The Plain of Jars

Today I got to undertake the tour because of which I had planned this whole journey. Having arranged for a private guide with my hotel, I was pleased to find out that he spoke English very well and enjoyed talking; throughout the day, I learned a great deal from him about local history, customs, and prejudices. As it happened, my guide turned out to be Hmong, which provided a valuable insight into life in Laos, as the Hmong are the country’s second largest minority group after the Khmu. I was told that both ethnicities are well represented in Xieng Khouang province, but they do not have their own schools because the only official language of instruction in the country is Lao.

I was surprised when my guide hesitated to answer my question about the Hmong role in the Laotian Civil War, during which many Hmong supported the royalists and received training from the Americans. Even though we were almost alone on the first Plain of Jars Site, he said he would tell me later in private. Throughout the day, my guide would go on to preface several of his comments by saying that the Laotians would not be very happy with his opinions. He believed that during the war, the Hmong people had to take their fate into their own hands as they faced annihilation by the Laotians. The Hmong were – and continue to be – discriminated by the Lao, who always pass them over for promotions and positions of authority. Apparently, this was also the opinion of General Vang Pao, who led the Hmong Army against the Communist Pathet Lao.

My guide’s logic was a bit tangled, which I would attribute to his fear of saying something far too controversial. Vang Pao was loyal to the King of Laos and attained the rank of general in the Royal Lao Army, so I do not think he resented being passed over or that he feared annihilation by Lao society at large. In between the lines, what I think my guide meant was that the Hmong feared discrimination would be much worse under a communist government. The fear would have been logical given the communist emphasis on economic planning and collective farming, which threatened to uproot the traditional Hmong way of life. On other controversial matters, my guide was much more unequivocal. Laos’ last king, Sisavang Vatthana, who died in a re-education camp, had in his view been killed (though not, I note, by communist soldiers but by the Lao people in general).

Regarding international relations, my guides’ opinions were as follows. Laos has a very positive relationship with Vietnam, which it sees as an older brother in arms, and a strong relationship with China as well. Despite this, Vietnamese and Chinese visitors are often perceived as rude and disrespectful to Lao culture, which they believe to be beneath their notice. Laotians view Thais in a similar light: While many Lao watch Thai TV without much difficulty in understanding the language, their centuries-long domination by Siam makes them sensitive to perceived Thai arrogance.

Interestingly, a fondness for Russia persists among the Lao, and one can occasionally see giant decades-old Soviet trucks in garages by the roadsides. Conversely, Americans can encounter mild hostility, though it did not sound as though this happened too frequently. I do not know whether my guide merely meant to be polite, but despite my prodding and criticisms of other European travellers, he insisted that they were mostly very considerate (a quality which he did not fail to contrast, once again, with the behaviour of some Chinese tourists). He also appreciated their forthrightness, which he contrasted with the insincerity of Americans, who are very polite and friendly in person but leave scathing reviews online.

On a lighter note, my guide gladly explained many of the things I had noticed during my first few hours in Laos. He confirmed that local people do indeed eat squirrels, whose meat is expensive because it does not smell. Civet cats, on the other hand, are stinky but popular, while swallows are enjoyed even though they taste somewhat bitter. People catch them by setting up poles close to ponds and covering them with glue, so that when the swallow sits down, it cannot fly away again. People also like to catch freshwater eels, which are abundant in the fields during rice growing season.

I was quite surprised to learn that Laotians greatly enjoy eating dog meat, and that many of the dogs wandering the streets will eventually find their way onto someone’s plate. While people do occasionally keep dogs as pets, they draw a distinction between those meant to be loved and those destined to be eaten, a choice that is often expedited by running over a dog with one’s car. Of the other animals that roam the roads, buffalo and horses are also consumed, though buffalo are preferred for easing manual labour and horses are ridden recreationally by the rich. Just as I started thinking that to the average Laotian, the world must seem full of food waiting to be eaten, my guide gestured towards the road full of dogs, ducks, and buffalo and said the same thing.

