501 Places

I view tipping with a sense of distaste and see it as a sad legacy of a class system that should have died out decades ago. In a nutshell I don’t see why service staff aren’t paid a decent salary so they don’t have to beg to customers in order to make up for their employer’s shortfall. I’ve written on the subject already and won’t repeat my previous rants but I did recently find an example of a tipping policy that seemed to be novel, unobtrusive and above all else, highly successful.

Those who have spent any significant time in Laos recently may have found their way to Joma Bakery. It’s 100% geared to the falang market, and the prices will exclude not only the average Lao person but also many a hardcore backpacker. They do however offer a fresh cool interior, and their AC cafe is a welcome relief from the heat of the day in Luang Prabang or Vientiane. Their cheesecakes and shakes are fabulous, and I have no doubt that if they produced the same stuff in London or New York they’d be constantly packed with regular customers.

Joma have a focus on their community involvement in Laos and Vietnam, and the posters in the cafe display their involvement with local villages (like Starbucks but it appears a bit more real). There is a Tips jar next to the till, and each time we visited the cafe in Luang Prabang it was fairly full of cash. We heard that this was not always the case, and had changed dramatically as a result of a suggestion by the local manager.

Tips had typically totalled around $15 a month; not much between 6-7 staff, even in Laos where average salaries are little more than $30 a month. The manager suggested to the staff that they start a policy where 50% of tips are donated to the local community projects. You might think that this would be resisted, given the difference that even a couple of dollars can make in a month. But the staff embraced the idea, and the policy was implemented. A sign was placed on the Tips jar, and the effect was immediate.

People came in, enjoyed the service (it was excellent) and wanted to tip. Knowing that their money would not only help the local baristas but also the local communities in the area, the tips rolled in and in the first month they collected $300: a great contribution to the community and a ten-fold increase in tips for the staff.

No pressure, no suggestions, just a ‘tip what you like, if you like’ jar on the counter. As a result people tipped willingly, and not through fear of a likely confrontation. A small step, and such a big difference to the staff and others who benefitted from their initiative.

Akha women, northern Thailand - notice the Coca-Cola T-shirt?

In SE Asia, and no doubt elsewhere in the world, there is a growing trend for tourists to visit ‘tribal villages’. These are marketed as communities of people living in accordance with their ancient traditions. By inference, we are encouraged to believe that the state provides protection for these minority groups and that we, as tourists, can come face to face with a different culture while helping them financially by our visit.

We visited a number of ethnic villages during our time in Thailand and Laos. Most were normal working villages, but the most uncomfortable by far was a hilltribe village tourist centre just outside Chiang Rai. We hadn’t been so keen to go, but our driver had already taken us to the brilliant Wat Rong Khun and we had hiked up to a waterfall in the nearby hills. With a couple of hours to kill before our bus to the Lao border, we agreed to her plan of going to see the tribal village centre.

Our reaction was purely personal, but for us it was a place we didn’t want to hang around. Made up of four tribal communities, each one separated by no more than 100 metres along a footpath, this complex housed people from these ethnic groups who would normally have a large swathe of land on which to subsist. Here, penned in like animals in a zoo, they waited for passing tourists to wander up to their station. They would then perform a dance or offer scarves and trinkets for sale, in the hope of raising a few baht. Others may have found the same experience to be a positive one, but I couldn’t wait to get out and just felt wrong for even being part of something that made me feel instinctively uncomfortable.

Lao village

I have since read numerous articles, including this excellent piece by Tony at Contemporary Nomad about the compulsory resettlement of tribal communities in Thailand, and the overall policy in neighbouring countries of forceably integrating these communities into mainstream society. This is clearly a hugely complex subject and not one which I would pretend to understand. In our particular visit, did these people benefit from being in their enclosure and capturing a few crumbs from the passing farang? Financially they probably do benefit (although I wonder how much of the 300 baht entrance fee reaches them, and how much makes its way into ‘other places’). Is this the life they would lead if given the choice? I somehow doubt it.

We did visit other villages along the Mekong in Laos that left us with a more positive feeling. Sure, I learned that financial arrangements were made between the river boat company and the village elders – call it a landing fee. That’s perfectly ok. When we wandered into the villages we were mobbed by curious children and greeted with reserved smiles by the adults. Those encounters were far more pleasant, although even here there is evidence to suggest a dark side to the recent history of resettlement of ethnic groups along the river by the Lao government.

What do we do as tourists in these situations? Do we visit the tribal cultures in these environments hoping that a little or our money does make it into their hands, or we keep away, stopping the demand for such circuses, but subjecting these people to the alternative, whatever that is? Who benefits in the long run? Not the questions that the tourism chiefs would want visitors to leave with, but if ecotourism is to evolve maybe we will gain easier access to the answers.

A born poser!

Among my hundreds of photos from a trip I seem to have relatively few of people. I still can’t get over that discomfort of asking someone for a photo, even when they seem happy about it, and often stand back when others are clicking away.

As a result there are a number of people we met along the way who I wish I’d captured in a photo: the lovely lady who single-handedly ran the cafe in Nong Khiaw, the people we shared a long bus ride with and the many faces young and old who stopped to laugh at the strangers in their town.

