Luang Prabang is a U.N. world heritage site. I'm not sure what that means, but apparently the Taj Mahal and Angkor Wat are also members of this club. The things that make Luang Prabang special are a little more subtle than these other places.

It sits at the confluence of the Mekong and the Nam Khan. The rivers run parallel for a little while before meeting. As Oliver said, this gives Luang Prabang the general shape of Manhattan. Actually in his usual exuberance, Oliver said Luang Prabang was precisely the same shape as Manhattan.

Unlike Manhattan, Luang Prabang has a big hill in the middle with 382 steps (we counted twice) to the top. Buddhists like to make sacred spots of the same places that I would make sacred spots. The top of a hill with its view of both rivers is such a spot. Many years ago they built a stupa up there. More recently someone put a big gun up there too, though only the base of the gun remains. Lower down, the hill is littered with wats (temples) both old and new.

The town surrounds the hill and contains an amazing number of wats. You can't throw a dead cat without it falling in some sacred place, probably hitting a monk in a saffron orange robe along the way. Each wat contains several glittering gold and red buildings with everything ornate, from the points of the roofs to the door, to the tall columns inside.

Plus they've got tall Buddhas, short Buddhas, standing Buddhas, reclining Buddhas, Buddhas on wheels, Buddhas on boats. Many wats had beautiful long narrow 20 man boats used in the big annual race.

Other than the wats, the French colonial buildings all over the streets are also endearing. Most of these are two story white buildings with shutters painted in bright colors on the second floor and big shuttered doorways on the first floor. The stories are usually separated by awning or balcony. In general the buildings are unusually well painted and maintained for Laos.

In Luang Prabang the traffic's not so thick and the air not so dusty as in Vientiane. The drivers are quite tame as well. I guess they're just so used to dodging cows, pigs, potholes, broken down buses, etc. They have plenty of patience for us on bicycles.

We explored several wats but one in particular impressed us most. For this one we had to pay 1000 kip each to enter. The most impressive building was the smallest too at about the size of a maid's cottage. It was painted pink. Amazing mosaics depicted people riding elephants, praying, and general daily life scenes.

The mosaics were made out of small pieces of colored mirror glass inlaid in the walls. Each piece was no bigger than an square inch and irregular shaped, as if the mirror glass had just been smashed on the floor and the mosaics made out of the pieces.

Inside the buildings had many paintings. Inside one important building with a large Buddha shrine, the strong smell of incense, and jet black walls onto which scenes were painted in gold. Some of these scenes were rather dark and violent - people getting hit with axes, sawed in half, boiled alive.

We wandered into an especially tall building that contained the royal cremation barge. It was a towering thing, 30 feet high, gilded gold and red. It looked generally like a stupa with a very sharp point on top. I noticed the whole thing sat on wheels but part of the building would have to be disassembled to get it out the door.

The room was unlit and as we walked in the dark area behind the barge, a very young monk jumped out. He was no more the eight years old and wearing the usual orange saffron robes. He stood beside a wooden box labeled donations (every building in the wat had such a box). Our little monk demanded "1,000!" and pointed at the box.

I said "already" and showed him our receipt but he was adamant. "1000!" he kept saying, probably the only English he knew. Even in his monk's robes this kid came off as a real brat. I put 1,000 kip (30 cents) in the donation box though he wanted to take it directly. Joan refused and he kept hassling her so we left.

But Joan was angry. This little brat monk was trying to manipulate and rip off tourist just because he was dressed like a monk and we would have certain respect for him. Joan went back inside. He was hiding in the darkness behind a pillar and Joan caught his shadow. He thought she couldn't see him and was rounding the pillar opposite her to stay out of her view.

But Joan knew where he hid. She leaped suddenly backward around the pillar right in front of him and made a big toothy smile and held her hands out in front of her like claws. She scared the hell out of him. He let out a scream, jumped back wide eyed then laughed and smiled.

I heard the commotion and went inside. By the time I got there the monk had regained his composure and tried once again to get something from the tourists. He started shivering and making "oooooohh ohhhhh oooo" sounds as if the fright had sent him into convulsions or something. His acting was pretty awful though. He's got to learn to be more subtle. We walked off and he shut up, lurking in the dark until the next tourists come I guess.

We ran across Oliver's gallery in Baan Khily. His dream, I gathered from our talk on the roof of the bus, was a gallery/shop/exhibition space where local and international artists gathered and did their thing. He didn't just want to sell paintings, he wanted painters in resident, He was anxious for me to play my French Horn there. (I did but I'm sure I disappointed him. I couldn't remember any Mozart).

Oliver has no shortage of ideas and in his gallery/shop he carries them out or has others carry them out. They made their own paper. The paper was so good he took it to Vientiane and the national printing office printed large detailed etchings on it using some ancient press.

While I played my horn, an extremely talented young Lao man was working on a powerful painting of a woman in ornate tribal clothing. He was copying the painting from a photograph. The painting was almost indistinguishable from a the photo, except larger.

The balcony on Oliver's gallery's second floor is the best place in Luang Prabang to have a beer.

Oliver also introduced us to an unbelievable restaurant. They had five spice duck, chicken in heaven, and a water cress salad to die for. All three of us ate, with several BeerLao, for $10.

I'm sure this restaurant will be featured in the next Lonely Planet guide book and it's too bad for Oliver. Prices could only go up and quality could only go down. We ate there several times and discovered that the food was best while Oliver narrated and told us the painstaking details of making each dish.

While Oliver is clearly in love with Laos an it's people (he moved there after all) he is not completely uncritical. In a bit of frustration on a slow moving bus, he scolded the driver, "We [the rest of the world] build the roads and the buses and the Lao contribution is stopping! That's you contribution to driving - STOPPING!"

One night at the restaurant there was lots of confusion over the bill. Oliver re-added the whole thing and told them exactly what it should cost and how much change he should get. We have confusions of this sort at restaurants often and we always thought it was because we couldn't speak Lao. Oliver speaks Lao and eats at that same place almost every night, and still has trouble!

Next: Mekong River and a girl named bilge pump

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