Lan Xang

In the morning markets, women traded everything from bundles of live crabs to miniature coconut pancakes wrapped in banana leaf. There seemed to be a temple for every person and an infinite exploration awaited on every path.

A morning climb up Phousi Hill revealed the town like a compact jewel surrounded by folds of blue-green, forested mountains. As locals released tiny sparrows from bamboo cages as living prayers, incense smoke rose in billows from Wat Mai and the grounds of the old palace.

At dusk I joined the novices chanting in Wat Xiengthong, as the sun sank into the Mekong, sometimes silver sometimes gold. I chose from the best of Laotian or French cuisine and ate in lotus and lily gardens, on riverboats and among tropical palms, before falling into bed dreaming of the next day's adventures. It was a hard place to leave.