Vientiane, Meet Paris

The cities of Laos have managed to adopt the culture of their former European master more completely than anywhere else in the region.

Vietnam's north tries and doesn't quite succeed. Hanoi possesses colonial buildings, a propensity for stately sidewalk vegetation and a love of cafes, it's true; but the manic traffic, the wall-to-wall motos take away from the ambiance in the end. The Old Quarter, too, is a place where Asia lives alone, full shops and stalls running themselves in lanes sometimes big enough only for one full-grown person to pass.

And Saigon? Well. Saigon looks more American than anything.

In Cambodia, local culture drowns out French influence. The Silver Pagoda and the Royal Palace take architectural pride of place in Phnom Penh; the downtown markets lend the haphazard feel of Asia, spilling into the streets. Angkor Wat and the other temples near Siem Reap are a reminder that The Khmers Were Here.

Laotian cities, in comparison, embrace a little more of their colonial past. I look for a guesthouse in Vientiane and walk down a street marked Rue Nokeo Koummane, cross another labelled Rue Sasenthai. Trees, spaced evening down the sidewalk, stretch languidly above, giving the impression of a carefully manicured urban jungle, a green canopy for people in the cafes.

Ah, the cafes. In Luang Prabang and Vientiane, many of them go by French names: Croissant d'Or, Le Banneton to name two. In shaded courtyards, they provide little tables that are tidy and meant for two. They serve coffee, not too thick and bitter as in Vietnam or Cambodia, that approximate and surpass the best European blends; the milk, steamed, comes in a precise, miniature metal carafe. Croissants butter and flake on a just-big-enough plate. Proximity with France is as much presentation as it is the food.

Imitation also comes in one of Vientiane's biggest landmarks, the Patouxai. It's the Laotian Arc de Triomphe. Up Rue Lane Xang in the northeast of town, this version is more top-heavy and has thicker pillars than what I remember of the original on the Champs Elysees, but gets the gist of the idea. It also offers a pleasant view of greater Vientiane from the top.

None of this - seats in the shade, meals of just the right size and presentation and mimickry of French architecture - is to say that Laos does not have its own culture. To the contrary: monks, usually in pairs, stroll up and down in their orange robes; Buddhist temples are everywhere; markets, smaller than in other Asian towns, sell their knick-knacks and roasted meat skewers. This is definitely Asia and not Europe.

It is only to say that towns here seem to hold onto pockets of distinctive Frenchness, which has not been adapted in any way for the local culture.

Even the Laotians get into the act. A man outside Kosilo Books addresses me in soft, effeminate French. The bookstore will re-open later, he lisps.

I turn away, smile and think, Welcome to Vientiane, the Little Paris of Laos.