Vang Vieng is a recently cropped-up tourist haven in central Laos, a few hours outside the capital city of Vientiane. We'd heard many horrible things about this place before we went-- tales of rampant drug use (tsk tsk!) and wildly unsafe river adventures, such as rope swings and cliff jumping with rocky landing sites. Vang Vieng's most popular attraction was known simply as "The Slide of Death."
We read some recent articles that documented frequent tourist fatalities: 2011 experienced a height of 26 deaths. Even worse, we'd heard that the only form of culture found in Vang Vieng was reruns of "Friends" from the 1990s, which were played in all the bars and restaurants.
Obviously, we had to go.
We found the reality of Vang Vieng somewhat more...survivable. Some of the bars played Family Guy too! But seriously, the river activities were quite navigable with a little old fashioned good judgment (but not too much...), and they were incredibly fun. The Slide of Death is no more. We did lose Justin in Vang Vieng...but it was to a busride to catch his plane, not to a drug-addled death jump into the river.
Tubing in Vang Vieng is similar to tubing in a lazy river found in Harper's Ferry, West Virginia or Wayne's World in Louisiana, but there is nothing lazy about it is 1000 time better than tubing in the USA. The rushing current flows over submerged rocks and not-so-submereged trees; when passing each bar, tubers are bombarded with a bevy of bottle-and-rope grappling hooks, with eager employees waiting to reel them in. This was incredibly annoying for most bars, until it became absolutely essential when we actually wanted to stop in for a tipple.
We found a bar that had almost everything we were looking for: a safeish looking rope swing, buckets of mixed drinks (literal plastic beach buckets), spraypaint and stencils for body decoration, and a ragged homemade basketball hoop. The one thing this bar lacked was a single other paying customer. But we had faith. We hoped that our worst fear would not materialize: flotillas of cool, sexy people taking one look at the three losers on the wood platform and then deciding to pass us by in favor of a more popular bar down the river.
We served as freelance consultants to the bar's marketing department by throwing our own bottle/rope grappling hooks and yelling, "This bar is cool! They have a rope swing!" Somehow, our efforts paid dividends and within a few minutes, the bar was packed with attractive, happy travelers.
We made friends with a tour group and continued down the river with them as the sun began to set. When we eventually parted ways after a great day's fun on the river, we made plans to meet up later that evening at the local hot spot, the aptly named Bucket Bar, where we were eager to nourish the friendships we'd made that day.
As night fell, however, the demonic party atmosphere of this little town began to overwhelm us, and we descended into madness faster than a drunken Brit going under the fire limbo pole. The river monsters had emerged from the deep, and we managed to repulse our newfound friends. We offened them in the following manners: defending use of American nuclear power in World War Two, executing a "Rumanian Leglock" on one of our new travelmates, and using our typical foul and insensitive American language. That's what you get from hanging out with your high school friends when you're 26.
The once jaunty tour group abandonned us, averting their eyes. We devoured cheese steaks and banana-Nutella crepes and skulked off into the night.
We read some recent articles that documented frequent tourist fatalities: 2011 experienced a height of 26 deaths. Even worse, we'd heard that the only form of culture found in Vang Vieng was reruns of "Friends" from the 1990s, which were played in all the bars and restaurants.
Obviously, we had to go.
We found the reality of Vang Vieng somewhat more...survivable. Some of the bars played Family Guy too! But seriously, the river activities were quite navigable with a little old fashioned good judgment (but not too much...), and they were incredibly fun. The Slide of Death is no more. We did lose Justin in Vang Vieng...but it was to a busride to catch his plane, not to a drug-addled death jump into the river.
Tubing in Vang Vieng is similar to tubing in a lazy river found in Harper's Ferry, West Virginia or Wayne's World in Louisiana, but there is nothing lazy about it is 1000 time better than tubing in the USA. The rushing current flows over submerged rocks and not-so-submereged trees; when passing each bar, tubers are bombarded with a bevy of bottle-and-rope grappling hooks, with eager employees waiting to reel them in. This was incredibly annoying for most bars, until it became absolutely essential when we actually wanted to stop in for a tipple.
We found a bar that had almost everything we were looking for: a safeish looking rope swing, buckets of mixed drinks (literal plastic beach buckets), spraypaint and stencils for body decoration, and a ragged homemade basketball hoop. The one thing this bar lacked was a single other paying customer. But we had faith. We hoped that our worst fear would not materialize: flotillas of cool, sexy people taking one look at the three losers on the wood platform and then deciding to pass us by in favor of a more popular bar down the river.
We served as freelance consultants to the bar's marketing department by throwing our own bottle/rope grappling hooks and yelling, "This bar is cool! They have a rope swing!" Somehow, our efforts paid dividends and within a few minutes, the bar was packed with attractive, happy travelers.
We made friends with a tour group and continued down the river with them as the sun began to set. When we eventually parted ways after a great day's fun on the river, we made plans to meet up later that evening at the local hot spot, the aptly named Bucket Bar, where we were eager to nourish the friendships we'd made that day.
As night fell, however, the demonic party atmosphere of this little town began to overwhelm us, and we descended into madness faster than a drunken Brit going under the fire limbo pole. The river monsters had emerged from the deep, and we managed to repulse our newfound friends. We offened them in the following manners: defending use of American nuclear power in World War Two, executing a "Rumanian Leglock" on one of our new travelmates, and using our typical foul and insensitive American language. That's what you get from hanging out with your high school friends when you're 26.
The once jaunty tour group abandonned us, averting their eyes. We devoured cheese steaks and banana-Nutella crepes and skulked off into the night.
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