In
the end there were six of us in our little group for our trip to the
Plain of Jars. We were kept company by a French couple, who kept
themselves pretty much to themselves, Bill (an American doctor) and
Apostoles, a Greek chap who we had seen yesterday coming into the
hotel to check availability. He had gone to one of the places listed
on the main street and not surprisingly did not like the fact the
rooms had no windows. He told us that most of the other places in
town were not much better either so the Maly definitely sounds like
the best option to stay (unless you are on a really tight budget).
Our
guide, Soon, is from a Hmong village further north towards the
Chinese border. He did not really tell us much about himself, other
than that he is thirty, but he seemed very proud of his sister who
now lives in America. He spoke very good English and was able to
explain the history and background to the local area. It was a short
drive in our minibus before we reached the Site One on the Plain of
Jars.
The Plain of Jars is so named because at about thirty different
sites local people and archaeologists have found huge stone jars.
There is debate about what they were originally used for with tow
main theories prevailing. The more believable story is that they
were used as funeral urns, either for burying bodies or for holding
the ashes of cremated people. A more colourful story links them to
successful campaigns of a conquering king. It claims that the
soldiers would ferment rice in the vats producing huge quantities of
rice wine which was then used to celebrate their victories. From the
size of the jars if the latter story is true then they would all
have been blind drunk all the time and there is no way they could
have won at battle!
At
the entrance to the first site is a sign from MAG (Mines Advisory
Group) confirming that the whole area is still full of unexploded
ordnance from the CIA’s secret war in Laos. This war was waged to
try and stop the Viet Cong from successfully sending supplies
through Laos on the Ho Chi Minh trail. Both Vietnam and the US
ignored international agreements about Laos’ neutrality and the
upshot was that this whole area of Laos was intensively bombed so
much so that by the end of the war half a metric tonne of bombs had
been dropped for every person living in Laos, more than was dropped
on Germany in World War Two. Although the wars have been over for
thirty years, people are still killed and injured by UXO (unexploded
ordnance). Children are now taught in school about the different
types of ordnance so that they know what to do if they find some and
there is still lots lying around.
Markers on the ground show you where a path has been cleared
and where it is safe to walk. It is an eerie feeling knowing that
wandering out of this path could result in you stepping on a land
mine or cluster bomb with nasty results. Unfortunately for the Plain
of Jars, the war took place right across this area. Soldiers would
hide in the jars and many have been peppered by gunfire, with
bullets still lodged in some of them. Inevitably it means that many
of the jars are damaged and broken but you still get a sense of awe
at the site.
The war is ever present here though. The town’s airport was
built by the Russians and the complex they used to house their spies
is clearly visible on the landscape. Ironically, changes at home
meant that they abandoned Laos before they completed the passenger
terminal which is why it is still just a small shed like building.
All around Phonsavon there are bomb craters clearly visible, some
now overgrown or silted up with rainwater but others looking fresh
and as if they were created just a few days ago. Within site 1
itself there is also a cave that the Viet Cong used as a command
base during the war. Soen showed us where the senior officers used
to sit and work out their strategy while others cooked food using
petrol for fuel as it gives off no smoke.
Site one is split into two main sections. The path from the
entrance leads slightly uphill and this is where some of the largest
jars are found. Archaeologists believe that they were carved out of
rock in a quarry about twenty kilometres away and were transported
across the valley by elephant but there is no certain way of knowing
if this is true. Some of the jars are almost two metres high and one
metre wide so they would have made a pretty heavy load. Down at the
base of the hill, near the Viet Cong command cave, there are a lot
more jars all smaller in size. On one the silhouette of a dancing
person can still just be made out, giving weight to the theory that
the jars were used for celebrations rather than funerals.
The path winds back up another small hill from where you can
get good views across Site One and the valley stretching out below.
The area is still very remote and rural in modern terms. The town of
Phonsovan only got mains electricity four years ago and most of the
surrounding villages have no electricity or running water. If you
are a local here and want some land you can simply go and stake out
a plot that no one else is using and have it registered as your own.
Shells are often used as stilts in villages
Site Two was a short drive away off on a bumpy untarmaced road.
