CARLA SOMMERS TALKS TO SIX LUANG PRABANG RESIDENTS WHO ARE ALL MAKING THEIR INDIVIDUAL MARK ON THIS CHARMING LAO TOWN

FOR THOSE WHO LIVE perched on the misted hills of Luang Prabang, life in the 21st century is a world away from the heady hubbub of other Asian cities.

For many of the foreign residents, they first arrived as tourists – and some never left . For those Laotians who emigrated to foreign shores, the pull of their old hometown has meant that even decades aft er their departure, they are unable to stay away.

We talk to a handful of remarkable people who all share enormous pride in having set up their homes in Luang Prabang.

A ROYAL ENDEAVOUR

On meeting the quietly spoken Nithakhong “Nith” Somsanithat a get-together, he immediately insists that I visit his home to see his work. He takes me outside and points to a house standing not even three metres away.

“that is my home!” he exclaims proudly, casting his hand casually over a beautiful stilt house, nestling under tall palm trees, with a broad veranda full of bric-a-brac.

Inside, I discover a dark room crammed with treasures: paintings, Buddha and intricate golden headdresses from the Lao dance troupes.

On long, taut wooden frames, clothhas been stretched and stitched with fabulous gold kinnaree motifs; ancient lacquerware trays gleam in the dim light and a bevy of traditional instruments: xylophones, cymbals and drums filled an annexe.

Here, I spot a dusty poster introducing “Prince Nithakhong Somsanith”, a member of the now widely disparate, not to mention genealogically complicated, former Lao royal family.

However, Nithis not interested in talking about his royal connections or Lao politics. the subject that occupies him day and night is his passion for Lao handicraft s, dance, music and the arts.

Exposed to these traditions as a young child by his grandmother and mother, he recalls playing oft en in the Luang Prabang palace grounds (today’s National Museum). Over time, Nithlearnt all about formal flower arranging, court music, the art of Lao royal dance and the craft smanship that went into making a gold border of a princess’s skirt or siin. Living in exile, he admits candidly, perhaps helped keep those traditions alive.

Intrigued by such devotion, I return again the next day to find Nithdownstairs, surrounded by helpers and students, holding a fresh banana stem punctured by what look like thousands of toothpicks bearing purple and cream buds. It formed a pretty egg-shaped arrangement which, he explains, would later adorn a silver-tiered platter placed as a table decoration for a cocktail party in the grounds of the former royal palace, that would follow a rare outdoor performance of two episodes of the Ramayana.

As he pores over photographic memoirs showing dancers at the court some 100 years ago, Nithrecalls seeing similar ballet performances as a young child.

Yet, through years of neglect and lack of funding, the costumes and dance techniques are being diluted; worse, cheaper and inauthentic modern touches have seeped in, such as the use of plastic accessories. Nithhopes that with some help, his small winter home in Luang Prabang can become an informal centre of teaching – and cultural renaissance.

the importance, and indeed, urgency of this conservation became evident that evening when we werze privy to the spectacularly beguiling performance by the Royal Ballet of Cambodia. they were accompanied by two elderly vocalists, singing in the near-extinct Royal language.

It is hoped that Nithakhong Somsanithand the generosity of philanthropists can keep these delightful scenes alive for future generations, otherwise a large part of Luang Prabang’s unique artistic history is certainly doomed to disappear not in a few centuries, but with in our lifetime.

PIONEERING PARTNERSHIPS

Like so many, French-Canadian Isabel Dréan arrived in Luang Prabang by default, while waiting on news for a job in London. the job fell through, so she stayed – and with in two days, found not just work, but an investor for L’Etranger, the town’s first bookstore-cum-arts café.

She recalls how the first walk down Luang Prabang’s empty main street left her in wonder, or as she says, “hallucinant.”

Six years later, she also helps run Hive, a hugely popular bar just next door. Just opposite is Kop Noi (www.kopnoi.com), a contemporary boutique and new exhibition space that Isabel and her Quebecois husband Simon Côté, who is also an artist, screenwriter and cinematographer, worked hard to set up along with their partner, Nathalie Pouliot.

Kop Noi, meaning “little frog” in Lao, is in fact a reference to a tiny frog which appeared just aft er the birthof their daughter.

On one side of the spectacularly restored two-storey house is an open-plan craft s shop selling locally-produced food, jewellery, soaps and coconut lamps under the banner “Made In Laos”.

