Laos, they say, is Thailand moving at a slower pace. Replace the skyscrapers of Bangkok or the full moon beach parties of Ko Phangan with a quiet day along the river or a hammock swaying in the breeze and you will have a better idea of what to expect when visiting. On this particular night I had found myself in a homestay with a family in Kong Lor village. Nearby was Kong Lor cave, a vast four mile underground river that attracts tourists, the brave ones anyway, from all over the world. As a geological wonder many come to see the cave, but I found the real treasure on this current expedition was not the cave, but the unassuming village next to it and my gracious host family that lived there.
Immense jagged limestone mountains covered in verdant growth surrounded the Laotian countryside The first thing that struck me when entering the village was how quiet and calm it felt. The feeling was in more than just the decibel level. Outside it wasn’t completely silent, I could hear a group of children chasing a soccer ball through the small paths along the woven stilted homes, I could hear the hypnotic humming of a woman doing laundry in the distance and the faint ever present rhythm of footsteps heard not seen. It’s not the sound of the footsteps that grabbed me, it was the pace, slow and uniquely satisfying. All these sounds, humble and earnest, set against the backdrop of the immense mountains don’t ruin the quiet, rather somehow, they only enhance it.
As typical for Kong Lor Village, and the region in general, my host family lived in a simple one room house, elevated by stilts and made up of mostly woven bamboo with a thatch roof. It was quint if not cozy.
With the sun beginning to set the family and I took our seats on the floor for dinner. To my left was Chu, the father of the family, with his ten year old daughter seated to my right. There was also Chu’s wife, his teenage son and the grandmother completing our circle. Chu was a large presence in the room, if not in height, in width and confidence. His jolly smile was contagious and though he could speak almost no English he was quick to offer me through pronounced gestures, all he had in his modest home. The meal itself, sticky rice, chicken and eggs, was simple but abundant and filling. With an obvious language barrier, my time with the five member family was spent sharing a series of pronounced smiles and nods.
In many ways time moved slowly here and in some ways it seemed to not move at all.
After the meal, almost magnetically, my gaze was drawn to the corner of the room that made up the kitchen. Utensils and ingredients hung along the bamboo wall while the majority of the space was taken by a large black cauldron. With the fire beneath it still stoked I couldn’t help but wonder for how many generations they’ve been cooking in this same exact way with these same resources. In many ways time moved slowly here and in some ways it seemed to not move at all.
After offering and promptly being denied the chance to help clean up, the one electrical outlet in the home was put to use as the family and I gathered to watch a half hour of a Thai soap opera on an old tv set. Then it was off to bed, with me on one side of the room and the family on the other. What we slept on was more mat than mattress but sleep would come quickly nonetheless. In the morning there would be no alarm clocks. We would wake with the sun.
As I drifted off I thought of the day gone by, a day that seemed to move in slow motion. Here in this village time was present but relaxed and reassuring, like listening to the rise and fall of a loved one’s breath.
The next day, at the end of my stay, Chu sat me down and placed sticky rice in the palm of my left hand. He then said a prayer while tying a white thread bracelet around my wrist. Unaware of it’s meaning at the time I later learned the ritual is called a Baci ceremony and the bracelet is meant to bring peace and harmony to the wearer’s life.
Now two years later, the bracelet has yet to fall off. It’s now ragged and far from in style but it’s still on my wrist. I look at it and remember the family in Kong Lor village. I touch the bracelet and I remember the peacefulness, I remember the calm, and then on my good days, so to am I.
By Dillan Cohen
