I groggily awoke to the usual sound of barking dogs, hawking spits and low-tech construction work. It was 9am and, while my mind very much wanted to return to the deep abyss, my stomach was putting a very strong case for actually being that place. As all men are driven by their appetites, so I was forced to throw on my bearskin, pick up my club and head out in search of breakfast. A bowl of noodles later and I was peering into the various tour and travel companies lining the streets in search of the river-based activities for which Vang Vieng is famous. Way back in Hu¬e, Vietnam I had met Kate from Leicestershire who had recommended river-tubing in Vang Vieng as one of her favourite experiences whilst travelling. I’d spotted a kayaking trip to Vientiane (again avoiding the buses!) which had piqued my interest but had seen no sign of tractor inner tubes and grinning travellers in swimsuits with waterproof bags. Eventually, I was directed to the shop of the main man who, no doubt, pays healthily for the privilege of running the tubing ‘concession’ in this backpacker haven. That only one shop hires the rings and waterproof divebags required for this simple day’s amusement, is highly suspicious and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if backhanders and menacing enforcers are the shadowy backdrop to this amusing past-time. Still, all this theorizing comes well after the fact and, at this point, all I was interested in was getting a tube, meeting a group of like-minded buddies and getting battered on Beer Laos on the river. I raced back to my hotel, changed into swimmers and my favourite wife-beater vest and took a few essentials such as camera and wallet in a plastic bag. When I returned to the shop, I saw a tuk-tuk moving off under a heavy load of inner tubes and a bevy of attractive looking lasses. Cursing my lack of timing, I sat down impatiently to wait for the next group of revellers. This turned into twenty minutes of not a single person signing up to tube, which had me silently cursing myself even more. Of course, as ever fair winds had blown me on the best of all possible courses. Suddenly out of nowhere a posse of English-speakers descended upon the shopfront, full of excitement and up for a good time. In my our tuk-tuk on the way down to the river, I got chatting to Steve and Sam, rugby fans from Kent, Chris and Alice from Bristol, Dan from Edinburgh and Kevin and Adine from Northern Ireland. Instantly, I felt myself clicking with them, despite their previous acquaintance. Far from wanting to hang out in there own crowd these guys were warm and generous with their company and happily welcomed me into the fold. In the tuk-tuk behind were a bunch of Munster men who were also to become an indispensable part of one of the funniest days I’ve ever experienced in my life.
Things started off innocuously enough…the predictable mounting mishaps at the inception point of our ‘epic’ journey leading to shocking all-over intimacy with the cold river-water for one or two members of our party…a bottle of Glenmorangie being whipped out before the first beers were even quaffed (honest, Dad! It was for an excellent cause!)…tales of the previous night’s adventures (it seems I wasn’t the only one wandering around town at 3.30am!). All of this had us in high spirits – not to mention our discovery of the first ‘bar’ on the river bank. The bartenders would reach into the current with there long bamboo poles and pull willing punters into the bank. Here we could hook our toes under the bamboo landing stage and receive, in our tubes, freshly cracked longnecks of Laos beer or other alcoholic beverages, according to our desires. We were all so profoundly overcome with the delightful civility of this state of affairs that we vowed to take the only right and proper course of action: To get well and truly sizzled and to enjoy ourselves as much as humanly possible. Needless to say, you needed to be there to appreciate just how funny this day was. A few beers, fine weather, good company and the magic ingredient: water went on to make this quite literally the most hilarious day of my life. I could waste words trying to describe why Irish Andy’s unfortunate mounting mishap made us all laugh quite so hard…maybe it was the Lady-of-the-Lake like quality of his beer-holding hand breaking the surface, beer intact, while the hand’s owner languished below the waterline….maybe it was the countless fruitless attempts to haul himself out of the water whilst surrounded by an extra 4ft of rubber waistline…maybe it was purely the force and durability of the gales of laughter that overcame me and Mad Irish Dave as we floated, helplessly downstream, in serious danger of busting a gut. Most would fail to understand why jumping in the river with a pair of 3 week old sunglasses on your head and losing them is funny…but it was. All I know is that, 5 hours later, as we hauled our soaked, shivering forms from the river in the gloomy dusk we were all agreed that it was just the funniest day ever. Later that evening, at a succession of meals with Swedish girls (the ones from the departing tuk-tuk earlier in the tale), British buddies and Irish lads we all complained of the pain emanating from our over-used stomach muscles. The last time I can recall laughing for so long and so hard was when being tickled near-to-death by my merciless aunts as a poor, defenceless boy of 7. The ultimate reaction then had been to burst into tears and to beg them to cease their torture…this time I had been purely at the mercy of my own perceptions and the antics of my companions. Unable to stem the flow of mirth, I’m pretty sure I came close to giving myself a hernia…probably just as well I didn’t…we’d probably all have laughed even harder! ;-)
I retired reasonably early with promises to undertake the adventure again the following day and, after only a few pages of Homer, I was soon in the land of Nod.
The following day dawned unpromisingly cold and grey and I soon decided that, after my recent illness, a cold day on the water was probably the least favourable option for enjoying myself. There was also the nagging feeling that the heady heights of the previous day would be difficult to match. I was still keen to tube one more time and put back my plans for travelling to Vientiane for one more day. This suited me more so because it would mean that I would spend less than 12 hours in the city, which, given my previous experience with modern capitals was likely to be a good thing. Instead of hitting the river, I curled up in front of a DVD player and widescreen TV to watch, for me, an extremely topical film: Troy. It was interesting seeing how the characters differed from those of my Homer-inspired imagination and there was the inevitable deviation from the book to produce blockbuster status but, on the whole, I enjoyed it and further augmented my opinion of Brad Pitt as an awesome actor.
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