Lint Liberation

In Buddhism, there is a sacred period of restraint called “Buddhist Lint”. For three months, monks and practitioners refrain from unnecessary consumption of the world. No alcohol. No sex. A time when the 44 precepts of Buddhism remain untampered.

Somber Ignition

An Image of a young Lao kid lighting a dragon raft just moments before releasing it into the Mekong. This is a moment of release for the kid. You can see reflection and intention in the kids thought.

I hadn’t realized just how holy and sacred this religion was until I arrived in Luang Prabang via the slow boat from Thailand—just three days before the Boun Ork Phansa festival. A festival that marks the end of this sacred Buddhist Lent.

Laos may not have as dense a Buddhist population as its kin, Thailand. However, I believe the Laotians here take their religion, their culture, and their discipline even more seriously. In the days leading up to the festival, you can feel the energy of the city slowly rising. Then, on the morning of Ork Phansa, the transformation is complete.

Looms of Light

Young Lao Ladies carrying their Bouquets “Phasat Phueng” Toward the Mekong. The Phasat Phueng is a decorative offering to the Mekong made of Banana Leaves, Marigolds, and candles that eventually get lit ablaze and set among the river. They are wearing traditional Lao Loom Wear. A flawless work of art… All of it.

Stepping out into the streets of Luang Prabang that morning felt like stepping into a new world.

Orange flowers wrapped in banana leaves filled the hands of every local. Dragon floats flooded the streets as children worked diligently to make them even more beautiful. The temples echoed with the synchronized pounding of drums—a deep, primal rhythm that reverberated through the city.

Constant Smiles from Locals.

You can’t help but to smile back to. Energy is Infectious

Traditional Lao Wear

Gratitude filled the air. The Laotians had just endured three months of beautiful discipline, and now, they were ready to celebrate. Families and friends gathered, drinking together, their laughter punctuated by distant cheers—“Tum Tum!”—as another glass of BeerLao was raised and emptied.

Sunset came, and thousands gathered on the main street of this ancient city. Local kids, dressed in traditional Lao loom wear, pushed fiery floats through a parade of smiles toward the Mekong River. I began the evening with my good friends Payton and Nil—two incredible women who would move mountains in my heart over the next month. But eventually, I left them, camera in hand, and set off alone.

The deeper into the night I wandered, the livelier the city became. It took me nearly an hour to make my way through the parade, the town growing boozier with every passing minute.

And then, I saw it.

Rhythmic Release

A Young Lao Monk Chanting during the Festival. I felt it to represent releasing the past, and inviting a new future.

I rounded a corner, and the Mekong lay before me, lit on fire beneath a starlit sky. My heart damn near fell out of my chest. It looked like a message from the gods themselves—floating infernos carried by the current, sending prayers and wishes into the unknown.

Eager to get closer to the action, I downed the last of my BeerLao, bought one of the flower and banana leaf offerings, and made my way to the riverbank to set it aflame and release it into the water. My face was stretched into a grin, my eyes damn near spilling over with emotion.

At the float launch, locals were relighting and racing their fiery dragon rafts down the Mekong. The energy was electric. But as I moved to get closer, a line of policemen held me back. Tourists weren’t allowed beyond this point.

That wasn’t going to stop me.

This was the moment I seen where they were lighting and launching the rafts into the Mekong. As I looked down upon the madness. I just wanted to be in it.

I backed off, scanned the area, and found my way around. About 50 meters upstream, I scaled down a dirt and rock-ridden cliff to the riverbank. Looking up, I could see the crowd—the police still holding them back. But I was on the other side now. Where I wasn’t supposed to be.

For the next hour, I lit and launched floats with local kids, drank BeerLao with their parents, and soaked in every second. At one point, I stripped down to my skivvies and waded into the Mekong to help free a raft caught on a metal rod. The water was ice-cold, rattling my bones, but I didn’t care. I was fully immersed. Literally and figuratively.

Just when I thought the night had peaked, two Laotians approached me. They pointed to a bamboo raft floating on jugs and motioned for me to join them.

I didn’t hesitate.

Within minutes, we were drifting in the middle of the Mekong as the burning floats passed around us. They were so close we could feel the heat radiating off them. The night sky was alive. Fireworks above, lanterns floating higher, flames reflecting off the water below. Suddenly I seen myself, now a participant. Fleeting from observation.

And then, I look to my left and the eldest Lao on the raft pulled out a fat doobie of some good Lao flower.

We smoked it under the stars, crouched in a perfect Asian squat on a bamboo raft that was barely floating, with the river ablaze around us. It felt like a rite of passage.

I have never felt so primal, so raw, so alive.

This wasn’t just a festival. This was something ancient. Something bigger than all of us. And I was in the thick of it skin crawling, heart thumping, existence elevated tenfold.

That night, the Mekong burned.

And so did I.