sybarites

I feel somewhat conflicted about our excursion to ride elephants in Luang Prabang.   The decision to take part in this activity was complex, because of all the negative things that can be associated with the commercial use of animals.   I mean,  there are some positively atrocious outfits that are cruel to their beasts beyond measures of reason and who make a profit at the extreme cost of a creature’s health or well-being.  There are also some commendable operations that rescue animals from what might otherwise be a perilous existence and support the animal by arranging respectful and educational visits from tourists.  The thing is, there are many operations that function somewhere between those two extremes and we couldn’t be sure where our tour company fit into that spectrum.   In hindsight, I suppose that if we couldn’t be at least ninety nine percent sure of their standards and procedures regarding the treatment of the elephants, we should not have gone.  However, what’s done is done, and we went.

This isn’t to say that we had a bad experience, or that we witnessed terrible cruelty;   I am ambivalent about it because I am uneducated.  I don’t know what it takes to keep an elephant – I don’t know anything about elephants – so I just felt poorly equipped to decide whether we were supporting a local industry which keeps elephants from being killed or supporting a company that works them cruelly.  For example, how many wraps of a chain around a foot is necessary to keep a 40 year old male elephant from running loose?  Are the seat harnesses uncomfortable for them?  How much food does an elephant need and do they get it here?  These remain unknowns.  I guess I feel like I still don’t know what it was we supported with our $46 and I am uncomfortable with not knowing for sure.

For the record, though, things looked pretty decent when we were there, a camp outside Luang Prabang called All Lao Tours Camp.  The place has been in operation for years and was recommended to us by people who had recently participated in a 2-day ‘learn to be a mahout’ program (mahout = elephant trainer) and they said it was great.  We were there only for a short time, long enough to climb aboard one of the three elephants working that day and plod around through the jungle for about an hour.  The ride was uneventful, rather unexciting – apart from being able to actually touch an elephant for the first time.  The most enjoyable part was feeding them bananas when we returned to the camp. (Check the ‘Videos’ section of our blog to see the Marc feeding one of the females.)

All in all, I remain ambivalent.  I don’t know if what we did was ‘good’ or ‘bad’ but I don’t think I’ll ever do it again.

I would like to say that the majesty of the former residence of Lao Royalty inspired us to crave a more delicate cuisine but I would be lying. It was actually just a question of unbridled gluttony. But the residence was impressive, especially the Limoges china and bohemian crystal. And the antique sideboards in the dining room. (Can you see where this is leading?)

L’Elephant. This is the name of the restaurant at which we melted. They serve French food, impeccable with all the details and ceremony which we love. Marc won the toss so he got to order the duck, with a starter of French onion soup. However, I won in the end with the starter of greens with blue cheese dressing and pork fillet, sauteed wild mushrooms and *swoon* garlic mashed potatoes. Dreamy. Plus wine: exquisite. We went back there twice.

And then there was the Laos restaurant owned by the same group called Three Nagas. With Doug and Amy, we treated ourselves to a traditional Laos feast with stewed water buffalo (for the record: chewy), various savoury soups, minced pork wrapped in lemon grass, and steamed fish stuffed with pork. The laminated article posted outside the restaurant said that this place offered a taste of Laos that is different from Vietnam, different from Thailand or Cambodia and they were right. We could taste Laos in the dishes, taste the unique flavours and the bold meats. Except what we couldn’t taste past the spiciness.

I could go on about the food, about the great espresso that the bakery up the street made, about the fantastic cheeseburger at the sports bar, but I won’t because it would be better to take note of the falls. All tourists who visit Luang Prabang are required to visit Kuang Sy waterfall, about one hour outside of town along one of the dustiest, bumpiest road in existence.

I don’t really know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

It was like something out of a coffee table book of pictures describing what one can see in the jungle. Or like what I imagine the first Europeans, foraging through Indochina, found and then described in letters written home and in voluminous, romantic essays. Though I’m pretty sure that those foraging falang didn’t wear their bathing costumes under their clothes so as to take a dip in the frigid blue water.

It was frigid. It was breath-takingly icy, especially when you put your head under. But the wine that we brought with us up to the falls warmed us right up.

