Luang Prabang: Go Chasing Waterfalls

Anx and I went to university together, years ago. We a shared connection of depth, while engaging in conversation outside the library. Our enquiring minds sought a common thread of truth, both in our fields of study and beyond. The dialogue was philosophical in nature, like two mirrors facing one another, reflecting the angles.. Although no definite conclusions were drawn, we walked away with a deeper understanding, if only for a moment.

We graduated in the spring, and by autumn we were back in the big city, with new jobs in the finance world. Here, our paths diverged while remaining parallel, stepping into the "real world" and adapting ourselves to the corporate machine. The finance dream was alluring: high pay, affirmation of intelligence, fancy titles and a glamorous lifestyle. The price we gladly paid in long hours, steep learning curves and high stress environments.

Anx and I drifted apart, which so easily happens in Hong Kong...you just get caught up in life, in being busy. When I saw her again, she seemed different to the girl I once knew. No longer a humble student, she was now a classy young finance executive, immersed in fancy labels and brand names. Chic restaurants weren't good enough, private kitchens were all the rage. I got the impression that, since she worked so hard to attain the labels she attached to herself, Anx would look down on other people who hadn't achieved the same. 

Then again, maybe she continued to act as a mirror, revealing behaviors I was blind to in myself.

Fast forward a few years and we cross paths again, at the perfect time. I had quit my banking job and broke up with my banking girlfriend. Bad things happen in threes, and to top it off I suffered a debilitating health crisis. After a 6-month recovery, I was beginning to enjoy my life, back to planning the big trip. 

Anx found out from a mutual friend that I quit, and wanted to hear from me. She too was at the breaking point. Her working hours often stretched until midnight, and the signs were plain: edgy nervousness, eye bags and stressed skin. She looked like she could've slept a week. Her resignation letter was already typed up, and within days of our conversation, she handed it in.  

This decision sparked a dramatic transition. Soon her love life unraveled as well. A lot of her previous stress had bounced off her longtime boyfriend, and the relationship had reached a tipping point. Anx was gutted by this, way more than over her job. She had no control over what was happening, and it dealt a crushing blow to her self esteem and psyche.     

She was now exactly like me: no job, no partner, no status, damaged self-worth. What we did have was freedom, a little faith, and someone to share the experience with. 

So began our journey.

The Lao Connect

Anx went through a slew of self-help books to decipher how she could change, in order to get him back. Time off the job gave her the space to see where she'd gone wrong, and she was eager to make the necessary adjustments, immediately. He was unresponsive, but (she thought) it was a matter of time and determination.

We met up for coffee to relish in our funemployment, talk about life and plan the next moves. She knew about my designs for world travels, and decided last minute that she too wanted some adventure in her life.

Unfortunately, adventures can't be planned according to a strict schedule. Before I left Hong Kong for Vietnam, we did some research and agreed on a rough date and place to meet. With modern technology it was easy to continue planning as I traveled. Turns out I needed to stay in Vietnam for longer than expected, so luckily we hadn't finalized our arrangement. Anx was not pleased with the change in plans, but I appeased her.

And so it was, a little over a month into my travels, that I met Anx in Luang Prabang. A picturesque town sitting on a bend of the Mekong river, it is the place to be if you travel to Laos. When Anx arrived at the guesthouse we booked, she was nervous but excited. She'd already met a new friend along the way named Allison, a solo traveler from the States. 

As a city girl backpacking for the first time, Anx's approach was different to mine. She was operating far outside of her comfort zone, and took it very seriously. Everything was to be pre-booked and confirmed in advance. With a definite itinerary, more structure and less uncertainty. I was only happy to accommodate. With a long journey ahead, there would be plenty of opportunities to be spontaneous. 

Cascades of Light

The morning was foggy. We followed a guide through a village in the valley, where the children ran freely. With the fog descending upon the hill, we passed through farmland and a rubber plantation before entering the forest proper. This was where the proper trekking started, and we steadily made our way for two hours before stopping for lunch in a clearing. Through the trees we could see a golden Buddha statue, protecting a nearby cave. Naturally we went to explore, lighting the way with our smartphones. We inched our way in until the ceiling got lower, and the cave floors wetter. Until I lost my footing, slipped and almost cracked both my skull and phone. Fortunately, I was able to break my fall and clutch the phone before it smashed. Reflexes from years of judo and a lifetime of dropping things. 

Nearby was a gentle stream of aquamarine, that would eventually flow into the majestic Kuang Si waterfall. The early fog opened up to a stunningly beautiful afternoon, and just as we arrived, the rays of the sun poured down over the top of the travertine falls. The water was illuminated in turquoise tones as it cascaded, gathering in rock pools and basins. 

