River festival in Laos

We left Vietnam urgently and abruptly in hopes of catching a Buddhist festival in Vientianne, the capital of Laos. We prompty forgot about the holiday after 13 long hours spent on busses and at the border. Our first night in Laos, at a guesthouse in Savannakhet we were reminded by the cute teenager rocking a side ponytail at the front desk of the celebration occurring the next day along the mighty Mekong River. Tired and travel weary we took a quick tour of Savannakhet's city center, seeing just enough of the modest festival preparations- an inflatable jumpy castle for kids, a miniature ferris wheel, and plenty of food stalls- to peak our curiosity about what was in store tomorrow.

The next morning we headed directly for the main plaza. At 9am the day was already hot. Not many people had arrived at the festival, but those in attendance were sitting along the river bank watching boaters prepare for races. Families, old men, women dressed in silk shirts and long wrap around skirts, young monks draped in bright orange robes, all meandered around the river bank gazing at the water. In the river long, exceedingly narrow, U-shaped boats with delicately curved and carved edges carried a dozen rowers each, all moving in perfect unison dipping paddles in and out of the muddy colored water. At the river's edge each boat team had its own tent and from these tents came live music. Some tents had full bands set up inside, others just drums made of upside down buckets. We couldn't tell where the race began or ended, but from the music played on the banks, we could tell which team won. Laos music is way funkier than other East Asian music and we loved hearing the electric guitarists wail and pluck frantically on their instruments while teh drummers kept the beat.

As the day progressed more people filtered into the festival grounds. A low rider pickup truck blasting hip hop- something we haven't seen in well over a year- cruised the main strip. The beer tents filled up. The game booths grew louder. Children packed the jumpy castles and parents milled around its edges peering over the wall at their happily shrieking kids.

There were very few tourists at the festival, so Travis and I (Travis especially) attracted a lot of attention. Little kids gasped when they saw Travis' big beard and curly hair. Adults whispered "Bin Laden?" to each other as we passed. We ducked into a beer tent to avoid sidewalk gawking and enjoy a Beerlao. Not suprisingly a couple of men shuffled in shortly after and instantly began talking about us. We felt uncomfortable til one of the men called over and told us to speak loudly so he could listen to our conversation and practice his English. Soon we were talking to him. SeeMon, it turned out was very friendly and loved to speak English. For 20 minutes we chatted and he progressively became more fluent, faster speaking and more erratic. He was thrilled to learn we were both English teachers. He started spelling words for us and asking for pronunciation tips, acting things out (he had to stand up and take off his jacket when explaining the word "weather"). At last he was chanting grammar exercises: "I go, You go, He..." "goes" we'd suggest, "GOES!" he'd shout and on and on. His companion meanwhile remained sedate and uncommunicative. Once they'd finished their beers, SeeMon wide eyed and smiling crazily, shook our hands and told us he would teach everything he practiced to his kids. We were happy to get someone so high on English, so feeling accomplished we decided to take a break from the heat and return to the festival later in the day.

In the evening when we returned the area along the river was packed. Between 3 and 5 thousand people were in attendance, hair combed perfectly, wearing their best clothes, walking up and down the strip, eating fried bananas and grilled meat on a stick. Bad karaoke-style music boomed from loud speakers in various tents and collided on the street in discord. Young women set up tables displaying elaborately decorated, dish-size altars made of folded banana leaves, orange and purple flowers and topped with incense and candles. The altars were beautifully crafted, and even as they sold them, the women kept their fingers busy tucking and folding corners and gluing flowers. We didn't exactly know what the altars were for, but we had a hunch they were supposed to float down the river.

We bought one from a girl, and she, without speaking English, led us down the river bank to the water. There she lit the candle and tried to used the candle to light the incense sticks, then she waded into the river attempting to place the altar in the water. Unfortunately, the candle kept blowing out. The wind prevented the incense from lighting. The lighter stopped working, and so did a second light Travis gave her. Our girl slipped in the mud and became soaked up to her waist. After 10 minutes of fumbling, she gave up, returned the altar to us and defeated we all climbed back up the slope. Travis and I felt terrible that we'd let the girl get so muddy for nothing. We sadly posted ourselves in a beer tent, sipped another Beerlao and watched dots of candle light bob along the edge of the dark river. It was too dark to see the altars themselves, but the small flames flickered brightly and the soft smell of incense wafted up into the tent. We went back and bought 2 more altars from our friend. She was happy.

This time we carried our altars up to the main dock. There were a dozen boys collecting altars and swimming them into the river. The air was thick and sweet with smoke. Hundreds of people watched the lights from the docks. It was breathtaking. Sometimes what looked like the skeleton of a boat would float by on fire. Across the Mekong in Thailand we could see thousands more altars floating along the river's edge. After our altars floated away, we snacked on sticky rice mixed with dark, brown cane sugar and cooked in a bamboo stick and wandered back home.