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

Om Beach Part V: Igloo Chanting, Indian Smackdown

Burning Feet

After her farewell bonfire (my first), Hazel didn't leave Om Beach. In fact, she kept trying to leave for days after, but the forces that be wouldn't let her leave…the time was not yet ripe. Originally from Scotland, she might've been the most free spirit of all of them. She made friends easily, because she was open, charming and true to herself. She followed her heart to the fullest, but not even she knew what her heart desired next. It seemed Hazel did everything on a whim, unwilling or incapable of sticking to any plans beyond the day, least of all her own. Just go with the flow.

Hazel was full of quirky, esoteric knowledge that she loved to share. Among other things, she taught me about elemental breathing exercises, aerial yoga (performed in a hammock) and the mantras associated with chakras.

Two days after I met her, we went for a trip to nearby Half Moon Beach and Paradise Beach. A short hike away, these were common destinations for the people of Om Beach looking for an excursion. There were two ways to walk from Om to Half Moon: the faster inland route through the forest, and the longer scenic route, hugging the rock outcroppings jutting out between the [bays]. It was a gloriously sunny day, and we decided to take the scenic route.

Hazel ran ahead impulsively, while I followed with Jason and Paul. The latter was himself a curiously interesting guy from Seattle, who organized and led spiritual retreats. He was here on a spiritual retreat himself of sorts, and was full of good stories, especially regarding ayuhuasca. In fact, his ex-girlfriend ended up becoming an ayuhuasca shaman. Both he and Jason opted to embark on the hike without shoes, and I did the same, thinking it would be a pleasant nature walk.

I've been exposed to the barefoot phenomenon before India, but not fully. Children in Bangladesh often wore no shoes, through poverty or habit, but the adults were all properly soled. It was in Varanasi where thousands of Indian pilgrims walked with no shoes through Old City alleys and sandstone embankment alike, utter disregard for hygiene or discomfort. I thought it might be an Indian thing, but then so many of the Australians I met were equally comfortable walking around barefoot, whether on sun-scorched sand or uneven rocky terrain. One girl happily confided in me that her job allowed her to work barefoot, and it had already been five weeks since she touched a pair of shoes!

Walking on the beach barefoot was easy, except when the sun scorched at noon. By now it was mid-afternoon, so I set off on the hike without worry. What I didn't take into account was that the rocks on the hillside were sharp, and baked in the sun all day. I couldn't put any weight on my feet as I walked, it was like walking on coal. I ended up tap dancing all the way through, struggling to catch up to the my fellow trekkers. They didn't seem bothered at all, having clearly spent a lot more time barefoot and outdoors. I didn't have the calluses built up, and but tried to hide the pain under a calm demeanor. 

It was at this moment that I felt a long way from Hong Kong, where colorful sneakers and fancy leather shoes were the norm. People rarely left their houses in flip flops, let alone walk around barefoot. 

We rounded the hill, and the other guys thankfully stopped for a quick break. I followed their gaze and spied a school of dolphins in the water, playfully leaping through the waves. As far as the eye could see was the wide expanse of the Indian Ocean, making it seem like the dolphins owned these parts. There were no boats in the water and no human dwellings in sight, and it was like we'd fully returned to nature.

A little too close to nature, as the raw earth burned my feet.

Photo by Jason Burrows

Waves and Eternal Sound

My feet were almost numb by the time we made it to Half Moon, and it was a welcome relief. Meeting up with Hazel and some other friends, we frolicked in the waters for a time and enjoyed the warm afternoon. I climbed up onto a tall, black rock formation at the edge of the beach to watch the waves. The tide here came in differently from Om. Whether due to the contours of the shore or some other unknown reason, the waves avoided a specific patch of sand, washing over all the land around it in a horseshoe shape until the last moment. After watching this way for awhile, I climbed down to sit on that patch of sand and meditate. The sun was bright, the waves were nourishing, and the wind tickled my face as I channeled the energies around me.

Half Moon Beach was much smaller than Om and there was only one place for lodging, The Dolphin View. Hazel had stayed a few weeks there, and wanted to say her goodbyes to the staff there before the season ended. The word 'stay' was used rather loosely, because she didn't actually pay for a room. Instead, the staff let her string up her hammock in a clove of trees, and in this way she enjoyed the surroundings for free. She carried several hammocks with her wherever she went, allowing her to teach aerial yoga and sleep anywhere.

Hazel wanted to show us the place where she used to teach yoga. It was an [unusual] hollow structure at the back of Dolphin View, with an odd round shape and made of a brown clay type material that resembled paper mâché. The walls and roof of the structure were smooth and sculpted to end in wide holes that served as windows and wind tunnels. If anything, it resembled a summertime igloo. The inside was open space, no furniture. The five of us stood inside the igloo for a few minutes, looking around and exploring the space, feeling the wind come in and peering through the windows.

