Wandering around Luang Prabang which by the way is the most connected place I’ve been in, I had heard bits and pieces of the volcanic eruption in Iceland and the disruption of flights in Europe.
But it all seemed so far away, so other-worldly. Head lost in a Lao-Buddhist state of mind, I wondered for a fleeting moment whether this was Icelandic karma – the world has bankrupted us so let’s cover them with dust – or whether it was a typical CYA over-reaction by authorities just as they did with the H1NI virus.
There was plenty of dust about in Luang Prabang anyway. Four months of no rain and the city was dry and dusty, and the Mekong river was as low as it’s ever been. Boat trips had been cancelled, one boat had even hit the rocks and sank and there was a severe shortage of water in the city.
Yet on the streets, water flowed as freely as Beer Lao as Laotians celebrated the Songkran new year. Tourists sat, safe in the cafes, watching the party. There seems to be an unspoken code of conduct – no throwing water at foreigners seated in cafes and restaurants, but if you are on the streets, then you’re fair game. 
In the cafes, I could see travellers with their smart phones and laptops logging onto their Facebook or Twitter, sending updates to friends around the world. In the old days, we wrote postcards. Now we tweet or lifestream.
That evening brought the first rains of the season – a spectacular thunderstorm that split the sky and blew out the town’s electricity. As the town was plunged into darkness, candles and lamps were lit and I was brought back to the time I first visited Luang Prabang when it had no electricity.
It was only when I got into Bangkok a few days later that I was jolted back into the real world. The airport was empty. Just as there were few people coming in, there were few going out. A state of emergency rule had been declared in the city and European airspace was in crisis.
A double-whammy for a city that’s already been hit by several whammies – but every ash cloud has its silver lining, as I was to find out.
The drive to the Sukhumvit area took us under 30 minutes. Traffic was light. The Rembrandt Hotel was full of stranded Scandinavians. General manager Eric Hallin was trying to handle the overload – a nice situation to be in considering occupancies had plunged in recent weeks.
Everyone seemed calm though. Some were asking about trips out of Bangkok so they could spend a few days in another resort. The hotel’s poolside was packed – this is a breed who obviously believes in soaking as much sun while they can.
The tricky part is, who pays for the extra nights? Who’s responsible? In SAS’ case, I was told the airline was footing the bill up to a timeline. Other airlines however weren’t as responsive.
In Bangkok, everything seems pretty normal in the Sukhumvit area. I am told the Emporium shopping mall in the area is packed. Everyone’s heading there since the malls in the Ratchaprasong area have been taken over by the red shirts, and with threats that they were headed Silom way, there’s not lot of places you can go to these days.
Caught between the red and the yellow camps, Bangkokians just want to have their city back but they all know there’s no easy solution in sight. Too many layers, too many divided loyalties, too many camps, too many interests – and that’s the feeling I got this time. An air of resignation that something awful has to happen before it gets better.
On that same day, Monday, I heard Giovanni Bisignani, director general of the International Air Transport Association comment on the volcanic ash crisis, “I would call it a European mess because we did not focus on figures and facts. Europe was using a theoretical mathematical approach and this is not what you need. We needed some test flights to go into the atmosphere and assess the level of ashes and take decisions.”
Once again, it’s proven that when bureaucrats and politicians act in what they think is in our interests, we, the citizens of the world, must bear the consequences.
Featured image credit (traditional tuktuk in Bangkok): iStock
