LIVING LIFE WITH A SENSE OF ABANDON: "SORRY, I THOUGHT YOU WERE LAO"

LUANG PRABANG, LAOS

Temperature: +6 in the morning, +26 degrees Celsius in the afternoon.

Track of the day: You and I, Jason Mraz

"Luang Prabang is tonic for the soul," I read aloud to Alecs from our Lonely Planet guidebook. "It says here even the most jaded traveller will be captivated by it's charm." Laying on a traditional Lao mat on the wooden deck of our bungalow watching children play in the river below makes this statement ring true. 'This is my favorite place so far," Alecs says

eyeing a young monk washing his puppy in the river. Luang Prabang is the gem of Laos and the French influence is evident here in everything from the cobblestone streets to the many cafes dotting Sisavangvong (the main street). It is not, however, the French feel that gives Luang

Prabang its feeling of timelessness, rather it's the culture. According to a book in our guesthouse, Laotians avoid stress at all costs. Therefore they believe if there isn't an element of fun in something, it's not worth doing. This cest la vie motto has the people smiling at every instance, whether to laugh at themselves or at you, it's all in good fun. We spend an hour watching Lao women with cone shaped hats farm their vegetable gardens across the river, while young monks join the other children tubing down the river. Although these people have no running water, electricity or even doors to their bamboo huts, they seem happier than most back home. "I think we have something to learn from these people," I say to Alecs between sips of my BeerLao, a very smooth beer that would go well with Clamato juice. Alecs nods his head and stretches out on the mat, succumbing to the slowness of Lao life.

A few hours later we venture into the city where the night market is beginning to set up and young men are buying roses for Valentines day. We walk down the main drag to "All Lao Tourist Agency' and book a 2-day mahout training course for February 16 and 17th. "You learn how to ride the elephant on the neck," the man behind the desk tells us. "You feed your elephant, wash it in the river and learn basic commands," he adds. Alecs and I look at each other, excitement spreading

across our faces and agree to book it. Included in the tour are all meals, accommodation at the Elephant camp, a trek to a hill tribe village and kayaking on the river. I had previously researched this company and chose it because the elephants are rescued as were their mahouts, from poverty. With our receipt in hand and a bounce in our step we head to the Indochina for dinner, where a live band starts playing shortly after we arrive. I make friends with a cat on the roof beside our table and she patiently waits around until Alecs' dinner arrives. "You can give her this," Alecs says rolling his eyes as he moves some beef to the side of his plate. I set the meat on the roof and the already well-fed clean cat greedily eats it up and then meows for more. Alecs has

learned it is better not to argue with me when it comes to feeding strays and has consented to feeding my addiction for the duration of this trip. "We should go down to the night market," Alecs says after settling the bill, "it looked pretty neat". We meander down the road, weaving between stalls selling pink

balloons and roses and soon we arrive at the night market, which is now in full swing. The main road is now impassible by car and hundreds of women lay their products out for both tourists and locals alike. "Same Same shirts," Alecs says stopping at a vendor selling a vast array of t-shirts, including a 'Same Same But Different' shirt. This is a saying used widely in this area by locals to explain to tourists that they have the same product you are looking at in either a different size or colour and sometimes even style and price. Alecs bargains for three t-shirts and leaves feeling quite happy about his purchases. "I really want to get a bottle of snake whisky," I say to Alecs as we continue our stroll through the market. "Do you want to drink it?" Alecs says surprised that I want a bottle of liquor containing an actual snake inside. "No, I just want to put it on display

in our liquor cabinet when we get back to Canada," I say laughing. We choose a most gruesome looking cobra staring out at us with it's milky white eyes and thin black tongue. A shiver runs down my spine as I hold the small bottle and Alecs pays $4US for it. The small city is bustling with people either walking through the market, driving tuk-tuks or sipping Lao coffee at the many restaurants along the street. 60-Watt light-bulbs tied to strings hang at every vendor and the many temples lining the streets are illuminated in bright lights. A warm breeze moves through the air, while a cool one blows in from the river. Friendly Laotians smile and nod as we pass by, gawking at Alecs. A Lao man starts speaking to Alecs in his local tongue and quickly realizes he doesn't speak the language by the puzzled look on Alecs' face. "Sorry, I thought you were Lao," the man says apologetically, "you look Thai or Lao," he adds. Alecs explains that he is Filipino, but is not surprised by this question as most locals in both Thailand and Laos have thought he was one of them. Feeling rather smug about being mistaken for a local, we set off to find a tuk-tuk back to the hotel.

Tomorrow we will attempt to climb the 100-meter steep stairs of Phu Si. My grandparents