Luang Prabang, Laos: the Cutest Tourist Trap this Side of Hoi An

The main drag of Luang Prabang around sunset

It takes a very short amount of time in Luang Prabang to realize that it is different from other small towns in its part of the world. The street food is more likely to be sandwiches than noodle soup. The storefront restaurants are French, or German, or Mexican. There are no grubby little hole-in-the-wall places, with grease caked onto the walls, and loads of happy locals chowing down on . . . well, something you can’t quite identify, but sure looks yummy.

And, maybe most surprising of all: you can actually get good cheese in Luang Prabang! Cheese! If you haven’t spent long periods of time in Southeast Asia, you may not realize this, but cheese is not really a thing here. But it is in Luang Prabang.

And then there is the night market. I don’t think I saw a single thing that would be of use to someone living in Luang Prabang at any market we visited. It was all tourist kitsch. Colorful umbrellas. Pseudo-Buddhist sculptures and paintings. Jewelry. Elephant pants.

Beautiful, but not very practical, umbreallas at the Luang Prabang street market

And the food section of the night market? A veritable cornucopia of diarrhea-inducing bacteria. Piles of noodles, meats, and vegetables were laid out a bit before sundown . . . and then just sat there, untouched by flame or refrigeration . . . for hours. And hours. And hours.

At the more sanitary stands a bored worker would at least pretend to be keeping the ravaging hordes of flies off the food by waving a bamboo pole with a plastic bag fixed to the end gently back and forth over the fried fish sitting in the heat and humidity of the Laotian night.

A half-hearted effort to keep the flies away from the unrefrigerated sea food

Luang Prabang seemed to be a city built for outsiders to come and have a good time. To feel comfortable. To pick up both souvenirs, and maybe a bit of e. coli.

Luang Prabang is a tourist trap (and that’s OK)

That is to say, Luang Prabang is what we might call a tourist trap.

A tourist trap is a location, attraction, or establishment that lures unsuspecting travelers with the promise of unique experiences, cultural wonders, or “authentic” souvenirs—only to deliver overcrowded chaos, pre-packaged sights, and prices so inflated they require supplemental oxygen.

Tourist traps are recognizable by several key features: laminated menus in six languages, life-size cutouts for photo ops, and hordes of fellow tourists, many of whom may be wearing matching t-shirts that say “I Found Myself in [Insert City].”

Many travelers try to avoid tourist traps.

I don’t. There is a reason all the tourists head to these locations. They actually have a lot to offer. And they can be loads of fun.

And, even in Southeast Asia, you can get really good cheese!

I wouldn’t want to do a trip where I spent the majority of my time in tourists traps, but in controlled doses, they can be great.

Strolling down the main strip in Luang Prabang right around sundown, taking in the pastel-colored crumbling colonial architecture, and then popping into a café to have a pain au chocolat (that some French tourists told me were good enough to be served in Paris) is not a bad way to spend an evening.

Sometimes, a tourist trap isn’t a trap at all—but a cleverly orchestrated oasis, where weary wanderers can bask in a little comfort, gorge on overpriced pastries, and gather the strength to once again head into the "real" world of language barriers, and uncertainty.

So go to Luang Prabang. Because travel can afford all kinds of opportunities and experiences. Some experiences should give you a sense of the local culture and real life. And those experiences are great. Other experiences can be manufactured to give tourists something made just for them.

And that is OK, too.