Luang Prabang is the capital of the province of the same name in the mountainous north and was originally the capital of the historical kingdom of Lan Xang and the French protectorate of Laos. Until the abolition of the monarchy in Laos in 1975, it was the royal city.
Today, the city is recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site and one of the country's most important tourist destinations.
32 Buddhist monasteries and all of the French colonial architecture in the city have been listed and have since been restored. Restrictive urban planning should also prevent violations of the art-historically unique character of the city center.
In 2015, 500.000 foreign tourists visited Luang Prabang.
The historic center of the city lies in the shelter of the spur between the Mekong and its tributary, the Nam Khna, at an altitude of around 300 metres. It is a trading center for rice, rubber and teak. In addition, handicraft products such as woodwork, textiles, paper are made.
Luang Prabang is home to a university, Souphanouvong University.
The last king
The last Laotian king, Savang Vatthana, who resided in Luang Prabang until 1975, was deported to a political re-education camp with his wife and the crown prince. The royal family died there – presumably in 1984 – from previously unexplained circumstances.
When the Pathet Lao took power, there was also an exodus of Laotians hostile to the regime in Luang Prabang, with around 300.000 people fleeing across the country. The city of Luang Prabang fell into a "Sleeping Beauty sleep".
Since the economic liberalization, in particular the privatization of tourism 1991, the cultural-historical importance of Luang Prabang is recognized and increasingly marketed.
The city is connected to the capital Vientiane via Vang Vieng via the asphalt national road 13. I will be able to check that on the drive to Vang Vieng tomorrow at the latest. The previous experiences with Laotian national highways have, let's say, not necessarily led to euphoric hurricanes.
Evening at the Mekong
I fell in love with the city itself, with its calm and serenity (despite the crowds of tourists). I rarely say things like that, but I could live here for a while.
Why not? Learning Lao, meditating in the monasteries, going on long bike tours. Coming down from years of abuse of health and nerves. But like so many things, it will remain a phantom, an illusion.
The smell of flowers
If you catch a moment like in the evening, just before sunset, when the tourists have gone to the restaurants to eat pizza, hamburgers or all the other western delicacies that you just can't seem to live without, it becomes in the places unexpectedly quieter outside the busy centre.
Not as still as one would like, but nevertheless the air suddenly smells of flowers, of the scent of the trees, maybe a bit of the Mekong (which is not only a great river, but also a collecting cesspool of all sewage from here to the Himalayas).
Coffee nom
And so I sit in a tiny restaurant above the river, my head empty and full at the same time, in front of me a coffee nom, a plate with something Laotian, whose name and composition I forgot, but which I don't care about at all.
The landlady is once again so touchingly friendly that a strange feeling sets in. It's probably because it's not business-like kindness, it's genuine, straight from the heart.
And we cynical Westerners are not prepared for something like that. You get caught on the left foot, so to speak, and feel oddly guilty. How to return her gesture? With an equally friendly smile, of course, but is that enough? Should the tip be correspondingly higher? So repay kindness with money?
We're so broken
Wanted meditation
Young monks stroll past, laughing, happy, as always. This reminds me that I actually wanted to attend a meditation session. My guide refers to some monasteries that also allow strangers to take part in the evening meditation session.
So I find myself at the said monastery at the appointed time, but with the exception of a few monks who are doing something in the courtyard, but do not give the impression at all that a meditation class could take place here.
After a while - the specified time has long since expired - I ask the first person who comes my way, but the language barriers are once again too high. If the language doesn't work, then maybe the well-known method with hand and foot, but not even my folded hands, the closed eyes, the calm breathing lead to success, on the contrary. The young samaneras, meanwhile gathered in the me, find the strange stranger screeching.
Well then, don't.
In the afternoon I stroll through the city, the quiet streets where the noise can only be heard as a distant murmur, breathing in the scent of the magnolias, along the stalls where the tourists stand on each other's feet to end up buying overpriced Chinese souvenirs which make little joy at home and soon pass into a dusty future.
The last time on the Mekong
But I want to explore the area by bike again to say goodbye to Luang Prabang. Above all, I would like to sit by the Mekong again, namely where it meets the tributary Nam Khan.
And after a short ride through the bustling center and hill up and down, the Mekong is in front of me. A bridge made of bamboo, which looks as if it would have to be rebuilt every year after the flood, leads over the tributary to the other bank.
Bridge over the Nam Khan, with a fee of course
However, there's an obolus to pay for the passage. A friendly lady draws my attention to it with a grin and charges about 10 centimes. With slow and hesitant steps on the fragile ground I cross it to the other bank.
Later, definitely in that strange melancholy mood inherent in every farewell, I look out over the river, the swirling waters, the incessant ups and downs of the waves, the glints on their crests that reflect the sun for a tiny moment.
P.S. Matching Song: Luca Bloom - Bridge of Sorrow
And here the journey continues ...
