Singing Up The Mekong

Digital Art Collage by Stella Kalaw

I was born in a city that is an island. And I grew up on another island in a different part of the world.  Perhaps for that reason, I’ve always been most comfortable when I’m surrounded by water.

So when planning a trip to Laos, I organized it to take place as much as possible on, beside, and along the Mekong River.

My time in Laos began with a journey of several days up the Mekong in a small converted log ferry, renovated to appeal to Western travellers with polished wood, brass fixtures, potted ferns and wicker chairs. There were only four other passengers on board, all from France, and we had pleasant discussions over meals, with some teasing over my quaint French Canadian accent. We made our way at a leisurely pace past green fields and forests and had a chance to meet people in farming and fishing villages during our treks ashore.

After the boat trip, I moved further north for a longer stay in the town of Luang Prabang. My guest house was right beside the Mekong, near where it and the Kahn River meet. My bougainvillea-festooned balcony looked over the water, and we took our meals al fresco on the banks of the river.

Luang Prabang is often described as mystical and meditative, perhaps because of the abundant ancient temples in the town. At least thirty-four temples in the central area have a UNESCO designation, and each temple is a work of art in itself. Long roofs curve down, often with intricate wooden carvings, some clad in gold leaf. Inside, the walls are black or deep red lacquer, with gold stencilling of mythical creatures or historical scenes. Ceilings feature frescoes, and tall pillars, again with stencilling, culminating in gold-painted lotus carvings. On some temples, exterior or interior walls have coloured glass mosaics set against a deep red background. In my early morning visits to those quiet spaces, beauty and peace filled my eyes and my spirit.

Luang Prabang holds some non-quiet memories for me, too. My guide in Luang Prabang—I'll call him Keo—was taking me on a short trip up the river to the Pak Ou Caves. These caves, set right into the banks of the Mekong, hold more than 4000 wooden icons, placed there over hundreds of years by local people to honour Buddha, and some say, the traditional river gods too. I was looking forward to seeing this unique site. But I was also happy to enjoy the trip in a local “long tail” motorboat.

Keo had a jolly personality. He was knowledgeable in the historical and cultural explanations he had shared with me during our other outings. We had some interesting exchanges and started to share some of our life histories.

This day, the noise of the motor on the boat began to drown out my guide’s cultural history explanations and personal stories. So he suggested that we sing. Brilliant! But he was a young Laotian, and I was a not-so-young Canadian. What songs could we possibly find that we both knew? We ran through a variety of suggestions. 

Suddenly—we both lit up: The Everly Brothers! Someone, at some point, had given him a tape of these 1960s crooners, and they were familiar to me, too, from my long-ago teenage years. So we began.

We were astounded at the way the words came back. “Wake Up Little Susie.”  “Dream Dream Dream.” “Let It Be Me.” “Devoted to You.” “Bye Bye Love.” We went through the whole repertoire with increasing volume and enthusiasm. Then we went through it again, this time remembering the words even more fully.

As we sounded the last note of “All I Have To Do Is Dream,” we rounded the corner, and there were the caves with thousands of carved wooden Buddha statues. Even though we had arrived in a somewhat non-meditative fashion, we became hushed and appreciative.

Back in Luang Prabang, Keo and I chatted over Laotian iced coffee, and he helped me to understand more about the history of the Pak Ou Caves. It had been a memorable outing.

But we agreed that singing Everly Brothers songs up the Mekong was a pretty fine memory, too.