In the tubing Vang Vien (that’s what the t-shirt says).

Contrary to the title and the image of effortlessly drifting from one riverside bar to the next on a giant inflatable tube, I don’t think any of us actually touched a tube throughout our 5 days of ‘tubing’.  The closest we probably came to a floatation device was the tiny bit of trapped air in the bottle of whisky and red bull that we were trying to get across the river.

Tubing is not for the faint hearted.  It certainly shouldn’t be for the inebriated but if you find that you’re sober then chances are that you are somewhere else.  i’ll take you through the general procedure;

Bar 1.

Starting around 2 in the afternoon, this is the warm up bar, somewhere to sink a couple of beers and get started on your first bucket (cheap Laos whisky - smooth and melon!).  It’s also an opportunity to show your form on a not particularly small rope swing.  It’s not always the best idea say if you’ve recently dislocated your arm.  For this reason Chris vows the stay away from the circus skills.  That is until challenged by a girl of the not too bad in a bikini variety.  5 min later and we have a man in need of a lot more medicinal whisky.  This is also the setting for the now infamous double backflip.  Your regular backflips were becoming quite passe, Sam had been pulling them off for days.  However, he cracked under the pressure when a prize was at stake and lost out to another contender.  Now, not that Sam’s competitive but when a second prize was offered for a double backflip he was up quicker that a 13yr old boy whose found his dad’s viagra stash.  Everyone, Sam included, had said that a double was impossible, lunacy, a crime against the very laws of physics themselves!  Sam proved the impossible possible.  possible provided your willing to come out the other side with the space from your ribs to your ankle bruised to the shade of a bordello’s bedding.  Still, you’ve got to admire the amount of effort the guys willing to put into winning a £2.50 bucket of Laos whisky.

Bar 2.

After swimming/floating/fumbling/spluttering your way down stream, this is where most of the serious drinking is done.  It is also, once you’ve sent Chris on a charm offensive, most of the free drinking is done.  Buy 1 get 6 free is the kind of deal I can live with.  This is the place for zip lines (cut my foot on the bottom - Laos injury; tick), being force fed shots, very strange dancing, Jack sparrow in his pants and another Sam backflip - this time losing his camera in the process - not happy - more whisky!!  This is not the place for swimming back upstream to find Paul and the money (note to self).

Bar 3.

Provided you made it across the river, past the Korean Kayak tour and under the plummeting rope swing bodies, Bar 3 is for finding those that you’ve already managed to lose.  It’s where Chris attempts to match his sibling’s backflip exploits but soon resorts to his standard Spiderman repertoire.  For most of us it’s where we contemplate the long stretch of river that leads to the next bar.  It varies from deep and fast to shallow and very very bumpy.  The rocks that don’t leave you resembling Tyson’s training bag can most likely be found in the toilet bowl the next day.  It’s only after 2 days of unnecessary battering that we discover the footpath.

Bar 4.

The Mud Pit.  It’s a pit, it’s full of mud, you go in, you get muddy.  You also probably increase your chances of contracting a very nasty disease given the stench.  That’s about it.  Quickly to the next bar!!

Bar 5.

This is where most of us swap modern language for neanderthal grunting and watch bodies hurtle down a giant water slide whilst trying to keep count of how many resurface.  It’s the setting for drunken volleyball (painfull) and ping pong (Alice trying to play whilst eating again! When that girl hits 40 - Poof!).  Here’s where you’ll find us performing a lovely rendition of 500 miles at the top of our voices whilst gathering scars from a bonfire and where we meet Amy, a charming girl who proceeds to bite everyone whilst preaching the virtues of Chaucer - at least she’s unique, you’ve got to give her that!

Stage 6.

Getting home.  Despite evidence so far to the contrary it is possible to have too many people on a tuk tuk.  You know this has happened when the front wheel is 3ft from the ground.  It is also possible to not realise that you’ve lost the arse section to your shorts (why did no-one tell me?).  Finally, it is inadvisable to commence a tuk surf mid journey.

Once home you tot up the number of cameras, flops and sunglasses lost and compare this to the amount of dignity and self respect still intact.  No-one comes out on top.

After a mega burger (actually bigger than Alex’s head) it’s off to bucket bar for..well, buckets.  This cycle then basically continues for 5 days with the addition in my birthday of the 5 of us (Paul and Alex 1 have headed on at this point) painting ourselves up in tuxedos.  It seemed like a funny idea at the time but as you can see this is now the 2nd most homo-erotic photo I own (Paul still tops the list with Mr. February).  Other departures from the regular schedule that evening included; me getting lost in bamboo bushes (that stuff is tough!), Chris carrying me home (not to be the last time), and Chris trying to stop me destroying a bridge (I hated that bridge!).

