Happy Daze in Laos

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Luang Prabang was celebrating its 10th anniversary as an UNESCO Heritage sight, primarily due to the hundreds of sparkling temples found in and around the town. We picked up some bikes and went exploring, finding temples of stunning tranquility and exoticness. Crossing the river on a narrow pedestrian bridge, I waved “sabadee!” to locals who never failed to smile and wave back. Orange-robed monks wondered about, head and eyebrows shaved. Hot during the day, cool at night, we pedaled and walked about, meeting for breakfast at a better-than-Starbucks local coffee shop called Joma, eating up the curries and drinking down the Beer Laos. Our group of eight had bonded fast. It’s the first time on my trip that I’ve been in such a large group, and it kind of felt like I could be in eight places at the same time. We decided to all move on together, catching a mini-bus through the nightmare mountain passes towards the backpacker town of Vang Vieng. The journey felt like a giant had taken a straight road and tied it into as many knots as possible, before throwing it to his giant puppy to chew on. The iPod was playing, the puke was flowing, but everyone agreed that taking the normal bus would have been far worse. Apparently, dozens of people lean out the bus window and throw up in a symphony of projectile vomit. Six hours later we arrived in Vang Vieng, a village that overlooks striking mountains and a gorgeous river. At some point in the past, travellers had arrived and decided to hop in a tube and float down the river. This proved so popular, others followed, and soon enough, the small village consisted of guesthouses, “same-same” restaurants (with identical menus and prices, some in Hebrew), TV’s blaring Friends episodes on DVD and chillout bars with “Happy” menus. Apparently, the village was half the size a year ago, and no doubt will be double the size next year. How could it not explode? This is after all, Backpacker Paradise.

Vang Vieng is alarming in a culturally extreme kind of fashion, the way Vegas pokes out of the desert like a glowstick, or Sun City slots out the dry, African bush. Surrounded by traditional rice-paddy villages where fishing continues with old rafts and homemade nets, you have Joey and Chandler arguing with Rachel in “The One with the Yeti.” Every cafÈ was playing Friends, while burnt out traveller couples cuddled in pillow booths, sucking back freshly squeezed mango shakes. I asked for the episode entitled “The One Where The Friends Gets Gunned Down in Central Park” but unfortunately, nobody had it. Crossing a rickety, wonderful wooden bridge, you arrive on an island where you can relax on pillows, watch the sunset over the mountains and swim in the fast-flowing river as people on tubes and long wooden rafts float by. The bars are jamming out Jack Johnson, or CafÈ Del Mar, or Manu Chao, and of course, Bob Marley. Each menu has a “Happy” section, where marijuana, or opium, or magic mushrooms, or a cocktail of everything, are added to fruit shakes, pizza or garlic bread. If your only responsibility is to keep breathing, you can quickly understand why cheap-cheap Vang Vieng has exploded within the world of backpacking. But it’s the tubes that provide the major attraction. In fact, it’s the tubes that brought me to Laos in the first place. In Salvador, I met some English guys who couldn’t stop talking about this place in Laos where you could sit on a rubber tube for hours, floating downriver amidst incredible scenery, swigging ice-cold beers and jumping off swings and bridges along the way. It sounded so good I decided six months ago to come to Laos and check it out. Imagine when I finally hopped on my tube to find the experience even better than they had described. It is physically and emotionally impossible to not enjoy yourself floating on a tranquil river on a glowing, hot blue day.

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