Things to Do in Laos in December

The two-day slow boat down the Mekong sticks in most travelers' memories as the single most vivid thing they do in Laos, and December may be the best month for it. After the monsoon the river runs clear and low, the banks glow green from recent rains while the sky stays dry, and the temperature on deck hovers around 25°C (77°F) with a breeze that makes sitting on wooden benches pleasant instead of the sweat-drenched ordeal it becomes in April. You push off from Huay Xai in the morning, drift through stretches where karst cliffs rise straight from the water like a scroll-painting backdrop, overnight in the river town of Pakbeng, and reach Luang Prabang by late afternoon the next day. The river's scent, earthy, mineral, faintly green, lingers. December's lower water pulls the boat into a narrower channel, closer to the banks, so you catch more detail: fishermen casting nets from wooden pirogues, water buffalo standing chest-deep, children waving from bamboo platforms above the waterline.

Luang Namtha is the launch pad for the Nam Ha National Protected Area, 222,400 ha (549,500 acres) of untouched forest and montane jungle, and December is when the trails come alive. The red earth hardens, rivers shrink to knee-high splashes, and shafts of light slip through the canopy to ignite the tree ferns and dangling epiphytes. Two- and three-day hikes climb between 600, 1,200 m (1,970, 3,940 ft), threading Khmu and Akha villages where you bunk on woven mats in bamboo longhouses and share lam, the day's forest stew of bamboo shoots, river greens, and whatever the hunters bring in. Dawn is crisp enough for misted breath. But by 10 a.m. you're down to one shirt as the trail rises through sun-lit glades. Dry-season birds own the canopy: great hornbills thud overhead and blue-winged pittas flick metallic blue in the understorey.

Thirty kilometres south of Luang Prabang, Kuang Si is the waterfall that broke the internet, and December shows you why. The 60 m (197 ft) cascade spills through a staircase of turquoise limestone pools whose colour looks Photoshopped but is simply calcium carbonate meeting sunlight. Sediment is low, so the blues sharpen, and at 22 °C (72 °F) the water slaps you awake before it feels perfect. Gibbons whoop from the dipterocarp canopy at dawn; a hidden trail curls behind the main drop to the wide limestone lip where the roar fades to a hush. Arrive before 9 a.m. or after 3 p.m. to dodge the tour-bus increase. On your way out, linger at the bear-rescue centre, cool December mornings rouse the Asiatic black bears, sending them climbing and foraging instead of dozing through the heat.

Vang Vieng spent ten years scrubbing off the party grime and rediscovered the landscape that was waiting all along: a rice-paddy valley ring-fenced by karst towers, river caves and spring-fed blue lagoons. December is prime time on the Nam Song: gentle current, lower water that unseals cave mouths, and 26 °C (79 °F) air that lets you paddle for hours. Tham Chang, ten minutes from town, delivers cathedral-size chambers where your torch beam dies before it finds the far wall. Cycle 3 km (1.9 miles) and climb to Tham Phu Kham; inside, a reclining bronze Buddha rests on green-tinged stone, and outside the lagoon is so clear you can count pebbles 3 m (10 ft) down. Tubing still floats along. But December afternoons drift past water buffalo, not booze barges.

Vientiane refuses to shout. It mur is a capital that behaves like a languid country town, and a push-bike at December's 28°C (82°F) is the perfect pace to let it confess its secrets. Roll south along Fa Ngum Road and the Mekong promenade unrolls for 5 km (3.1 miles): dawn tai-chi in Chao Anouvong Park, French shutters flaking paint above Setthathirath Road, and the 1818 cloisters of Wat Si Saket where more than 2,000 ceramic and silver Buddhas stand in hypnotic formation. Pedal north-east and you can be at Patuxai, Laos's concrete nod to the Arc de Triomphe, finished with cement originally donated for an airport runway, then glide on to the golden bulk of Pha That Luang, the national crest, in under 20 minutes. After sunset the riverfront night market ignites: smoke from ping kai, lemongrass-and-fish-sauce chickens, drifts across the road, laap salads detonate with lime and toasted rice powder, and vendors ladle khao piak sen, the milky galangal-scented noodle soup, into bowls big enough to swim in.

Southern Laos lifts abruptly to the Bolaven Plateau, 1,200 m (3,940 ft) above the Mekong, and December is when the coffee cherries turn lipstick-red. Volcanic soil and altitude coax arabica beans that taste of dark chocolate and carry a natural sweetness no sugar can improve. A 200 km (124-mile) loop out of Pakse strings together Tad Fane's twin 120 m (394 ft) falls, permanent mist swirling in the gorge, and the broad, swim-friendly curtain of Tad Yuang where the stone trembles under the water's weight. Daytime highs sit at a crisp 20-24°C (68-75°F) and nights dip to 12°C (54°F), so bring a jacket. In the Laven and Katu villages, bamboo drying beds sag under scarlet cherries and the air carries the popcorn crackle of beans in wood-fired drums. Drive for an hour without seeing another foreign plate and you will understand why this stretch of Southeast Asia still feels like a private discovery.