Luang Prabang is about six hours by bus from backpacker party-town Vang Vieng; a drive with incredible mountain views, but not one to be made when hungover. This pretty town is centered upon a bustling night market, bordered by the milky Mekong River, and its winding streets full of high quality bookshops, galleries and cafes. A strong French influence is visible in both the architecture and the street stalls where traditional crêpes and baguettes and prepared.

The tourists however, come for the temples. A high concentration of golden Buddhist ‘wats’ has earned the town an UNESCO World Heritage listing, and these working temples house around one thousand monks. I peered curiously into these temple grounds as I explored, wondering what those quiet souls in orange cloth got up to all day.

Luang Prabang is renowned for the procession of monks who walk around the streets in a line at sunrise, collecting alms from the villagers. Monks don’t earn money, so they can’t buy food. They rely on the villagers to feed them every day. I got up at 5.45 AM to witness this event, and so began an episode that I will refer to as ‘The Chasing of The Monks.’

I was moments too late.  I turned onto the main street to see the tail end of a bright-orange snake of monks disappear around a corner. This was no slow procession. They were striding it out! I tried to cut through some side streets to end up in front of them, but only glimpsed the train, suddenly far away at the end of streets, like some frustrating dream where something is always just out of reach.

To add to the idiocy, in my sleepy state of pulling on respectful clothes in the hostel, I’d put my top on inside out, and for some reason when getting dressed I’d been convinced it was raining, so I was lugging an umbrella around with me in the steaming sun. I gave up by 6:10 AM and swear the monks had a smug look as I passed them, cool as they like, back in their temple grounds.

Try, try again. The next morning I got up earlier, at 5.30 AM, and clambered over the sleeping Lao family on the reception floor of my hostel to sneak out the front door. I made it in time to see the monks. I also saw the other tourists who lunged forward to snap flashes in their faces. I was so embarrassed to be a Westerner that I wanted to hide, so as not to be associated with them.

The conga line of one thousand monks varied in height from eight-year-old novices to old men, but all wore the same uniform: orange cloths, yellow sashes, bare feet. The villagers were kneeling along the main roads with baskets full of food; palm-sized packages of sticky rice wrapped up in banana leaf. They placed them one-by-one in each monk’s copper bowl as he strode past, quietly, without making eye contact. It’s all about respect.

Skinny, dirty kids were lined up along the roads as well. I couldn’t work out what was going on. They had empty plastic bags in front of them and were kneeling on the ground with their hands pressed together as if in prayer. Then I understood when one of the monks took a donated package out of his bowl and placed it in a little girl’s plastic bag. He was giving up his own food for her. This is a community that truly looks after one another.

The pick-up truck carrying, me, a small band of travelers, and two local guides toward the Nam Ha forest reserve rattles through the mountain pass, and moves away from the sleepy little town of Luang Nam Tha in the north of Laos. It is along this mountain pass that I traverse the ridge crowning the Nam Ha valley. After a six-hour hike, I’ll descend from the ridge to the banks of the green Nam Ha river which will lead to the Lanten village of Ban Nam Goy.

Ban Nam Goy is isolated and inaccessible by motor vehicle. It is several hours walk from the nearest dirt road. It is dry season and the river is shallow. The footpaths through the dense jungle are the only arteries that connect the outside world with this forgotten place. Children play amidst livestock and bamboo huts on the clay earth as women draped in hand woven frocks carry bundled goods atop their heads. Aside from a few women who approach to sell the small embroidered bags they have crafted, the villagers keep their distance.

I dine with the village chief in a bamboo longhouse, and he encourages questions about his home over a meal of duck blood soup and rice. There is one question that has been burning in my mind. I ask as tactfully as I can. The chief nods in understanding and the guide translates his answer, “twins OK here.” I’m relieved to hear it. For the neighboring Akha tribes, newborn twins are frequently considered a sign of bad luck. They are sometimes killed or abandoned in the jungle after birth.

Ban Nam Goy has only recently been exposed to western culture, and our very presence here will irreparably change it. However, for this place, change is inevitable. The governor has already mandated the merger of their tribe with another nearby tribe, and there is a new road on the way.

Some villagers do not welcome the change to come, but it excites the progressive young chief. At 31 years old, he is likely the youngest chief the village has ever seen. He was chosen in large part due to his mastery of the Lao language, which is not commonly spoken among the Lanten people, who allow him to represent the village to the government. He speaks of the good things that the road will bring as he enthusiastically circulates a bottle of Lao Lao, homemade rice whiskey, the other trekkers and I then go to sleep on the raised floor of woven bamboo.

I’m awakened at first light by a scream. My ears are still ringing when I see the rooster that managed to creep within inches of my ear before screeching his ‘good morning.’ As our eyes meet through the cracks in the floor I swear that I can see him smirk. I get up to find some instant coffee with satisfaction in the knowledge that he is soon to be dinner.

The chief and another villager left the village ahead of me, but I meet them on the trail where they prepare lunch. They cook baby bamboo shoot soup inside larger bamboo shoots and roast a duck over the fire. The soup is served in troughs made of, you guessed it, halved bamboo, and we eat rice and duck with freshly cut chop sticks off of large banana leaves on the ground.

