Sabaidee, pi mai (hello and happy bloody new year)

So this one time I went to Laos, and it was my birthday. I went to join a waterfight, and that I did. Finding out that Dan and Kate were crossing paths there at the same time was just a little too much for me, knowing I was in Hanoi, 1 hour by jet, or 2.15 by rickety turboprop puddlejumper away, depending on your preference/luck. When I found out they were there i started looking into flights. Google Lao airlines and you won't find as much about how to fly to Laos as you will about how shitty the airline's safety record is. I wanted to know about flight prices, not crash rates.

"Sometimes a Lao Airlines flight is the only way to get where you want to go in the time you have. But given the airline's bad reputation for safety, what do you do? How bad is it really?
It's probably not as bad as you think. "

Thanks third google result. You make me feel safe inside. Anyway I made it. I landed in a place called Luang Prabang, so excited about life that I made it there before Dan or Kate. Some facts about Laos: The alphabet is unintelligible, it's Khmer, lots of squiggles, like Hindi, upside down with no line. The people are super friendly and don't push you AT ALL compared to the Viets. Sorry Viets, it's true, you guys are pushy although curious.
It costs Canadians 42 US to enter the country, and literally everyone else 35. Why?
The new year is celebrated in April, precisely when we were there, which is why we were there.

I didn't know what to do with myself, so after I sorted out a hotel which had just opened, and so was AMAZING inside, for like 18 bucks a night, which is a shitload in Laos. I went down the street and was introduced to the fruit shake. COuntless stands cut up fruit combinations and put them in a cup. You pick the one you like for about 85 cents, they blend it up with ice and coconut milk and some sugar, and bob's your uncle. Since I'm a lunch box I would walk for three minutes at a liesurely pace and then turn on my heel, go back to the stand and order another one. The first time I did this I also bought a piece of chicken, literally on a stick, and walked through the humid night sipping a fruit shake and ripping at chicken on a stick literally laughing, literally, at the fact that this all cost less than 3 bucks. I was so happy.

Needless to say the powers of coincidence will always deliver when relied upon, so I ran into Dan the next morning just walking around. That night the same happened and I snuck up on kate in a crowd of several hundred while she was obliviously ordering a fruit shake. Our crew had been assembled. The next day while the water fights were getting rolling (started with little kids and water guns, and the occasional old lady ambushing us with a cup of water, later escalated to a full out war with ambishes happening from truckfulls of people doing drivebys) we noticed many of the locals had shirts on that identified them as teams. We split up in creative camp spirit, and when we reassembled Kate and her friend Bianca had sorted out white t shirts (the brand name was PORN, Asia, go figure) and Dan and I were cutting out stencils of the canadian flag and our slogan (my dad can beat up your dad). We bought some purple spraypaint and went to work, while Bianca did the southern cross for her shirt (she's an Aussie). We created quite a spectacle, locals and tourists alike stopped to watch us and guess what we were doing, and their faces lit up as we peeled the stencils away and they understood. We donned our shirts and joined the fray. We were kind of wary that the fight was a big excuse to douse westerners with water, spray them with dye, smudge them with paint, or antique them with flower in the face, but once we got into it we realised why. All we wanted to do was nail the westerners. What follows are some accounts of epic kills.
Idiot european tourist walking bone dry through the busiest waterfight street on the river banks of the Mekong. Beer in one hand, lit cigarette in the other. Dan and Kate run in, douse him with small buckets from both directions, focused specifically on his face and his cigarette, which turned out to be a black stick of soggy ash after. I'm giggling thinking about it.

Doe-eyed guy and his girlfriend walking down the main parade with BIG backpack on back and small in front, clearly haven't found a hostel yet. Guy is walking through shitstorm of a water fight but has his face buried in a Lonely Planet. Serious? If only the book was up to date enough it would have said "Duck". Kate runs in with bucket, guy is oblivious till the last second. Drenched: priceless.
Big white american dad walking down the main strip with family, kind of strutting. I borrow rice cooker pot from local and casually walk to opposite curb so I'm facing Kate because this joke is just between us. With rice pot concealed I walk directly across his path, without looking at him, looking at kate the whole time and my arm flies up like a catapult. I cannot describe the sound only to say that the moment I heard it I recognized it as the sound of every molecule from that bucket hitting him directly in the face. I keep walking without breaking stride or facial expression while I secretly enjoy the peals of laughter coming from his wife and daughter. Once I get to the other curb I look back and they're still dying, even the guy is laughing.
Our favourite move was to take the big black bucket (this was a hit with locals) and when someone splashed us, catch the splash in the bucket and then just gently go up to them and pour it down their neck.
[Look at that last shot I yoinked from Dan's facebook. It's Kate and Bianca. I love it because even during the picture you can see that little brown hand reaching in to spread flour all over their faces. Thanks Lao people for being such kind hosts. ]
I could go on forever, but suffice it to say there was two days of this before we headed to the most insane town I've ever seen, Vang Vieng, for my birthday. At this point we busted out the big black bucket, which it seemed like a good idea to bring on the 7 hour van ride, and we filled it with ice. Then we poured in 4 bottles of locally brewed moonshine (Lao Lao: yikes), 5 redbull (asian redbull: yikes) and some sprite or something, who cares. We put in 7 straws and gave people sips everywhere we went, but it didn't help. They made me drink these two mammoth Beerlao before hand, and fastforward to a dark drunken alley somewhere in VangVieng later that night and there I was, wondering why my friends forsook me. Turns out it was me that left them to go puke, but I barely remember that. I did puke after I beat them home though, which happened because they were out looking for me. Then I barfed again when I woke up, which has NEVER HAPPENED. Thanks Lao Lao, thanks 40 degree heat. The next day was the perfect day to watch three medical evacs from a river flanked by giant rickety bamboo structures holding way too many dancing drunks, and swings like 50 feet high launching people into a shallow river. Trance music and rude remarks written on people's chests and back in permanent marker set the scene for this debauchery, which made me forget I was hungover, because it was too loud for hangovers and too hot for religion.
VangVieng made Hanoi feel like a safe little cottage town. It's nice to be back here. Yesterday I started teaching english, but who cares about that?