By Ed Peters
Contributing writer
After a day of organized tours around Vientiane's temples, markets and other major sights, part of the package we booked through the www.visit-mekong.com Web site, my wife and I bade temporary farewell to our guide, had a quick shower, and then set out to find somewhere for dinner.
We strolled from our hotel, the Novotel Vientiane, along the banks of the Mekong, which was reflecting the last rays of the sun as the day drew to a close. We'd consulted our guide about the best places to eat, looked over a couple of guidebooks to the city, and asked the concierge, but still hadn't made up our minds. So, trusting to luck, we decided simply to follow our noses till we came somewhere we liked the look of.
Fa Ngoum Road runs parallel with the Mekong, Asia's greatest waterway, and the lights of houses in Thailand on the other bank were starting to glimmer faintly in the darkness as we made our way past the Presidential Palace toward the main strip of restaurants and bars.
Beside the pavement, families and couples, grandmothers nursing babies in arms, scurrying packs of children and a few itinerant hawkers were taking the evening air as well, providing a lively backdrop to our quest for dinner.
Choice was not an issue. The far side of the road was dotted with a great swath of international joints, a United Nations of gastronomy, a veritable cosmopolitan buffet: burgers, Tex-Mex, Thai, Italian, Chinese, fish 'n' chips, the lot.
But it was the array of makeshift riverbank eateries that caught our eye. What by day had been a grassy open space had metamorphosed in the twilight into an unbroken line of mini cafes. Tables and chairs and cushions were spread out beneath bare bulbs strung from the trees; joints of meat and fresh fish were illuminated in glass display cases; and the proprietors stepped forward as we passed, all smiles and assurances of culinary excellence. It was impossible to refuse.
None of the eateries sported anything as formal as a name, but the one we picked had by far the best location, looking straight down over the beach to the river beyond, with bulky pyramid-shaped cushions and low-rise tables.
The menu was bilingual and extensive, with a vast variety of local dishes. With a few Lao phrases, leavened with some English and a bit of sign language, we ordered pork curry and rice, satay and spring rolls, one fresh lime soda and a deliciously cool Lao beer.
The repast took a few minutes to arrive, time enough to assess the pleasures of the day, and _ more importantly _ our immediate experiences. Apart from youngsters wandering by selling balloons and dried fish, there was little to disturb us _ certainly no blaring music and, because we were a little below the road level, there was no noise from passing traffic.
What was really perfect was the informality of our chosen dining spot. What could be simpler than providing the essentials of a good meal in such an ideal, alfresco location? And what could be more typical of Laos and its capital city, than somewhere so delightfully casual, friendly, welcoming, and imbued with charm?
In time, some developer might come along and decree a themed food court and board walk and boutiques right where we were sitting, but it would never match the sheer, genuine natural fun of the current incarnation.
The food arrived all at once: a steamy, creamy curry, spicy enough to tingle but not to make your eyes water, great heaps of rice served from a woven basket, satay sizzling with onomatopoeia.
We were hungry so, having barely wished each other ``bon appetit,'' we dived into the Vietnamese-style spring rolls, each about an inch long and juicily tangy.
It was a perfect meal, in terms of both ambience and taste. The Mekong flowed by as the beer flowed down my throat. We wondered about dessert, but then, remembering the adage that it's always better to get up from the table wanting just that little bit more, we opted instead for Lao coffee, thick and strong and the antithesis of instant Nescafe.
The last item of the evening was settling the bill, a matter of a few thousand kip, which goes to show what can be achieved by cutting overheads. I couldn't recall better value for money, or a more delicious experience, in years of eating out all over Asia. We left with the owner's good wishes and hopes to see us the following night ringing in our ears.
Tuk tuk men signaled their availability as we returned to the road, but we simply smiled our refusal, and then retraced our steps to the Novotel, fully fed and fully satisfied and fully ready for the next day's touring.