There were however some moments in Laos where it seemed too easy to get a picture, and even as a reluctant photographer I was able to capture a willing subject. Here are just a few of those faces:

Our boatman on the trip to the 100 Waterfalls

Perhaps the most (or least) photogenic baby ever

The boy in the photo had just tripped over and was crying, so I organised a quick photoshoot to take his mind off the pain. Clearly I failed.

These kids in Luang Prabang were being very friendly. Soon after this photo they were asking for Cola. Lesson learned.

Heading home from school in Paksong on the Bolavan Plateau

Sam with the girls who took us to their school

Really not bothered about the falang with the camera. Way too cool to pose.

Left behind by her friends and staring at the funny people

Working in the fields

No cheese

Arriving in a new place, our senses are alive to the strange sense, sights and sounds that surround us. We revel in the unknown and absorb our environment and all its surprises. The joys of travel are all about the sensations we experience: tasting new foods, hearing  different languages and music and of course the many sights that are on offer in our destination.

After travelling for a while however, some of the excitement about these discoveries starts to wear off, and inevitably a longing for some familiarity kicks in. It does so more for some than others, and no doubt more when we don’t feel on top of the world. But I think for everyone who has been away even for a short break there comes a point where you find yourself thinking “I could really do with ……” or even “when I get home the first thing I am going to do is….”

Still no cheese

For me the answer is usually my own bed. Some hotel beds are better than others but I know my own bed and pillows like no other and sleep best in my own familiar place. For my wife Sam it is our own bathroom and the comfort of knowing that the shower is strong, the toilet is clean and the room laid out exactly as she likes.

But when we met travellers who had been in Asia for months and asked them what they missed most, the answer was almost universal: cheese! Whether on a pizza, in a burger, on toast or just on its own, it is a staple part of a western diet, and for those who rarely go a day without the stuff a long stay in Asia can be a challenge.

Everything for sale - except cheese

We did see pizza places in most towns. We even had a very good pizza in Luang Prabang with a friend we’d met who had been away for a lot longer than us and was in desperate need of cheese. But we also heard of Asian-cheese related disasters, none worse than the pizza where the base was covered with soft spreading cheese (you know the awful stuff that comes in triangles). Another pizza horror tale involved a base where instead of tomato paste the chef used hot chilli sauce, but that’s another story…

Is cheese really missed by all westerners in Asia (vegans excepted of course), or did we just meet a strange sample of travellers? I would welcome hearing what others long for when away from home, before I sell all my belongings and move to Laos to open a cheese shop.

For many visitors to a country their interactions with local people form the highlight of their stay, and create their most vivid memories. And of these encounters the ones with children inevitably tug at the heart strings and foster feelings of joy and, too often, sadness and helplessness. It was no different for us in Laos.

In preparation for the trip, I invested in a gimmick that I thought might create some interest with children and adults alike, and might serve as an antidote to feeling the pressure to give to begging kids. I bought an inflatable globe from Amazon. It cost me the grand sum of £5 ($8) including postage and took up no space at all in my pack. As someone who will stare at any world map as if in a trance, I wanted to share my passion with anyone who might be likewise inclined.

Taking the globe had some successes and one spectacular frustration. We stopped at several tribal villages at different parts of our trip. At one stop along the Mekong, we had a crowd of children around us, just staring curiously at these funny looking strangers. This was my first use of the globe. Inflating it created a great deal of interest, and other kids came running to see what the commotion was. For them the sight of this small flat colourful piece of material slowly turning into a big ball was fascinating enough. It was the adults who were then keen to find where Laos was, and then find China and their neighbouring countries. The children were probably not so worried about geography, but were just happy to be in the middle of all the action.

A couple of other encounters followed a similar pattern, with children just curious to see what we were up to, and the adults more interested in seeing their whereabouts on the globe. For those encounters with children who were set on trying to extract a dollar or two from our pockets, this attempt at a decoy was a miserable failure and served as no more than an unwelcome distraction in their quest.

The spectacular frustration? The one time we went for a walk in Luang Prabang and left the globe in the hotel room. We crossed the rickety wooden bridge at the northern end of the town, and a group of five young girls greeted us on the other side. They backoned us to follow them, and as we made our way behind them along narrow paths and through thick vegetation, a couple of them even exchanged a few words of English with us. After about 10 minutes we arrived at a large two-story building, and they proudly announced that this was their school.

Calling us to a doorway, they presented us to a middle-aged man who greeted us with a big smile and welcomed us into his classroom. He was teaching English to a large class of around 40, and invited us to sit on the front row. For the next 10 minutes or so we tried to speak a few words with his class, who ranged from the chatty to the very shy, and I also spoke a little to the teacher. This was not actually a formal class, but he knew a little English and spent his lunchtime with these children sharing that knoweldge with them.

Although it was a lovely experience to sit in the class and see these eager children, we were both frustrated that we could not bring out our inflatable globe for what would surely have been its most successful performance! We left the classroom thanking the teacher for his hospitality and as the children waved us off, we vowed never to leave the globe in the hotel again.