Nong Khai is exactly the kind of town where you can turn up with every intention of spending one or two nights there, seeing what it’s all about before moving on, and accidentally spending several weeks there instead. Barely noticing the time passing as you watch the sunset over the Mekong each evening, eating and drinking your way through each day.
I didn’t stay quite that long, but what was meant to be a 1-2 night stay did become 4, and I only really left when I did out of shame for just how obscenely drunk I’d got on my last night (more on that later).
The kind of funny thing about it looking back, is that I did next to nothing during my time in Nong Khai. I didn’t bother with the quirky sculpture park that seemed to be the main attraction, nor did I venture up to any of the higher viewpoints outside of town for some good photo ops of the Mekong.
I did amble through the small market a short walk from my guesthouse, enjoying the weird modern contradiction of orange robed monks texting as they walked around the stalls and perused other electronic goods.
I took a brief detour into the real world, walking a few kilometres into the more modern, urban town centre to buy some new toiletries from a giant Big C Supermarket.
Mostly though, I sat in the guesthouses riverside outdoor restaurant, ate baguettes and noodles and fried rice, drank a few beers, relaxed, and hung out with the eclectic mix of expats and long term travellers that also spent their days there.
Some had arrived in Nong Khai on their travels months, even years ago, and simply never left. Others just found it a good place to stop and break up constant travel for a while, and would move on after a month or two.
They were probably the most interesting group of people I came across during this trip. Though I didn’t grow close with any of them like I had in Langkawi, the discussions around the big table by the river were never boring.
There was an American couple I found slightly off. The guy was at least a decade younger than the woman, and while they were lovely, something just didn’t sit right about them. You know when you meet someone and nothing is ostensibly wrong with them, but there is something you just can’t quite put your finger on? That.
There was a Canadian bloke who had spent years living in various parts of Asia, most recently Nepal, and could speak something like 19 languages at least conversationally, most of them fluently. I was immensely impressed by this guy, in awe of his linguistic talents and the places he’d lived. If I could’ve chosen, I’d have ditched the rest of the group and spent most of my time just talking with him.
There was a French guy, the only other early to mid 20’s backpacker I can remember being there. He was good fun but going a little too overboard with the stereotypical French arrogance, and determined to prove his worth as a shoestring traveller more than anyone else I met on the road. I never thought I’d encounter someone quite so proud of their dumpster diving prowess. He was travelling with his family, but staying in less glamorous accommodation and determined to have a much different, more authentic experience to the comfortable one sought by his parents. They were still playing for his flights and other big expenses, of course.
There were a few youngish expats (maybe late 20’s/early 30’s) that would hang around in the evenings as well. Most were English teachers, and it was them I hold responsible for introducing me to that evil Thai poison - Sangsom whisky.
Most days in Nong Khai followed the same pattern. Wake up mid morning, have coffee and breakfast down by the river, then spend the afternoon strolling around town doing very little before returning to the same riverside spot for sunset beers, losing the night in conversation and free flowing drinks.
Every day I’d tell the Americans (I now recall that they were working at the guesthouse, probably in exchange for a free room) that I’d be checking out the next morning to head to Laos, only to change my mind and stay another night.
I remember one evening getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, churning my way through beers as I listened to Australia’s final World Cup qualifier on the radio. I celebrated Josh Kennedy’s winner as much as I could without scaring those around me, and wondered if I might be the only Socceroos fan following the game from alongside the Mekong. Maybe there was another backpacker sitting in a small town in Cambodia doing the same as me.
On what turned out to be my final day, a few of the expats were sitting around in the afternoon and invited me to join them for a night out later on. I told them to give me an address, and I’d meet them there.
About an hour later I was still sitting by the river when they were on their way out, so they suggested I leave with them then and join them for pre-drinks at a friends’ house rather than meeting back up with them later. I had nothing better to do, and drinks at someone's house sounded like a rare and welcome opportunity while on the road.
I caught a ride on one of their motorbikes, and within 5 minutes we were there. We sat on the steps outside the front door of the house and the host produced 2 huge bottles of Sangsom, a few bottles of coke, glasses, and some ice.
We started off at a decent pace, not necking the stuff but hardly wasting any time either. They discussed their work weeks and compared schools, while I asked them questions about English teaching and expat life, curios and keen to explore the possibility or giving it a go myself.
Within little more than an hour the 5 of us had made light work of the first two bottles, and our host picked up some more from a family run store at the end of the street.
This was just the pre-drinks, and we were pretty hammered before it was even dark outside.
At around 8 o’clock or so, we walked from this guys house down to the bar where I had initially agreed to meet them. Most of the other guesthouse regulars were there, as well as some other expats they knew and some local friends.
I switched to beer and slowed down a bit, but truth be told the damage was already done unless I switched to water or went for a lie down.
I played pretty much everyone in the bar on the pool table (still in a reasonable enough state to win every game), mingled, and I’m pretty sure at some point got back on the Sangsom after a bit of reckless encouragement from the group I started the night with.
Mostly though, my memories of the latter part of that night are hazy at best. Non-existent if we’re being more honest.
I have a photo taken on my camera at about 2:30 in the morning, of 3 girls crossing a street alongside me. The image is as blurry as my own vision must have been, so there’s no way of actually recognising any of them and piecing the end of the night together much more.
I woke up the next morning with by far and away the worst hangover I had on the whole trip. Combine the next 3 worst hangovers from that whole year and they’d still probably fall short. My head was throbbing, throat sore, and there were vomit stains on my bed sheet and pillows from where I’d not moved fast enough to the toilet at some stage overnight. Grim.
I tried in vain to remove some of the stains, and searched the room desperately for some water to drink. I was in such a bad way, I felt dizzy after moving too fast and had to sit back down for a few minutes. I didn’t fancy facing up to everyone in that state, and decided there and then that it was time to leave for Laos. I quickly changed, deciding I probably couldn’t hold myself upright for long enough to shower, then threw everything into my backpack and stumbled down to the front desk to check out.
The female half of the American couple, seemingly unaware of my condition, joked how she and the other long termers were sure I’d stay on another day again, and I mustered up a pathetic half smile in response. Anything more probably would have made me vomit or pass out. I was too embarrassed to tell them about how I’d left the room, and left wracked with guilt for being such a filthy scumbag backpacker.
Shuffling up the footpath to the mainroad, I found the nearest 7-11 for coffee and about 3 bottles of gatorade, before getting myself into a tuk tuk to the bridge that would take me over the Mekong and into Laos.