Pizza, Laos, & Love

There comes a point in every weary traveler’s life when the taste of home becomes irresistible. For me, that moment came three weeks into my wat-hopping, train-riding adventure across Southeast Asia. The taste of something saucy and delightfully sinful got the better of me and I couldn’t resist the urge any long. I needed, no, I craved the wholly unholy in the land of sticky rice and spring rolls; pizza.

Unfortunately, as I would soon find out, pizza pitfalls in this part of the world are ubiquitous. So I did what any respectable traveler would do, I asked the locals; where do you get the best pizza? The answer was unanimous. Pizza Phan Luang is somewhat of pizza legend around these parts. But it’s not your typical pizza shop. You can’t order delivery or pop on by if you’re in the “neighborhood.” Getting to Pizza Phan is an adventure, and it’s not for the faint of heart.

Constructed by local monks in the dry season, the footbridge is as rickety and daunting as it looks. When the river is high (June-November) and the bridge washes away, one must take a small boat or raft to make the crossing.

When I reached the summit and arrived at an unpaved dirt road, I began to experience another sensation that every traveler comes across at one point or another; fear. With no one in sight, I continued to amble slowly down the dirt road. The peace and serenity I experienced walking across the bridge quickly vanished and were replaced with thoughts like ‘where am I’ and ‘this pizza better be worth it.’
So I went a little further when I spotted a small white sign that read Emerson Language School. OK, this looks promising. Maybe. I made a left and turned down a small alley. And there it was, the holy grail of pizza in the backyard of language school in Luang Prabang, Laos.
With only a few candlelit tables, tiki torches and Italian opera playing overhead, Pizza Phan is more reminiscent of a secluded Laotian luau than a backyard pizza parlor.

It was a beautiful night, and Pizza Phan was among the most memorable experiences of my time in South East Asia. On my last night in town, I made the same trek across the bridge, up the mountain and down the deserted street. This time, I ordered two pies to go and brought them back to the staff at my hotel. It made their night, and that’s really the power of pizza; it unifies us, it’s a common language and something that everyone can enjoy, no matter where you are in the world.