Lazy confluence in Laos

Luang Prabang, Laos 2015

Every day at dawn they come, barefoot in serried saffron-robed ranks, whilst this ancient peninsular city where the waters of the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers merge, sleeps quietly in the heat and humidity. A calm, torpid echo of Kyoto in high summer, especially when wandering its alleyways with no particular destination in mind, to be greeted by the sight of yet another beautiful temple or shrine.

Life moves slowly here, shaped by gentle riverine rhythms, but there is light and drama too and indeed on the evening we arrived we plunged straight into the climax of the ‘Festival of the Boats of Light’ (Boun Lai Heua Fai) which is held every Spring to celebrate the end of Buddhist Lent and of the Wet Season. Timed each year to the waxing of a full moon, large boats constructed of bamboo and paper in the city’s temples are brought to the banks of the Mekong river in a joyous procession and the whole city is illuminated with thousands of brightly coloured handmade lanterns.

Filled with offerings and illuminated by candles, each boat in turn is launched onto the Mekong’s waters at Wat Xieng Thong the city’s most important temple, to float away in the river’s current like so many Viking funeral ships consumed by fire, while crowds of people (ourselves included) released small candlelit offerings to Buddha and the ‘mother of all rivers’.

Luang Prabang’s two rivers have their own moods and character but their confluence is a languid, peaceful affair and we have taken to hanging out at the Viewpoint Café on a sultry, humid morning for a restorative iced coffee that’s very much like the colour of the swirling commingling waters below, as the vastness of South East Asia’s mightiest meets the calm, narrow ribbon of the Nam Khan. A river which is well behaved enough for the locals to build temporary bamboo bridges across it, which are charmingly referred to as ‘sometimes walk bridges’.

Our hotel, which was a royal palace before the communist coup d’état in 1975, is right on the banks of the Mekong with its own landing stage and journeying there by riverboat is an experience which is every bit as romantic as arriving at a Grand Canal hotel in Venice by launch (without the ludicrous expense).

With the mercury hovering at near 40 degrees centigrade and humidity off the charts, it’s no wonder life here is lived in slow motion and we quickly adopt a languid pace ourselves, lingering over breakfasts of Laotian Pho (Fer), laced with chili peppers in oil, herbs, fried garlic and lime juice and Congee (rice porridge) topped with deep fried shallots. Strolling languorously with no particular place to go, (the joy of this charming city is that there are no must see sights, so you can focus single-mindedly on its sensual pleasures), we make frequent pit stops for snacks of sticky rice steamed with coconut milk in tubes of bamboo, or small pancakes smeared with coconut cream served on a bamboo leaf and ice cold watermelon or sugarcane juice. These treats are in the morning fruit market, in a small alley just off Sisavangvong Road, what passes as the city’s main drag. While cockerels strut proudly pecking at scraps and dogs sleep contentedly in the middle of the road, we pass by farmers and hill-tribe women hawking freshly picked herbs (bouquets of purple basil, mustard greens and cilantro), vegetables, fruit, baskets of chilis and tiny bright orange river crabs.

Picking up the pace past caged bats and bamboo rats, mountains of grubs, pigs tied up with long strips of bamboo, we eventually find our way to a long lunch of Laotian Soup Noodles, followed by a restorative siesta.

Emerging in the relative cool of the evening we explore the night market, or reclined on cushions, look down on its hustle and bustle from the roof terrace of the Indigo House cocktail bar, followed by a late barbecue of fish, beef or pork belly with a green papaya salad from one of the many street vendors (well, late by Luang Prabang standards as walking back to our hotel at around 9pm, the city is mostly tucked in for the night).

It’s hard to pick just one dish from this delicious swirl, but the Laotian Chicken Soup Noodles we ate on our way back from exploring Wat Xien Thong temple with its seated Buddha and gilded mosaics, will long stay in our memory, even giving us the energy to delay our afternoon nap and climb the sinuous, dragon-tail staircase up Phousi hill to the pagoda.

Lao Chicken Soup Noodles

Traditionally this lovely dish is served with tapioca noodles, but for ease of preparation I have used rice vermicelli.

4-5 garlic cloves, lightly crushed

1 whole onion

Handful of coriander stalks

1x5cm piece of ginger crushed

1 stalk of lemongrass, crushed

4 lime leaves

6 chicken thighs with bone and skin on

3 litres water or for a more enriched flavour, chicken stock

1 tbsp fish sauce

Salt and pepper to taste

Garnishes

Fried garlic chips

Coriander 

Green onions

Chilli oil

Sriracha sauce

Rice vermicelli, soaked, strained and ready for use

Broth

In a large pot with a lid, add the water/ stock, crushed garlic, onion, ginger, lemongrass, lime leaves and coriander stalks. Bring to the boil, add the chicken thighs and bring it back to the boil. Reduce to a simmer and simmer for 1 hour. Remove the chicken, discard the skin and shred, strain the broth into another pot and bring back to the boil.

To assemble

Add vermicelli to bowls with shredded chicken, coriander, green onions, fried garlic, chilli oil and top with the boiling broth, then some Sriracha sauce.

Of course curiosity will out, so after a few days of this delightful lassitude we cross the old bridge over the Nam Khan in a tuk tuk to visit the gaudy golden stupa of Wat Pa Phon Phau, which looks out over the city and the silk weaving and mulberry tree bark paper making village of Ban Xang Khong.

Perhaps fortuitously the entire community of weavers are away from their looms at a funeral, leaving the colourful tools of their trade on display and with the usual crowds of visitors blissfully absent, we are able to soak up the atmosphere undisturbed. However this reversion to active exploration was quite enough to drive us back to our indolent routine in this enchanting city, that demands nothing more from you than that you go with the slow motion flow and simply ‘be’.