Luang Prabang is a beautiful but strange little place. It’s a UNESCO-recognized World Heritage Site. An example of some past something or other. Preserved. Stunted. Glassed in. Kept nice and clean. It’s like Epcot or Disneyland but only I think because I was raised on Epcot and Disneyland. I’m a product of that generation. I’ve traveled far and wide in my own backyard. I arrived jaded and confused. Though it’s more than that. Luang Prabang is. My experience is.
It’s difficult to dislike Laos. I’m sure there are people out there that do, but I can’t imagine it. Those must be the same people that throw bags of kittens in lakes and don’t cry when Leo dies in Titanic. Heartless. Or soulless rather. There are rumors that French colonialists back in the day would just disappear into the night there. Leave their posts and worries at the treeline. Never look back. I can imagine it.
Luang Prabang is the place that most people think of when they think of Laos. Mountains, the Mekong, temples, manageable markets, inoffensive street food and monks at every turn. It’s the quintessential quaint Southeast Asian town. Every adjective you’ve heard muttered about it is probably true and fitting to a fault. Time drags there in the best way but for me it gets old pretty quickly. Though even with that being said there are plenty worse places to get bored while whiling away your life.