Our first stop in LP was the Traditional Arts and Ethnology Centre which aims to unravel some of the complex ethnic groupings that constitute Lao's multi-layered make up. For the Laos aren't just one homogenous body of people - there are made up of many different tribes, including the Akha, Hmong and Khmu, who each have their own long history of tradition and beliefs. The museum took aspects of Lao life - dress, family structure, courtship and marriage - and approached them from the angle of one of the distinct 'tribes'. For instance, the Hmong people still use an ancient ritual when a young couple start to court each other. The woman makes a small red bag which she embroiders with intricate detail to show off her sewing skills. She then cooks a chicken, to demonstrate her skill there too, and places it in the bag which is then dispatched to the family of her male admirer. If the man's family approve of her, and are impressed by her ability in sewing and cooking, the bag is filled with bracelets and other trinkets and returned to her, in a sign of the family's willingness to accept her in marriage. If the bag returns empty, then ... it's time to start looking for a new beau. Dating in the western world would be a whole lot simpler if we adopted the same practice. I wonder if Benedict Cumberbatch needs a bag full of chicken?
Courting couples also try to get round the watchful attention of their chaperones by using a mouth harp. The man stands outside the window of his beloved and plays the mouth harp while talking through it. This is supposed to disguise his romantic wooing from the girl's family while being understood by the girl herself, who talks back to him the same way. Presumably the fact that the couple's parents, grand parents and great grand parents also wooed in the same way and can therefore understand the coded language is ignored in the interests of a good romantic story. I had a go at using the mouth harp and realised that I'd probably be on the shelf in Laos the same way I am everywhere else.
If anybody's passions had been enflamed with tales of steamy Lao courtship, they'd have certainly been cooled by our next destination - the Kouang Si waterfall. With a 60m drop, the fall is impressive and set in a lush location which would have been much more beautiful without the fat American tourist who ignored the 'no swimming' sign and plunged into the pool underneath. The water flowed into crystal blue pools staggered into lower layers, including several which are possible to swim in. The water was freezing though so only a couple of the more hardy members of our group took the plunge. They, at least, paid attention to both the words of our guide and the signs surrounding the pools, which ask for swimmers to dress decently in shorts and t-shirts. The Lao people are a modest bunch and the skimpy bikinis and budgie smugglers of the other tourists in the pool offend their sense of decency and morality. Watching a gang of British lads pose for a sarcastic photo next to one of the signs made me realise, with a sinking feeling, that our bad reputation as travellers is often well deserved. A depressing thought.
The thriving, colourful night market in LP was enough to lift my spirits again and drain my purse. From 4pm every afternoon half of LP's very long main road is taken over by local women selling all types of handicrafts - silver jewellery, embroidered bags and purses, quilts, paintings, carved wood, shoes, trousers and soft toys. For any shopaholic it's a dream and even for those of a less commercial persuasion, like me, there's something to tempt the moths out of your wallet. I'm a sucker for silver earrings and managed to haggle my way to a pair of elephants and a pair of fishes. Bigger purchases and gifts for those at home will have to wait until a bit nearer the end of the trip to avoid having my bag explode en route.
If you manage to drag your feet beyond the end of the market and onto the remaining half of the main road, there's the French colonial architecture to admire. Many of the balconied, colonnaded stucco mansions left intact have now been converted into swish hotels or fancy restaurants but at night when the trees outside are hung with fairy lights and the interiors are swathed in shade, you can just about imagine the houses as they once were - aristocratic, elitist and alluring. I was definitely born in the wrong era. And class. Our nighttime wander through the streets came to rather an odd end when we reached the park at the end of the peninsula on which the town sits. Rather reluctant to explore a shadowy park during darkness we were hovering around the entrance deciding whether to go back the way we came or take a different route when a orange robe attired monk suddenly appeared out of nowhere. After asking us where we came from and hearing 'England' as the answer, the monk then gestured to us to follow him into the park. Now my mother always taught me never to go with strangers and saffron-robed monks were no exception. The Ginger Broad and I said a polite 'no thank you' (my mother also taught me to always be polite, even to potential sex offenders) and scurried off not daring to look back.
That's all from your correspondent in Luang Prabang for now. More on elephants, libraries and ballet to follow.
Photos below: Our balcony at Thongbay Guest House; Akha tribal skirts; the Kouang Si waterfall; nighttime French Colonial Luang Prabang.
No comments:
Post a Comment