La Résidence Phou Vao
Gerbet are those multi-coloured macaroons that shout French chic. They also feature prominently at La Résidence Phou Vao. Our driver plies us with them when he picks us up from the airport and we find a clutch of them under a glass dome in our room. The hotel does bi-cultural well, playing on Laos’ heritage as a former French colony.
La Résidence does a lot of things well, in fact. Views are a speciality – the breathtaking sort that combine a distant hill with a gold stupa winking in the morning light across a jade infinity pool and a froth of frangipani and swaying palms. Between us and the temple is the ancient royal town of Luang Prabang, but you’d never know it.
Flawless luxury is another thing it does exceptionally well. Our Deluxe Garden View quarters are in one of the large colonial-with-a-touch-of-chalet villas dotting the emerald slopes, linked by paths and bridges winding through shady thickets. The large room has wooden floors and furniture as shiny as a beetle’s wing, muted Lao textiles on walls, a chaise longue and a vast bed swathed in acres of bridal veil. This, presumably, is protection against the Lao mosquito, a creature so somnolent and lacking in killer instinct that we pinch the life out of a dozen before we’ve downed the first gin and tonic. Not very Buddhist, but we can’t help ourselves. The bathroom, with its green stone tub, is as big as the bedroom, and the stoppers on the bottles of shampoo and lotions are all hand carved in the shape of lotus buds.
Showering is given an alfresco feel by a wall of glass on to the balcony. There are blinds for the shy, although as Mr Smith points out, unless a peeping tom shinned up a coconut palm it is impossible to see in. At that moment a gardener with a machete starts climbing a tree across the lawn. It turns out they are up them every other minute, fixing lanterns, plucking fruit and collecting blossoms (bucket-loads of frangipani flowers are picked daily to be strewn over beds, tables and even down the loo).
Nature provides a helping hand a few minutes after our arrival when a five-star storm whips across the grounds, tearing off palm fronds, drenching and harvesting the festoons of waxy blooms and messing up the manicured lawns. We observe the show from our comfortable teak day-beds, and in 10 minutes it’s all over, leaving the place abuzz with staff, clearing, sweeping, righting umbrellas and, as the sun sinks, lighting hundreds of lanterns hidden high in the branches, lining the walkways and floating in the pool.
After so much excitement what is there to do but enjoy a massage at the Mekong Spa, billed as Luang Prabang’s finest? From the dozens of treatments on offer it is hard to choose between a traditional Mo Hom massage, promising the ancient healing art of the Hmong shamans, or the Sip Sen, a Lao therapy once exclusive to the royal family that guarantees to free the life force in a respectful manner. Recent history hasn’t been kind to the Lao monarchy so I plump for the Pherm Palang, an energising body-oil massage, which does the trick admirably.
As La Résidence styles itself as a resort, we decide to check out some of its services. The short Lao cookery course is fun (there’s a longer one involving market shopping), but better for children or complete wok novices. Our efforts with spring rolls, tiger prawns and pork stir-fry are later served to us by the pool with its floating tea lights. It’s a deeply romantic setting and the food – even the bits we haven’t cooked ourselves – is delicious, although for the culinary adventurer, perhaps a little safe. The French menu does look impressive, but we steer clear of it, picking our way through the local offerings instead. Later, in the narrow food alleys of the Night Market, we see an eye-popping array of fish, chicken, offal and sausages, lurid piles of vegetables and steaming vats of deep mystery. This is the genuine article, but one gets the impression that the typical guest at La Résidence hasn’t come for cultural immersion but small sips in a controlled, comfortable environment.
We decide to pass on the hotel’s other authentic cultural offering, the Baci, a traditional Lao welcome ceremony, but enjoy watching an unruly family of seven attempt union with the spirit realm while trying to video themselves doing so.
Our spiritual adventure is with Fhan, one of the hotel’s guides, an ex-monk with a gravely Yankie drawl and a deep knowledge of local history. He takes us on La Résidence’s wooden motor launch (for a rather pricey $US132) to Pak Ou caves, a complex of grottos with thousands of Buddha statues. It is just the two of us, Fhan, the captain and his missus, and an ice chest full of soft drinks, water and very good Beerlao. Sliding down the toffee-coloured Mekong, we pass dozens of locals in conical hats, squatting on the banks and islets and sieving the sand for gold.
It is a short trip, but an informative one: we never knew that teak was deciduous until we see stands of them stark and bare-leaved on the jungly banks. Nor could we have guessed that Lao whisky tastes better with a dead gecko in the jar, but we visit Ban Xang Hai, a village where they make the stuff. We also learn that even the captain of a teak motor launch can fall head first into the river (he comes up laughing, but that might be delirium) and that the Mekong can rise 50 metres in the rainy season.
As we climb the driveway back to the hotel we speculate whether the Hill of Kites, the hotel’s location, was named in memory of boys steering wind-tossed diamonds made from silk and paper, or eye-gouging raptors. We never do find out, but in the impossible comfort and relaxation of La Résidence Phou Vao it doesn’t seem to matter.
