Follow the river: how to crack the rich secrets of undiscovered Laos

Holding a cylindrical container of sticks, gently shaking it, I feel like my future is in my hands... literally. Here in the dim-lit Pak Ou Caves beside the Mekong River in Laos, hundreds of small Buddha statues watch as I try to jiggle out one of the sticks, each with a unique number that will tell my fortune.

Number 24 falls to the ground. At a nearby rack with small pieces of papers, I take one labelled 24 and someone translates it from Lao into English.

"Oh, this is lucky," he tells me. "It says you will spend less but get more."

I gasp! (Perhaps overly dramatically.) Already the prophecy is coming true, because this is the story of any journey through Laos. Among the lush mountains, along the majestic river, in the villages full of chickens and water buffalo, tourism here feels less developed, yet the experiences seem richer. Still relatively undiscovered and very affordable, it reminds me of exploring its south-east Asian neighbours a generation ago.

The busiest tourism really gets in Laos is in the city of Luang Prabang, about 30 kilometres from the caves. Once a royal capital, Luang Prabang is now full of commoners strolling enchanting rows of pastel-painted shop houses with dark-wood shutters, taking a break at waterside restaurants, and visiting serene temple complexes where golden gables reach for the sky.

Every morning, just before the sun rises behind the surrounding peaks, monks from more than 30 Buddhist temples walk down the streets to collect alms in their bowls, streaks of saffron in the grey pre-dawn. Although a longstanding local tradition, tourists are also welcome to take part. In fact, so many do, some footpaths get roped off to manage overly eager photographers.

"It's a UNESCO town, it's alive and you'll see the rich culture going on," local businesswoman Veomanee Douangdala tells me. "But if you want to do the offering, you should ask the locals what's the right way to do it."

Veomanee runs a craft centre called Ock Pop Tok, her way of trying to protect the local culture. It gives artisans facilities for weaving, paper making and batik drawing, while also offering workshops for visitors, a rewarding hands-on way to learn more about Luang Prabang's heritage. However impressive their appearance, there's only so much you can understand from just looking at the main sights like the Royal Palace, Xieng Thong Temple and Phousi Mountain.

All day, all night, Luang Prabang's heritage surrounds me. Some of the best historic buildings here have been repurposed as wonderful boutique hotels, including the one I'm staying at, The Grand Luang Prabang. An old royal estate with six hectares of gardens, the centrepiece is the former home of the late statesman and national hero Prince Phetsarath, soon to reopen as a museum for guests. But perhaps the main selling point is the view of the Mekong River from both restaurants and from every room.

For centuries, the Mekong has been one of the best (sometimes one of the only) ways to travel through Laos. So, when it's time to leave Luang Prabang, I merge onto this maritime highway. In this case, I'm doing it in style, on board a new boutique boat by Mekong Kingdoms called the Boheme. More than simply transportation, this will be a four-day cruise offering a view into life along the river, where most of the population lives.

"The Mekong River is in our blood," captain Houm Phanh Sihongthong explains. "If there's no Mekong River, there's no Laos."

On the water, fishermen float in their wooden canoes, longtail boats putter-putter from bank to bank, and cargo barges barge their way through it all. At the river's edge, corn grows on small makeshift farms that will be submerged in a few months when the wet season begins, the colourful roofs of temples peek out from behind palms, and wisps of smoke rise from fires next to houses.

The cruise is casually decadent - the 13 large suites decorated with local handwoven textiles, five-course dinners prepared by the onboard chef, a friendly barman serving bespoke cocktails on the outdoor terrace. But it's the stops along the way that are the highlight, often just pulling into the side of the river and walking up a path to visit a village, like the pottery centre of Ban Chan Neua where my attempt to make a teacup results in a wonky ashtray.

From May to September, the Boheme does four-day cruises circling back to Luang Prabang. The rest of the year, it travels all the way between the capital Vientiane and Luang Prabang. Although it's the most common entry point for visitors flying into Laos, Vientiane lacks the energy of Bangkok, the food of Hanoi, or the sightseeing of Phnom Penh. There's enough to fill a day but my recommendation is to spend minimal time here and head south instead.

