Vientiane, Impressions
The contrast between Bangkok and Vientiane is extraordinary. Vientiane would not rank among the slick, more-modern-than you Asian cities, the cities that never sleep: Taipei, Singapore, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Tokyo. By 20:00 Vientiane is getting sleepy. It’s not a sexy cosmopolitan model; it is simply a petite neighbor. Not so much larger than Queensbury even, it could be a mid-sized city on Hainan, with a population of just 133,000 according to the Laos LP (2003).
Motorcycles command the roads instead of cars, and they do not generate the ceaseless hum of vehicular activity that permeates every space in central Bangkok. If I turn off the fan in my guest house room, I am awarded with near silence. No drive-by horn blasts. No psy-trance emanating from neighboring bungalows. No rooftop screenings of Octopussy. Only the grumblings of my profusely sweating hulk, my exasperation at the unrelenting heat that requires me to take no less than three showers a day and leaves me with a mass of slop stained laundry.
The most liberating way to explore town is by bicycle. I feel like a throwback to olden times because, just as on Koh Phangan in Thailand, even very young boys and girls zip around on motorbikes. They must be thinking, why try so hard just to become drenched in, then wallow in the discomfort of your own sweat? Foreigners roaming the streets on foot must perplex them even more. Admittedly, this does seem very self-defeating, for though the distances in Vientiane are really quite small, the sun saps one’s energy quickly. On two wheels, the gentle breeze wipes some of the sweat off me, but my net perspiration makes its mark with impunity. There are no 7-Elevens to stop in for cold drinks and AC therapy. The scale of everything is just smaller … chains of shampoo packets, missing in Bangkok, hang from the rafters of hut shops (I am sure they are not guthka); the over-powered tuk-tuks of Bangkok while still present are outnumbered by more modestly powered motorcycle rickshaws. Aside from a few pedestrians and the map-faced foreigners, the streets are mostly devoid of activity.
Some of the shop signs are translated into Chinese, something I haven’t seen in a while. It makes me feel that I am getting closer to the border … and excited to be able to “understand” the Lao content. Something in the atmosphere makes me feel more comfortable, more in place than I was in Bangkok. Perhaps it is my transmogrification from urban statistic to bloke on the small town street, approachable, one you might chat with if so inclined. There is something deeper to my comfort here, though. In Bangkok people seemed to be confident when being looked over, sized up. In Vientiane, people mostly don’t quite know how to handle curious looks – just a moment of being gazed at and I detect the onset of an inner squirming, alarm – and reciprocally do not much look at strangers, much less ever stare. This cultural trait, if I have observed correctly, sharply contrasts with the disposition of mainland Chinese to stare at will. It is not that the Lao are not observant. In the two cases today when I entered temples with differential entrance fees for Lao and foreigners, nary had the greeting sabaai-dii left my lips before I was pegged as the latter. I am positive that wherever I go every unexpected behavior is picked up upon by the people around me. Or maybe I’m fooling myself as it is clear as day to the locals that I’m not from these here parts? They’re not staring, but they’re paying attention! One thing I know – I’d like to be able to look at the people a bit without sounding the alarm.
The noodles served cold and mint leaves in the food remind me of Ay Jy’s mother’s cooking. And I can tell right away that I am going to be a huge fan of the coffee here. Served hot or on ice, it is so sugary and thick with cream that drinking it is not unlike pouring molten fudge down one’s throat! Wai wai noodles also make an appearance on the menus here.
I’m not entirely sure why, but I have been quite skeptical of the temples in Thailand and also the one’s I’ve seen in Vientiane. Maybe it’s a feeling of anticlimax – after observing the spiritual journey of first Tibetan Buddhists, then Nepali and Indian Hindus, each distinctively flavored with vibrant ritual and venerable heritage, I can’t help feeling these temples, while meticulously adorned and classically architected, are the work of neophyte upstarts. They are too new; they lack the ancient aura that makes other temples feel holy. The temples in Bangkok have a super-realistic coloring; the ardent white walls, the shimmering inlays of red green blue glass, and the spotless grounds complete with sculpted potted shrubs all combine to make them look like Christmas presents, freshly unwrapped, still carrying the scent of manufacture. The distinctive mural of Wat Phra Kaew notwithstanding, even the gilded Buddha figures seem put on display out-of-the-box. I am reminded of my visit to the Namobuddha stupa near Dhulikhel, Nepal. The stupa itself, hundreds of years old and still vigorously flapping prayer flag tentacles, was weathered, mystical, beautiful. The monastery which had recently been constructed on the summit, in contrast, held absolutely no interest for me. A mere shadow of the monasteries in Tibet or even in the Annapurna region, its painted brick, tinted glass windows, and cement foundations draw a picture more of institutional stiffness than of time-proven grandeur. The Pha That Luang in Vientiane is an old structure, originally dating back nearly 500 years. But I found it spray-painted in gold, with the matte finish I have come to associate with newly crafted Buddha images placed in fledgling temples. A very special restfulness embraces the stupa, and the design has unique appeal. Yet … something troubles me about the desire to make a monument look golden so strong that even spray-painting is acceptable. Why the obsession with gold? To me, gold is supposed to imply value. But this “false gold” seems poorly conceived, a cheap ripoff of monuments with real gold leaf. To complete my unease of the temples of Vientiane: walking out of the main stupa area and into the righthand side temple, I noticed nothing of particular interest, until I came across a cement tub filled with water, with orange plastic ladles floating atop. As I stopped to consider whether it would make a nice photo, I noticed some orange-robed monks speaking behind me. To my dismay, I saw a cigarette hanging lazily from the lips of one of them!
The Burmese invaded Ayuthaya again in 1765 and the capital fell after two years of fighting. This time the invaders destroyed everything sacred to the Thais, including manuscripts, temples and religious sculptures.
Thailand 10th Edition Lonely Planet (16)
Granted, the history of war and devastation of cultural artifacts of Southeast Asia – a history which appears may rival the swath of incredible desecration Aurangzeb “The Burnanator” cut through India – has turned to smoke, ashes, and rubble so much of the cultural legacy.
In 1827-1827, the Siamese razed Vientiane and forced most of the people into exile across the Mekong river. All the temples were destroyed except Vat Sisaket, which continued to function as a monastery during the 19th century despite the depopulation of the city. It is the only vat in Vientiane surviving in its original shape.
signboard inside Wat Si Saket
What remained for the devout was to rebuild, endlessly rebuild, always fearing the next round of destruction, wondering which temples would fall to attrition next. The Chinese did it to themselves during the Cultural Revolution, only my feeling is that they have not bothered with the restoration work. The Lao can hardly be blamed for buildilng new temples to replace the ones that exist no longer … after all the oldest temples were new at one time. It is simply a shame the completeness of past desecration.
On a lighter note … Vientiane schoolgirls wear black skirts that fall mid-calf, only they are very special in that a grey or blue patterned trim 10-15 centimeters thick adorns the lower fringe. It is a beautiful highlight and reminds me of the skirt Ay Jy wore to the Screw formal. The boys wear the typical combination of white shirt on black slacks, looking quite clean cut and cool given the outrageous humidity and temperatures!