We also discovered that Big Chris is not best suited to caving.

Luang Prubang - Bowling, Speedos and AK47’s.

We do get a bit of culture in during our 3 day stay in Luang Prubang.  A fairly impressive hill top temple plays host to golden buddhas and bejeweled serpents allowing us to get all arty farty with the cameras.  We also head out to the local waterfalls where we once again bump into Nigel.  Man, this hippy gets about!  He throughly recommends the falls, telling us they are in his top 5 - I have no idea how many falls he’s seen but top 5 sounds good.  Nigel was right, the falls are impressive.  A turquoise oasis of calm that Sam promptly shatters with a backwards somersault face plant, the first of many to come.  Sam’s inability to defy gravity however is not the most disturbing sight.....

SPEEDOS!

The mere mention of the word sends shivers down my spine and plants a taste of yesterday’s dinner in the back of my throat.  They are clearly as wrong as it can possibly get.  If your best mate wore them you’d disown him.  If it was your brother you’d claim adoption.  What is it with banana hammocks?!  Granted the Indians tend to wear their underpants to the beach but this can be tied to the fact that on a daily basis they earn just enough to pay for a slap in the face.  Where’s the excuse for those who can afford the extra fabric required to cover unsightly arse cheeks and ensure your chorizo is covered not cradled? Where’s the excuse for the tackle tucking phenomenon that seems to be a European tradition (I exclude Britain and cite this as a good reason why we have never fully embraced Europe.  Australia is also guilty of a national speedo obsession but as they are mostly of European descent and all off running iron man comps and wrestling sharks I think my point stands)??? It’s all by choice! Freedom has gone too far! There has to be a line!  Take note people of Europe; you are not life guards, you are not in the olympics, you have no need of streamlining and in the case of many a rotund german; it’s not going to help anyway.

You get the idea. I am no promoter of the pecker pouch.  There’s no need at the best of times but these guys at the waterfall take it to a new level.  Zebra print!? This is the almost attempt at camouflage I have ever witnessed.  For one, there are no zebra in Laos that I am aware of and two, only your crotch will disappear when you stand amongst the herd.  Disturbing for us but pity the poor zebra.  Also, you’re jungle themed janglies are hardly going to blend into the surrounding if your friend in the fluro pink budgie smuggler accompanies you. NO! NO! NO! It’s an offense! Against fashion, common sense, dignity, your circulation, humanity and my eyes! Arrgggh my eyes!!

Anyway, where was I? Luang Prubang. Well, this town is all about the bowling.  When the bars shut there doors and you’ve found a 6 seater tuk to load 20 people onto, you head to the bowling alley to carry on drinking.  Staffed by ex muai thai fighters and the occasional AK47, it’s not surprising that the majority are well behaved. Neither is it suprising that we’re not.  Alex 2 tries to break the sound barrier with each bowl whilst Big Chris attempts to make each ball skim the ceiling, succeeding in a strike nearly every time.  I adopt a cat who does a passable parrot impression as I bowl, Alice sees how many crisps will fit in her unusually capacious mouth and Hannah entertains with a game of wobbleface (I have photos but she would kill me).  Everyone else actually manages a reasonable game of bowling.

Also in LP; I have my beard trimmed by a ladyboy with shoulders that wouldn’t look out of place in an episode of Dynasty, a novel version of the drugs don’t work is performed on a roof top (Chris I believe has a recording) and I was given a cheese sandwich with chocolate spread in place of the requested garlic. It tasted weird but I ate it anyway.

Down the Mekong

With my dignity barely intact from my woeful wooing, Alex, Paul and myself head off on what promises to be a long journey into Laos.  It’s a journey in need of amusing distractions and this comes in the form of a tall and very vacant Swede who seems to get lost in each and every 7/11 we stop at.  Looking through the store’s glass fronting, it’s akin to watching a goldfish with altziemers.

After the lengthy bus journey we get a few hours sleep in a dorm and are woken early by a merry man by the name of Ting Tong (this translates as “crazy”).  This aptly named gentleman was apparently a top prize muai thai fighter until he took too many magic mushrooms.  It’s a pity the magic mushroom never caught on as a performance enhancer.  I would be much more interested in watching the olympics had it done so.

