buddha figures in various positions, reflecting the wonders and benefits of meditation, teaching, peace, rain and reclining. This is a sacred site to the locals and it\'s every bit as grand and enriching as their whispers promise. It was on the journey home that Viengsavanh invited me to a family get together at his brother-in-law\'s home that night. His family would, he said, honour me with a dish of grilled wild boar skin, fresh from the forest. I was deeply touched by the gesture. Six men ate the boar skin sitting on metal buckets in the brother-in-law\'s garage. The wives stayed in the kitchen fixing stir-fried vegetables. \"And here I am,\" I said to Viengsavanh\'s brother-in-law.