At each lower level, the falls were less steep, as if the water was slowing its descent. From several stories high, it cascaded to a height that, two or three levels down, you could jump off. The rapids then continued down, washing over large flat rocks into the bottom basin. In all, there must've been a hundred separate waterfalls, all interlinked. It was surreal.

The bubble burst with the sudden realization that, like a fool, I left my swimming trunks back at the guesthouse. When Allison and Anx went to change into their swimwear, I exercised my only available option: I found a secluded spot and awkwardly stripped down to my underwear. This was the most gorgeous waterfall ever, and I wasn't about to pass up the chance to experience it. So there I stood, trying not to be embarrassed in my red plaid boxers. 

Then I saw an old Asian man with the same problem as me, who solved it the same way. Only he was wearing tight-whities (the proper term slipped my mind—briefs). It was blatantly obvious he'd been in the water already, because his soaked-through underwear left little to the imagination. Some people jeered and laughed, others smirked with a sidelong glance. He couldn't care less what anyone thought, he was loving life. Good for him. Helped me to get over my self-consciousness.

We started off bathing in the shallow waters of the bottom basin, getting comfortable with it first. Even here you could feel the icy, raw pressure of the flow. It really forced me to be in the moment, flushing all other thoughts from my mind. Anx suggested I try to meditate there. Which I failed to do.

At a higher level, it was deep enough for a swim. I grabbed a makeshift rope swing on a tree overhanging the rock pool and launched myself Tarzan-style into the middle of its depths. Completely immersed, I felt my body forgetting all the trekking fatigue. The perfect antidote for a long hot day. I leisurely swam to the shallows, standing up to enjoy the view of the falls, when something started sucking on my foot. Startled, I took a few steps and it followed me, sucking and nibbling my feet. Looking down, I saw a group of fish the length of a hand going to town all around my ankles. It was thoroughly discomforting, and I made a quick exit.

We could've stayed for hours, but then the sun disappeared behind the hills, and the warmth went with it. The water became freezing and we called it a day.

What a glorious day it was.

The Novice Life

A group of young ladies shared our ride back to town from Kuang Si waterfall. They had been volunteering in Laos for months, teaching English to the young monks (called novices) at the temples. Anx and I had seen these young monks walking around the streets in small groups, ranging from kids to teenage, all with shaved heads and orange robes. 

It was interesting to hear about their lives. They rise at dawn to meditate, then form a procession to receive their daily alms; whatever food was donated by the townpeople would be their sustenance for the day. Their time was split then between their studies, duties and chores at the temple. Eating after midday was not permitted. I later learned that they take ten vows of abstinence, which become two hundred vows if a novice makes the lifetime commitment of becoming a monk.

The novices were friendly with their teachers, but strict rules of etiquette had to be observed. Physical touch with a female was of course prohibited. Even if a lady was their teacher and friend in the classroom, she could not just walk up and say hello on the street. Instead, she had to wait until addressed by the novice, and only then acknowledge the gesture to start a dialogue. But other than that, the impression I got was that the novices were similar to ordinary boys in many ways. They had cell phones, and would text each other constantly to chitchat and gossip. 

I was interested to teach the novices myself, thereby learning directly from them as well. But this didn't happen, and the most I could do was greet them with a namaste gesture and a smile on the street. Their behavior was formal and rigid.

Back in town, Anx mentioned how strange she felt, being Chinese in this Asian country. It seemed rare for people from Hong Kong to travel in these parts. Both the locals and European travelers treated us like we were Lao, until we started speaking English. I picked up on this too, but we resolved that it wouldn't be an issue if we didn't make it one.

For my part, I knew the least about Laos among the South Eastern countries. While their neighbors in Vietnam and Thailand had more prominent cultures and history, the Lao people were closest in disposition to their Cambodian cousins: they were friendly, calm and patient, though less effusive. Above all, they were personified by a quiet dignity. It seemed that many were at peace with themselves. Or maybe I was feeling that, and projecting it onto them.

I later learned that the Lao worldview is one of acceptance. Circumstances, good or bad, are seen as interlinked with one's previous life, and can therefore be accepted without emotion or protest. In short, "things are as they are and should be." Why try and change it?

This was an alien notion to me, and would certainly be anathema back home, where nobody ever just accepted their lot in life. You had to have ambition and drive, work hard and get what's yours. That's why the city is so developed, the epitome of efficiency. It's also why everyone worked so hard and moved at such breakneck speed.

Complete acceptance...what a novel idea! If everyone accepted all things as they are, then there would (theoretically) be a lot less suffering and conflict. But would there also be a risk of being passive and stagnant?

Well, when in Laos...

Flyfox
Simply put, we wanted more waterfalls. 

