Before Laos, Markus Peschke was a German civil servant — a career that left him not just unfulfilled, but one in which he saw no future. Years of earlier travel through Southeast Asia, India, and Nepal, paired with an inwardly Buddhist outlook, had already shaped how he saw the world. On his first visit to Luang Prabang in 1996, he recognized real potential in a town centre that had just been named a UNESCO World Heritage Site. With only 40,000 Deutschmarks — roughly $20,000 — he opened Indochina Spirit as a trial: his first restaurant, housed in the historic rosewood building that is now home to Restaurant Gaspard. What began as a short experiment turned into a decision to stay, and from there, things simply took their course.
From there, Markus Peschke went on to found, one by one, several of the region's most respected travel and conservation ventures, always guided by the same conviction: that the true wealth of Laos lies not in luxury, but in its nature, its people, and its authenticity.
Today, he actively runs only Château Orientale and Hideaway-Laos, together with the Sacred Valley — where 25 years of experience finally come together. Every other project in the chronicle below has since been passed on to a trusted successor — Markus Peschke holds no ownership, role, or involvement in how these ventures are operated or presented today.
Sustainable luxury — in harmony with nature, culture, and responsibility.
Some of the longest-serving people who helped make Hideaway-Laos and Château Orientale Resort what they are today.
If you call, book, or ask anything at Château Orientale, you're probably talking to Nangfah. Since 2012.
I met Nangfah in Thailand, where she worked as a trained accountant — I first hired her to audit the books at Elephant Village, making sure everything added up and nothing was being wasted. From there, she moved with me to MandaLao as my assistant. When Château Orientale opened its doors, there was only one person I wanted running it: her.
Today, Nangfah is effectively the General Manager on the ground. Every booking — rooms, tours — comes through her first. She decides which guide takes which tour on which day, coordinates the kitchen for trail lunches, often cooks herself, and manages both the kitchen and housekeeping teams. She handles the books, the tax filings, and — since her English is excellent — often the front desk too. If Château Orientale runs smoothly, it's because Nangfah makes sure it does.
Gardener, night watchman, handyman, and — when I need it most — my anchor.
Bai has worked with me since we broke ground on Château Orientale, hired originally to care for the resort's tropical gardens — the kind of work that demands attention every single day, not just when it's convenient. Over the years his role quietly expanded: he handles repairs around the property, watches over it at night, and has become someone I genuinely lean on.
Bai was born and raised right here in Ban Xieng Lom, 62 years ago. He knows everyone in the village, and he's told me countless stories of how life here used to be. As a young man, he roamed the hills and forests around what is now the Sacred Valley — he remembers a jungle far richer in wildlife than what remains today, and every time he describes it, I find myself imagining it right alongside him.
He belongs to an older generation — rooted, modest, honest, unspoiled by the things that complicate so much these days. Whenever the scale of the Sacred Valley project feels overwhelming, Bai's quiet enthusiasm for it is one of the things that keeps me steady.
She's been in my kitchens since before some of our guests were born.
Getgaeu joined me in 2005, as a very young woman just starting out — her very first job was in the kitchen of Lao Spirit Resort, the year it opened. From there, she followed the journey with me — first to Elephant Village, then to MandaLao Elephant Conservation, and finally here, to Château Orientale.
Four kitchens, four different businesses, over twenty years — and through all of it, the same person standing at the stove. Getgaeu is a genuinely talented cook, and something of a character: sharp-tongued, dryly funny, entirely herself. Like Bai, she was born and raised right here in Ban Xieng Lom — one more thread tying this place back to the village it grew out of.
Guide, and living proof of how far a journey can go.
Phao is 42 and belongs to the Khmu people. He was born and raised in a Khmu village at the far upper reaches of the Nam Khan River, over 1,000 metres up — three days from Luang Prabang, reachable only by boat and on trekking trails. It's a place so remote that, until around 2005, raw opium was still used as currency there instead of money.
At age 8, a family member took him in in Vientiane, and for the first time Phao had the chance to go to school. He's worked in tourism since 2010, and joined us in 2018, right after Château Orientale opened. Ever since, he's been a steady, trusted presence — leading our guests by e-bike, on foot, by kayak, or alongside our elephants through the jungle around Luang Prabang.
He knows the peaks by name.
Po Un was hired in early 2024 as the Sacred Valley's ranger and safety guard — maintaining the trails and, above all, protecting the valley from poaching, fire, and grazing livestock.
I first met him more than ten years ago, back when I was still gathering information about the valley itself. On my early trips out there, I kept running into him — he owns land in the neighbouring valley, so in a way, we've been neighbours for over a decade. Po Un is Khmu, and he knows this land better than almost anyone. He can name every peak, read tracks most people wouldn't even notice, and understands the local wildlife in a way that comes only from a lifetime spent watching it. He's also the one who organizes our annual ceremonies in the valley.
He's almost 60 now, and the Sacred Valley couldn't ask for a better guardian.
