by Ian Gill

Improving a road may sound a pedestrian affair, but the upgrading of Route 13 in the Lao People’s Democratic Republic (Lao PDR) has had a huge and exciting impact on rural people’s lives.

The transformation of a wet season muddy track into an all-weather highway has opened up new horizons in more ways than one.

In one of the poorest and least developed countries in Asia, the modernization of the northern stretches of Route 13 has brought remote rural areas closer to the city of Luang Prabang. As a result, rural-urban trade is rising sharply, bringing a measure of prosperity to people who count themselves rich if they own a buffalo. Country people also have much easier access to the jobs, schools, and health clinics which a city offers. The relocation of hill villages to be nearer the road has also reduced slash-and-burn agriculture in the mountains, a significant environmental benefit.

Above all, the smooth grey ribbon of Route 13 is linking isolated communities with the outside world and, in doing so, is changing traditional ways of life. “When the villagers see the road, they study a lot of things. They see traffic, they see transmission lines. Together with what they hear on the radio and see on TV, they learn about trading and new ways of doing things and they find new opportunities to improve their lives,” says Sangat Choulamany, a senior official with the Ministry of Communication, Transport, Post and Construction.

Sangat was manager for two projects to upgrade different parts of Route 13. The first was a 230-km stretch from Vang Vieng (halfway up from the capital of Vientiane) to Luang Prabang. The second was the 119-km road from Luang Prabang to Pak Mong. Both projects were financed with two loans totaling around US$70 million by Asian Development Bank (ADB). ADB is the largest provider of assistance to the country’s road sector, with cumulative assistance to date of eight loans totaling US$232 million and 22 technical assistance grants amounting to US$10.1 million.

The first project was more difficult technically and also carried its share of physical danger, recalls Preben Nielsen, an ADB manager who worked as a project officer on Route 13.

“The terrain consisted largely of jagged layers of slate--every time you moved one piece the rest would slide down,” says Nielsen, an intrepid Dane who makes light of such difficulties.

During construction, the road was off-limits to tourists as it was often attacked by members of a rebel political group. Nielsen says that he had to travel under heavily armed escort in the early days. In several incidents, six personnel of the Vietnamese contractor were killed by rebels. Today, the asphalt-surfaced highway is much easier to police and security is greatly improved.

During the monsoon season, the road was often impassable. Sangat, a lean, cautious man in his late fifties, recalls that, even in dry conditions, the journey from Vientiane to Luang Prabang generally took two days. “We nearly always reached Luang Prabang at night,” recalls Sangat. “Electricity was not available then and we had to rely on candles when we got to our accommodation.”

Sangat lives in Vientiane but he recently returned to Luang Prabang to show a visitor the roads he helped to build. The first stop after leaving Luang Prabang for the journey to Pak Mong is the village of Pakxeuang at Km 14. Sangat points to a cleared area opposite the village. “This,” he says, “was the construction camp for a contractor from the Republic of Korea that built the road to Pak Mong between 1993 and 1996.”

A walk through the village’s winding narrow paths shows a fair amount of ongoing construction work. Many villagers are replacing traditional thatch-and-bamboo huts on stilts with concrete houses. They are doing so with the money earned from helping to build the road, says village headman, Ounekham Phoumavong, a calm man with a deliberate manner of speaking.

Squatting on a rattan mat, Ounekham says most of the village’s 456 population--including the women--worked on the project. Many earned as much as 100,000 kip (exchange rate was approximately 3,000 kip to US$1 in July 1998) a month--several times what they could earn as farmers. Sangat is interpreting, using English acquired while training as an air traffic controller in the United States during the 1960s. The villagers earned so much, adds Sangat, that many wanted to follow the contractor south to Pakse to work on another project.

The road has changed the village’s transport habits. “Before, we could use the road only in the dry season,” says the village elder. “The bus to Luang Prabang was very unreliable and the journey took one hour. Many villagers went by boat even though it cost three times more than the bus. The boat trip took one hour going downstream to the city and two hours coming back.”

Today, a bus ride to Luang Prabang takes only 20 minutes; many villagers are self-reliant, riding bicycles and even motorbikes. On the other hand, river traffic has virtually dried up since the asphalt road was completed two years ago.

Working patterns in the village are also changing, says Ounekham. Some villagers work as drivers for a truck operator in Luang Prabang. Others have gone back to farming, widening the land and planting teak trees, because they can sell their products in Luang Prabang, rather than rely on go-betweens. Parents are also talking of sending children to Luang Prabang for further education after completing high school locally.

Sangat’s next stop is at Km 28, formerly the base camp of the contractor. Surprisingly, although the camp has been long abandoned, the bulldozers and trucks remain. “It costs too much to transfer the equipment out of the country,” Sangat explains. “They leave it here, hoping to win another road contract.” Sangat points to a white bungalow house where he used to live. It overlooks the Ou River which, says Sangat, is famous for the taste of its fish.

