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Laos

from a visit in January,1999

A woman cuts bamboo in a small village.

Two women carry goods home in rural Laos.

Separating rice from chaff in Pakbeng.

An old woman walks up the road out of Pakbeng.

Sleeping pigs in a Laotian tribal village.

Trying to understand village life in rural Laos. These kids see some tourists, but not many.

With few roads, and few safe ones, Laos depends on the Mekong for much of its transportation. Three different size boats ply its brown waters: tiny, earsplitting speedboats, traditional dugouts (with or without a slow motor), and old-style houseboats.

While we waited 5 hours for Laos officials to approve our visa we were not allowed to leave our hotel grounds. Mostly this was on the honor system, though this cop stood nearby part of the afternoon.

Outfitted for the speedboat ride with life-jacket, earplugs, sunglasses and a motorcycle helmet, sans strap.

A rural home under thick bamboo groves.

This hotel is owned by Laos' last king's daughter and is an amazingly pleasant place to stay. There are local antiques in the rooms, and butterfly-filled gardens with wicker lounges. The hotel staff strummed a guitar for many lovely hours. We ate in an outdoors restaurant under leafy bamboo. And I need to brag about this photo: an 8 second exposure taken without a tripod or bracketing!

Monks sweeping the monastery grounds at dawn in Luang Prabang.

Monks leave their temples at sunrise to gather their day's rice from villagers. Here they are returning, pots full.

We first heard these enormous drums at 4am in Luang Prabang. They don't always beat them in the middle of the night: we were just "lucky." They also beat them during the day.

A monk in Luang Prabang.

In a few months this temple will fool most tourists into thinking it is another of Luang Prabang's ancient sites. But, unpainted, it is plain to see the dragons are made of cast concrete.

These concrete dragons are half painted. The black will be covered with gold paint.

Vientiene, the capitol of Laos. Avoid it. The air was so filled with smoke from cook-fires that I could barely breathe. Even a cream puff from a French bakery only cleared my throat for a few minutes. I tried swimming in the hotel swimming pool, but felt like Nero, playing while Rome burned.

This was taken without a telephoto. I parked my bicycle on the road and ventured as close as I dared to this free-ranging waterbuffalo.