After lunch, I thank the chief for his hospitality and continue the descent from the ridge. I wind through the dense jungle of old growth bamboo to the road below. There, a pick-up truck takes me back to the electric lights and indoor plumbing of Luang Nam Tha.

Daniel McIsaac, a freelance writer and photographer from Massachusetts, has lived in five different states and eight countries among them Guatemala, Australia, Laos, Ecuador and most notably, the great state of Ohio, where admist the corn fields under a grey winter sky he truly learned to appreciate travel. More of his writing and photography can be found at www.crawlwalktravel.com

Looking down at my shoes, I can’t help but notice that the wooden platform beneath them appears less than sturdy. Fine cracks run the length of a few boards. The nails attaching the platform to the tree seem ridiculously small. If anything breaks, there’s a good eighty-feet between me and the forest floor.

I stay calm. I breathe. And then I jump.

I don’t, of course, leap into emptiness; the cables connecting me to the zip-line hold firm, and I surrender to the feeling of free flight. The wire hums and my skin shivers with goose bumps as I zoom through the jungle canopy.

Welcome to the Gibbon Experience.

The project began in 2004 with a mandate to protect the rich biodiversity in the Bokeo Nature Reserve in western Laos. This small land-locked country in southeastern Asia lacks funds to protect its precious environment. The Gibbon Experience came about as an eco-tourism approach to the problem. With the money raised by tourists coming for a few days to live in tree houses and glide through the forest on hundred-meter-long cables, the Gibbon Experience hires forest rangers to guard the forest from poachers and works with local villagers to change their economy from a slash-and-burn agriculture to something more sustainable.

The project holds legendary status among backpackers despite continually turning down coverage in Lonely Planet guidebooks. The word of former guests has been enough to ensure that most trips are fully booked weeks or months in advance.

Because the Gibbon Experience is situated in the jungle, getting there takes stamina and a good pair of boots. Our jeep dropped us off close to the reserve boundary where we still had another hour and a half hike through thick jungle undergrowth (On our way out, we were less fortunate, hiking nearly five hours on rain-ruined roads before we met the jeep to take us the rest of the way.).

Upon reaching “base camp” (that is, the shack serving as staff quarters and kitchen), we were given harnesses and released on our first zip-line with the briefest of instructions: attach your safety line first, your harness second, and off you go! No turning back for the faint of heart—zip-lining was the only way in and out of the tree house where we’d eat, sleep, and rest our beaten bodies.

No one complained. This, after all, was what we came for: to sail through the sky with nothing holding us but a few ropes. By the time darkness fell that first night, we had zipped our way along seven separate cables and hiked a mile’s worth of connecting trails. We were muddy, smelly, and completely exhilarated.

Back in the tree house, we showered (cold, but running, water) and scarfed a meal of rice and traditional Lao curry-type-dishes that was brought by a local guide on the zip-line. The tree house slept six people over three levels, more than a hundred feet above the ground. Amenities included a drop toilet, a gas stove (on the fritz when I was there), and panoramic views of the Nature Reserve.

The next morning we were woken by a local guide at a mind-numbing 4:30am. “Gibbons,” he urged, and we needed no further motivation. We were up and zipping within minutes and seeking to find the elusive apes that gives the project its name. Gibbons are endangered and hard to track. Many guests of the Gibbon Experience don’t get to see them at all. Almost everyone hears them, though. Their siren calls echo in the foggy forest mornings, sounding like a wild ambulance playing Tarzan in the trees.

We were lucky. An hour into our tip-toeing through unmarked jungle paths, our guide stopped and pointed up. There, in the canopy, were gibbons. They swung away as we approached and most of what we saw was shaking branches. However, the unmistakable color of a black gibbon among the white ones and the glimpse of several babies clinging close to their mothers made the long hike back worth the burning thighs.

The rest of that day and the following morning before our trek out, we got in as much zipping as we could, stopping only for meals and to pick an occasional leech off our legs. A leech would start small, an inch of wriggling black malice that quickly swelled with blood once it had been sucking for a while. You can’t feel them at all, so it’s only when you remember to check that you’ll discover these slimy vampires.

Though leeches ranked high on the ick factor, they were a ground-level-only hazard. In the tree house, we contended with creepy crawlies of all sizes and threat levels, from the intimidating but harmless column of ants that marched inches from our bed, to the swarms of bees that hovered cruelly around the toilet hole, waiting for our behinds to be bared. Around a candle-lit table after dark, we’d swap travel stories while slapping at mosquitoes and eyeing the plump spiders that dangled from every crevice.

Guests of the Gibbon Experience are always in for a few surprises. When I was there in June, staffers were caring for a baby black bear that had been orphaned by a poacher (the poacher was apprehended by project-trained rangers, which is how the cub came to stay in their kitchen). About the size of a dog and wielding dagger teeth and claws, this little guy went straight for my inner elbow and began to suckle. It was a proud moment: how many people in the world can say they’ve gotten hickeys from a bear?