At nearby Somsanouk village, Sangat meets old friends, Chanhsouk Hadsady, 42, and his wife Douang Samone, who own and manage a large dry goods store. Chanhsouk has worked as a district administrative officer for over 20 years, but earns more from his store. Like most villagers, he fishes to supplement his income. He says the improved road means fresh fish can be delivered to Luang Prabang, where it fetches 4,500 kip per kilo, 30 percent more than the local price. Fishing earns him 10 percent of his annual income, he estimates.

A little further north, Route 13 squeezes between an overhanging cliff and a steep drop to the River Ou. Sangat says the mountain cliff had to be blasted to widen the road. “There used to be room only for one vehicle. If two vehicles met head on, one would have to reverse.”

Passing through the Lao PDR’s northern hinterland is like traveling in a time capsule. Women dressed in gaily colored pha sin (wraparound skirt) carry baskets of wood over their shoulders. Around one corner, a huge elephant suddenly appears, trundling on the opposite side of the road, a reminder that the Lao PDR used to be known as the Land of a Million Elephants.

A row of roadside vendors signals the arrival at Pak Mong and the end of the ADB-financed road. A sign post stands at the T-junction: Viet Nam to the right, the People’s Republic of China to the left. “When we came here in the old days, there was nowhere to buy food,” says Sangat. “We brought our own sticky rice and dried meat from Luang Prabang.” A snack is ordered at an eating place where girls cook in pots over a wood fire in one corner.

Across the road is a general store run by a hospitable woman called Sichanh. Products from the People’s Republic of China and Thailand are on sale but, rather surprisingly, Sichanh grumbles that business is worse now than before the all-weather road. The reason? “There used to be only 4 stores, now there are 15,” she says, serving hot tea to the visitor. “Many have moved here from the Muong Ngoy district toward the Viet Nam border. In the past year, four new stores have set up.”

It’s a different story for those facing less competition, however. Vanh, another woman trader, sells specialty wood resin products used for varnish and perfume. She says her business has increased a lot because trade is now year-round whereas previously it was limited to the dry season.

During the return journey, Sangat reflects on the changes over the past decade. “The Lao are learning slowly, one step at a time,” he says. “Before, they grow food for family consumption only. They don’t care about surplus because surplus is no good if they don’t know where to sell. Now they learn to trade. Before, they’re happy with bamboo huts. Now they want to improve their houses. If the Government opens up policy, people have more freedom to do something. Before, the people just follow everything the Government says. Now you can have ideas.”

In Luang Prabang, which became a royal capital in the 14th century under Thai Prince Fa Ngum, there was concern that vibrations from increased heavy traffic would undermine the foundations of the city’s ancient temples. For this reason, an earlier plan for a bridge to the old town, where many of the beautiful temples are concentrated, was opposed by ADB and the United Nations. Instead, says Bounnhang Phongphichit, Chief of the provincial Department of Communication, Transport, Post and Construction, a new bridge was constructed over the River Khan on the outskirts of Luang Prabang to divert heavy vehicles from the city.

Ironically, however, the Nam Khan Bridge at one time threatened a historic temple during construction. Rock blasting caused cracks to appear in the walls of Wat Papholphao on a nearby hill. At the temple, which is also a nunnery, a white-robed nun, Bounsavong, 67, recalls the alarm when the cracks first appeared. However, an examination showed the damage was not serious and an ADB team carried out the repairs and offered prayers in atonement.

In the large, colorful market, many vendors have come from villages outside the city. Souvandy, a thirtyish farmer from Xieng Ngeun, 26 km south of Luang Prabang, says he never came to the market before the road was improved. Now he brings corn and maize three times a week and is saving to buy a pickup taxi.

Not everyone has benefited from the improved roads. The river boat terminal looks like a picture of serenity when the sun sets on the long, narrow boats as they lie moored in the mud-brown Mekong. Yet a group of ferryboat operators mending fishing nets is disconsolate.

Xieng Sy, who plies a cargo-passenger boat between Luang Prabang and Houasay (now known as Bokeo) in the north, near Thailand, says business has dropped by a third since the road was finished. He hasn't reduced his weekly journeys--each trip takes three days upstream and two days downstream--but says the volume of timber, clothes, and household items that he transports has dropped off.

Another operator, Xieng Douang, says there were 250 boats plying the river a year ago, and now there are a little over 100. Will business be worse in the future? Xieng Douang shrugs and says he is considering selling his boat and buying a taxi pickup.

[reproduced from ADB Review, Volume 31, No. 2, 1999]

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