The government of Laos is actively promoting 'sustainable, environmentally friendly and culturally sensitive tourism.'  To this end it encourages tourists to go trekking and rafting, to enjoy the beauty of the unspoiled natural environment, and to visit ethnic villages to see how the minority peoples of Laos live.    

We were in a small town in southern Laos called Tadlo.  It's about a two hour local (slow) bus ride east of Pakse, up on the Bolevan plateau, where most of Laos' coffee is grown.  A small river runs through Tadlo.  There are some nice waterfalls and pools.  It's a great area for trekking, and there are many ethnic villages nearby.

Little Tadlo is thick with tourists, and the impacts of tourism are everywhere evident. Many of the locals seem already jaded with the tourist trade, and the village area is littered with discarded plastic water bottles.  But one of the most disturbing impacts of tourism is on the children, and particularly the children from the 'ethnic villages' – the poorest of the children of Tadlo. 

These ragged little urchins spend most of their days not at school, but fishing and collecting snails from the river, or using long bamboo poles to knock crickets from the trees.  They eat the crickets live or drop them into bottles and take them home for dinner.

When the kids spot a 'falang' (western tourist) they run over with their hands out.  There's no 'sabaydee' or 'hello,' and often not even so much as a smile.  Just an onslaught of demands: 'pen!' 'food!' 'bon-bon!' 'balloon!'  They grab at purses and packs, boldly opening zippers and pawing inside. 

Swimming in the river or pools is awkward: someone must guard the bags constantly.  Sitting and sunbathing is no easier – swarms of children surround the 'falangs,' persistently begging until the 'falangs' give up and head back to their guesthouse.

For their part, the kids of Tadlo have come to associate 'falangs' with handouts.  And 'falangs,' whether from generosity or guilt, too often find something in those multi-zippered bags to give the kids.  This feeds their expectations, if not their bellies.  It's a vicious circle, and one of the most unfortunate impacts of tourism in developing countries.

The Tadlo Lodge, overlooking the falls, offers the most upscale accommodation in Tadlo.  The lodge has a couple of elephants it uses to take visitors for 'treks' through the 'jungle.'  These are billed as wonderful ways to see the unspoiled natural environment and the nearby ethnic villages.  We decided to give it a go.

During the day, the elephants hang out on a little hill near the lodge.  The semi-treed site is littered with construction materials, including plastic pipes and a pile of old boards with nails sticking out of them.   When we were there we saw no sign of any forage – leaves or grasses – for the elephants, and no trough of drinking water.  But the big concrete water supply tank for the lodge is located on the top of the elephant's hill, and one corner of it is uncovered.  We watched as one of the elephants lifted her trunk up and over the eight foot high wall of the tank to get herself a drink.  Not the best arrangement for elephants or humans, but at least the beasts had water.

We pre-booked our ride and went to the lodge the next day at 10 am.  The mahout was summoned.  It looked like he'd been sleeping off the effects of too much lao lao whisky the night before.  He didn't smile or greet us, just indicated with a grunt and a wave that we should climb up the ladder to the mounting platform so we could get on the elephant.

He brought the elephant over to the platform .  The elephant lifted a foreleg and the mahout used this to climb aboard.  He motioned for us to get on.  Stepping first on the elephant's neck, we climbed into the howdah – a wicker basket and wood affair strapped on to the elephant's back.  The mahout put a cushion on the elephant's neck just in front of us, and sat down with his feet dangling behind the elephant's ears.  He controlled the elephant by kicking its ears – kick both ears to get the beast going, and kick one ear to get it to turn in the opposite direction to the ear you kick. 

No sooner had we started down the little hill than the mahout dropped his head towards his chest, closed his eyes, and fell into a state of semi-hibernation.  He stayed that way for pretty much the entire ride, rousing himself just enough to kick the elephant's ears when he felt it hesitating or trying to turn around and head for home.  The elephant was no keener to go on this trek than the mahout was.

The elephant moved at glacial speed, the very epitome of the infamous 'laid back' Lao.  We could have walked twice or three times as fast, and by less than half-way through our ride would have preferred to do so, but had no way of getting off.  We felt sorry for the elephant, and wondered if it was tired and laclustre because it wasn't getting enough to eat.  By rights, elephants ought to be eating almost constantly all day.  This elephant appeared to be getting nothing but a few bananas.

We lumbered, tediously slowly, through the 'jungle.'  Disappointingly there wasn't one area of 'jungle' that hadn't been drastically altered by man.  To begin with we saw a number of barren garden plots, freshly burned over (to kill weed seeds?).  Then we passed through scrub lands where trees had been hacked, felled and left to rot where they lay, interspersed with large areas that had been logged and burned.   It was a scarred and desolate landscape.

We passed through one 'ethnic village.'  No one was wearing ethnic clothing.  There were no 'ethnic' hand-made goods for sale.  There was no sign of anything that would differentiate this 'ethnic village' from any other dirt poor village in Southeast Asia.  A disorganized conglomeration of rude bamboo huts on stilts with thatch rooves covered in places with blue plastic tarps.  Goats, pigs, dogs, chickens and children wandering listlessly about the dirt compound or lying in the shade underneath the huts. 

The village was unkempt and untidy, with plastic, wood, metal, paper and organic garbage scattered liberally under and around the houses.  A mother and baby lay sleeping on an old pile of wood under one hut.  A woman hung ragged strips of laundry on the rickety railing of another.  But an electric line swung from hut to hut, and outside most of them stood a rusting, but undoubtedly serviceable, satellite dish.  Very few people in Lao can read, but tv is ubiquitous – mostly cartoons and dreadful soaps and poorly dubbed movies.

As we sauntered through the melee I wondered what we and other 'falangs' are getting out of our visits to these ethnic villages?  Gawking in amazement at people who live in such a state of poverty and privation?  Romanticizing about their simple, primitive, 'natural' lifestyle?  Feeling our heartstrings tugged by ragged dirty children who have so little opportunity for any better life?  Feeling thankful that this is not where and how we live?

And what are these ethnic villagers getting out of this tourist voyeurism?  How do visits by trekking tourists enhance their well-being, feed their bellies, contribute to the sustainability of their communities?   In a few other ethnic villages we've visited in other parts of Lao the villagers were trying to sell hand-crafts, drinks and snacks to visiting 'falangs.'   They weren't having much success.  We've been told there are some other ethnic villages where things are different – the villagers are deriving more benefit from tourism.  We hope that this is so.

Too often it seems that the ethnics and the elephants are being used to line the pockets of those who really benefit from tourism: promoters, hotel owners, guides and the Lao government.  It may be ecotourism; but it's also, and perhaps more essentially, exploitation.

We got back to the lodge, dismounted onto the platform, and climbed down the stairs.  We looked back to see the mahout already lying down, apparently exhausted, on a bench on the platform.  The elephant, still wearing its howdah, had sauntered off in search of a few bananas, and maybe a trunkful of water from the lodge's supply tank.