The early sun rose gently through our old hotel’s shady courtyard trees. If it’s not Sunday morning, it ought to be. Truth is, after a whirlwind of travel to the isolated Plain of Jars, I don’t actually know what day it is, and that’s not far from the way I like it. As I linger over a cup of semi passable coffee, I smile thinking about the years spent locked down during Covid on a tiny island in the Malacca Strait. On a rare outing to Penang I even had a tee shirt emblazoned with my moto “Dolce Far Niente” meaning the sweetness of doing nothing. Too much dolce eventually brought us here, years later, to this lovely morning in Vientiane with nothing particular to do.
Now where was I? Oh yes. I read something about a 16th century stupa, near the center of the old city called That Dam Stupa. Just so happens I find myself in the vicinity of the old city center. The so called “Black Stupa” is said to house a now dormant, multi-headed naga. Legend has it that it was instrumental in helping resist the invading army of Siam. The question is, am I being set up for a possible rule #3 violation? It is heating up a bit now but it’s still very pleasant under the trees. And I’m such a sucker for old bricks.
With Marce on hiatus, I’m off to find the wizard at That Dam Stupa. Soon I was zig-zagging through old town, carefully trying to remember the zags and the zigs. On the way, I came across this supposedly significant French Colonial Mansion, so apparently a few are being restored. This one has a way to go.
Turning another corner I suddenly find myself face to face with the Black Stupa.
No multi headed dragons in evidence.
While trying to find this thing in the maze of streets of old town, I noticed Google was showing a large park beside our old friend the Mekong River and, you know, I’ve already come this far so what’s a few more km? On the way I ran into the president’s palace.
I’ll tell you what. It’s really heating up now and my little blue dot is not making much progress, but like in all stories, I eventually reach the pleasant leafy green park, with sprinklers on full chat, and find a few surprises. Like this non functioning fountain, signifying nothing as far as I can tell.
Not to mention this 8 meter tall bronze statue of King Chao Anougvong who led an armed uprising against the occupying army of Siam. He was captured and eventually died in a cage. Nevertheless, he is revered as a Laotian hero and just like the multi headed naga, at least they tried, which apparently is close enough in Laos.
Just like Buddhists every where, they really seem to enjoy lots and lots of tiny statues, the more the better, or huge examples of basically the same statue, the bigger the better, maybe in different poses, or maybe both at once. I really don’t get it. Can anyone help me here?
The following morning we queued up at the Asia Air gateway and followed the happy traveler ahead of us across the tarmac into a receptive airbus. In seconds we were waving goodbye to the Mekong River under our right wing.
After a four hour lay over in Bangkok we caught a nice highlight glinting off the winglets.
It’s good to be going home.