Things to Do in Laos in July

The 60 m (197 ft) main cascade at Kuang Si runs at roughly three times its dry-season volume in July, and the sound alone, a low, continuous roar that vibrates in your chest, tells you this is a different waterfall than the one in the postcards. The famous turquoise pools below shift to a deeper jade-green as sediment increases. But they remain swimmable in the lower tiers when rain hasn't been too heavy. The real July advantage is the trail system above the main falls. A muddy but manageable path climbs through monsoon forest for about 1.5 km (0.9 miles) to the source pools at the top, where you'll likely be completely alone, the few tourists who do visit in July rarely go past the main viewing platform. The Asiatic black bear rescue center at the entrance is active year-round and worth 30 minutes. Plan to arrive by 9 AM before any afternoon storms roll in, and wear shoes with actual grip, flip-flops on wet limestone is how people get carried out.

Luang Prabang is a UNESCO World Heritage town of 34 temples packed into a peninsula where the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers meet, and July strips away the tourist veneer to show you what it looks like when the town belongs to its residents again. The tak bat, the morning alms-giving ceremony, begins around 5:30 AM along Sakkaline Road, when lines of monks emerge from temple gates into air that smells like wet frangipani and charcoal from kitchen fires. In dry season, rows of tourists with telephoto lenses often outnumber the monks. In July, you might watch from a quiet doorway with two or three locals. Wat Xieng Thong, the most architecturally significant temple in the country, sits at the tip of the peninsula where the rivers converge, its sweeping roof lines and mosaic tree-of-life on the rear wall deserve an hour of slow looking, not the 10-minute rush most visitors give it. The rain-slicked temple grounds, empty of crowds, reflecting grey sky off golden stupas, this is Luang Prabang at its most photogenic, counterintuitive as that sounds.

Vang Vieng in July is Vang Vieng with the volume turned up. The Nam Song river, which in dry season is a gentle, shallow ribbon good for lazy tubing, swells into a proper whitewater river with Class II-III rapids that make guided kayaking exciting. The limestone karst mountains on either side, sheer walls rising 200-300 m (656-984 ft) straight from the valley floor, disappear into low cloud and mist in a way that looks like a Chinese ink painting come to life. You paddle through it rather than just looking at it. The water is warm, around 25°C (77°F), and capsizing is not a disaster, just a laugh. That said, July is precisely the month when unguided river activities become dangerous, the current is strong enough that tubing operators frequently shut down, and swimming in the river is inadvisable without a life jacket. Stick with licensed kayaking outfitters who know the daily water levels and have proper safety equipment. The morning is your window: rivers tend to be calmer before afternoon rains swell them further.

The Bolaven Plateau in southern Laos sits at around 1,000-1,300 m (3,280-4,265 ft) elevation, which in July means temperatures 8-10°C (14-18°F) cooler than the sweltering lowlands, a genuine relief that makes hiking pleasant rather than punishing. The plateau is studded with waterfalls, and July turns every one of them into something worth stopping for. Tad Fane, the tallest in Laos at 120 m (394 ft), drops as parallel streams into a jungle gorge so deep the spray never reaches you at the viewpoint, you just hear the bass rumble and watch the mist rise. Tad Yuang, a wider curtain-style fall surrounded by coffee plants, is swimmable at the base if the current is not too strong. The coffee connection is real, Lao arabica and robusta grow across the plateau, and July is mid-growing season when the plants are lush and flowering. Walking through a small-holder coffee farm with the farmer explaining the process, picking a ripe cherry and tasting the sweet mucilage around the bean, then drinking a cup brewed from their own roast on a wooden porch while rain hammers the tin roof, that is a specifically Lao experience you will not replicate elsewhere.

Laos food is the quiet sibling of Thai cuisine, less internationally famous, more assertively funky, and built on a foundation of sticky rice, fermented fish paste called padek, and a charcoal-grilled smokiness that gets into everything. July is an ideal month for cooking classes because the wet season floods the morning markets with ingredients that simply are not available in the dry months: fresh bamboo shoots with a clean, vegetal crunch. Wild mushrooms foraged from the forests around the Mekong. Bundles of dill and sawtooth coriander still damp with rain. A proper class starts at Talat Sao or the Khua Din morning market in Vientiane, where the instructor navigates the maze of vendors selling padek from ceramic jars, mountains of bird's-eye chilies, and banana-leaf packets of fermented pork sausage. You learn to pound a jeow mak len, a roasted tomato and chili dipping sauce, in a clay mortar, make laap with hand-minced pork and toasted rice powder that adds a nutty crunch, and cook or lam, a thick stew with lemongrass, galangal, and the bitter-medicinal herb called sa khan that gives Lao cooking its distinctive edge. This is a perfect rainy afternoon activity, you are indoors, surrounded by the smell of charcoal and herbs, eating what you have made while monsoon rain pounds the roof.

Nong Khiaw is a pocket-sized town strung along the Nam Ou river in northern Laos, hemmed by sheer limestone walls that in July disappear under cloud and drip with jungle green. This is trekking for hikers who like their panoramas hard-won and their boots caked in mud. The signature climb is the Pha Daeng viewpoint, a punishing 1-2 hour ascent gaining roughly 400 m (1,312 ft) on a July trail that alternates between slick red clay and knotted tree roots. The reward is a 360-degree sweep of the Nam Ou valley swimming in mist, karst spires jutting through like islands in a white sea. On clear mornings, and July does deliver them, usually before 10 AM, the light is pure gold. Village treks from Nong Khiaw to Khmu and Hmong hamlets in the hills give an unfiltered look at rural Lao life: bamboo stilt houses, kids chasing chickens, rice thudded in wooden mortars. Leeches are part of the July deal, harmless yet unnerving the first time one clamps onto an ankle. Tuck trousers into socks and pack salt or a lighter and you'll cope just fine.