A path leads up from the road for a short walk up a hill to a small
collection of jars under some trees. Our guide Soon told us that
local people had been coming here for years and standing in the
middle of the jars totally unaware that they were standing on top of
a large bomb that MAG, metal detectors in hand, discovered when they
surveyed the site. The jars used to all have lids on them, huge
stone slabs with a spiral decoration on the top. Before the
importance of the sites was known, local people came and took the
lids, carving them up into smaller pieces to use as bases for the
wooden stilts of their houses. The stone stops termites being able
to eat away the wood.
Across the road on another small hill are more stones, a second
part of Site Two. From here we walked up to another hill and down to
the village of Ban Xieng Di. It was a short walk, about an hour, but
baking hot in the heat of the midday sun. Along the way we passed
one of the traps the local people use to catch swallows. They
conceal nets under a layer of dust and watch from a distance until a
swallow comes to take a dust bath. They then haul in the nets to
catch the bird which is killed, plucked and then fermented.
Apparently it’s a rather pungent local speciality to eat, one that
the people who run our hotel enjoy but our guide does not.
As we walked to the top of the hill Soen called out to some
young girls who were pursuing their normal Sunday afternoon hobby –
scouring the hillsides to find bombs and other bits of metal to sell
for scrap. A metal recycling factory set up in town a few years ago
and since then the nearby hills have been pretty much cleared out of
any left over bits of planes, tanks, bullets, bombs and other
military paraphernalia. They turned out their bags to show a
collection of bullets, many still live. It was not far from here
that Soen showed us an unexploded cluster bomb. We all gave it a
wide berth but behind us were two young chaps, one Dutch, one Swiss,
who came closing to nudging it with their feet.
The area around the top of the hill is also full of foxholes
used by the Viet Cong army to hide and watch the enemy go by. From
one of these story has it that a local man shot down an American
plane with his rifle. We were showed the site of another plane
crash. All that remains is a scar on the landscape, the metal has
long since been recycled. Walking down the other side of the hill
there is a small cemetery with a handful of white and gold stupas
set among the fields.
In the village a small cabin has been pulled together to
provide lunch for people “doing” the jars. There are only western
people eating in there, the drivers and guides are on a little patio
out the back by the kitchen, and the menu is noodle soup – meat or
no meat. It provides a welcome break away from the heat of the sun
but before long we are off again to see Site Three. Two rickety
bamboo bridges cross a small stream one of which gets flooded in the
rainy season and cannot be used. We were then off through the rice
fields, dry and bare at this time of year. As with the walk from
Site Two to the village this whole area is potentially full of UXO
so the guidance is to only walk on well trodden paths, the logic
being that any bombs there would have blown long ago.
As we neared Site Three I slipped and fell and watched as our
zoom camera lens went flying out of my bag and landed nice and
squarely in the middle of a muddy stream. Needless to say it is
knackered as even if the water and condensation inside it eventually
do dry out it makes a horrible grating sound as the dust that has
got inside gets squashed up a bit. Site Three seemed more peaceful
and serene than the other two. It had a bamboo fence surrounding it
and like Site Two benefited from shade from trees. Here the jars
were quite small compared to those we had seen earlier in the day.
Back down in the village we were walked along and through some
of the local houses. They are all wooden stilt houses but in quite a
few the stilts themselves were made from old bomb casings rather
than wood. I think each house we saw had bombs and/or bits of planes
in active service in one way or another. Under the house turkeys,
chickens, cats and other animals lived, the turkeys being in fine
form fluffing up their feathers and strutting around making strange
noises. The houses themselves were large and each had several
different buildings that were used for storing food and wood.
From the village we worked our way back to Phonsavan, stopping
en route to see the wreck of a Russian tank. Only the main body is
left now, the rest (tracks, guns, and interior) all having been
stripped away a long time ago. Soen said that the locals wanted to
keep the tank because it brought tourists here so they stopped
people taking it away for scrap. Newspaper clippings back at the
hotel tell a different story – Mr Sousath himself pays the locals an
annual retainer to prevent them from scrapping the tank
The people from the village where the tank rests had built a cave
into the hillside that they could use to hide in when bombers were
overhead. On a day when they were all out in the fields, the tank
came by and drove across the top of the cave which collapsed under
its weight. The tank could not get out of the hole and it was simply
abandoned by its crew. As we drove back into town piles of concrete
pylons were stacked at intervals along the road. Mains electricity
is on its way. It has the potential to radically change the lives of
the people here but I wonder how much of a difference it will make
to their way of life.