They're joined by a wider team of guides, kitchen staff, and caretakers who make every stay possible — some newer, all just as dedicated.
Filmed in 2001, this 30-minute documentary follows Markus on a demanding overland journey through northern Laos: by mountain bike from Luang Prabang to the remote river town of Muang Khua, then back downstream on the Nam Ou by rafting boat — with a stop in the sleepy village of Muang Ngoi — before returning to Luang Prabang. Originally produced in German for ARD television, the film was later sold to a Thai broadcaster and re-dubbed in Thai. The soundtrack has changed, but that's beside the point: what matters is the footage itself — a rare, unrepeatable record of a Laos that, in many places along this route, no longer exists.
Watch on YouTube →I made my first visit to the valley 25 years ago — on a trekking expedition, after hearing about a cave deep in the karst forest. The valley was completely isolated back then, though already marked by agriculture.
Years later, destruction began all around: a road was built past the previously untouched valley — not through it, but close enough to seal its fate. When I then learned that a businessman wanted to blast the beautiful limestone cliffs for cement production, I knew I had to act.
I did everything I could to buy and protect the valley — a step that, honestly, brought me to the brink of financial ruin. But the result was worth it: what is known today as the Sacred Valley Conservation Area is living proof that tourism, conservation, and culture can exist in harmony.
Eco-tourism is full of promises. We'd rather show you where we actually stand. Every project behind Hideaway-Laos looked close to utopian when it started. The Sacred Valley is the newest, and by far the most ambitious. Here's what came before it, and what we expect it to become.
A Track Record of Pioneering Impact
Each of these started in a place tourism hadn't reached yet, without outside support, against timing that rarely felt right. They all found their footing — and left a mark on this region's tourism far bigger than the businesses themselves.
What We're Building Now: The Sacred Valley. Restoring a landscape that had already been plundered — not just protecting what's left, but making it genuinely worth visiting — from the far outer edge of a region, entirely without institutional support, is the most ambitious version of this yet. It hasn't been easy: the pandemic, and now renewed global instability, have slowed tourism here more than once and tested our resolve more than once. But early stages are also, in our experience, the most exciting to witness. Guests visiting now are seeing this project at its rawest — before it's finished, while it's still becoming what it will be.
The Sacred Valley — Protection in Progress. 23 hectares purchased and actively protected since 2021 — but the reserve's reach goes further. Those hectares safeguard access to over 50 hectares of surrounding karst forest and limestone cliffs — a habitat for countless species found nowhere else, and the headwaters of the Huaei Sae spring, which the valley's forest cover helps keep clean as it feeds toward the Nam Khan. What this stopped: the planned blasting of the limestone cliffs for cement production, and further slash-and-burn expansion into the valley. A full-time ranger now guards it year-round against poaching, fire, and grazing livestock.
We don't have a certified carbon audit for the Sacred Valley — that kind of measurement is expensive and out of reach for a project our size. But we can offer a conservative, honestly-labeled estimate based on published research.
Published studies on tropical forest clearing estimate emissions of roughly 70–100 tonnes of CO2 per hectare when forest is cut and burned. Applied to the 50+ hectares this reserve keeps out of slash-and-burn rotation, that puts the avoided emissions in the range of 3,500–5,000 tonnes of CO2 — and rising further as the previously cleared sections continue to regenerate and actively draw carbon back down.
This is an estimate, not a measurement — we'd rather tell you it's rough than dress it up as more precise than it is.
Elephants — Building Our Herd, the Right Way. Ethical elephant welfare has been part of this founder's work since 2001 — through Elephant Village's on-site hospital and MandaLao's no-riding model. That commitment continues here: we're building our elephant herd carefully, prioritizing animals rescued from logging over rapid growth for its own sake. Quality of care comes before number of encounters.
We won't claim the Sacred Valley is a finished success story — it isn't, not yet. But this much we can say for certain: this land will not be slash-and-burned, logged, or hunted while we're here. What we're building on top of that protection — the trails, the experiences, the reason to visit — is still underway, one season at a time. And if others copy what works, we'll call that a win.
Protecting the Sacred Valley is an ongoing effort, not a finished project. Your contribution goes directly toward:
A short video from Markus on what your contribution protects — and why this work is never really finished.
Watch on YouTube →
Scan with your banking app to donate in USD.
Scan with your banking app to donate in Lao Kip.
Bank: Banque Pour Le Commerce Extérieur Lao Public
Bank Address: Phou Vao Road, Luang Prabang, Lao PDR
Account Name: Mr Markus Peschke
Account Number (USD): 050120100095015001
SWIFT Code: COEBLALA
Please include “Sacred Valley Conservation Fund” as your payment reference — and add “Elephant Fund” if you’d like your donation directed specifically toward elephant care.
Questions? Contact Us →If you leave with only photographs, we have failed.
If you leave with a deeper respect for nature and local culture, we have succeeded.