Crazy guides us to the border crossing which involves a small boat across the river followed by utter chaos.  The Laos border is basically 3 guys behind 2 windows being bombarded by a couple of hundred tourists.  Fun it is not.  Once the formalities are over we are set to get the 2 day slow boat down river.  Then comes the talk.  We are informed with theatrical standing of the perils of the voyage.  These range from theft to the rape of your women.  When no-one seems deterred he turns to death by drowning or violence, maybe both.  I am quite surprised that river serpents spewing forth balls of fire aren’t mentioned.  Of course the list of devastating perils can be avoided by taking the much safer and faster luxury coach for only 300 baht extra.  His not unimpressive performance is rewarded by a dozen or so people joining the coach and lining his pockets.  We thought decide to brave the danger, so armed with only our razor sharp instinct and a cool box full of rum we follow 2 hot Swedish chicks onto the boat.

It’s amazing how quickly you make friends with a make shift bar in tow.  By the time we hit the overnight stop we have grown from a trio to a staggering (literally off the boat and drunkenly up the hill) 13.  This motley crew now includes myself (chief rum consumer), Paul (chief rum pourer), Alex 1 (Melbourne mind meddler), Alex 2 (undercover ozzy), Chris & Sam (brothers at war), Big Chris (big), Hannah (bad taste in glasses), Abbie (“Seefru”), Alice (in wonderment), Laura (the only person aiming to see the cultural highlights of Laos) and Lisa & Jennifer (blondes 1&2).  I introduce them in their entirety as i will travel with some for the next 2 weeks and some for the next 2 months.

One part of the horror story told at the border does come true as the locals storm the boat in an effort to shuttle our bags away up the hill.  Most likely to demand a porter’s fee once you reclaim your property at the top of the hill but I’m sure 1 or 2 go walkies.  the guy that grabs my bag simply gets told to put it down.  Sam and Big Chris take a more direct approach; grabbing the top handle of each backpack as the would be porters attempt to jump ashore.  This effectively leaves them hanging mid air.  It’s like watching a couple of kids playing with helplessly upturned tortoises.

The next day continues as the first but with 2 boats worth of people now crammed onto 1 boat.  Given that this is our only option, we find our square foot on the floor and open the bar.  1 or 2 rums (6 hrs) later we arrive in Luang Prubang.

Pai and the Crash

Yes, I mainly went to see if they had pie in Pai and no they don’t.  I’m not disappointed though - I love Pai (oh yes I do). Upon arrival we’re immediately greeted by Alex (captain extrovert) and Kris (canadian mounty) from the trek.  An hour later and up turns Johnny from the trek and what’s this? He’s got a lady in tow. We all thought Johnny was pitched in the other camp?! Ah..turns out D’s a lady for the ladies.  Well, she should enjoy Pai.  We’re still undecided about Johnny.

So we set up for a cheap 5 days in bamboo huts with beers from 7/11 and guitar sessions galore for either the entertainment or annoyance of our neighbours across the river.  Paul prints of a load of music, mainly with high pitch vocals just to make it that much more amusing.  We get through some sing along classics and attempt to break the volume record for Bon Jovi’s Dead or Alive.

Then comes the decision to rent out scooters.  I’m well up for this, after all, I’ve been dodging buffalo in the himalaya.  All goes well and we make it to one of the big waterfalls where I take possibly the most homo-erotic photo since the calenders of the early 90’s started featuring firemen and hoses.  Ladies and gentlemen, Paul is Mr. February.

After our Parisian quota is filled we head up into the hills, the tarmac now replaced by dirt and rocks.  Now going up the road was fine - just put a bit of welly on the gas.  Coming down is a little different - gravity can be a bitch!  Having failed to notice my front tyre’s resemblance to Duncan Goodhue’s shiny scalp I find myself staring up at the sky from a ditch with my less than trusty steed a couple of metres behind me.  I’ve successfully performed a full somersault over the handlebars finished off with an impressive head bounce. Textbook.  It’s worth noting that the ridiculously oversized helmet I’d been forced to wear due to my ridiculously oversized melon that had amused all so much, did in fact save me from serious damage.  So remember kids; be safe (and don’t do crack.  Unrelated but important.  Especially don’t do crack on a moped etc etc).

So with the injury for Thailand taken care of we proceed onwards to a civalised night out in Pai.  We find Nigel playing songs of womanly woe in a roadside bar and soon after lose Paul.  Johnny and I enlist the the assistance of a seemingly sane man with a moped to begin the search and that’s where the fun begins.  Paul spotted us zooming off as he exited the 7/11 but we were oblivious so a bar to bar goosechase was on.  Obviously we had to have a drink in each of the bars we searched and if I’m honest we forgot about the search pretty quickly.  We were soon to be found surfing tables to a heavy metal band with an audience of 4.  So far, so typical evening.  Then our driver decides to freak Johnny out by screaming that we should all die together and proclaiming that he’s aiming for a high speed crash to do the job.  Johnny shits his pants which seems reasonable.  I decide he’s bluffing and cover his eyes.  We stay upright and alive - see, bluffing.

