My Whirlwind Adventure in the Amazing Country of Laos

Mariah Loves Earth. Rice Paddy Next to Elephant Cave. 2024

My husband, Bryce, and I were zooming through the mountainous hillside of the rural People’s Democratic Republic of Laos, A.K.A. Please Don’t Rush, in a zippy silver Kia described by the driving company as similar to a Toyota Corolla. The driver had oversized 80s glasses, a greasy comb over, and five miniature Buddha statues on his dashboard. He was quiet and friendly. Thus far, this trip could be described as exhilarating, adventurous, and only a little dangerous. 

After weaving our way from the South to the North of frenetic Vietnam we made our way to quiet Laos for some R&R. Vietnam had the constant roar of roosters and scooter honks at every waking moment. The whole country was like one giant Las Vegas—it never slept! Our first week in Hanoi was especially sensory with nighttime jack hammering. We spent our days dodging scooters on sidewalks in Saigon, slipping past elderly Korean tour groups in the beach haven of Nha Trang, wandering through Da Lat’s Daliesque architectural Crazy House. (The experimental Alice in Wonderland escape built by a former president’s daughter that felt like some sort of psychedelic trip; it had an ocean themed ballroom and Thumbelina-like peach tree houses.) We sipped sugary egg coffees in Hanoi and ate at $2 Michelin selected pho restaurants. After Vietnam, Laos just had to be the sanctuary of soul recovery. We were drained. 

After we entered the capital city of Vientiane we were struck by the absence of noise…and people! Our stay was near the Victory Monument, Patuxay, which is a four-story French inspired Victory arch with beautiful Buddhist decorations and a ceiling with depictions of Hindu gods. The monument was created in celebration of colonial France leaving Laos. Both Vietnam and Laos saw France as an uninvited house guest who overstayed their welcome. Putaxay was lined by four way streets with less than a dozen cars. In Laos, it was considered rude to honk your horn, and people preferred to drive slow. As soon as we entered our stay we collapsed on the loft-bed and immediately noticed how our bodies felt. Tired…and run down. We originally booked two weeks in Vientiane because we figured we would want some peace and quiet, but we had not anticipated how much we would require it.

A day later we filled our fridge with groceries and stopped by a pharmacy to pick-up all the sugar-free Fisherman’s Friends lozenges that we could find. We were even able to find the elusive Chinese herbal cough syrup Nin Jiom. It makes sense, Laos is practically a satellite state of China with all the development that they are doing here. Bryce made a stir-fry in the mini-kitchen using the top of the washing machine as an ingredient’s shelf. Chopped chicken, bokchoy, and glass noodles were doused in a Thai chili hot sauce. A healthy meal for new beginnings in Laos. 

But then I got the worst headache ever! And when I mean the worst, I mean the worst headache of my entire life. It was like every ounce of blood in my entire body was rushing to my head. Most headaches I find are in one small area—kind of like a headband or a barrette. This headache felt as though my brain was going to explode out of my skull like some gross blister. Pop! Second day in Laos and I’m dead. All I could do was face plant on the couch and wrap my arms around my head. I was crying so much that Bryce got scared and ran out to a pharmacy for some Ibuprofen. 

About two minutes after he arrived home, I rushed to the washroom, but only managed to vomit in the garbage by the kitchen. But hey, at least I made it there. All I could think was, “I must have gotten food poisoning!” No other answer would make sense to me. We did go to some random BBQ restaurant in the night market the evening before. And almost all travel blogs recommended avoiding restaurant sauces. Hint Hint. Oops! I did not avoid the sauces. We spent almost the entirety of the next two weeks in bed at our stay due to sore throats and lethargy. 

It was only after we left that I realized I probably did not get food poisoning. When I was younger, I got random migraines whenever I had some mysterious food additive. Once I got a migraine from a smoothie in Munich, Germany and had to lie down in a train station because I could hardly see. We soon realized that in Laos they love MSG! Hear me out, we’ve all read the articles talking about how racism fuelled the idea of “Chinese Restaurant Sickness” from MSG, but in large enough doses anything can make people sick. I hadn’t even considered MSG as the cause behind my horrible migraine because of what I had read. Low and behold, once I started looking up migraines and food additives I found a lot of research about MSG. It has something to do with it binding with your glutamate receptors in your brain and overloading them (that’s the “G” in MSG). I guess your blood vessels in your head expand or something. Just look it up. But don't worry, it appears that it only happens to some people who are more prone to migraines in general.