After spending three days eating five meals a day in Vientiane, we rolled our bloated bellies into Vang Vieng in mountainous Northern Laos. There is a well lubricated tourist route from Vientiane up to Luang Prabang with a stop at Vang Vieng in the middle. V.V. has got a bit of a reputation for its Westerner-friendly food, its restaurant TVs blasting repeats of Friends and The Simpson’s every night at full volume, and, redeemingly, its outdoor pursuits.

First things first (while, second really, if we count ‘drink wine on the balcony overlooking the river’), the four of us set ourselves up with scooters to explore the town and the surrounding caves. Not that riding a scooter is difficult, but sometimes, riding a scooter can be difficult! This was my first experience with the using of the gears on a motorized bike-type vehicle and there were more than a couple of wobbly starts and jarring down-shifts. Marc insists my driving is better than his; my pride does not allow me to disagree so I was always the pilot.

Anyway, with scooters, we were able to fire out to see a few of the local caves (used as bomb shelters in decades past) and to slide into the organic farm just outside the town for a little vegematarian lunch. Heaven forbid we should go a few hours without eating. Fantastic mulberry shakes. It was fun, though, to see some stalactites and get the legs moving in between bike and table.
At our last cave, we had the option of renting a couple of inner tubes to float into a flooded cave. The water was pretty icy, we had no swimsuits and the sun was sliding behind the mountains so we hesitated on whether or not to go but, in the end, couldn’t say no. Thus, we have the headlamp-wearing tubers cringing in the cold water as we pull ourselves along ropes leading into the cave. It was a chilly 15-min ride but fun nonetheless.

Day 2 we signed on for some rock climbing. Marc and I are novices, Doug is an expert and Amy opted for a day with book by river. Now, Doug is still an expert, Amy is well rested, and Marc and I are bruised but enthusiastic to try climbing again. Our guide took us out to a couple of rock walls located conveniently next to a river bar. (The river bars are set up at regular intervals over 3km for the people who float on inner tubes down the river for an afternoon.)

With quivering muscles, we called it a day around 3:30 so had enough time to relax with a beer on the river before heading back and this is where we witnessed something new. It is the job of one of the guys at the bar to stand out on the river’s edge, a bit upstream from the bar, with a bamboo pole attached to a long rope. As the foreigners – known as ‘falang’ here, a word which came from ‘francais’ when the French were here – float towards the guy, he will toss out the pole so they can grab on and be towed to shore. This is known as “fishing for falang” and was amusing to watch from the bar.

Oh, those French. I can just imagine the life of leisure in which those colonialists must have drifted while in Vientiane. It’s warm in the day, but pleasantly cool in the evenings, the Mekong drifts slowly by the city and there is no chance of running out of French food.

While we did step out to do a small amount of touristing while in the city – most notably the monument known as the “Vertical Runway” because it was built using concrete donated by the US for building an airport runway – our main focus was truly on the food. There are just too many places to eat, too many cuisines to sample, too many balconies on which to relax and too many cafes in which to chill. We did our best to eat as much as humanly possible while there and were joined by Doug and Amy whom we met a couple months ago in India; it is brilliant to have friends once again.

The top two meals have to go to the the cafe where we ate breakfast three days in a row, and the DaoFa Bistro on one of the main streets in town. The breakfast place served some world-class, buttery, croissants and espresso. After days and days of Vietnamese pho to start the day, to have a little French in the morning made me melt. This place also set us up with a take-away lunch for our bus ride up to Vang Vieng and that meal earns the gold medal in the Lunch on a Bus category: fresh green salad (salad!!) with peppery vinaigrette and fresh, whole baguettes – one with chicken and wild mushrooms and one with real roasted beef, potatoes and grainy mustard. The heretofore gold medal holder was Pringles and oranges so this new champion will surely not be beat.

DaoFa hit dead centre of our weak spot: wine. We had to create a meal between lunch and dinner just so that we could enjoy a little carafe at a sidewalk table. I got a ham and cheese crepe, which was no slouch, but Marc won with the smoked-duck salad with walnuts and prunes. Smoked duck! Prunes! I can’t believe we left Vientiane without going back but there were just too many places and not enough stomach.