Leaving Luang Prabang

Five minutes into my two-day journey up the Mekong to the Thai border and any regrets that I may have had about multiple scarf purchases at the Luang Prabang night market vanished. In fact, I was beginning to wish I had bought a shawl or something with a little more coverage - maybe swiped the ratty wool blanket out of my room at the guesthouse. As we pulled away from town, gray clouds hung low over the surrounding mountains and the boat, while plenty comfortable, was wide open to the cold morning breeze blowing downstream. It seems - confirmed by several shivering locals onboard - that winter had officially arrived in northern Laos. And, as if to mark the occasion, Luang Prabang was hit by a city-wide power outage on my last night in town. I woke up to a dark and cold wood-floored room, packed my bags by headlamp, and settled for a cold water face splash in the sink instead of a hot shower. Still enough hot water left in the thermos downstairs to whip up a cup of instant coffee and, with an hour to kill before departure, I dragged a chair out on to the second floor balcony overlooking the little alley below. Munching on a fresh-baked pineapple muffin from the market around the corner, I sat back and enjoyed one last sunrise in Luang Prabang.

Set back off the main drag in the old silver-smithing district, my guesthouse balcony has been the perfect place to watch the city come alive each morning: an old woman from the modest house across the way taking her grandson by the hand to the market at the end of the alley, returning with a bag of vegetables and small bundle of firewood for the morning fire; backpack clad girls scrambling out the door to school; young men warming up the engines of their motorbikes and tuk tuks for another day of taxi driving; women sweeping the alley with thatched brooms; and the crippled dog - back leg bent and withered - that I've taken a liking to, twisting and rolling in the dirt with the other well fed neighborhood dogs (they're not all destined for the dinner plate). I feel as though I've had, from my little morning perch, a privileged glimpse into a very small corner of "real" Lao life over the past few days.

Warm thoughts for a cold boat ride.