The incident began in the old royal city of Luang Prabang in central Laos with me photographing the woman, squatting by the pavement selling small bags of firewood, some embroidered squares and a crude metal bracelet. In return, she wanted a sale. She held up two fingers - which meant 2,000 kips - for the bracelet, no doubt expecting to be haggled down to 1,000. The driver of our jumbo - like a tuk-tuk but larger - said something that astounded her and then turned to us and said the price was 10,000 kips.
Every one's head turned. Everyone froze. Would we pay 10 times the going rate?Why not? She needed it. We didn't. I handed over the money and took the bracelet. She was stunned. Everyone gawped. All over a miserly £1.50. And it was suddenly clear what an amazing ride many Lao and hilltribe people are going to have as western commerce, tourism and media take off in the emerging Divine Kingdom. You do not get that kind of experience in Vientiane, the capital. But we were travelling through Laos from the west, an unusual way into the country at the moment, and people have not had time to catch up with the ways and opportunities of the falangs, the name for westerners.
We flew up to Chiang Rai, in northern Thailand, from Bangkok and took a bus to the frontier town of Chiang Khong, where we bought our visas through an intermediary for $50 each. The next morning, the ferry carrying half-a-dozen backpackers and ourselves edged across the Mekong to Huey Xai. We went through the formalities, exchanged £100 for a huge wad of 660,000 kips, and got a jumbo to where the fast boats were moored.
They were not exaggerating, I thought, as the fast boat rocketed off along the Mekong in the direction of Luang Prabang. The stylish, brightly-painted rowing boat with a car engine bolted on the back was fast - 0-50mph in seconds. Within minutes, the thrill of speed gave way to the interest of river life and the unfolding scenery, jagged hills fading blue to grey, until, thanks to the vagarious nature of the Mekong's course, we arrived at Luang Prabang as the sun set in front of us. From there, it was another 20 miles of dusty roads before we arrived, battered and dishevelled, at the best hotel in town, the Villa Santi, which was once owned by a princess and which is more accustomed to welcoming well-groomed guests who arrive in a limousine from the airport.
Laos, like Thailand, is a Theravada Buddhist state: 60% of the population, probably 90% in towns, lives by the dhama, or universal law; the rest are mostly rural hill tribe animists. Luang Prabang, the historic royal city, embodies that Buddhist spirit with its 32 wats - temple complexes - and hundreds of monks and novices. The gentle people live by the same set of beliefs: do good, receive good; do evil, receive evil. It works in a town that practises what Buddha preached.
We emerged from the Villa Santi in the mild air of the February morning to explore its historic area between the confluence of the Mekong and Khan rivers. The temples date back to the 16th century but almost every one has been destroyed and rebuilt at some time because of invasions by the Siamese, Chinese, and Burmese, among others. Xieng Thong is the classic Luang Prabang wat, with its distinctive deeply-sloping roofs, its royal funeral chapel (housing an enormous funeral carriage holding royal ashes guarded by a dramatic naga , Buddha's seven-headed serpent so loved by Lao temple designers) and a unique reclining Buddha. We sat in the shade, looking at the chapels and chedis, the ripple of the blossom, and the slow and dignified passage of the monks.
Most people who visit Luang Prabang make the journey to the Pak Ou caves, with their 4,000 Buddha images. They tend to travel the 25 miles by boat but we hired a jumbo. It was a hilariously bad ride that we wouldn't have missed and the trip included June, my wife, earning her rice by taking up the good-natured challenge of the women road workers to help dig foundations.
Unesco, in its citation for Luang Prabang's elevation to world heritage site (with the consequent inflow of much needed restoration money), said the town uniquely blended Lao and French colonial influences. Its laid-back atmosphere, open-air eating places that lure you into gluttony and the warm people make it easy to simply enjoy the legacy of the past without reflecting on the horrors that the people have seen: from the US bombing campaign to civil war, and the imprisonment and deaths of the king, queen and the last prince less than two decades ago.
We left Luang Prabang in a clapped-out coach on the notorious Route 13. The coach was better than the people-carrying truck that was the alternative and it carried a mechanic because everyone, including us, expected it to break down.
It did. Twice. The second time, the transmission fell out and the crew worked heroically as nightfall approached. They say Highway 13 is safe now that the army has moved in but until four years ago, Hmong guerrillas were carrying out raids with automatic weapons. We saw no soldiers and heard, while waiting for the bus to be fixed, only the hauntingly beautiful sound of a woman singing as she worked in the wilderness of the high hills.
Vang Vieng, two-thirds of the way to Vientiane, must be among the world's most beautiful places. But not when we arrived at midnight with everywhere closed and the streets pitch black. We managed to rouse a family with rooms to let - bed, shower, kindly concern, all for £1.80.
The town, which feels more like a village, is built in the sweep of the Nam Song river, with endlessly enticing views towards the horizon of limestone crags and hills. Those hills offer a dozen interesting caves and caverns - we opted for a distant cave and hired a motorised ox-cart. A point at my flip-flops and a universal "OK?" brought a warm affirmative from the driver. It wasn't that he didn't understand me: it was just that he thought it was quite OK to climb 650ft up boulders, some sections almost vertical, in flip-flops. But the effort was well rewarded: the great cavern and, in a pale light from a higher opening, a 20ft reclining Buddha.
The bus down to Vientiane was crowded. But it did not prepare us for the maelstrom that is the city centre, dusty enough to make breathing difficult with none of the easy-going friendliness of Luang Pra bang. But, beyond the scrum of the centre, there was the charm of gentle places and gentle people. Pha That Luang - the Great Stupa - is where Buddhism and the state fuse, the former legitimising the latter and the whole becoming the symbol of nationhood. Its golden form encodes Buddhist doctrine from statues at ground level to the central spire, a stylised lotus bud symbolising the growth of the person from the mud of ignorance to the sunshine of enlightenment.
We climbed the steps into the monument and later sat in the serene, walled grounds for several hours. A monk walked by and smiled; a family was harassed round by a tour guide; a young couple idled away half an hour. But we saw no one else at this, the country's premier monument.
The people at Wat Si Muang, the busiest temple in the city, welcomed us during their day of making merit by taking gifts of flowers, incense, candles and fruit. June made merit by releasing two tiny birds from a cage and a young novice gave us bananas and cut coconuts so we could drink the milk from the shells. Si Muang is the temple where people go to make wishes. If their wishes are granted, they must return with gifts of fruit. When we return, we shall take bananas and coconuts to Wat Si Muang. The wish fulfilled and the gift delivered at the same time.
The practicals
Garuda Indonesian Airways (020 7486 3011) from Gatwick to Bangkok (£380 return); Thai Airways International (0870 6060911) one-way flight from Bangkok to Chaing Rai (£37.50).
Examples of hotel prices (twin/double with shower): Bangkok Royal Hotel, 1300 bahts (£32.50) a night (00 622 222 9111); Chiang Rai Golden Triangle Inn, £15 (053 711339). Dinner for two about £5 in Luang Prabang, more in Vientiane. Visas US$60 each, including the ferry crossing.
