Browsing Tag

Laos

A plain mystery

June 8, 2011

The shaggy green hills of Phonsavan are veined with red dirt roads and punctuated with jars.

Yes, jars.

This region in rural Laos is home to one of the world’s greatest — and most bizarre — mysteries. Thousands of ancient stone vessels are scattered over the countryside, but nobody knows the purpose of these enormous jars or how they got there.

Think Stonehenge meets Tupperware.

The disconcerting thing about walking around a war-scarred country is that you have to watch your step. Literally.

These white bricks mark a trail that has been cleared of mines. Wander off the path, and you put yourself at risk. (On the day I visited, the MAG International team cleared 72 unexploded ordinances.)

There is also a long list of things you cannot do at the archeological ruins. Like carve them.

These jars are thought to be at least 2,000 years old. But there is no organic material inside the jars, which prevents carbon dating.

Local legend claims these sandstone containers were created by an ancient king to store massive amounts of lao-lao, the country’s famed rice whisky. Some believe that the area was once inhabited by giants. Or aliens.

Another theory, probably correct, is that these jars were used for funeral ceremonies or to hold ashes.

They are also perfectly Maggie-sized.

When I asked other travelers if I should visit the Plain of Jars, most responded with, “Welllll … it is a plain. Full of jars.” And now I understand their ambivalence.

The site was interesting, but not mythical. It was pretty, but so is the rest of Laos. And the trip involved an 8-hour detour on a nausea-inducing road into an uninspiring town, followed by another 8-hour bus ride back into civilization.

But I did it. Plain and simple.

 

Your box is ringing

June 1, 2011

I was in the very center seat on a minivan, speeding through the stomach-dropping, rollercoaster hills of Phonsavan, Laos. There were 15 of us, not including the driver, stacked up and folded against each other like magazines on a rack.

Behind me, a phone rang. Then it echoed.

It was definitely not the sound of a cell phone.

My friend Nick craned his neck to find the source of the noise. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said.

I turned around and saw a phone inside a pizza box. Except I don’t think it was really a pizza box, because I’m fairly certain they don’t have pizza boxes in Phonsavan, Laos. That’s not the point.

The point is that there was a BOX. With a PHONE. In a man’s LAP.

He answered the phone, of course.

I’m not sure what the man said next because he was speaking in Lao, but I think it was the Laotian equivalent of “It’s for you.” Then he passed the box phone to a lady sitting in front of him.

She rested the box on her lap, hit the speaker button and had a very loud, very enthusiastic conversation for about 15 minutes.

Seriously.

 

I laughed so hard, I wept for the remainder of the ride.

I laughed because it was so clever.

I laughed because this unwieldy contraption was giving the middle finger to a world of tiny, portable cellular devices.

I laughed because, man, it was a freaking ringing phone in a freaking box. Tell me the last time you saw that.

 

Things not allowed in this room

May 28, 2011
The rules.

 

Things not allowed in my hostel in Luang Prabang, Laos.

1. Illegal things.

2. Ammunitions.

3. Drugs.

4. Crambling.

5. Both women and men which is not your own husband or wife for making love.

6. Prostitute.

7. Others.

8. Making sex movies.