Meanwhile, a Chinese-style moon gate leads through to an elaborate clothing section, selling high quality, cotton fashions. Today, many of Kop Noi’s produce is sold overseas as part of an export campaign spearheaded by Isabel.

Trained as an actress at the Actors’ Studio in New York and born to literary parents, Isabel recognises the struggle of artists to survive; the fight to remain true to their roots while battling against the threats of plagiarism or mass market commercialism.

Somehow, as well as running all these businesses and being a mother of a three-year-old, Isabel also finds time to promote local artists or photographers, many of whose work adorns the walls of L’Etranger and Kop Noi.

Proof of her dedication to giving back to the community is easy to see. Upstairs in Kop Noi, a fascinating new exhibition promotes something at the heart of Lao culture – khao niaw, sticky rice.

Produced in only a few weeks and a shoestring budget, the show uses a wide variety of media – the likes of which has never before seen in Luang Prabang. Colourful visuals mounted on wall-sized boards with captions illustrate the agricultural processes, traditions and culture behind the Laotian staple.

Every inch is unequivocally authentic, highlighting Dréan and Côté’s motivating principles that it is authenticity and innovation – not duplication – that is the secret to enduring success and respect.

Such exhibitions epitomise a gradual movement towards more educational, ethically-driven projects that will, it is hoped, offer tourists a glimpse of real Laotian life.

FOOD FASCINATIONS

Englishman Ivan Lewellen Scholte was once a notoriously picky eater. As a toddler, he particularly detested children’s party food, where he developed a hamster-like capacity for hiding it in his cheeks – until he got home and displayed the spoils.

All that changed when the teenage Scholte finally escaped across the Channel and discovered forbidden Continental fare. Over a plate of snails, no less, his love of world cuisines and fine wine was born – a passion that has influenced his entire adult life.

Today, Scholte lives in Luang Prabang, running an intimate hotel and restaurant called the Apsara, which has fast become known for its creative take on Laotian-influenced and Pacific Rim food. with Ivan’s innovative menus and a wit drier than a Martini, the place has received rave write-ups in the New York Times, Asian Wall Street Journal and Elle Décor in France.

Scholte first visited Luang Prabang in 1996 and admits he was “instantly enamoured with the town”. He returned in 2001 with the view of setting up a business, and by December that same year, he had purchased a guest house overlooking the Nam Khan river.

In December 2002, the Apsara (www.theapsara.com) opened its doors aft er a fairly extensive makeover. Despite taking the establishment upmarket, Scholte kept it in the “affordable luxury” bracket – and, of course, the menu was a major draw!

“One of the aspects I love about Lao food is the plethora of fresh herbs and leaves (served) with a lot of the spicier dishes… there are countless other edible leaves of various colours and textures that stimulate the palate with their bitter, fragrant and spicy characters,” says the foodie.

In his book, the Year of Eating Dangerously, the London food writer and stepson of Prince Charles, Tom Parker Bowles raves about Luang Prabang, and notably, the dishes Scholte introduces. In fact, Parker Bowles ends up rating the food he ate in Luang Prabang as the best of his culinary year of travels.

FRIENDSHIP FOREVER

the phrase “Lost and Found” describes not just Ratsamy “Mimi” Viphakone-Szafran’s recent photographic exhibition in the Laotian capital Vientiane, but much of her life.

In a traditional home in Luang Prabang, unbeknownst to her, a mutual friend shows me a rare photo taken of her first marriage. It features a shy Asian beauty with flawless skin, clad in a glittering long skirt or siin, with her hair tightly knotted into a chignon encased in – what he carefully explains is – the traditional gold headdress of the Lao aristocracy.

Had history not changed the course of her life, Mimi may well have continued to keep her hair long, and dress in a handwoven siin instead of a fashionable brown silk outfit, slick auburn bob and designer specs.

with her understated elegance, vibrant giggle and polyglot abilities, Ratsamy – better known as Mimi, has an intriguing face that could be thai, French, or Japanese even. But no, she is proudly Luang Prabangienne, proved by the fact that even abroad, aft er a hearty Western meal, she still cannot resist a plate of mango accompanied by the sticky rice that Laotians eat constantly.

In the political chaos of the mid ’70s, she left Laos with her children for thailand, ultimately ending up in Paris. In those 30 years away from home, she remarried and found a new life as a photographer, but lost touch with her Laotian childhood pals with whom she had been so close.

