Sports Day

Gentle waters. Check. Incredible karst topography. Check. Story about where Thai women keep their ping-pong balls. What?!
In an effort to re-balance my increasingly sedentary travelling lifestyle, today was an action-packed sporting bonanza. First up was an early morning kayaking trip on a nearby river. We arrived at the launch site around ten, the stones of the shallow banks already hot from the sun. After a brief safety demonstration, we slipped our vessels into the slow-moving waters. I paddled along with a cheerful Australian who gleefully recounted tales of hookers in Hanoi, trannies in Thailand, and cunnilingus in Cambodia. Not the kind of conversation that is well-suited to the brisk, uplifting, respectable world of kayaking--especially through such spectacular scenery. Kinda like scoring a gram of speed at the local church. There's a time and place.

This isn't me. Small clue: the kayaker is upright.
By the time the Ozzie began another story with "Let me tell you about a good friend of mine, Prince Albert," I'd had enough and made my excuses. Not only did this soothe my disturbed mind, it gave my body a refreshing workout too as I put several lengths between our kayaks. Maybe that encounter warded me off casual socialising this morning, because I barely spoke to anyone else for the rest of the journey. Since the river was slow, except for a small section of rapids, or rather, a small rapid, the physical exertion of paddling was high and I enjoyed a lonely buzz not unlike that a good gym routine gives. Some guys took on the rapid several times, carrying their kayaks up the rocky banks after they'd plunged downwards. Later downstream there was another stop so anybody who wanted to, could dive elegantly from a high outcrop that jutted over the river--that or bomb.

Not me again. Crucafix poses are against my religion. Instead, I dive-bomb!
On the way back in the truck, being the sole passenger amongst a stack of kayaks, I took a nap. The great thing about daytime naps, expecially after excercise and in unusual places, is the weird, surface-floating dreams that you experience. I remember waking from a dream convinced I was a miner trapped under an avalanche of multi-coloured canoes....it wasn't so far from the truth.

In Vang Vieng, refreshed from the sleep and keen to stay energetic, I soon found myself hitching a ride to a game of football with the locals. Organised sport, along with friends and family, is one of things I've missed most while away, and it felt great as we got closer to the pitch. Few activities give me the same level of anticipation that football does. Even though the pitch was a dustbowl, the sides were uneven, and there was no referee, I still felt the butterflies and the prickly urge to win. Because of school, the game didn't kick-off until twenty minutes before sundown which didn't help matters. Nor did the ongoing gambling, which had to be settled every time a goal was scored, and seemed to involve about forty players. Inadvertently, I'd got myself involved in this by handing over a thousand kip at the beginning, which I'd mistakenly thought was some entry fee for foreigners. It was only when we scored and somebody gave me the money back that I realized this was Laos' version of Saturday afternoon at the bookies. Now, I'm all for a flutter--providing you're betting for your team to win--as it adds an extra frisson to proceedings. What's not so good is settling-up while the game is still going. Can you imagine an Arsenal-Chelsea derby with the players carrying around wads of notes in their pants and couting out bundles every time there's a goal?

Man on!
Not that the football was anything to write home about. From afar the game probably looked more like a riot between two groups of amnesiacs who kept forgetting who was protesting and who was keeping the peace. Apart from an admirable tendency to uphold the law of handball, other small matters such as acknowledging fouls, having one goalkeeper per team, and complicated tactics such as spreading out and passing to a teammate were noticeably absent. It was schoolboy stuff--probably because they were schoolboys and I was a grown man. A friendly tip for picking an outsider at the next world cup. Avoid Laos no matter how long the odds. In the football world, Laos is no sleeping Asian giant. It's more like a weedy child in a long-term coma.

News of Iraq's invasion filled the screens back in town. CNN have taken the lead in Dr. Strangelove-esque pronouncements--one commentator talking about cruise missiles: "The beauty of these weapons is..." You gotta love the free press.