Subsequent day are spent nipping about on mopeds, consuming calorific condensed milk iced teas (sooooooo good!), bathing in hot springs, skinny dipping in freezing waterfalls (should have done that in the hot spring really) and strenuously lazing about.  Nights are spent with beers in hand stumbling across pig farms on route to the Retox bar.  I also fall deeply in lust with a french tattoo artist only to have my attempts to serenade her rudely interrupted by an American who just loves Guns’n’Roses (do I look like I care?) and a thai boy who is fascinated by the guitar.  I think he was a boy, thai men are pretty small but you don’t like to ask as they’re also often able to break every bone in your body.  Regardless, he shoots...he misses.

Thailand Take 1

Holy Cow! It’s the future! There’s cars with all their doors on, I can’t see any livestock, the roads are...well; roads.  Hang on, is that a working sewage system!? Right, where are the robots and hover taxis?

So, Bangkok, what’s the plan? A bit of culture, see the palace, visit the buddhas, check out a temple or two.  I meet a fellow brit at the hostel, we see one buddha and head to the pub. I figure I can turn my pics of the standing buddha on their side and say I’ve seen the lying buddha.  No problem.

A couple of days soaking up the sun by the pool, contemplating buying pig faces and avoiding all sightseeing and it’s time to head north to Chang Mai. Myself and Paul catch the overnight bus, a damn sight better than the buses in India, there’s even a stewardess!  There is of course the compulsory musically surreal dvd and we learn that the seats are not quite equipped to accommodate two large western gentlemen sitting side by side.  Paul travels with one butt cheek proudly in the aisle - comfy.

The second thing we learn upon arrival in Chang Mai is that 4am seems to be happy hour for Gary Glitter lookalikes accompanied by lovely ladies with shoulder widths more suited to the NFL.  This is quite surprising to Paul who hadn’t looked at the guidebook and thought  we were heading to a small fishing village.

A couple of days checking the town out and getting shot of the mountain man beard then off for some more trekking - no, seriously!  This trek though is a tad easier than the himalayas and marketed towards the more casual hiker.  A fact that is confirmed by the fellow trekker who has included a practical 3 pairs of stilettos in her backpack!

It’s a maximum of 3hrs walking each day and we’re shown the way by a crazed alcoholic who punctuates each utterance with a pirate cackle.  He introduces us to the local moonshine which has a similar effect on my head as the village kids have on Paul’s as they practice their Muai Thai.

There’s a bit of Elephant trekking (I pity the poor hefelump that ended up with me and Paul on his back!). Some swimming in non flattering sub zero waterfalls and an uncoordinated attempt at white water rafting. The latter becomes very amusing when 2 of our rafts get stuck together at the top of a small waterfall.  Imagine if you will 8 grown men flailing about in 2 rubber rafts like e-number fueled toddlers let loose on a bouncy castle.

We end the trip on bamboo rafts (which are very easy to tip when someone’s attempting to punt from the front) and head back to Chang Mai for some beers with the group.  It is shortly after dinner and part way into my second beer tower that I am struck by the most disturbingly violent bout of food poisoning ever ( and after India I now what I’m talking about) from bloody western food! It’s the first time I’ve been off the spicy stuiff since I arrived - not happy!!  I bid a polite and very hasty farewell and powerwalk back to the hostel for a quick overdose of imodium.  That done I get bored so head out again, this time meeting up with a french girl we had been playing guitar with when we first arrived.  I end up spending the night jamming with the yooff of Chang Mai whilst they party away the wee hours around a bbq they’ve rigged up between the mopeds on the street. Random but fun.

We ended up having a few jams in Chang Mai as Paul bought himself a small guitar which next to his frame conjured images of George Thornby. Jamming is how we met Nigel, a great guitarist and storyteller who is also possibly the hippiest hippy I have ever met (again India has provided good comparison material). With his grey beard and matching pony tail always complemented by a tie-dye t-shirt, he lives in California, smokes his homegrown, protests against anything the government may have in mind and gets himself into trouble with overly complicated women (I know they’re all complicated but Nigel takes it to a new level!) Nigel is a living stereotype and reveling in it. Legend!