Today, she sits with two of them: thép, a returnee artist who has made his home in Calgary, Canada; and Van, a girlfriend who had ended up in California but today runs the guesthouse Ban Lao, where, in their youth, Mimi recalls they would celebrate pee mai (Lao New Year) by jumping into the pond fully clothed!

Nowadays, they all live in Luang Prabang for part of the year, where Mimi is working on a new, five-bedroom guesthouse on the banks of the Mekong river.

One senses that water, or more specifically, the Mekong is a very important reference in her life. Mimi’s series of images of the Buddha-filled riverside grottoes of nearby Pak Ou, reflects her profound reverence for the area. In fact, a tourist arriving at the site in shorts (considered highly offensive by Buddhists) or even worse, a plastic Buddha placed among the ancient stone statues, are enough to drive her mad.

“I am so ashamed!” she cries indignantly in French. “Really, how can people do this?

It proves that despite three decades in Europe, Mimi is still a Luang Prabangienne. And in this case, one who is evidently happy to be back home with those whom she cherishes most – her lifelong friends, once lost, but now found.

TRADITIONAL TASTES

Dressed in the dark jacket and long russet-coloured skirt that is the uniform of a receptionist, 25-year-old Chanmala Bounnaphol’s friendliness is as natural as it is warm. Working at the front desk of Maison Souvannaphoum (www.coloursofangsana.com), a boutique hotel and spa set in pretty landscaped gardens, she handles all sorts of enquiries in fluent English and is always ready – even on her day off– to lend a hand to a guest in need.

“I’m so lucky to work here!” she beams. “I have met so many lovely people along the way!”

Born in 1981 in an outlying district of Luang Prabang, Chanmala represents a new generation of young, educated Laotians with very bright futures. Her grandfather insisted his family receive a decent schooling so he moved them closer to town. As the only daughter in a family of three children, she admits that her parents were somewhat protective about her upbringing and encouraged her to learn English.

Her late father, who worked for the forestry commission, was a great influence in Chanmala’s life. He urged her to study hard and retain traditions such as wearing the siin, the long Lao-style skirt, especially during local festivals, which she struggled with at first.

“I still remember what he taught us. He told me wearing a skirt is nice for ladies. I understand that now,” she says. “Over the years, with changes in the town and all the new TV shows, he saw that our culture was changing. He just wanted us to keep our traditions, grow up to be good people, to give back.”

Chanmala’s grandmother also taught her the baci ritual of giving alms to the monks. “It taught us the importance of give and take, of supporting others, and of mutual respect.”

She feels sad that few young people follow these ancient rites. Clearly different from many of her generation, she has no desire to wear jeans or move to the bright lights of the capital, Vientiane.

“I love Luang Prabang – its food, its architecture, and our traditional skirt!” says the young Laotian happily.

She appears every inch a young woman of the world with her mobile phone and modern casual wear, yet her ever-present siin aptly shows how proud she is of her hometown, and of her roots.

PAINTED LADIES

the hugely successful contemporary artist, P. Noy, was born in 1985 in Saphanthong District in Vientiane, and though her childhood was tough, she always dreamt of becoming an artist. Little did she know, just a few miles from her, a young painter called Anoussa Phommamoueng shared the same dream.

Some years later, they were introduced. As a gift , Anoussa gave Noy a few tubes of paint and some local mulberry or sa paper. Neither had any idea where this would lead.

Having seen Anoussa’s work, Noy also started to paint. As her painting developed, so did her fondness for her artist friend. In time, they married and moved to Luang Prabang.

While Noy oft en picks up new techniques from her husband, he is keen for her to retain the freedom and honesty he loves in her art. Having spent most of her life surrounded by women, it is this subject that Noy enjoys painting most, borrowing a vivid palette from the post-Impressionist painter, Paul Gauguin, or Picasso-like Cubism.

In December 2005, she opened her first exhibition Intimate Portrait; it sold out in less than two weeks, an achievement rarely attained by new artists. In April 2006, she saw similar success with her second exhibition Life, Still. Her paintings are now collected in France, Australia, the United States and England.

She is typically humble about her newfound fame, or the expectations put upon her. “I don’t know how to talk about art or how to be an artist,” she professes. “I don’t think in terms of exhibitions. I just want to become a better painter!”

Her most recent body of work is entitled Reflections, through which she offers rare glimpses into the daily lives of Lao women.

the results are astonishing – her talents, combined with her unique style, have marked her as a face to watch.

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