A Cautionary Tale...

The kayaking was pleasantly relaxing, and apart from one set of rapids, the time was spent gently paddling down the Nam Lin River under mercifully overcast skies. When we stopped for lunch, a few of us  followed our guide, Lee, along the bank to a ten-metre cliff where we jumped into the river below. The relaxed mood was rather spoiled by a bone-crunching two-hour jumbo ride, which left everybody caked with red road-dust, and stupified by the exhaust fumes.

Walking around the capital, Vientaine, looking for a room was exhausting, and only the most expensive accommodation was available in most places. Eventually we found a rough-and-ready room at a reasonable price, and gratefully dropped our bags, which seemed to grow heavier with each step. Later that night we found a nice Lao restaurant serving duck Lap and excellent imported wine. Afterwards we ended up in the adjoining bar where it was easy to forget which country we were in, as we drank Australian Shiraz and listened to American Jazz.

The next day was a write-off, but eventually I roused myself to the simple task of shopping for new shorts and a necklace. On the way back a Tuk-Tuk driver with a chipped tooth offered me some decent-looking weed, and I took a small pinch, despite his insistence that I buy the whole ounce he proffered. We went down to the river for a smoke, and as we climbed back up the bank we were both feeling excessively high. My immediate reaction was to speculate on which particular synthetic chemical had been added to the grass, but it was impossible to tell. Negotiating the busy road was extremely challenging, and crossing to the other side was felt like a major triumph. We decided to head for the guest-house and re-group until the initial wave had passed, but sitting on the bed and staring at the patterns emerging on the wall, I soon realised that it was only building. I decided to stop fighting it and relax, stretching my muscles and massaging the stiffness from my neck. A strange physical pressure was building up wherever I touched, and the sensation passed down through my body towards the ground. Soon I felt like I was giving somebody else a massage, and receiving one in turn. The profound physical dissociation was too uncomfortable so I gave up and lay back on the bed to experience the strange, soporific visions rushing past my closed eyes. Just over an hour after smoking, it was clear that this was a high that wasn't likely to diminish for several hours at least. I went out to buy water after a long-surreal period of mental preparation. I was fine until a policeman crossed the road behind me as I walked into the shop, and I became drenched in paranoia. When the money in my sweating hands began to melt and glow supernaturally under the neon lights it became impossible to distinguish one note from another, and I could only pass over the money in random handfulls, hoping that I'd receive at least the approximately correct change.

After the first intense waves had passed, we went for a wander around town, drinking the occasional beer until the edge had been taken off the unpleasant chemical high. Despite the interesting hallucinations, the dull, emotionally-flat, uncommunicative state imposed by the drug was unpleasantly reminiscent of my reaction to  ketamine. When the intensity had diminished further, we decided to head to a bar to drink our way through. We walked into one place before realsing it was a Lao karaoke bar, and worldlessly turned and retreated into the street. The horror of becoming trapped in a karaoke K-hole was too much to contemplate. We ended up in a Lao ladyboy bar, dancing to terrible, random pop music until the lights went out. Sitting in the pitch-black bar, we decided it was probably an indication that the establishment was closed.

Still way too high to go home, we ended up sitting outside the convenience store, drinking Lane Xang Beer and eating wasabi rice snacks as our appetites re-emerged through the sedative fog of the strange drug we'd taken. Sitting outside a shop, drinking beer and eating sponge cake with a spoon, we met a Spanish family with whom we'd been kayaking the day before. Fortunately we were able to communicate at that stage, but the sense of shame 3was justifiable. Street drinking while off your tits on what feels like an animal tranquiliser is never a good look.

The following day we were heavy and listless, though the depressed mood I had anticipated didn't materialise, mercifully. We visited Wat Si Saket, a beautiful, early-nineteenth century temple in the commercial district. The interior walls of the crumbling cloister contain niches where there are thousands of small Buddhas. There  are also many of the distinctly Lao Buddhas, with their uniquely-expressive Lao faces, and their hands held by their sides, calling for rain.

Later that night we returned to the lovely Lao restaurant where we tried the subtly-flavoured Lao sausage, and a popular Lao dish called Bitter Duck, which wasn't bitter at all, but rich, complex, and really excellent. It was served with a sauce of ground garlic, lemongrass, chili, lime, and fish sauce, which I really must attempt to replicate when I get home. After dinner we had a couple of glasses of wine at the Jazz bar, and said goodbye to the charming wine waiter from Chicago who we'd bumped into every night we were in town.