La Résidence does a lot of things well, in fact. Views are a speciality – the breathtaking sort that combine a distant hill with a gold stupa winking in the morning light across a jade infinity pool and a froth of frangipani and swaying palms. Between us and the temple is the ancient royal town of Luang Prabang, but you’d never know it.
Flawless luxury is another thing it does exceptionally well. Our Deluxe Garden View quarters are in one of the large colonial-with-a-touch-of-chalet villas dotting the emerald slopes, linked by paths and bridges winding through shady thickets. The large room has wooden floors and furniture as shiny as a beetle’s wing, muted Lao textiles on walls, a chaise longue and a vast bed swathed in acres of bridal veil. This, presumably, is protection against the Lao mosquito, a creature so somnolent and lacking in killer instinct that we pinch the life out of a dozen before we’ve downed the first gin and tonic. Not very Buddhist, but we can’t help ourselves. The bathroom, with its green stone tub, is as big as the bedroom, and the stoppers on the bottles of shampoo and lotions are all hand carved in the shape of lotus buds.
Showering is given an alfresco feel by a wall of glass on to the balcony. There are blinds for the shy, although as Mr Smith points out, unless a peeping tom shinned up a coconut palm it is impossible to see in. At that moment a gardener with a machete starts climbing a tree across the lawn. It turns out they are up them every other minute, fixing lanterns, plucking fruit and collecting blossoms (bucket-loads of frangipani flowers are picked daily to be strewn over beds, tables and even down the loo).
Nature provides a helping hand a few minutes after our arrival when a five-star storm whips across the grounds, tearing off palm fronds, drenching and harvesting the festoons of waxy blooms and messing up the manicured lawns. We observe the show from our comfortable teak day-beds, and in 10 minutes it’s all over, leaving the place abuzz with staff, clearing, sweeping, righting umbrellas and, as the sun sinks, lighting hundreds of lanterns hidden high in the branches, lining the walkways and floating in the pool.
After so much excitement what is there to do but enjoy a massage at the Mekong Spa, billed as Luang Prabang’s finest? From the dozens of treatments on offer it is hard to choose between a traditional Mo Hom massage, promising the ancient healing art of the Hmong shamans, or the Sip Sen, a Lao therapy once exclusive to the royal family that guarantees to free the life force in a respectful manner. Recent history hasn’t been kind to the Lao monarchy so I plump for the Pherm Palang, an energising body-oil massage, which does the trick admirably.
As La Résidence styles itself as a resort, we decide to check out some of its services. The short Lao cookery course is fun (there’s a longer one involving market shopping), but better for children or complete wok novices. Our efforts with spring rolls, tiger prawns and pork stir-fry are later served to us by the pool with its floating tea lights. It’s a deeply romantic setting and the food – even the bits we haven’t cooked ourselves – is delicious, although for the culinary adventurer, perhaps a little safe. The French menu does look impressive, but we steer clear of it, picking our way through the local offerings instead. Later, in the narrow food alleys of the Night Market, we see an eye-popping array of fish, chicken, offal and sausages, lurid piles of vegetables and steaming vats of deep mystery. This is the genuine article, but one gets the impression that the typical guest at La Résidence hasn’t come for cultural immersion but small sips in a controlled, comfortable environment.
We decide to pass on the hotel’s other authentic cultural offering, the Baci, a traditional Lao welcome ceremony, but enjoy watching an unruly family of seven attempt union with the spirit realm while trying to video themselves doing so.
Our spiritual adventure is with Fhan, one of the hotel’s guides, an ex-monk with a gravely Yankie drawl and a deep knowledge of local history. He takes us on La Résidence’s wooden motor launch (for a rather pricey $US132) to Pak Ou caves, a complex of grottos with thousands of Buddha statues. It is just the two of us, Fhan, the captain and his missus, and an ice chest full of soft drinks, water and very good Beerlao. Sliding down the toffee-coloured Mekong, we pass dozens of locals in conical hats, squatting on the banks and islets and sieving the sand for gold.
It is a short trip, but an informative one: we never knew that teak was deciduous until we see stands of them stark and bare-leaved on the jungly banks. Nor could we have guessed that Lao whisky tastes better with a dead gecko in the jar, but we visit Ban Xang Hai, a village where they make the stuff. We also learn that even the captain of a teak motor launch can fall head first into the river (he comes up laughing, but that might be delirium) and that the Mekong can rise 50 metres in the rainy season.
As we climb the driveway back to the hotel we speculate whether the Hill of Kites, the hotel’s location, was named in memory of boys steering wind-tossed diamonds made from silk and paper, or eye-gouging raptors. We never do find out, but in the impossible comfort and relaxation of La Résidence Phou Vao it doesn’t seem to matter.
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Return airport transfers
