Sabaidee thook khon,
Next to Ai Kongkeo Saycocie "Along the Shores of Mekong River", here is another
about Laos.

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After years of seclusion and stagnation, the pace of change in Laos has speeded
all the way up to a crawl, but fears of foreign influence continue to slow the
flow of investment and development in this breathtakingly beautiful backwater.

Laos is used to the lack of recognition. Since the end of the 19th century, the
former French possession has been obscured by its powerful neighbors. During the
American war in Indochina, Laos lingered in the conflict's shadow. Even now, the
nation waits for the world's attention to swing its way. Vietnam was flavor of
the month in the late 1980s, Cambodia's turn came in the early 1990s. Laos seems
next in line for the spotlight and is expected to follow a similar path of
development. But will it? The question remain unanswered!

The Lao People's Democratic Republic actually started down the road to economic
reform way back in 1986, before Vietnam. However, the pace of change has been
slow under the PDR's perestroika program, known as 
?Chintanakan Mai?, or "New
Thinking." In the most laid-back nation in Southeast Asia, the only operating
speeds seem to be slow and slower still -- which is why foreign investors like
to joke that the PDR really stands for "Please Don't Rush."

Others say the seeming inactivity is no illusion. "Laos is exactly like it was
20 years ago and it's exactly like it will be 20 years from now. Time passes and
Laos stay exactly the same," says a senior reporter who has worked in Laos, on
and off, since the early 1970s. "When I got here, Laos was the genuine backwater
kingdom," says the journalist, drawing cynically on his cigarette. "Now it's
just a backwater."

Despite such skepticism and a national psyche ingrained with suspicion of the
outside world, Laos is changing, though not as fast as some will have us
believe. "Laos Opens Up to the World," "Bridge Spans Generations for Laos," and
"Laos Links Up with its Future," go back to read some of the headlines when in
1994 the Australians completed the first bridge to cross the Mekong river
linking Laos to Thailand.

Nearly five years later, the bridge only reiterates Laotian resolve to resist
change. Traffic flows are hampered by Vientiane's inability to agree with
Bangkok about anything regarding the bridge, even which side of the road traffic
should take: Laos favors the right, while Thailand uses the left. People
generally cross via a series of buses. Add checkpoints, and it takes longer to
travel by highway than the old ferry the bridge was supposed to replace. Most
ridiculous of all, the bridge closes each day before dark.

The contrast is obvious to anyone crossing the Friendship Bridge. The very pace
of life seems to brake at the border. Gone are the loud buses and tuk tuk on the
Thai side. Only a few tattered billboards welcome visitors to Laos. Many had bet
that the bridge would boost traffic, like oil company Caltex, which opened
Laos's first service station nearby 5 year ago. The shelves of the adjacent Star
Mart are stocked with goodies from Thailand, but customers are still scarce and
the highway is very, very quiet.

Up and down the road, it's the same story. Behind rusted barbed wire, the
crumbling brick chimneys of old factories with names like Laos Machinery Repair
Plant and First Knitwear Factory attest to decades of decay. The run-down look
extends to Vientiane. Like other communist capitals, it is sprinkled with
massive concrete monuments to bad taste, from the ugly National Assembly, north
of Vientiane, to the huge state hotels with tacky lobbies, repulsive furniture
and seedy carpets. The old Revolutionary Museum in Vientiane has closed, though,
since few Laotians seem interested in its tattered communist propaganda.

These days Laos is looking beyond Lenin to more celebrated periods from its
past. Around the country, temples are being restored in a revival of the
Buddhist faith that was suppressed by the communist party. The country is also
recapturing some of its colonial grandeur. Scratch away the colorless communist
coating of Vientiane, and an alluring elegance is underneath.

Foreign money has been slow to flow into Laos, which has seen barely a trickle
of the investment received by Vietnam. And that in spite of investment laws
considered to be the most liberal in the region. Laos has more successfully
shown its commitment to reform by backing the return of property to people who
fled in the 1970s. This treatment has helped persuade thousands more to visit;
the returnees are one of Laos's greatest resources.

There already has been some movement, mainly in the cities. Vientiane, which had
few vehicles even a year ago, now experiences actual traffic jams, but on a
scale that Bangkok would celebrate. Western rock plays in Vientiane bars for the
first time in decades, and discos can be found even in moderate-size towns. The
motorbikes and music are beyond the means of most in Laos, where the average
monthly wage is about $25. Still, there is a sufficient flow of cash to sustain
a score of trendy new restaurants in Vientiane, along with a bakery that opened
last year in the center of the capital, selling croissants and cappuccino by the
European-style Nam Phu fountain.

The city's elite gather around the fountain nightly, drinking beer and munching
French fries. "You really have to beware of the instant experts," a European
trade official warns, sipping a gin and tonic near the fountain one night.
"These people come to Laos and within two months have it all figured out. They
only know their sector, their particular area of business. The real problem
here, is nobody has the big picture."

The cash-strapped nation is already overwhelmed by pressing needs in every
sector. Roads are appalling, and phone service is scant. Only major cities have
more than a few hours of electricity per day, and most towns lack modern water
and sewage services. Laos is one of the world's only nations without a rail
system.

Some said, Thailand already claims most of the Laotian logging contracts and
Thai traders provide much of Laos's processed food and consumer products. What's
more, Laotian children are bedazzled by Thai pop culture. "Laos is being
overwhelmed by Thailand," says a Vientiane resident. "Already, a lot of young
people speak better Thai than Lao. The Lao language is disappearing. It's being
bombarded by 24 hours of Thai TV every day. People read Thai books and
magazines. It's like Thailand is taking over."

The next day, I rise before dawn and dash to the Friendship Bridge. Canberra
took a lot of flack for spending $30 million on a bridge that has seen scant
use. But just as Monk the smuggler foretold, it's busy when the bridge opens in
the morning.

Later in the day, I couples friend visited Australian ambassador Roland Rich.
Here's a gentleman who always greets fellow citizens & reporter personally, and
never fails to address the toughest questions, such as how it feels to have
built the world's most expensive bridge for smugglers. "Well, we've built that
bridge and heard all the complaints," he says. "But at the end of the day, that
bridge has become a symbol. It does nothing but elicit positive vibes." Then
Rich offers a rare view among the do-gooders in Laos. "That's their bridge now.
It was a gift to Laos and Thailand, and it's up to them to decide how to use it.
We've had our pat on the back and we're done."

That night, I watch a spectacular sunset over the Mekong river from a deck chair
by the pool at the plush Australian Club. I'm sipping a gin and tonic when a
UNDP specialist appears at the table, out of breath. "The most remarkable thing
has happened," he says. "We've finally come up with a definition for poverty."
Using a formula balancing purchasing power with the price of goods, the UNDP has
determined that 46% of Laotians are poor. "This is really quite revolutionary,"
he says with grave excitement. "It changes everything."

Laotians will undoubtedly be relieved, I think, but hold my tongue. Instead, my
mind wanders and it's the 1970s all over again in Laos. Around the pool, French
chatter smugly on lounge chairs, and Americans flit past furtively on their
secret missions. Outside the fence, the people are still poor, whatever the
percentage, and somebody is talking about a revolution.

Little has changed here in centuries, despite a steady procession of determined
fix-it experts from China, Thailand, Vietnam, France, Russia and America. Us,
Laotians like to say "baw pen nyang," meaning, It doesn't matter. Sitting among
the newest batch of experts, I concentrate on the sun that melts into the
Mekong, turning the sky a fiery red. For a few moments at least, I feel as if
there is nothing in Laos that needs fixing.

Good weekend,

Amp