After we recovered from our lethargy and got enough rest we started to really enjoy Vientiane. We walked to a Buddhist monastery, where we met a Theravadan Buddhist monk in saffron robes who we got to speak English with and meditate with. I even got to add him on Facebook after! Who doesn’t have some form of social media these days? We met an awesome bubbly American, named Ava, who worked in some type of important medical research and with vaccines. It was cool interacting with people we never normally would in our daily life back home. It’s as though boundaries melt away when career context is removed. We are just all people living our lives in the world away from home. 

We ended up spending New Year’s Eve 2024 with the bubbly Ava. We ate Laos fried fish on a restaurant balcony, wore funny New Years themed paper glasses and crowns, and ate the classic Laos dessert of coconut milk sticky rice with fresh mango. (Not too long after, I had to admit to myself that I have a, as I like to say, mild coconut allergy. I couldn’t deny it with a face full of cystic acne and cracked lip corners). It was to be the first large-scale New Year’s eve countdown on December 31st in Laos, and it was going to be celebrated at the Patuxay monument a mere two blocks from our stay. Laos has their own new year celebration that takes place in April called Pi Mai.

That evening, the park next to the monument was filled with tens of thousands of people! The place was bumping. Beer Lao, the country’s most popular beer, hosted a beer garden with picnic tables and a stage where Laos performers sang 90s hit songs such as Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” and EXTREME’s “More Than Words.” Students from Vientiane University let us sit at their table and taught us how to say “Sa Bai Dee Vy My” which we think translates to “Happy New Years!” The fireworks were cataclysmic and ephemeral. It was so beautiful all I could do was stare and hope that 2024 would be as explosively wonderful as that moment. 

While enjoying Vientiane, we still had to plan for our future. We wouldn’t be staying in Vientiane forever. Our panic set in once we Google searched reviews for the Chinese built bullet train that linked the capital to the rest of the country. We’d already spent money on two tickets and refunds were not an option. It had about the strictest security out of any Asian bullet train with descriptions of multiple ticket checkers and body scans. And it appeared that some falung, Frenchmen or foreigners, had tweezers, scissors, and all liquids over 100 mL disposed of. We were not about to lose our three bottles of bug spray, hand sanitizer, a multi-tool, or possibly my bougie $57 CAD Briogeo Charcoal + Coconut Oil Micro-Exfoliating Shampoo. All in all, what we had to lose was much more valuable than the price of two tickets. We took the plunge, spent the extra money, and booked a driver to take us to Vang Vieng. 

Our stress was immediately diffused when we met our driver. My husband was in the washroom when a stout, bald, round-headed, smiling man approached me. Immediately asking if I was headed to Vang Vieng, Sypaseut scooped up my husband’s blue travel backpack and went to throw it into the trunk of his crossover. I protested at first, but it landed on deaf ears, he was here to offer help and the best experience possible. On the road we began to ask questions and Sypaseut had many answers. He spoke near perfect English, which he studied at a college in Luang Prabang, and loved to tell us about Laos. The road to Vang Vieng was built by the Chinese about two years ago and the whole ride was smooth sailing through the countryside. The three hour ride was over as quickly as it started and we thanked him graciously for the good driving and the excellent conversation.

In Laos, cities appear to pop into existence out of thin air. Rolling hills, tropical forests, and woven bamboo houses with tin roofs are a dime a dozen, but there are only a handful of cities. From what I understand, most Laotians still live as subsistance farmers as their ancestors before them did. It's a small country, with low literacy, and not much wealth to go around. Even still, Vang Vieng reminded me of a mountainous get-away, near my hometown, which is frequented by tourists from China and inhabited by wealthy oil executives. Vang Vieng was equal in its beauty to what I was familiar with, but Laotians were its inhabitants and there were many Frenchmen—who are few and far between in Western Canada. 

Although we were travelling for more than a month, by this point, it was not until Vang Vieng that it felt like a true vacation. Maybe it was the mountain air? But once in Vang Vieng it felt as though we could truly breathe a sigh of relief. Our accumulated stress melted away. It was quiet and peaceful. Hot air balloons were silhouetted against the setting sun, dance music pulsated, and palm trees quivered in the breeze. We immediately found our favourite restaurant, Bamboo Tree, and settled into a routine of getting up early; eating Laos’ traditional dish called Larb—which consisted of ground meat, mint, red onions, and various herbs and spices; and then searching for some sort of daily adventure. 

