The Nam Khan River meandered as it flowed into the Mekong River

The old town of Luang Prabang sits nestled between two rivers—one is the great Mekong, the other its tributary, the Nam Khan. On a map the area looks like a small peninsula, where old temples and wooden houses seem to lean gently against one another. Remnants of its days as a royal capital still peek out quietly from between the trees.

During the dry season, the Nam Khan runs shallow enough to reveal the stones on its riverbed. In the photograph, children stand in the shallows—whether they are playing or chasing fish is hard to tell, but in either case, their time flows more slowly than ours. The bamboo bridge crossing the river is said to be handmade by local villagers. Every pillar and railing looks precarious, yet they say it will last until the rainy season arrives. Once the waters rise, the bridge is swept away without ceremony. But no one panics. When the river recedes, they simply build a new one.

Hearing this cycle makes it feel as though I am witnessing a Lao version of reincarnation. Things break, and then they return—not mourned, not celebrated, but accepted as the most natural rhythm of life.

Luang Prabang on Google Map

Comment via

日本語