The Shiny Side of Vientiane

by JG Learned

Thirty-one years ago, Laos was a country at war. Vientiane, its low-slung capital was a sprawl along the Mekong River; red dust and potholes in the dry season, red mud and deeper holes in the wet. The charm and relaxed pace of life in Vientiane belied the realities of a war that had been going on for 8 years already. The ‘Baw pen nyang' (Never mind, no problem) attitude of acceptance of the Lao people was difficult to understand in face of the events surrounding them.

Shady, tree-lined boulevards and graceful French Colonial architecture lent to the otherwise ramshackle Vientiane some distinction. The boulangeries, charcuteries, patisseries and fromagerie, the lyceé, the sidewalk cafes and French restaurants by the fountain, where intellectuals met, all gave one the curious impression of being in Europe and Asia at the same time, in another era.

Against this peaceful backdrop was a different Vientiane. Sometimes at night, flashes like distant lightning would faintly silhouette the mountains to the north, followed by a murmuring rumble when the wind was right. Those were American bombs. The noise generated by the ‘Secret War' in Vientiane was of a different sort. It was also at night, but was the sound of loud music, raucous inebriated Americans and Filipinos and shrill, drunk bargirls in dark and raunchy establishments that would close their doors at dawn. A great number of Filipinos were working for the Americans in nearly every civilian capacity. The Americans did not trust the Lao, involved in a tripartite civil war with unclear alliances being made and broken with regularity. Corsican restauranteurs, entrepreneurs and gangsters, French madams, and a curious entrepot of foreign expatriates ran the night trades.

During the day, the pitted streets carried an odd collection of ancient Renaults, Peugeots, and Mercedes; rattling, dented Toyota taxis; dusty/muddy, unmarked Army jeeps driven by Filipinos; big shiny official-looking American sedans and a few well-cared for, expensive vehicles belonging to rich Laos - generally speaking, corrupt officials. Most of the population walked or rode bicycles and beat-up motorbikes. The most ubiquitous vehicle was the pedal tri-shaw.

There was a very palpable American presence in Vientiane, loud, hard-drinking men, and quiet official types wearing sunglasses, all there to carry on a losing secret war. The place was crawling with spooks and officials, pilots and military men in civvies. USAID and USIS, and a dozen other ‘aid' and ‘rural development' agencies had their personnel based in Vientiane. They were all, in one capacity or another - knowingly or not - carrying out the will and war of the CIA; they were the undercover warriors in the second Indo-China war. It was all very confusing to the few innocent, uninitiated visitors, what was really going on.

The war was lost, the Americans went home with their shiny cars and Laos was abandoned to its fate. In 1975 the communist Pathet Lao party took control, backed by hardline-Hanoi support. The Americans were replaced by Soviets in civilian clothing and Vietnamese soldiers. In the words of one Lao, “The Russians were like the Americans but they didn't have any money”. They too went home. The French, the Americans, the Russians, the Chinese, the Vietnamese, they all went home - the Lao people, with Buddhist calm watched them come and watched them go, outwardly indifferent to the changes bestowed upon them by exterior powers.

Now the shiny vehicles are back. Wealthy Lao people, mostly government types, drive Benzes and Toyotas. Big Japanese and American SUVs and pickup trucks, with decals on the sides, represent a dozen or more international aid agencies from around the world. Sparkling new vans roll tourists from one destination to another - though by trip's end, they carry the same patina of red dust or mud as their predecessors during the second Indochina War. The roads, while much improved, still pose a challenge, especially in the monsoon season.

Bright, air-conditioned mini-marts carry French wines and cheeses, Russian caviar and American whiskey and a host of other foreign products. Chic, plate-glassed boutiques and new 5-star hotels are opening all over the city. The Lane Xang Hotel, long the premier hotel in the capital, has lost that distinction to newer hotels that rival the Oriental in Bangkok for charm and impeccable service. Designer clothes are in vogue. More than a well-turned ankle is exposed to admire. Tight, low-cut jeans and t-shirts have finally displaced the traditional Lao sarong and communist sartorial austerity.

One positive aspect of the exodus of Lao people (about 15% of the population), in the aftermath of the 1975 communist takeover, is that they have prospered in their adoptive countries, the United States, Canada, England, France and Australia. Now they are starting to come back to Laos. They are well educated, with money to invest directly into the economy.

In Vientiane, the communist government seems as far apart to tourists as did the war 30 years ago. While the old Hanoi-school hardliners still maintain the reins of power, they are not against garnering the material benefits resulting from foreign aid and tourism. But an innate apprehension of the negative social effects of commercialism and decadent western society remains. Curfews, laws against foreigners cohabiting with Lao nationals, and strict regulations concerning visas and business attest to their not unwarranted fears.

But in Vientiane, despite the bar and restaurant curfew of 10:30, one sees the inevitable results of foreign occupation, be it military or tourist – prostitutes, pimps, hustlers and beggars. Despite the laws on the books, dark and dirty, smoky after-hours bars discharge loud, drunken Western men and Asian women and transvestites at dawn. The authorities usually turn a blind eye. For the sake of form, they occasionally enforce the curfew for a few days, but the night traders, as they have always done, inject substantial money directly into the local economy and money, after all, is the bottom line even in the communist backwater of Laos.

The calm acceptance by the people to this newest influx of foreigners is much as it has always been - the relaxed “Baw pen nyang” attitude prevails. The essential reserve and grace and amiability of the Lao people remain unchanged. Neither the new glitter and shine of Vientiane nor the shadowy side appears to faze them. They watch us come and they watch us go.