Drink, Pray, Lao-Lao
Drink, Pray, Lao-Lao
Lao-Lao in Laos
On the Laos Airlines flight I’d learned that Laotian national beverages invariably include the word lao. I’ve never been much of a drinker, but I managed a Beerlao on the flight for the sake of a photo for the obligatory “Laos here I come!” Facebook check-in upon landing.
The next Laotian staple drink that I tried—lao-lao, of course—proved to be more of a challenge.
As with many alcoholic drinks, the first encounter put me off. The evening after we arrived in Luang Prabang, we were introduced to lao-lao during the traditional baci—what locals commonly call su kwan—ceremony at dinner. Laotians in traditional dress welcomed us heartily and tied white cotton strings around our wrists while mumbling what we were told were well wishes for our journey and good health. We reciprocated warmly in English and I went overboard, getting more strings on my wrists (again, for Facebook’s sake) until I realized too late that I had to eat, sleep, and bathe with them on for at least three days.
But I was told that su kwan is a serious event, and the superstitious Chinese in me accepted my string-covered fate. Amid all of that, a smiling Laotian girl poured out a shot of clear liquid: lao-lao. At that point, basking in the radiance of being blessed, I downed it neat. That first taste was like my first sip of vodka. The clear liquid belied how terribly strong—even noxious—it was, with a heavy chemical whiff. I knew that any more of it would knock me out within a couple of hours. I filed it at the back of my mind in the “strong stuff whose taste is not worth the hangover” folder. Never again.
Or so I thought. A couple of days later we went on a long Mekong River cruise and arrived at Xanghai village. Something was boiling in a large, metal barrel in a hole in the ground, from which a distillate flowed into an earthen pot. Beside the contraption was a table with jars and jars of transparent liquids ranging from clear to orange to crimson in color. The darker-hued liquids contained snakes and scorpions.
The lady standing there beckoned me with that same Laotian warmth, but no, I didn’t wish to try the exciting ones. I gestured to request a taste of the clear liquid with its label in English: 50 proof Lao sticky rice whisky, Xanghai Village. I gulped my shot down. It was pure, simple, sweet, and I swore I could taste the rice! This was better than any spirit I’d had in a long while.
Our next stop was the much revered Pak Ou Caves, filled with more than 4,000 Buddha icons. There I prayed heartily, feeling that I could go on thanks to Xanghai’s 50-proof sweet firewater. I thanked the heavens for keeping me safe and sound and for introducing me to such lovely lao-lao.
Drink, pray, lao-lao, and one can do no wrong. If I’d known about the sheer number of temples I would be visiting for the rest of the trip, I would have drunk more.