The jet-lag is still fresh as I write. I’ve just come back from a nine-day trip to Luang Prabang (LP), Laos. The reason for the trip was an assignment to cover the inaugural Discovering the Art of Documentary Filmmaking workshop hosted by my dear friends at Aglaia Docufilms.
I knew very little about LP going into this. My only previous experience in Southeast Asia had been a trip to Bangkok, Thailand. What I did know was the Lao reputation for humility and kindness—and I was not disappointed. At every turn, our group was greeted with smiles by servant-hearted people who bent over backwards to accommodate our every need.
My goal—apart from covering the daily happenings of the workshop and subsequent film festival—was to meet as many locals as possible and get some good shots of local life.
A typical LP tuk-tuk
For me, one of the key aspects of getting decent photos is exploring the path less traveled. This means wandering with no real goal or time constraint. On day two I headed outside the town (LP is not a big city) and into pockets of neighborhoods where I was met with a mix of curiosity and engagement. People happily stopped for portraits, youngsters hid shyly behind half-cracked doors, and the wide-brimmed hats of roadside food stands made for beautifully textured images in the morning light.
One of the many roadside vendors just trying to make a living
LP is known as the spiritual capital of Laos, and one of the most striking scenes each day was the morning alms-giving ritual. At sunrise, long lines of saffron-robed monks would emerge from the temples and walk silently through the streets, bowls in hand, as locals sat quietly to offer sticky rice. This centuries-old tradition still feels profoundly intimate. There are specific guidelines for observers, so I watched from a respectful distance, camera low, doing my best not to intrude. Because engagement is such an important part of my photographic process, it felt somewhat cheap to be taking photos during such a sacred moment. Fortunately, in the days that followed, I had the opportunity to visit several temples and interact more meaningfully with some of the novice monks. This unforgettable ritual was a daily reminder that spirituality in LP isn’t a side note—it’s woven into the rhythm of life.
The daily alms-giving is a profound experience
Towards the end of the week, and with a bit more confidence in my bearings, I ventured even farther—to a remote village off the beaten track—and experienced a moment that will stay with me forever. As I wandered along a quiet dirt road, a young monk suddenly ran into the street and beckoned me to follow him. We didn’t understand each other’s words, but I placed my hand over my heart and said, “Mally.” He mirrored the gesture and responded, “Bhat.” Then, pulling a key from his robe, he unlocked a small temple and—in a simple, powerful gesture of openness and trust—invited me into his world. The space was quiet, sacred, and filled with soft, diffused light. He allowed me to take a series of portraits. It was a moment where shared humanity transcended language and culture. A moment I could never have planned for, but one that defined the heart of this trip.
My new friend, Bhat
I left this magnificent country and its people with memory cards full of footage and a heart fuller still. LP left its mark in the quiet mornings wandering the markets by the Mekong, in the subtle elegance of traditional architecture, and in the many conversations—often halting and gestured—that conveyed more than any grammar ever could.
There’s a kind of stillness and a rhythm iin Luang Prabang that sneaks up on you. It’s not the absence of movement, but the presence of peace. That’s what I’ll carry with me the longest.
Laos is definitely worth a visit!
Until next time, LP.