Shit Happens: Naked farang vs Nam Song in Laos
Imagine this: You're deep in the Laos countryside, far from the comfort of civilization, when your stomach sends out a distress signal—loud, urgent, and non-negotiable. Yesterday’s suspiciously spicy soup is staging a full-blown revolution. If you don’t act now, you’re going to crap your pants. What do you do?
Caption: Laos, 2005 – Visiting remote villages outside Vang Vieng. This photo was taken just before the infamous “Nam Song incident” described in the blog post. Spirits were high, shorts were dry, and disaster hadn’t struck... yet.
Exploring Vang Vieng villages
It all happened in 2005. It was a sun-drenched day in Vang Vieng, the infamous backpacker town best known for tubing down the Nam Song River while questionably sober. I’d rented a scooter and driven 2-3 hours outside the town to explore a remote village. That’s when it hit me—one of my worst travel nightmares: the unmistakable, cold-sweat-inducing feeling that it’s happening.
Disaster part 1: act fast or poop your pants
There was no toilet in sight. No friendly bush, no hole in the ground. And this wasn’t a secluded jungle; I couldn’t just drop my shorts and pray. It was a classic traveler’s conundrum: too public to go wild, too urgent to walk away. I had no time to find a toilet, it was a time bomb set to 50 seconds.Panic set in.
Then I saw it. The river.
It was steep to get down there, and the drop wasn’t exactly forgiving. But I was out of options. Either I’d end up scraped and bruised—or I’d be the guy who pooped himself in Laos. I slid down the slope, arms getting clawed by the underbrush, and landed by the water. Crisis still very much in progress.
Now, if you've ever seen the Nam Song, you’ll know: it may not be as massive as the Mekong, but it’s no gentle stream either. Probably around 50-60 meter wide where I was. It is deep, swift, and totally uncooperative. Attempting to poop in the Nam Song was—let’s be honest—not ideal. But we were past the stage of careful planning. I ditched my shirt and flip-flops, waded in, grabbed onto a sturdy stick for dear life. And with the body in horizontal position in the powerful stream, I pulled off my shorts, and… well, nature took its course.
That’s when disaster part two struck.
Disaster part 2: The naked traveler
My shorts—my beloved last line of dignity—slipped from my grip and took off like a speedboat. The Nam Song had them now. And I was stuck there, naked, clinging to a stick in the middle of the current like some confused water buffalo.
Once the worst was over (from a digestive standpoint), I sprinted—naked—along the riverbank in full panic mode. How was I going to get back without shorts? Was I about to fashion emergency pants out of banana leaves or plastic bags?
Then, a miracle.
Just as I was about to give up, I saw it—my shorts, snagged on a small branch poking out of the water like the literal finger of God. Hallelujah. I pulled them in like a fisherman reeling in the catch of the day.
But the embarrassment wasn’t over yet.
Disaster part 3: The embarrassment
Climbing back up the sandy bank, soaking wet, I looked like I’d survived a failed jungle baptism. As my head crested the top, I saw four feet. Slowly, like a cinematic reveal, my eyes moved upward to meet the faces of two local teenagers. Smiling. Wide-eyed. Clearly, they’d seen the whole show.
“Shit happens!” one of them said, laughing.
And honestly, he wasn’t wrong.
It was at this point he shouted something in the local language, and I heard laughter from the other side of the river. I turned—and there they were: the whole village had gathered to watch the naked tourist struggling in the water. All it lacked was popcorn and 3D glasses to make it a full-blown spectacle.
Thankfully, this all happened before smartphones were common in Laos. Otherwise, there’d probably be a viral video titled “Naked Farang vs Nam Song.”
Disaster part 4: From lots of gas to no gas
This was more of a bonus disaster. Ironically, after suffering from too much gas earlier in the day, I now had none—at least not in the motorbike. It was getting dark, and I was in the middle of nowhere when my scooter suddenly sputtered and died. Out of gas. And then the rain came. Perfect.
I started walking, and after thirty minutes I met Dave from Singapore—also out of gas. Apparently, fuel sellers are rare in these parts. We walked to the nearest village and knocked on a random door.
Caption: Me, in the middle of nowhere in Laos. It’s getting dark, and the rain is pouring down. Perfect timing. It is painful, but at least you feel that you’re alive.
To our surprise, we were welcomed like gods. Food, tea, big smiles. The mother of the house showed me a photo of her daughter—a nurse in Luang Prabang. And single. 'Just saying,' she added with a wink, giving me a playful poke in the side.The father of the house even went out to find petrol for us.
It’s funny how the worst moments—full of frustration and soaked socks—often turn into the best stories. The kind of chaos only travel can serve up with such flair.