Many travellers dream of a place not infested by mass tourism, or even tourism at all, of travelling off the beaten track with the sense of Kilroy not having been before you.

There are not many places left on this globe where old Mr. Kilroy haven't been, places that in addition still has something to offer a traveller.

The ancient royal capital Luangprabang in the Lao People's Democratic Republic was one of those places–in 1990 when I first visited the country. The country seemed suspended in time, a place where news was scarce and where reliable roads were few and far between.  It was by no means an easy place to get to, then, but worth the hassles if old Buddhist Wats, picturesque settings, and friendly people are what you are looking for. Plus, there were not that many other strangers roaming the streets. Different now, when Luangprabang has taken over from what Kabul and Kathmandu was for the hippies of the seventies. But still, it is a very pleasant and quiet little place–worth visiting, especially if you want to get away from the party crowd.

My first visit in December 1990 coincided with the 15^th anniversary of the communist revolution. At the Lao embassy in Bangkok I was told there was no need for a visa; in commemoration of the people’s democratic revolution the government had decided to grant visa free entries to foreigners over a two-week period. Arriving at the border in Nong Khai the story was a different one–of course. But alas–as always in Thailand, there is help around the corner: visa agents. As the Lao revolution also coincided with the Thai King’s birthday and the Thai national day, I was fortunate only to wait five days for the proper stamps in my passport.

This was long before the Friendship bridge was completed, and whatever friendship there was to be made, one had to cross the river first. All day, except during lunch break, boats were plying back and forth across the Mekong, bringing people, merchandise and the odd tourist across to the People’s Paradise. In Vientiane those days, Aereflot still kept an office with their Iluyshin jets connecting Moscow. At the Anou hotel, people danced the night away to a Russian band playing sixties music, very often out of tune. “Those were the days,” as Mary Hopkins sang.

The river bank in Wieng Chan (Vientiane) was then only populated by thirsty Russian “diplomats” who could afford a beer at 500 kip, and locals tending their vegetable gardens. Khamsouk was a young man looking after his garden by the banks of the Mekong. After having stared at me sitting in the shade of a tree, he approached me with the quest of practising his English. His English, it turned out, was quite good and those were the days when Russian influence was still strong and the French loaf was still available at the bakery. But then again, his two sisters lived in Canada, and he himself wanted very much to emigrate to an English speaking country. We kept in touch for over ten years, but lost contact when he moved to Melbourne.

Luangprabang is a small town of around 20,000 souls, nestled at the confluence of the Nam Khane and Mekong rivers. The legendary river Mekong (meaning mother of the rivers) is part of the national culture like the Yang-Tse-Kiang (in China) and the Ganges (in India). It also rises in the Himalayas. The Mekong has been the cradle of many civilizations, and even to day it continues to be an essential part of communication and transportation. Life on the Mekong river is relaxing, cool, and full of poetry. The Laotian himself is a type of water king who glides across the river in his tiny canoe casting his fishing net while his wife cultivates a kitchen garden on the fertile banks. In the evening the aroma of boiled fish wafts through the air from the little thatched huts.