After an afternoon rest, we thought we’d get a bit fancy for the evening and do a date night. I made reservations at Paste, the fussy modern fusion restaurant we had tapas at a couple of days before. First though, we would need to get some coffee in us, so we grabbed a latte and shared a chocolate croissant at Le Banneton Cafe.
When we were on the rice farm, the bamboo weavers gave us bamboo rings. Aaron and I joked that they would be our wedding bands while we’re here. At Le Banneton, I fiddled with mine, and it went flying off somewhere. By this point, the inside joke had given the ring some sentimental value, so I was turning the place over looking for it. Aaron helped. Soon, the two cafe workers joined in, moving furniture and scrutinizing the sidewalk. I’m sure they thought I was crazy, because you can get them for a dollar at the market, but they were very helpful. Just as we were all about to give up, Aaron reached into his shoe and pulled out the bamboo ring. It had somehow landed in there after rolling off the table. The cafe workers must have thought it was a poorly-executed, time-wasting magic trick.
We took a stroll, making our way leisurely towards our reservation, turning down whatever sidestreets piqued our interests. We stopped in a temple to hear the monks chanting and quietly read a bit from the Pali Canon. On another street, a middle-aged gentleman tried to corral us into a flourescent-lit room. “Want to come teach English for ten minutes to some students?” he asked. I was so used to pushy vendors and tour salesmen that I was shaking my head no before I’d even processed the question. “Oh, no thank you. We have a– wait, what? Oh. Sure!” I said. He ushered me into a corner, with Aaron on the opposite side of the room, both of us surrounded by empty chairs. He disappeared for a minute, and returned with several young Laotians, many of whom wore the orange robes of novice monks. “Remember, as a woman, you cannot touch them,” he said, gesturing to my new monk student.
Three students joined me, a novice, an older boy who spoke very little English, and a girl who didn’t seem like she needed any lessons at all. They asked me questions about what I did and where I was from, and I asked them questions about where they were from and what they wanted to do. “Lao people,” said the novice, “don’t think about the future. Future is a headache.”
After a bit, we had to extricate ourselves to make our reservation. Paste was every bit as stuffy as the first time we went, but once again, the food was phenomenal: best meal on the trip. Aaron balked at them putting a napkin in his lap. “I don’t want to go anywhere where the presumption is that I want someone to put my napkin in my lap for me,” he told me later. But even he had to admit, the food was amazing. Little sparkling rose waters were served as a palate cleanser, followed by an amuse-bouche of river weed on a sesame cracker with crabmeat. For our meals, we shared a tasting menu: crunchy cured rice balls, sour fish soup, salty cured eggplant salad, savory fried glass noodles, and at least three other dishes my memory is not doing justice to. Dessert was a ruby red gelee with banana and gold leaf. Aaron was, understandably, pretty upset to learn that gold leaf was sometimes added as a decorative garnish. “Eat the rich?” I asked him. “Eat the rich,” he approved.
The next morning was spent packing and checking out. Today was to be our last day in Laos. I was a bit more heart-broken about it than Aaron. I found Luang Prabang romantic and charming. I had fallen a bit in love with her. And the food has been consistently unbelievable. But where I saw languid grace, Aaron saw sleepiness. He was eager to hit the busy streets of Hanoi. We had one last adventure planned before we headed out, though.
Parental advisory: the following paragraphs contain details that may not be suitable for some parents. If you’re our parents, we advise you to skip them.
We rented a scooter. Most places are too busy and too crazy for such a thing, but the lazy, empty, flat country roads of the rural areas around Luang Prabang were perfect. In case you’re one of our parents and you ignored my warning: Not once did I feel unsafe, Aaron was an excellent driver, we didn’t go very fast, and we both wore helmets the entire time. We both had a blast on the hour long drive to Laos Buffalo Dairy Farm. We watched the rice paddies go by and stopped when we felt like it, nothing between us and the scenery but wind.
At the dairy farm, we were shown around by a young Swiss metalhead with a long, braided beard. We fed some ravenous rabbits who had trouble distinguishing our hands from the meal we were feeding them, we milked a water buffalo (much harder than milking a cow), we fed Ferdinand (the gentle giant buffalo bull) armfuls of napier grass, and we bottle-fed some greedy calves. After, we were treated to ricotta cake and spiced gelato made from the milk. I was very glad we fit our visit in before we left Laos. It’s incredible how much this one farm has changed the surrounding communities: providing jobs to locals, supplementing farmer incomes, and even increasing literacy with the local school-children through their programs.
On the trip back to town, we stopped at a roadside joint by the river, and said one last goodbye to the Mekong. Next stop: Vietnam.
Hanoimoon 