I’ve just paid fourty five grand for breakfast. It’s questionable value, but the French baguettes in Luang Prabang’s restaurants are indeed delicious. I find it a little strange shelling out this much for sustenance though – I thought I was in one of the poorest countries in the world? Ah, I am. It’s just that this particular area is TouristTrap Prabang and the frequent middle-upper class visitors must have caused tremendous price hikes. How awfully inconsiderate of them, by jove.
I collected and sent home the coins of Thailand, but here there are none. It’s all paper; the smallest denomination being 1000 kip. That’s roughly a thirteenth of a pound. Quick! Hit
start-run-calc and work it out. It doesn’t register for me though, as I just answered all fifteen questions correctly and am a millionaire.
That’s 1.25 million kip (or around ninety quid). My wallet is now bulging and barely able to hold all the notes, which total a centimetre thick. No wonder they prefer US Dollars here. The cash registers here automatically add three zeroes to every price – but if everything is a multiple of one thousand, why not just drop the zeroes?
It reminds me of studying WWII in History at school; pictures of people with wheelbarrows full of paper stood queuing for groceries. A few days of purchases here and you’ll have enough paper to make something MacGuyver would be proud of.
There’s a definitive French influence here; they drive on the right, signs are hybrid English-French, Baguettes, Crepes and Croissants can be found everywhere. Even the building design is similar. Enough rhetoric, I’m off to wander around.
Climbing Mount Phou Si, I find a decommissioned turret atop its peak. And if you’re wondering how to pronounce that, let me digress briefly. Half way up the 300 odd steps, I pay ten grand for a ticket. Whilst crouching taking a picture, the girl from a group of three Type IIIas asks the attendant “What is it?” Replying phonetically, the ticket clerk says “Poo See Mountain”, she laughs replying; “What?!”, and the little boy in me giggles as I laugh too.
It’s Phou Si world here. There’s the Phou Si Temple (yes, really), Phou Si cafe, Phou Si hotel, Phou Si Guest House. A few K down the road and you’ll find Phou Si Market; buy one get one free? We’ve got Phou Si of all kinds, sorts, shapes and sizes. Presently, I’m drinking “Pure Drinking water Phou Si”. I trust reverse osmosis and ozonation was used.
Climbing down the north face of the mountain (which is more of a tall hill), there’s an Australian woman talking to a Monk. I’m keen to give this a go; some pearls of wisdom may be bestowed perhaps. Reaching the bottom, through winding small streets populated with humble dwellings, is a sign stating that only women with hair worn in a bun may cross.
As the sun dips and evening chimes in, one of the many Wats is alive with its Monks singing. It’s a strangely relaxing and calming sound; like watching a tropical fish tank, lowering your pulse and blood pressure as it mesmerises you. I was certainly charmed by their daily dedication, if not the ability of teenagers to sit still for longer than a second (this, being an 8 second exposure.)
save me some of that drinking phou si
ReplyDeleteHave you grown your hair long enough to bun so you can cross the road?
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