Our first adventure was taking a 25 minute walk to Tham Chang Cave. This was the first cave that my husband would see in person. There were about 200 steep stone steps carved into a mountain side that reached a gazebo flanked by a stunning view. We saw paramotor gliders soar over the rice paddies. Their multicoloured parachutes were scattered across the horizon like falling cherry blossoms in Springtime. They were as loud as a lawn mower, and I could not decide whether the passengers were brave or stupid. Next to the gazebo was the cave entrance.

Passing through a short dark tunnel we entered its cavernous interior. It was dark, but spotlights reflected off of its glistening, moist, stone which created an awe-inspiring view. White railings and a carved pathway guided us through its winding tunnels. In one section, there was an altar where Laotians could pray or meditate. We couldn’t help but think of all the historical monks who meditated in similar places. I pondered aloud about whether Bodhidharma, the monk who is said to have brought Zen meditation from India to China, had lost his eyesight from staying in the dark for so many years. Bodhidharma supposedly meditated in a cave for nine years and ripped off his own eyelids so that he could better concentrate. In my mind, it was his eyes that he lost. If you don’t use it you lose it! There are so many moles who evolved to be blind. Eyes, who needs ‘em?

The next day we booked an excursion to do a gentle nature walk, as a group, to reach “Eden” and then we would go to a cave lagoon for tubing. Our guide, Noi, was a spritely 40 something-year-old who had sunkissed skin and endless energy. His joy was contagious and his English was excellent. It ended up that us two were the only ones who booked the hiking trip that day. Noi said that most travellers would rather relax on a river boat than climb a mountain. Wait…Climb a mountain?! No, climb two mountains. I was already committed to the experience and could not complain. That being said, I was much more prepared for tubing than hiking. I was wearing my black Merrell water shoes—New York fashion aficionado Julia Fox has the same pair BTW—and my vintage navy nylon swimsuit under a pair of not-exercise-shorts. 

We took a trail up the mountain that was built by the local Indigenous peoples, the Hmong, who used it daily to gather food from the mountainside. It consisted of scrambling up rocks, climbing rickety bamboo ladders, and finding our footing on worn dirt pathways. The daily use by the Hmong peoples left the jagged rocks with blue polished edges. We passed several Hmong children who, Noi told us, had spent the night camping on the mountainside and would be hauling their polyester backpacks full of food to the village below. 

Near the top of mountain #1 the view looked as though it were straight out of the movie Jurassic Park. It was magnificent. The valley below our viewpoint was a vibrant green jungle overflowing with life. Birds speckled the robins’ egg blue sky and Noi told us that about a hundred years ago it was said that majestic white elephants roamed across the valley. A couple Hmong men joined us and we stared into the horizon with contentment. 

After stepping, slipping, and tumbling our way down the mountain we entered the valley. It was scattered with cow patties and butterflies. Local herders would bring their cattle up the mountainside to graze. Ginormous brightly coloured wings flapped past us. Butterflies as big as Hummingbirds widened our eyes. Noi pointed out banana trees, fig trees, and edible ferns as we made our way to our lunch spot. On some rocks, next to a gentle stream, Noi lit a fire and began to set up lunch. He encouraged us to swim while he cooked. It truly felt like Eden. 

We had a lunch of fire roasted chicken and vegetable skewers, small skewered fish caught earlier that day, bananas from a freshly chopped tree, and local plants that Noi had picked. It was probably the best food that either of us had had yet! Afterwards, Noi took his machete and slashed through the brush to lead us to the entrance of a cave. He told us that it had not been in use since the COVID-19 pandemic but the Hmong traditionally used it for hunting bats. He brushed aside the sun bleached, dried, leaves that covered the entrance and led the way.

It was the largest cave that I had ever seen. The ceiling was at least 100 feet above us and every surface, aside from a narrow section of ground, was covered by dozens of stalagmites and stalactites. It was absolutely breathtaking. We could not thank Noi enough for bringing us to that beautiful cavern. He told us that we would dream of the cave that night. 

My motivation to hike had begun to wither away by the time we had finished viewing the cave. But all I could do was keep calm and carry on; I can’t help but be cliché. To paraphrase Winston Churchill, I was going through hell, but I kept going. It really wasn’t that bad. It took about three more hours to get up and down mountain #2, but I made it. My knees were a little sore from tromping downward for so long, but it made me feel better when Noi pointed out all the rocks that cattle had knocked to the bottom. I guess those large herbivores really aren’t that great at climbing down mountains and frequently slide down. It was a long day but so, so, rewarding. 

We didn’t end up having time to visit the water cave for tubing, but we got to weave through rice paddies and listen to local kids set off firecrackers. When you spend approximately seven hours with someone of Noi’s character you cannot help but admire them. We had a fantastic adventure and made a new friend. 

