Holiday in the Highlands

How could I resist? Ten days with my Nikon and the tutelage of a pro photographer in hard-to-reach Laotian hill country. . . . Be still, my heart.

I maxed out my credit card, packed up my camera gear and hopped on a plane. The whole trip was 16 days (the remainder in southern Laos), and by the time air fare and incidentals were added, it cost me almost $6,000. There were 10 of us along--nine adventurers and photographer Nevada Wier. She has traveled extensively in Asia and is well versed in how to charm all sorts of people who might otherwise shy away from a camera.

Laos would put all our skills to the test. Landlocked and bordered by Myanmar (Burma), Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam and China, it is a country of diversity. A dizzying conglomeration of tribes, languages and beliefs is represented, particularly in the hilly north.

That’s where we were headed, for the hills. The accommodations and food would be basic at best; the transportation, local, marginally comfortable and probably unreliable. And forget air-conditioning, hot water and flush toilets, but so what? I’d been on a similar trip with Wier two years before in Central Asia, and I felt sure the discoveries, artistic and otherwise, would be worth the discomfort.

Jit, our Lao guide, met us at the airport in Vientiane, Laos’ capital. He was only in his 20s, but he was a seasoned worrier. When we all agreed that noodle soup in the airport cafe would be fine for lunch, he was appalled. It wasn’t good enough for Americans; we must go to a “real” restaurant for a proper meal. We tried to set him straight: We were here for photography, not five-star hotels and haute cuisine.

After the hotly contested noodle lunch, we boarded a Lao Aviation turboprop for Luang Nam Tha.

There are 39 ethnicities among the population of 115,000 in Luang Nam Tha province, which is bordered by Myanmar and China. Most of the people live in small communities off narrow, rutted dirt lanes some distance from the main roads; many still wear traditional clothing and have had little if any contact with Westerners.

Opium poppies had long been an important crop in northern Laos. After the French quit Laos as a colony, the combination of international drug trading and political chaos drew Americans into the region, clandestinely. In 1975 the communists took over the new Lao People’s Democratic Republic, and the country went through some long, dark years of hardship and repression. Only in the past two years or so has the government really opened up to the Western tourist trade.

Immediately on landing at the airport in the provincial capital, we learned what “provincial” means here. The landing strip was in a brown, grassy field. Our “tour bus” was parked nearby. We walked over to it, then stood to watch for our baggage. A truck parked next to the plane’s open cargo door, but nothing happened, and no one could explain the delay. One of our group discovered a little snack bar nearby and came back with a beer, which he generously passed around. It was after noon, and the humidity was rising. After almost an hour, our bags emerged, were loaded into the truck and were driven the 200 yards to the bus, where they were dumped at our feet.

The young bus driver got everything aboard, and off we went.

Our wait in the sun, sharing one warm beer, made for quick bonding. The 10 of us were all Americans, all photography buffs but of varied backgrounds. One woman was a homemaker, one man an investment executive based in Hong Kong.

On the map, the distance from Luang Nam Tha to Muang Sing looks like 30 miles. It took almost three hours to cover on a road that was paved (well, mostly) but heavily rutted, especially where it snaked up hills--not a ride for anyone prone to carsickness.

On the way, Jit told us about Muang Sing, an old trading village nestled on the border with China. Its people are largely Thai Lu, he said, and they keep many of the customs of their ethnic cousins in today’s Thailand. The festival we would attend, called That Muang Sing, occurs during the full moon of the 12th lunar month--in our case, mid-November 1997.

Before we reached Muang Sing, the bus stopped at a crossroads hamlet. Our “assignment” for the afternoon was to get a feel for the place, and we split up, trying our best not to look like an invading army of shutterbugs. To see a bus stop and a bunch of Americans get out, loaded with camera gear--goodness knows what the villagers thought. But they seemed to enjoy the diversion and took our intrusion with grace.

As at all our rural stops, Jit explained what we were doing and asked the elders’ permission. Except for one Akha village, we were welcomed. Still, we never pushed if an individual didn’t want to be photographed.

My eye was drawn to a woman making paper-thin sheets of rice dough and hanging them on a line. She and a surrounding gaggle of neighborhood children giggled as I took pictures of the proceedings from every angle. They must have thought I was a little nuts to be interested in such a mundane activity. But there was much hand signaling and good humor displayed throughout. And when I left, I was given a sample of the sticky dough to taste. It was predictably starchy, gluey and bland.

As night closed in, we were taken to a guest house in Muang Sing, where the “spirit of adventure and a positive attitude” mentioned in the trip’s brochure was about to be tested: There were a mere three rooms for the 10 of us. Jit looked worried, but we were adaptable. We worked out joint bunking arrangements quickly and repaired to the inn’s open-air restaurant for a beer. Dinner was the regional staple, laat, a salad of vegetables and minced meat or fish, flavored with lime juice, garlic and chile, served with sticky rice. Breakfast usually was egg with rice, and lunch--more rice.

The bathrooms in these out-of-the-way locales can be the biggest test of one’s attitude; I choose to be amused. Here, the facilities were out back. Traditional hole-in-the-floor toilets were to be expected, but I hadn’t come across this particular “shower” setup before. It amounted to a separate room with a deep concrete tub full of cold water, a drain in the floor and a pan. It took a little coordination, and it could be bracing, but it was efficient.

