Saffron mornings in Luang Prabang By Karla P Delgado
Publisher:Philippine Daily Inquirer - Publication Date: 06-05-2008

It’s still dark at 5am when we awake to watch the monks do their morning rounds. The pre-dawn chill seeps in through a screen door leading to a veranda overlooking the Mekong River.

Bundled in layers and fleece, we make our way to the main street of this mountain town of 25,000 people in central Laos.

In this centre of Buddhism with over 30 temples, no one is allowed to carry guns or weapons, not even the police. As a result, peace is the pervading vibe.

As our group of three arrives on the main street called Sisavangvong Road, Somchanh Phongsanith, a former history and geography teacher who is our guide for the day, slips into a store to buy some food for the monks.

His choice of strawberry cream cookies strikes us as an overly processed breakfast option for monks. But what do we know? Somchanh dispels any notions we may have about vegetarianism in the temples.

The monks, he says, cannot afford to be purists with their diets. They must accept and eat what they are given, be it meat or strawberry cream cookies.

We find our spots on the sidewalk in between women wrapped in long skirts of Lao weaves. Seated on mats, the women warm their hands and thighs with the baskets of freshly cooked sticky rice they have brought along.

The monks appear from a distance as little saffron dots, like the marigold blooms carried as offerings into Buddhist temples. Soon the monks are streaming past, looking peaceful and unperturbed by curious tourists. They lift the tops of their alms bowls when an offering is made and cover the bowls again to seal in the warmth.

Following Somchanh’s lead, we offer the cookies. The ritual is over in a matter of minutes. The next instant, the monks are little saffron dots again, like a loose strand of marigolds disappearing down the street.

“I pray to my parents every time I give rice to the monks and ask them to please accept my merit,” says Somchanh. He normally comes with his son, and brings hot rice from home.

Exciting and underrated

The next stop this morning is the food market, which runs from 5am-11am on a street closed off to traffic. The vendors, mostly women in sweaters and traditional skirts, line both sides of the street.

We see the familiar piles of mint, coriander, lemongrass, watercress, bean sprouts, kaffir leaves, galangal, limes and chili peppers that contribute to the crunch, bite and freshness of Laotian cuisine—one of the most exciting and underrated in the world.

Laos shares borders, migratory history and culinary traditions with China, Viet Nam, Cambodia, Thailand and Burma. Papaya salad is as popular here as it is in Thailand. And pho, a beef noodle soup associated with Viet Nam, is as commonly served in the markets of Laos as it is in its cafés and hotels.

The steaming broth is personalised by the customer with just the right sprinklings of mint, coriander, bean sprouts, sauces, chopped chili peppers and squeezes of lime.

Laos also shares traditions with more faraway countries in Southeast Asia. Just like in Philippine markets, for example, market vendors here wave bills from the first sale of the day over their goods and produce to usher in luck for the rest of the day’s sales.

In the market of Luang Prabang, we see a lot of the unfamiliar: a pile of water buffalo skin, which locals cook with ginger until tender, and serve as soup; catfish from the Mekong; sour flowers to brew for tea; algae to boil with tamarind for soup; squirrels for stewing with eggplant; sheets of dried river weed, sliced tomato and garlic for frying and eating with sticky red rice and spicy dishes.

For breakfast, Laos feast on sticky rice, fried meat, fried egg and chili, and jasmine tea. We sample a crisp, flat bread, which hits the spot so early in the day. In between bites, Somchanh tells us about his experience becoming a monk at the age of nine.

“On the first day, the senior monk asked me: ‘Chanh, do you know where you come from?’ The monk smiled when I said, ‘My parents.’ ‘You should know that you come from nature—from water, wind, fire and earth. You should love and protect nature.’”

Harmony Day

Unlike nations which require military service, Laos requires all males to volunteer for monk service. Taking care of nature is part and parcel of this tradition.

Every June 1 is Harmony Day in this nation of six million people. On Harmony Day, everyone is required to plant a tree. Rosewood, mahogany, teak—the choice is theirs. Grandparents traditionally plant a tree for their grandchildren. An impressive 40 per cent of forests stand intact. By comparison, only three per cent of primary forests remain in the Philippines.

Laos also has a rich weaving tradition. Luang Prabang is home to a colourful textiles market selling very reasonably priced children’s outfits (thousands of kip, the local currency, or roughly 150 pesos) and toys, skirts, pants, tops, silk scarves (about 200 pesos), slippers, cloth bags, and exquisitely sewn pillow cases and duvet covers.

This particular day comes to a close with a stroll around the town, declared a World Heritage Site by Unesco for its temples and French and American colonial architecture.

As the sun softens and casts a golden light on the Mekong, we witness a big group of young monks enjoying themselves while going for a dip in their robes.

As dusk falls, our group wanders up and down the night market in search of the best pasalubong (gift) until our legs can carry us no further. We give in to exhaustion and indulge in spicy pork and basil salad at a café, al fresco.

The sting of the chili peppers contrasts deliciously with the ice-cold Beer Lao. We don’t know which numbs our tongues and throats first, but we don’t have a care in the world at this moment. For now, we lean back on our chairs, look up at the stars, breathe in the cool evening air and let contentment wash over us.