Having landed that morning in Luang Prabang, an almost-mystical city of temples and palaces cradled high in the mountains, I made my way to the night market. Set close to a big bend of the mighty Mekong River, this famous market features hundreds of vendors, a swirl of color and light under red and blue tents. Walking past rows of sellers, you could pick up everything from hand-painted artwork to pop-up postcards and even jewelry made from bombs dropped on the country in the 1960s and 1970s. A sign next to the stall explained the history, encouraging potential customers to “buy back the bombs.” Reaching the end, the clatter and illumination of the night market fading behind me, the street quickly grew quiet, and dark. I debated hopping in the back of a tuk-tuk and making my way to the hotel, but decided to walk a few more blocks, toward …