The next day we hired a tuk-tuk driver to take us to the Blue Lagoon #2. A teal oasis that Noi recommended visiting the day before. It consists of three natural springs set into the mountain limestone. The beautiful bluish-green pools are flanked by palm trees and mountains—with bamboo cabanas lining the banks. A cherry on top of the experience is that the clear waters are the perfect temperature. 

We set our towels down in a cabana, I slipped on my flip flops, and walked out onto the wooden bridge stretching across the smallest pool. Splash! I jumped in and the water was the perfect refreshment for the hot 30 degrees Celsius day. The pool was shallow and the water was at chest height when I stood. Within two minutes of swimming, I cut the top of my big toe on the rocky limestone. No wonder no one was swimming in the smallest pool! 

“Help!” I whined to Bryce as he rushed to his first aid kit in the cabana. In the water it didn’t look like it was bleeding, but once I was on dry land I could see that it was pouring blood. After alcohol wipes and a waterproof Bandaid we packed up our stuff and moved to the medium-sized pool which Bryce had originally recommended. 

Once we set up our stuff, I began to ruminate. I wouldn’t describe myself as a hypochondriac, but I would say that I am very risk averse. I will happily sacrifice momentary pleasures if I believe that the sacrifice will allow me to live a longer and healthier life. Some may consider my approach to life austere, but it gives me peace of mind. I have a go-to-bed-early, one-drink-rule, low-sugar-diet, must-wear-seat-belt kind of approach to living. This trip we had already been popping powdery pink Pepto Bismol tablets like 2010s It girl Cat Marnell popped Adderalls. (Pepto Bismol is a must when travelling! It literally can help prevent food poisoning by lining your stomach or something.) Anyways, in this circumstance my approach led me to immediately Google whether it was safe to swim in open bodies of water with an open wound. Of course, I discovered at least a dozen articles espousing the dangers of flesh eating disease and brain parasites from swimming in lakes. Our entire stay in Vang Vieng I was looking forward to swimming in these lagoons, and here I was, sitting on the sidelines of life. As a result of my precautious nature I decided to live vicariously through those around me. Anyways, just looking at the view I was experiencing paradise. 

Bryce, several children, a couple old Frenchmen, and some young Koreans climbed to the top of the wooden platform. It stood about 20 feet in the air and at the edge there was a metal zip line. The Frenchmen lifted up their children so that they could glide across the surface of the water for about 20 feet and then make a large splash. It looked like so much fun! Bryce had the largest smile on his face and he looked absolutely delighted. At one point I decided to kind of crab walk into the water and sit on a rock with my foot elevated. As I was doing my strange crab walk, I heard a splash and a Frenchwoman say, “merde!” I looked up and Bryce was laughing. An old Frenchman had swung to the very end of the zip line and had broken the cord that allowed participants to reel it back to the platform. For about 10 minutes I watched the Frenchmen navigate repairing the zip line. One managed to use a large wooden stick to pull the handlebars back to shore while the other swam with the broken rope back to the platform. Everyone cheered when it was finally fixed! What an entertaining sight! Shortly after, Bryce and I were all sunned out and decided to head back to home base. 

The day after, we got out of bed, started to get dressed and prepared to pack. While doing so, I felt something itchy near my underarm. I lifted up my arm and what do you think I saw? It was a tick! 

“Bryce!” I shouted, “I think I have a tick.” I always shout for Bryce, he’s a really capable and helpful person. He ran right up, immediately Googled how to remove a tick, grabbed my tweezers and got that tiny devil off of me. (Ironically, I recall that during the hike I mentioned that we should check each other for ticks, and as you would expect, we both forgot.) I had never had a tick bite me before, and of course, I was curious about what the result could be. Bryce searched for me and once he found out the information he refused to tell me. I guess there are over 100 different tick varieties in Laos and apparently the results from the bites can be just horrifying! Grateful that he did not tell me, we both agreed to monitor how I felt over the coming days. 

We quickly packed, ate breakfast, and hopped into the silver Kia. Snacking on freeze-dried brownies, Splenda-sweet 0 calorie Korean peach “cold brew” tea, and listening to intermittent “ahhhs” interspersed throughout Cat Marnell’s How to Murder Your Life audio book I let my eyes trace the jungle covered mountainside. It was about a six hour drive to the UNESCO world heritage site, Luang Prabang, and I was enjoying every minute of the bumpy mountainous ride. As a Sōtō Zen priest I know says, “Let the adventures continue!”