(Dr. Joven R. Cuanang is one of the foremost neurologists in the country. He is an art collector, a patron of arts and culture, and the owner of Pinto Art Museum and Gallery in Antipolo. He says, “Since my retirement from St. Luke’s as chief medical officer, I have more time to travel in between teaching and seeing patients in the hospital.”)
MANILA, Philippines - From the balcony of the restaurant of the Mekong Riverview Hotel, one can see the slow-moving waters of the Nam Khan River as it converges with the mighty Mekong on its way to the sea. At dusk, it is one of the most serene places on earth that I have been to; the gentle flow of the rivers is punctuated only by the chirping of the cicadas, a quick lilt of a bird and the staccato of a lizard in the nearby forest. As I watched, a slow Lao boat glided in the water quietly. My pulse slowed down; my taut muscles melted into a languid repose. The clouds turned pink and gray in a pale blue sky as the sun sank behind the hills. I was suspended in the silence of time.
I was travelling with an Italian doctor who is cultivated in the old world of Bologna. As the river darkened, we suddenly became quiet, no doubt, our minds wandering in the gentle hills rimmed by bamboos and ancient tamarind trees and jungles of bananas. He talked about the movie Apocalypse Now and I knew that where the rivers come from in the high mountains yonder, and wherever in Asia, Joseph Conrad was inspired to write about the heart of darkness so alien to these gentle hills.
We partook of a Laotian meal whose peppery taste was adjusted upon our instruction: a parade of herbs, steamed fish with nuts and coconut, more redolent herbs and bamboo shoots, peppered meat marinated in Laotian wine, punctuated with a dessert of sticky rice rimmed by slices of pale yellow mangoes. The cicadas continued to chirp. He relished his Laotian beer.
I want to tell you more about our trip to Luang Prabang, this gentle city of Laos.
One morning after a restful sleep, we rode in a tuk-tuk to witness the most fascinating happening in the streets of Luang Prabang. As we waited in the sidewalk, suddenly, there appeared a silent procession of barefoot monks, colorful in their saffron robes, holy in their mien. Prayerfully, devotees offered food, of mostly rice and viands, fruits and water to fill their jugs. These alms they sought at the break of dawn was their meal for the day. A faint drizzle which hazed the streets a light gray was the setting of this sublime gesture of sharing. I was subdued to a morning reverie to contemplate the essential goodness of man, and know from this deeply felt experience that there is hope for peace in this troubled world of ours.
We followed the monks as they disappeared into their monasteries. We next moved to the local market to savor another face of Laos. A middle-age woman led us with a smiling face. Like all markets in the world, they instruct, more than all the books that you read about a place. I saw a lot of commonalities with our local market in Ilocos: there are different colors and sizes of eggplants, fat tomatoes, ferns and tubers of all kinds. I recognized the mushrooms that we gather from under banana clumps in Currimao. I got curious about the larvae that they extract from what looks like beehives. There were giant fishes of great variety fresh from the Mekong: carp, slithering eels amid huge croaking frogs, fat catfish and fresh tilapias. There were cackling chickens and ducks, more varieties of rice than what I see in the Baguio market, more fruits than in Paco. The Mekong gives abundance to the Laotians. I thought about our Pasig and what we have done to it. I grieved.
Luang Prabang has been declared by UNESCO as a heritage town. The Laotians deserve this honor and they are rightfully proud of it. Many of their French colonial houses are well preserved. Their Buddhist temples are taken care of. The streets are clean. The way of life is as it was. The many tourists are respectful of their heritage.
We made rounds of the antique shops that line the main street looking for little pieces that recall their ancient culture. We visited the memoirs of their royals in their well-kept museum. At night, we went to the street market alive around the palace. Bright array of Laotian weaves, trinkets galore. Red, blue, yellow and saffron umbrellas, fragrant bundles of wood, and distinctly woven bamboo baskets. We bought filmy cotton shirts. I relished the thought of wearing them strolling in my gardens in Antipolo. My Italian travel mate wore them when we rode an elephant on the banks of the Mekong.
We stayed for three nights and four days, and one early evening we made our way to the Buddhist temple near the riverbanks. We wanted to be there when the monks prayed to the Buddha, honoring Him with their hypnotic chants. Quiet as a lotus, we sank to the cold floor, mesmerized by an hour of sonorous chants from two dozen monks. There was a pause of 15 minutes of total silence. It was a moving spiritual experience like no other. We went out of the grounds feeling blessed as the gongs were struck; I will remember the evening all my life. We talked to the service providers in our riverside hotel. At one time, they were also monks. They spoke quietly and slowly; they were patiently attentive to our every query. Doubtless, they learned their lessons well from their head monks when they were young. These men schooled in the monasteries make human interaction in Luang Prabang, very special.
We ate well in all the places we went to. The fresh vegetables rolls were as good as the ones we have in Via Mare but the mongo sprouts were crisper. We continued to watch for the wildly sharp pepper in all the viands. In our last meal, we were curious about one of the appetizers: Mekong River weed. The head waiter in a display of animated explanation lasting for a few minutes, explained in great detail, how the Mekong weed is carefully extracted from the depth of the water in a particular month. How it is carefully combed like a lady’s hair, how it is properly dried, and properly marinated and later on fried to near perfection. The weed was consumed in one tiny bite, and that tasteful morsel of combed weed was the high point of our last Laotian meal.
On our way to the airport, my Italian friend wanted to go back to the antique shop where I bought ancient hand-woven blankets reminiscent of the inabels in Ilocos. He wanted to buy presents of old silver pendants worn by the female members of the animist tribe in Hmong dating back to the 19th century. In the shape of a lock it permits to “enclose” the soul of the carrier to her body, preventing it from wandering around and harm the community of the village. According to their belief, every person has 32 minds and everyone is a carrier of a “monkey mind, foolish, indomitable, animal-like; locking one’s mind to his body helps the process of attaining wellness, happiness and encountering success in work-related endeavors.” Perfect present, indeed.
I wish one day you will think of traveling to this elegant and gentle city. Still relatively unknown to most Filipino travelers, it is very well known to the Europeans, very visible in these wide streets in bicycles and motorbikes. It is great to travel in our region, to know more about our common heritage with our fellow Aseans. There are many great lessons that we can learn from them. I was so secure in the streets even at night. These gentle neighbors of ours, living simply, is a great example for us to emulate.
Our next destination is Myanmar, the beloved Burma of Ang Sun Suu Kyi. We want to know more about her country, which she loves so dearly. My friend suggested for us to view the well-made movie by Luc Bresson, The Lady, to give us a prelude to our trip to this country which opened itself recently to the rest if the world.
I am excited to see the magnificent stupas of Bagan, and I promise I will write you from there as the sun sets. I hear it is a stunning view like no other and one of the places you have to visit before you die.