Beyond the picturesque landscapes and iconic landmarks, our travels uncovered the hidden gold found in the kindness, generosity, and spirit of Laos. As we journeyed from Vientiane to Luang Prabang, human interactions have guided our leadership lessons learned and opportunities to find ways to give back in small ways to this beautiful country.
Our class stirred before the dawn, brushing off the night’s thin veil of sleep for a quick hotel breakfast before piling into the bus bound for the train station. Vientiane’s station stands like a beacon in a story spanning nearly seven hundred miles, binding the ancient paths of Southeast Asia to the heavy, steel wheels of China. This line, stretching from Kunming to Vientiane, began as a dream in 2016 and was realized in 2021 under China’s Belt and Road Initiative, with its promises of progress, its ambition to link what once stood disconnected. The trains carry both freight and folk now, speeding across the countryside.
Our guide, Ken, calls Luang Prabang home, where traveling to Vientiane by car would swallow fifteen hours of his life. But on this high-speed rail, it’s a mere two. Time, it seems, is nothing more than a thing to be carved and rearranged. Our experience has been nothing short of extraordinary due to the careful attention to detail and enthusiasm of our guides to share their countries history and hospitality with us. Ken has been a true ambassador for Laos in many ways, exemplifying the humility, kindness, and mindfulness for which the Laotian people are known for. In sharing his personal story and getting to know our class, we are endlessly grateful for the opportunity to get to know Ken and his role in tethering us to the local community.
As our train sliced through the countryside, weaving between rice fields, scattered farms, bending rivers, the mountains that seemed to claw their way out of the earth itself. In no time, or maybe all the time in the world, we found ourselves stepping off the train onto the bustling platform in Luang Prabang. Jostled by the crowd, we loaded our luggage into tuk-tuks, while our group piled into vans for the next stretch of our journey. If the high-speed rail had been all polished steel and comfort, the roads were a patchwork of the paved and unpaved, sharing only one common bond: potholes that jarred us back to earth with each bounce.
Our bags barely had time to settle in the hotel before we were back in the vans, headed for a lunch spot along the mighty Mekong River. There, waiting to greet us, was a familiar but unexpected face: Barack Obama, or at least his cardboard likeness. Staring coolly from behind a coconut, the former president struck a pose that most of us couldn’t resist immortalizing with a photo. As we followed in the footsteps of our own leader, we recognized the importance of this place, and taking on the postures of curiosity and laying the cornerstone for future relations with this beautiful country.
After another unforgettable meal, rich with local flavors and warmth, we wandered down to the riverbank, where a boat waited to ferry us across the Mekong to Pottery Island. Known as Ban Chan to those who live there, the village rests quietly on the river’s edge, carrying the weight of centuries in its clay. Here, the air is thick with history, the feel of hands shaping pots, jars, and figures from clay dredged up from the riverbed. For generations, Ban Chan’s pottery has been life itself, from the large hai jars for water and rice wine to pots for fish fermentation. This craft is more than a livelihood; it is a story passed down, shaped and reshaped, much like the clay they work.
We meandered through the village and found ourselves stumbling upon a small school, its modest yard alive with children at recess. A few of our classmates slipped soccer balls out of their backpacks, gifts for the kids whose laughter filled the air like music. Before we left, we made a quick collection, an impromptu donation to help the school prepare for an upcoming competition. There was no fanfare, no grand speeches, just a simple gesture, left like a footprint in the soft clay of this place, one that we hoped would linger, if only for a while.
In a tale passed down from the 18th century, when the Burmese army threatened to cross into Thailand, monks took a Golden Buddha, rich and shining, and covered it in plain plaster, making it appear like any ordinary stone idol. The monks fooled the world and the enemy alike. For years, decades even, the Buddha lay hidden under that rough disguise. And then, in the 1950s, as it was being moved to another shrine, the plaster chipped, and a glint of gold flashed out. The world stopped to look closer, and in that moment, they found that beneath the common stone was pure gold, a three-meter giant, solid to the core, weighing over five tons. Laos feels a bit like that hidden Buddha.
This land may lack the polish of its neighbors, trailing behind in economy, education, and health. By most measures, GDP per capita, life expectancy, literacy rate, or any line on the Human Development Index, Laos stands as the poorer cousin to Vietnam and Thailand. Poverty and infant mortality hang over it like shadows, and the weight of national debt presses down hard. But if you look past the numbers, if you allow yourself a moment to scratch away at the plaster, you’ll see something else entirely. Beneath these statistics lies a land of gold. Not in riches, no, but in spirit. There’s a kindness here, a hospitality that cuts through the noise of hardship. And the land, well, the land speaks for itself, grand and timeless. It doesn’t ask for your sympathy. It simply waits, proud and patient, like gold beneath the plaster, just waiting to be seen.
With gratitude,
Scott, Jeana, Krystal and Class 53
2 Responses
Curious who rides the train.
Hi Sheryl! It seems to be used by Chinese tourists coming into Laos, by and large. Not sure the Lao use it as much as they could, yet.