For more information, the Gibbon Experience website offers details on their two programs for tourists and links to additional articles written about the project.

Written and photography by Jenny Williams

For more on Laos at ITKT
Back to the ITKT Home Page

I wasn’t sure what to expect from my first ASEAN Tourism Forum. For that matter, I wasn’t sure what to expect from the Philippines either. As a destination, I have always imagined the Philippines as curious and exotic. At the same time, I know plenty of Filipino people who are just pleasant and friendly. Perhaps, a couple of good reason’s why I jumped at the chance to attend this year’s ATF.

I would soon dream of mysterious islands filled with social and fun people – barely considering the ATF, the reason why I would be going to the Philippines. I would soon discover that the ATF was a big deal. From the moment I landed in Manila, ASEAN logos were everywhere: plastered on banners, billboards, and magazine covers that littered the newsstands heralding the pending event – not to mention the logos affixed to my own luggage. When I landed in Davao, I barely made it out of the gate before I was met by a hero’s welcome. There were enthusiastic guides baring gifts. There were dancers, singers, fantastic drumming by local children dressed in colorful costumes and headdresses, and police escorts. I was not alone, 3000 delegates worldwide were expected to attend this year’s festivities.

I know what you’re asking, “What is the ATF?” Well, the ATF is a yearly gathering of the ten member nations that comprise the ASEAN community (Association of South East Asian Nations). These member nations gather to exchange ideas, set goals, strengthen cooperation between neighboring countries, explore tourism trends and decide on best ways to present Southeast Asia as a worthy tourist destination. These nations include: Brunei, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam. Countries take turns hosting the ATF, by alphabetical order.

This year it was Davao City’s turn to host the ATF. While the ATF location was initially scheduled for Myanmar (Burma), Davao City became a last second replacement after Myanmar opted out as this year’s host. Myanmar’s nebulous decision left Davao City with only six months preparation time and journalists looking for answers. The event also marked the ATF’s 25th anniversary, which was themed, “Celebrating the many faces of ASEAN.” It was a good premise considering that Asia may be the most culturally diverse continent in the world and these countries are sometimes lumped together through their geography. I admit there was a lot to learn.

As one of the few American journalists at the event, I had the opportunity to learn about ASEAN’s commitment to protect western visitors from terrorism, the softening of visa restrictions for international travelers, and plans to promote tourism worldwide. Beyond the gathering of dignitaries, the ATF hosted a sea of press conferences with notable representatives from each country, networking events and the Travex convention. Travex presents several hundred ASEAN-based organizations under one roof. National and regional tourist boards, hotels, resorts, airlines and attractions get together and meet with tour operators from all over the world (49 countries to be exact), who put together tour packages that you and I eventually experience. It is the behind the scenes look at the travel industry.

As one of the few American travelers, I also learned some important tips about the region. Davao City is an ethnic melting pot and the capital of the Southern Mindanao Region and one of the world’s largest cities in terms of area. Its confines embrace a sprawling 244,000 hectares of land. It is clean, friendly and feels more like a village than a lively metropolis, at times. I was surprised by the uncluttered skyline and lack of street lights. In fact, there are only 15 street lights to direct the 1.4 million people (and 50 trillion cars) of Davao through the city. While appearing chaotic to the eyes of a westerners, Davao’s cars comfortably move together and intertwine like a nice plate of spaghetti. Davao is relatively smoke-free from heavy regulations and smoking is permissible only in a few designated areas. Visa and Master Card are readily accepted, American Express is less so. Davao also promotes itself as the safest city in the Philippines. This is probably true, but at a cost. Visitors can expect to see plenty of army, police and other security almost everywhere and can plan to have bags perused and their persons patted down when entering hotels and large markets. To Davao’s credit, this process is fast and relatively innocuous unlike my lengthy experiences at U.S. airports.

Here a few random thoughts that may brighten a dim understanding of the ASEAN region.

• Brunei, while frequently mistaken as being part of the Middle East, is surrounded by unspoiled rain forest and Malaysia as a part of Borneo. It is also one of the richest countries in the world with virtually no poverty.

• Myanmar, Laos and Cambodia offer plenty of cultural and historical attractions that are poorly marketed and, sadly, frequently overlooked by travelers.

• Thailand is celebrating their beloved Monarch’s 80th Birthday in 2006 and has scheduled numerous events and openings to mark the occasion.

• Vietnam has seven UNESCO sites worth visiting beyond the historical attractions of their long war.

• The tiny country of Singapore receives nine million visitors a year.

• The Philippines, while having a strict travel advisory from the U.S., may not deserve its present reputation – at least from my experience.

In between the press conferences and interviews, I did take a few moments to enjoy Davao. I recommend getting around by the most available mode of transport in the Philippines, the jeepney. The jeepney is very inexpensive, packed with locals and an opportunity to experience the Philippines’ traffic spaghetti. I also found mysterious islands and friendly people. Our readers can expect to see a lot more in the future from the ASEAN community on In The Know Traveler.

This year’s ATF was open from January 13-21, 2006. Next year’s ATF, Singapore!

Written and photographed by Devin Galaudet

For more on Philippines at ITKT