Laos
Vang Vieng, Laos. 06:12 local time. 23 March 2009.
Despite his love affair with SE Asia, David Noton's first trip to Laos severely tests his photographic mettle
Ihave an ongoing love affair with south east Asia. Quite frankly it’s difficult for a year to pass without inventing the excuse for a few weeks in Siam, Cambodia, Vietnam, or Malaysia. But one former province of French Indochina had been neglected: Laos. Now was the time.
Thoughts on what the objective of the trip should be were embarrassingly vague; maybe an over familiarity with the region bred an insouciance. A hectic schedule in the month before departure meant we were on the flight to Bangkok before I’d really had time to think about the trip at all. Almost by default I settled into a comfort zone for aspirations from a Southeast Asian shoot.
In the event I had a rude awakening. Little of what I’d lazily assumed should be our priorities would be possible. An inconvenient truth had crept up on us since arrival: the air quality was awful. Thick heavy smog lay over northern Laos like a smothering blanket. At midday the harsh tropical sun directly overhead was barely visible. The slash and burn used by Lao farmers over generations to stimulate new growth had left whole swathes of countryside looking post-apocalyptic and dumped huge amounts of ash into the atmosphere. Quite apart from the environmental repercussions it was bad news for us: any shots that involved distant views were virtually impossible.
It was a journey that tested my photography more than any other in recent years. There are times when I need to stick with an idea and triumph through persistence, but sometimes no amount of stubborn doggedness will change an inescapable fact of nature. I had to turn adversity to advantage, be flexible, go with the flow and make things happen.
Laos has the dubious distinction of being the most bombed country in the world, a legacy of its disastrous proximity to the Ho Chi Minh trail in the Vietnam war. That legacy was still manifest in the number of invalids we saw hobbling around. Mines and cluster bombs still litter the countryside. I tried not to think about that too much as
I trudged through the fields around Vang Vieng in search of locations. It has to be admitted Vang Vieng was a fairly charmless town strung out along the road heading north to Luang Prabang. Rats, Ritz crackers and rice were for sale in the market. You could get your laundry done for 8000 Kip a kilo, score a banana pancake and buy the local whisky by the shot, glass or bucket. But what Vang Vieng lacked in ambience it made up for with its location. The view across the flowing waters of the Nam Song River to the dome-like Karst mountains looming above the fields and villages of rural Laos beyond was spectacular. There was just one problem – we could barely see it.
But one night it rained, and the following morning at dawn the sky was still heavy. Later the harsh tropical sunshine reasserted itself, but for just an hour or so the haze was banished; it was my only chance. Apart from that one session, all my other photography in Laos was of the people and their immediate surroundings. The haze that obscured the big views also softened the tropical light, providing a lovely diffuse golden illumination that was perfect for travel portraiture. Looking back now that haze was a blessing in disguise that forced me out of my comfort zone; never a bad thing. Some of my best travel portraits ever came from that trip. There’s a lesson there somewhere.