Vientiane: A capital city with two faces

By Dewi Anggraeni

VIENTIANE, Laos (JP): Emerging from the small aircraft onto the flight of stairs leading to the tarmac, I had a good view of the airport terminal building at Vientiane, which is even smaller than Jakarta's Kemayoran Airport was 35 years ago. The air was warm and humid, and there was a certain peacefulness in the surrounding plains, now elusive in metropolitan Jakarta, no matter how far you are from the city center.

Apart from the odd French tourist, the facial features of the people were no different from those of Indonesians. If I ignored their conversations, I could pretend I was in a small town in Indonesia. There was no need to, however, because my two travel companions began to converse nonchalantly in Indonesian. We were even pleasantly surprised when we were approached by a man named Suharso from the Indonesian Embassy, who had come to welcome us.

During the drive to the hotel, I decided to close my notebook and absorb the ambience of the place through my senses. One does not have to come from a hectic city like Bangkok to experience culture shock in Vientiane. Even coming from Hanoi, a relatively sober city with more bicycles than cars, I felt as if I were floating, somewhat eerily, on a cloud of insouciance, into a world devoid of care; the lost world of my childhood.

"Laotian people are very laid back. They are not into protocol and formality. Government ministers go to functions and mingle freely with ordinary people," Suharso said.

These traits, I thought, were similar to those of the lurah and kepala kampung (village chief) I knew.

Vientiane has two faces. The wide and long boulevards convey a semblance of city life, where the occasional French car drives past, though seemingly without purpose. But behind the buildings facing these boulevards lies another Vientiane. It is decidedly rural, where people still walk across rice fields, where time does not rule. In Vientiane, you can walk around in a daze without feeling guilty. No one asks you where you want to go, where you come from or whether you want to stay at someone's brother's or sister's house. Even the tuktuk drivers shrug and return to their card game if the price you offer them for a ride is too low to their liking.

It is enchanting and inebriating. It is a place where the process of modernity and the force of traditions clash and fuse. It is a capital city where the concept of legends still appears to make sense.

The tuktuk, a motorized version of Indonesia's delman, was introduced in 1986. Not only is it fast replacing the samlor (becak, Laotian style), it heralded the birth of motorized vehicles and speed in Vientiane traffic. In 1989, Honda Dream motorbikes took over the peaceful boulevards, side streets and narrow paths along rice fields. They put a stop to the leisurely badminton wames on the shady boulevards on Sundays, much to the chagrin of those who disliked change. The mostly young riders are still trying to determine the suitable speed at which they can negotiate the traffic with their fellow drivers, not to mention people running hither and thither chasing a shuttlecock, unmindful of the young generation of bikers using the roads, after all, as intended.

If you think that tuktuk and samlor are more reminiscent of Thailand, you are right. Laos has a symbiotic relationship with Thailand. Putting aside Thailand's past incursions into Laos, the two nations have strong cultural ties with each other. To begin with, the three types of currencies used in Laotian markets are kip (Laotian), the U.S. dollar (who doesn't use it?), and baht (Thai). Many traders are Thai. Thai people come to Laos when they want to chill out, far away from the crowds, while Laotians go to Thailand, especially Bangkok, to experience metropolitan city life and to get a glimpse of what the future will bring.

A visit to the Weavers' Village would give you a pleasant view of how the woven cloths and garments you see displayed in the shops and markets, and on the beautiful women, are made. If the words "weavers' village" conjure up a vision of an extremely active environment, with spinning wheels turning, hand looms rocking and shuttles flying back and forth across the warps, press the "erase" button on your mental image setter. In reality, it is the picture of calm village life, where people only work when they want to, where pressure -- if it were ever present -- must have evaporated before it reached the ground. However, there seems to be no shortage of clothes for sale. This is where a little imagination may project the vision of a heavenly creature descending every so often to activate the instruments while the villagers are asleep or resting. Otherwise, where did they collect all those clothes from?

Apart from textiles, Laos is also well-known for its silverware, available in shops and markets.

A novelty for visitors from outside the Indo-Chinese region is the sight of street stalls selling mini baguettes filled with chili and other Lao delicacies, evidence of the creative assimilation of French culture.

A look at the local papers indicates that the authorities are keen on development, especially infrastructure building and high- tech training. Laos is determined to catch up with its ASEAN neighbors in terms of becoming one of the market economies of the region. How this will affect the peaceful ambience, we can only wait and see.