Vientiane is one of those capitals that is so seldom seen in the news that you forget that it (and the country it's the capital of) even exists. Like Reykjavik, it exists almost despite the world's ignorance of it. And, when you get there, you have a hard time remembering that this large, quiet village without a skyline or a downtown is in fact a capital.
Yet, Vientiane manages to be almost charming, especially around its central streets, a square of about a mile in radius that is filled with some very good French restaurants and cafes, massage parlors, and stalls where one can get a sizzling bowl of Lao noodle soup for a song (though we had much more of the former than of the latter, gorging ourselves on budget-priced foie gras, onion soup and baguettes).
Even the Communist buildings in Vientiane are quiet and unobtrusive. While modeled on the obligatory 70s Soviet monstrosities (Laos had its Communist revolution in 1975), they at least claim to incorporate some elements of the local architecture.
Speaking of local architecture, Vientiane's own Arc de Triomphe from the 1960s, better known as Patuxai (pictured in the middle), has plenty of apsaras and stupa-like decorations to distinguish it from its French counterpart. It's too bad that, up close, its aging stone makes it look like a rotting tooth, or, as the sign on the monument says with refreshing candor "From a closer distance, it appears even less impressive, like a monster of concrete."
Vientiane's other famous landmark is the impossibly golden stupa of Pha That Luang, a medieval Buddhist monument that had been destroyed in the 19th century by the invading Thai and then rebuilt in the 20th. In fact, the only medieval structure reputed to have withstood that dreadful Thai invasion is the stupa of That Dam, pictured here.
The rest of the religious structures in Vientiane are late 19th- and 20th-century replicas of older temples. They are sometimes garish in their abundant use of gold and red paint and colored glass, yet the basic Lao architectural elements--the split-level roof, the dragon's tail decoration, and the terraced temple facade with frescoes of apsaras and other celestial creatures--are used in most of these modern constructions. And the eery, bug-eyed Lao Buddha, sometimes recreated in rows of hundreds, has its own age-old distinctiveness.
Buddhist practice, which was severely curtailed by the Communist authorities until the 1990s--this was overruled in the wake of mass protests--is blossoming. Everywhere, you see the traditional Lao ancestor shrines with little stupas shaped out of palm tree leaves and decorated with marigolds; incense is stuck into the hole at the top to commemorate the deceased. Paper money (burnt as an offering to deities or ancestors), flowers and colorful decorations are the attributes of any modern temple.
The fresh paint on all the major Vientiane monuments is evidence that the city has some funds and that Laos' economy has picked up substantially as of late (after the initial lean years post-1975). Laos has also found a reliable sponsor after the much-regretted collapse of the Soviet Union: China, which has been pushing it in the authoritarian direction.
I dutifully went to the Museum of the City of Vientiane, which showcased the proud history of the Lao revolution, displayed the field glasses and pants of the local Lenin, Kaysone Promvihan, and included about 10 rooms of pictures of party members stewing at various congresses. No one was in attendance besides a few other crazed foreigners--no dutiful school tours, no party hacks. When I left the museum 10 minutes before closing time, the last to go, the guards closed the doors behind me, sighing happily. As long as things are all right economically, I was told by several Lao, who cares who sits up on top?
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