Day one of our Mekong river boat trip from Luang Prabang to the Thai border went fine and passed along nicely. The overnight stay in a lame village called Pak Beng was another matter however. The place is so remote that the power is only on for four hours a day, and I made the perhaps forgivable mistake (the boat had no water and we all went thirsty in the afternoon heat) of buying a bottle of water there.
My brother and I like to say "Mr Brown is at the window" when it's time to go to the toilet. On this occasion Mr Brown came smashing right through the window. At five in the morning my tummy-tum-tum took objection to the bad water and after several torchlight visits to the Gents I decided I might be staying on in my delightful quarters for an extra day. The boat was due to leave at 8 the next morning, and at 7.57am the aforementioned tum decided to reaquaint me with the night before's evening meal.
I don't have any photos of this moment (for some reason), so picture the scene if you will: me sitting on my bed in my underpants facing a depressing 24 hours or more alone in a village with no power (I sacrificed myself for the rest of the gang with an heroic "Don't wait for me"), then 30 seconds later feeling elated and considerably better once I had barfed up last night's pork, rice, gin and tonic.
Fortunately I was 'bag in hand' in preparation for the chunder, so it was quickly on with yesterday's clothes, throw everything into my rucksacks and leg it for the boat. The time was now 8.01am, and my hopes of leaving this pit of hell weren't high. I got some funny looks as I bounded down the stairs with a (now-knotted) bag full of all-sick in my hand. I apologise to whoever emptied the bin that day.
As I waddled down the street in my flip-flops carrying two heavy rucksacks, a bottle of water and a bag full of bread that the kind lady at the filthy hostel gave me, despair started to set in that I would miss the boat. I needn't have worried however, as this is Laos, and so the boat didn't leave until after nine anyway.
Despite feeling 'better' since the 7.57 puke, I felt rough throughout the second day. The toilet on the boat had such a low ceiling that I couldn't even get into a suitable chundering position. After a tediously long day of sipping rehydration fluid and generally feeling like poo, the boat pulled in to the border town so late that the border had shut.
Still, this was no Pak Beng, and so after three chips and some lemonade I was feeling relatively dandy again and slept well in a bamboo hut, despite the electricity being so weak that you had to either have a hot shower in the dark or a cold shower in the light...
We made it safely into Thailand the next morning where we were greeted by an entity: friendly, laughing and joking border guards. This phenomenon seemed like a good omen for a swift recovery, but, alas, I got sick again in Chiang Mai (could have been the three Beer Chang I drank...). At least I had an en-suite bathroom, 24 hour power at full voltage and wattage, and Vicky to bring me supplies; within a couple of days I felt fine, if a few pounds lighter. More on Chiang Mai and beautiful northern Thailand next time.
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