Photo by Harry Peronius

A strange and unexpected thing happened.

We all came back into the middle of the open space and stood together. Suddenly, one of us started chanting "Ommmmmmmmmmm." The acoustics of the structure were resounding, and the note reverberated from all directions. Without a word, the rest of us joined in the mantra, chanting the Om syllable from the depths of our bellies until we ran out of breath, pausing only to inhale before chanting Om again. Our voices melted into a potent, uplifting chorus and the effect was powerful. I closed my eyes and felt the energy surging around the room, coursing through my body and reaching the core of my being. My awareness heightened and blurred at the same time, and for a moment it felt like the five of us were one, that we had somehow joined together to become more than ourselves.

Time passed as we continued to be consumed by the resonance of the mystical mantra. When we stopped chanting and opened our eyes, we smiling at each other in understanding. The experience was too profound for words, and we walked back to the beach in silence. The vibrations were still inside of me, tingling my skin and through my feet with each step. It was as if I'd come out of a deep trance, unsure of my senses and grasping at some truth I was certain of, just moments earlier.

I really wanted to venture onwards to Paradise Beach. The name of the place was enticing, and it was completely secluded, with no formal accommodation whatsoever. I heard there were hippies living in the woods out there, and was curious to see what they looked like and how they lived. But light was falling fast, and it was too dangerous to scale the rocks between Half Moon and Paradise after dark. So as the sun set, I headed back to Om Beach with a twinge of regret.   

Photo by Harry Peronius

Old Man Ottawa

He often sat alone at Rasta Café, looking out to sea and lost in thought. He would chat with Padmakar and the other staff, but generally kept to himself. His snowy mustache and hair made him look too distinguished to join in the loud beach games.

One evening I engaged him in conversation. His name was Bill and he was from Ottawa, where I was born. A seasoned traveler, he had first come to India in the 1970's, presumably as part of the  counterculture movement. Back then, he told me, there was little to no infrastructure at all. Electricity was nonexistent in most parts, and disease was rampant. Travelers and locals alike would get sick at the drop of a dime, and you had to just make do. He made it sound like traveling in the modern day was a walk in the park. Compared to what he's experienced, it probably is.

Bill was turning 60 and looking forward to retirement. He had no children and would sell the house in Ottawa. The way he saw it, him and his wife had ten more solid years of traveling left in them before health became a major concern. There was no way he was going back to the winters of Canada, and in the end they would probably settle somewhere warm and cheap. Panama sounded nice to him.

Traveling for ten years at age 60. What a thought.

Photo by Jason Burrows

Sand Justice

Indians from other parts of Karnataka state would come to Om Beach on the weekends to enjoy the beach as well. These were mostly students, though I did befriend one gent who was a tech entrepreneur, having made himself a small fortune on a company that provided services to telecoms companies.  

We would all hang out at bonfires or engage in beach sports, but it was most interesting to note the differences in how the Indians enjoyed the beach compared to the Westerners. First of all, they were much more conservative in their dress. None of the women wore bikinis or swimsuits, and usually entered the water fully clothed. Many men also swam with T-shirts on, reluctant to expose themselves to sun and scrutiny. There was a running joke among the Europeans that Indians couldn't swim; indeed they mostly kept to the shallows, splashing about loudly while accomplishing little. I'm no fish myself, so I kept quiet.

While the Indian men were cautious of Caucasian women, they had no qualms about bothering Indian women on the beach. If an Indian girl went into the water, it wasn't unheard of to see a flock of men run in after her, blurring the line between playfulness and harassment. It infuriated the Western women to no end, accustomed as they were to women's rights and modern feminism. 

On one occasion, a pair of Indian girls were minding their business lounging on the beach, drawing unwanted attention from a group of young and eager Indian guys. As we watched the scene unfold, the women rejected their repeated advances. Undeterred, they kept moving in closer and badgering the poor girls, prompting Padmakar to shout a warning from the café. This was also ignored, and in the flash of an eye, Padmakar dashed across the twenty yards or so to the group and launched a fist at one of the guys. The rest of the guys jumped up, but before they could retaliate, the manager of Nirvana Café next door ran out as well, swinging wildly with a stick. The sudden and swift justice was so severe, it  had the boys running boys off in shame.

We applauded Padmakar as he walked back, but he brushed it off as no big deal. Just another incidence of problem solving in India.

Don't mess with the Padmakar
Photo by Jason Burrows

Shiva's amused face in the sand
Photo by Jason Burrows