Perhaps part of the reason why Laotians love meat is that it is not strongly subject to seasonal fluctuations. Even the beloved wasp pupae, which are sold in big white slabs of their paper nests at local markets, are difficult to get in dry season when the cold forces the wasps into hibernation. During some months, different types of fruit are mainly imported from Thailand, and so are practically all the products one finds at restaurants, from the condiments on the tables to the drinks in the fridges. This, my guide explained, is part of the reason why prices in Laos are comparable to (if not often higher than) those in Thailand, despite Laos being a much poorer country.

Anyway, to recount what I actually did today: I started out at the first Plain of Jars Site, which is the only site I saw that can be described as a plain. The jars at sites numbers two and three are scattered among the trees, as are the jars at many other sites we did not visit. Estimates for when the jars were crafted and put into place vary widely and I am not going to spend an hour trying to adjudicate between these claims. Suffice it to say that the first jar came into being somewhere between the absurdly long period of 1240 BCE and 500 BCE, and that the last jar may have been crafted as late as 800 CE. Archaeologists believe that the jars originally served as places where bodies were left to decompose for a few years before being cremated, and site number one has a cave with multiple holes at the top where these cremations were believed to have taken place.

It appears that throughout later years, people began to use the jars to store the ashes themselves, and eventually the sites fell into disuse. Stories began to proliferate about their alleged construction by giants and their haunting by ghosts, and one tale even told of their being used to store brandy. The jars sustained considerable damage from American bombings during the so-called Secret War, and my guide told me that his grandfather hid among them to avoid the blasts. The reason why many sites are still inaccessible to the public is the presence of unexploded munition, which continues to kill and maim people to this day.

From the first site, we continued to the town of Muang Khoun, dubbed Xieng Khouang’s “old capital.” The town was once the seat of the Muang Phuan principality, which drew its roots to the thirteenth century and enjoyed great splendour for several hundred years. American bombings and the Laotian Civil War left the town thoroughly devastated, and barely any traces of its opulent sixty-two stupas remain. The town’s greatest attractions are its two haunting, derelict stupas, the skeleton of a French administrative building, and the icon of a seated Buddha within the ruins of a temple. As we were leaving the town, my guide slowed down to show me a house he said belonged to a cousin of Vang Pao.

The road to Muang Khoun passes by a village dubbed the Noodle Village, where travellers to Vientiane stock up on a flat kind of rice noodle. The noodles are still made in the old-fashioned way: by grinding down the rice, steaming the powder, letting thin circles of it dry in the sun, and cutting them up. The villagers also make wheel-sized circular rice puffs which are sweet and taste a bit like cotton candy.

The visit to sites numbers two and three were shorter, as fewer explanations were needed. I cannot imagine how tourists reach the third site when it is rainy, as one has to cross muddy rice paddies to get there, with only the occasional bamboo stalk thrown in to help tourists traverse the most treacherous sections. Needless to say, I washed my trousers as soon as I got home, hoping that they would dry by the following morning despite the humidity. Following a quick lunch, we made our final stop at the so-called Spoon Village, where a few families earn their living by melting down scrap metal from war remains into spoons and various souvenirs. We did not leave a moment too early, as it began to pour as soon as we hit the road on our way back to the hotel.

I left Xieng Khouang for Vientiane and then Bangkok the next day, having spent part of the morning at the Provincial Museum. I arrived there about twenty minutes past nine and found it closed; five minutes later (and twenty-five minutes after the official opening time), dull sounds from the inside announced the opening of the door. The highlights of the museum were the exhibitions on the second floor showcasing the cultures and traditions of local ethnic minorities. The items on display included various daunting musical instruments, figurines dressed in ethnic costumes, and shamanic items. I had also intended to visit the Mines Advisory Group’s Unexploded Ordnances Centre, but upon reaching it I discovered it was temporarily closed.