The next morning, our bus took us to the festival at the Thai Lu That, a stupa (shrine) on a hill outside of town. It had rained during the night, so the steep road was a gooey mass of red mud. But this didn’t deter the steady stream of people slipping and sliding up the hill to sell their goods or join in the festivities.

Even from a distance, the stupa was impressive. The central tower was golden, about 30 feet high, atop a stepped, whitewashed octagonal base.

That morning, Buddhist monks had gathered from around the province for taak baat, the collection of alms-food from the laity. Then the devout began parading around the stupa, carrying lighted incense sticks and placing offerings of candles, flowers, incense and money around the base.

Women selling fresh fruit and sticky rice scrambled for the best locations. Carnival games entranced the children. Food vendors set up makeshift kitchens. A tower of loudspeakers blared contemporary Lao music.

So much activity would seem to be a photographer’s dream, but festivals are difficult to shoot, particularly one as crowded as this one. Someone or something was always getting in the way of my attempts to frame the perfect scene.

Though this is essentially a Thai Lu festival, virtually all the ethnic groups in the area participate, if only for the social and entertainment value.

The variety of costumes and adornments was dazzling, a pastiche of ethnic and historical influences. Akhas wore mostly black outfits with brightly embroidered trim and headdresses loaded with coins, including French francs and U.S. quarters. The Yao women were easy to spot because their outfits featured red pom-poms. Young Thai Lu women were dressed in long, woven silk skirts with silk blouses in contrasting colors. And sprinkled through the crowd were saffron-robed monks.

Though the festival gave us an overall view of northern Laos’ many tribes, our visits to individual villages allowed a much more personal experience. Getting to them sometimes meant walking down dirt roads for up to two hours, in brutal sun, lugging our camera gear. But the results were worth it.

We stopped in villages all the way from Muang Sing to the Mekong River town of Pakbeng, two very long days of riding the bouncing bus over roads riddled with potholes and ruts.

It was after dark when we reached the accommodations booked for us in Pakbeng. Actually, “accommodations” is too grand a word to describe the guest house on the town’s main drag. As one of our group put it, “This could be a three-sleeping-pill night.”

Jit looked worried, but just a little. It seemed we’d almost convinced him that we were game for anything, but Pakbeng hit a new low in the “rustic accommodations” department.

Up a narrow, rickety and steep wooden staircase there was a room with a bare wooden floor around which doors opened to other rooms. Each room contained two to four wooden platforms with mattresses draped in hanging mosquito nets. Thin wooden walls that stopped about 18 inches short of the ceiling separated the rooms. Between buzzing mosquitoes, crowing roosters and snoring travelers, it was a sleepless night.

Next morning, after a trip to the outside toilet in a driving rain, we walked down to the river and climbed aboard a boat bound for Luang Prabang.

Luang Prabang was judged in 1994 to be “the best preserved city in Southeast Asia” by the United Nations’ cultural arm, and the title is well deserved. This jewel of a city sits at the junction of the Mekong and Khan rivers. Buildings on the main streets reflect the city’s French-occupied past, while the town’s many temples display ornate Asian Buddhist decorations and sparkle with gold leaf.

Every morning saffron-clad monks pour onto the streets with their begging bowls, accepting offerings of sticky rice from the devout. Long, low, brightly colored boats shoot along the Mekong. The pace is relaxed, the atmosphere enticing in this still-unspoiled Asian city.

We stayed in a comfortable French colonial-era hotel, Villa Santi. When we learned on arrival hat there were enough vacancies for each of us to have a private room and bath, and for only $45, we jumped at the chance.

We rose at daybreak to photograph the monks. We photographed a blacksmith village, a weaving village and a handmade-paper business. And we took pictures of the sun setting over the Mekong. To us, Luang Prabang meant photo opportunities, but to Jit, it meant something else: Finally we had air-conditioning, semi-warm showers and American toilets, and he could stop worrying.

GUIDEBOOK

Picturing Laos

Getting there: The least complicated route from Los Angeles is on Thai Airways to Bangkok, with one stop, then changing planes for Vientiane. Round-trip fare starts at $1,465.

Given the overall difficulties of travel to and within Laos--visas, health concerns--it may be best to book a tour. Our group went with Mountain Travel Sobek, 6420 Fairmount Ave., El Cerrito, CA 94530; telephone (888) 687-6235, Internet https://www.mtsobek.com. Among their trips to Laos is one called “Hill Tribes of the Golden Triangle,” which also visits northern Thailand; 16 days starting at $3,200, plus air fare.

Also well regarded:

Geographic Expeditions, 2627 Lombard St., San Francisco, CA 94123; tel. (415) 922-0448, Internet https://www .geoex.com. A one-week trip in Laos starts at $1,875, plus air fare. Shorter trips also available.

Diethelm Travel Laos, Setthathirath Road, Namphu Square, P.O. Box 2657, Vientiane, Lao P.D.R.; fax 011- 856-21-216-294, Internet https://www.diethelm-travel.com/laos.htm or https://visit-laos .com.