More than just the lifeblood of Laos, the Mekong even defines the shape of the country, the western border tracing the river's path. Yet as it flows down, the ripples of the tourism industry start to ebb in the small southern towns where, instead of long lines of morning monks, you'll see just marigold moments, no travellers with cameras in sight.

When I want to travel the 25 kilometres from the city of Pakse to a nearby town, for instance, I catch a songthaew (a covered pickup truck used as a share taxi) where the other 12 passengers are women returning home from the market. I sit among piles of green apples, cardboard boxes of eggs, and bags of meat with their juices pooling at the bottom. Baguettes dangle from the roof next to my head, while the ticket seller hangs off the back smoking cigarettes. Sometimes it's nice to be the only foreigner.

According to the country's tourism authority, Laos had about 4 million visitors last year - but 92 per cent of them were from the neighbouring countries of Thailand, Vietnam and China. That means, on average, less than a thousand arrivals a day from elsewhere, and most concentrate on the north. It's no surprise I start to recognise the same travellers bouncing between the highlights of the south, such as at the natural wonder of Kong Lor Cave.

"Turn on here," is the only instruction I get from Lou, as he points to a button on a head torch and then leads me to his thin wooden boat. A local guide at Kong Lor Cave, Lou is taking me along the river that flows through the cavern. What he lacks in English, he makes up for with friendliness. If only his big smile lit up the cave like it lights up his face.

Kong Lor cave stretches for seven kilometres through darkness and we take the boat the whole way, the head torches doing a surprisingly good job at helping us navigate the turns. At two locations, we stop at enormous rock formations and I jump on land to explore - one like a cathedral of stalagmites in a huge underground vault, the other a pathway leading through sculptures created by the slow percolation of millennia. A majestic natural monument.

Days later, about 400 kilometres south, I find myself climbing up a majestic man-made monument - Vat Phou. An ancient temple built more than a thousand years ago by the Khmer empire, it was a precursor to Cambodia's Angkor Wat. The temple complex stretches for about 1.5 kilometres, first a promenade between two man-made lakes, then between a series of stone halls and gates, before finally rising up a mountain along a steep staircase framed by fragrant frangipani trees (the national flower of Laos) to the central sanctuary.

From the village near Vat Phou, by boat then bus then boat again, I reach the southernmost destination of my journey through Laos, the region known as the 4000 Islands, where the Mekong widens so far it starts to feel like the sea - up to 12 kilometres across at some points!

Islands in the stream, that is what they are. And while I'm not convinced there are actually 4000 of them (who would've counted?), they do seem endless, of all different sizes. Only a few of the larger islands are inhabited and when I wander around one of them, Don Khon, I find quiet neighbourhood temples, the ruins of an old French port, and even whizzing ziplines over a dramatic series of waterfalls. But mostly it's just farms or forest.

On the main island of Don Det, waterfront bungalows extend out from the town, almost all aimed at the backpacker crowd, offering simple facilities from about $10 a night. But Don Khon has more upmarket accommodation, including boutique hotels in restored colonial buildings. A bridge connects the two large islands - and the travellers, all here for the same chilled atmosphere away from the cities.

In some ways, the 4000 Islands is a good representation of what is happening with tourism in Laos at the moment. Long a predominantly backpacker destination, it's becoming more popular for other types of travel, but still with a sense of authenticity and cultural connection. People tend not to come in large tour groups or for partying, so you won't find many chain hotels or nightclubs.

What you'll find, as I do on my last evening on the islands, are people relaxing at a rustic wooden restaurant elevated above the riverbank, sipping a Beer Lao as the sun sets, watching a fishing boat gliding through orange ripples as a net is thrown from its bow, nearby islands becoming silhouettes, and distant hills turning into a soft watercolour painting.

And you'll find, as the Lao people do, that the Mekong gets into your blood, too. In a country where you spend less but get more, as the prophecy correctly predicted, just follow the river to discover the riches.

The writer travelled at his own expense but was a guest of Mekong Kingdoms and the Grand Luang Prabang