A tuktuk ride through the country led to a long, narrow motorboat down the river, where we arrived at Tad Sae. There was a definite letdown, as they could not compare to the mystical Kuang Si. The waters were still pristine, but these were baby falls. 

Instead of swimming then, we went zip lining high up in the forest canopy. After an initial climb, we were in the trees, perching on platforms built right into the tree trunks. Beyond the edge of the platform was a sea of green treetops, with no sign of the forest floor. But any vertigo was mitigated by the extensive safety measures, and I focused on the exhilarating experience of gliding from tree to tree. 

One zip was incredibly long, breaking clear of the foliage halfway along the line. Beneath my dangling feet, the treetops opened up to a beautiful valley with a river running through it. For a few precious seconds, I marveled at the expanse I was flying through, before plunging right back into the thick of the woods.  

The safety harness was designed so that we didn't have to hold onto it. Of course, for the first few zips, we clung for dear life anyway. But by the end of course, I was comfortable enough to imitate our guides. For the last zip over the falls, I let go to hang upside-down with my arms out wide in an upturned crucifix. While in this position, I had a bird's eye view of the waters below, in which people were riding elephants.

Saffron Sky

We made our way back to Phu Si mountain in the middle of town to catch sunset. There's a temple at the top of the mountain, and we arrived early to get a good view. While the sun dominated the sky, the panorama was breathtaking. The river ran on both sides of the mountain, and the hills stretched to the horizon. 

As the sun dipped lower, cloud formations passed over it. The sky became a vivid painting that swirled and changed by the minute, capturing my imagination. From a cluster of starships, it became the Eye of Sauron, then a scene of Genesis. 

The orange rays outlined the clouds for a few lingering moments, as if the sun itself did not want to set. And then the day was over. 

Chanting Vibrations

We failed to wake up at dawn for the monks' daily alms collection. Monks and novices alike rely on daily donations from the people for food. I later read that in Luang Prabang, this has become a very commercialized procedure due to tourists, who disturb the solemnity of the ritual by blatantly breaking the rules regarding proper dress, talking and flashing cameras. Reports even mentioned that greedy merchants sold stale or unsafe food to tourists, who unknowingly donate the food to the monks and make them sick. So it turned out for the better that we didn't see it.

I would witness the dawn alms collection in another time and place, but not here.

We did spend the day exploring Buddhist temples around town. Anx grew up in a Buddhist family, and was familiar with the traditions. It made the entire experience more meaningful to me, watching her light incenses and prayer candles. She knelt in front of the golden statue of Buddha, silently praying. Not being a Buddhist myself, I stood apart. 

But I bowed my head and offered my own prayer to the Universe, asking that her request be answered, if it was meant to be.

Indigo shawl

When we stepped out of the temple, something felt different. Up to this point our trip had been lighthearted and fun, but there was a change, as if we remembered why we came here in the first place. It remained unspoken, but as we carried on with our day, I knew she felt it too. 

The monks and novices chanted at sunset, another daily ritual. This was our last day in Luang Prabang, so when dusk approached we set off on a mission, walking through all the main roads and backtracking to the temples we visited. By nightfall, we hadn't found anyone chanting anywhere, so we abandoned the search, disappointed. 

As sometimes happens in life, you find what you're looking for when you least expect it. While discussing what to do next on our back to the guesthouse, we heard the chant. The sound was faint amidst the noises of the street. But when we stopped and listened, there it was, coming from a dark alley between buildings. Without a word, we stepped into the shadows of the alley and followed our ears.

The chanting grew louder as the alley led into an empty courtyard, and when we saw the temple's silhouette, we knew we'd found them. Through the open door we saw the novices, facing the Buddha statue with their backs to us, chanting in unison. We sat on the steps outside and soaked in the steady rhythm of the voices. 

We didn't know the words being chanted, and probably wouldn't understand even if we did. But we found what we came for, and as the voices resonated through the temple, I felt a palpable peace. Silently we observed the chant, and silently we departed. 

Out in the courtyard, we overheard a conversation between a tourist couple and one of the novices, through a guide's translation. The novice told of his life: he came from a poor family in the countryside, and was sent here to receive an education, provided by the temple provided as long as the rules were obeyed. Not all novices became monks, but they would leave here with a better understanding of the Buddha's teachings, which along with their other studies would further their lives.

When we emerged onto the street again, we stepped into another world. The silent shadows gave way to a wall of light and commotion. The empty void had been filled too quickly, and our eyes blinked in adjustment.

As we scoped the night market to buy supplies for the journey ahead, it felt like waking up from a dream, forgetting exactly what just happened. Except for the vibrations of the monk chanting, echoing in my mind.

Ascended Master

Dragon stairs