In the market place, some Striped Hmong women (from the stripes on their sleeves). I vividly remember a group of Hmong in Luang Prabang waiting to cross the road. In the distance, one lone vehicle was slowly moving towards them. They waited until it had passed. Take no chances.

The wats were lovely. I wonder if the young monks are still such heavy smokers. There is no picture of the palace here, or the King, Savang Wattana, except in my memory. There was a festival, and the palace grounds were open to everyone. It was full of people, and I noticed a gentleman standing next to me wearing a polo neck sweater and corduroy trousers, and smoking a cigar. I thought “Who is this? He looks like a country squire.” Then he walked over behind the musicians and the royal family, and sat down on the throne.

Michel loaned me a tripod, and we went to a local opium den. He knew the owner and asked him if I could take photos, without flash, of course. So I took these at time exposures of 7-8 seconds each. I anticipated when the smoker would finish inhaling the smoke, figuring that here would be almost no movement during the period of inhalation. 

These few images are all from the negatives which, for some reason, I did not lose.