Once notorious as a debauched riverside party town, Vang Vieng had cleaned up its act in recent years, but is now in the headlines for all the wrong reasons once again.

“Just make sure you push yourself off the end when you reach the bottom of the slide. We had someone die on those rocks down there last week.”
It was 2010, and for the young me – teenaged, inebriated and on my first ever backpacking trip through Southeast Asia – health and safety were far from the top of the agenda.
Nevertheless, I heeded the advice offered by the dreadlocked Australian bartender, and, as I reached the end of the tiled slide, gave myself an almighty push into the air above the Nam Song River, throwing out a warning yell to alert the revellers in the water below of my clumsily impending cannonball.
Vang Vieng, a town of around 25,000 people on the banks of the Nam Song River in central Laos, has for decades been a firm fixture on the so-called “Banana Pancake Trail” – the backpacker path through Southeast Asia named for the go-to breakfast at so many guesthouses and cafes along the route. Once notoriously known as a debauched riverside party town, Vang Vieng had cleaned up its act in recent years, but it is now in the headlines for all the wrong reasons once again, with a number of foreign tourists having died after ingesting drinks laced with methanol.
Vang Vieng became famous as a party destination in the late 1990s for its plentiful backpacker hostels and wooden riverside bars stocked with cheap Beerlao and lao-lao, the local rice whisky often sold with a whole snake or scorpion infusing in the bottle – the intermingling of the venom and the alcohol believed to bestow medicinal benefits to the drinker.
Back then, the iconic mode of tourist transport in Vang Vieng, known simply as “tubing”, involved travellers floating downriver on the inflated inner tube of a tractor tyre, disembarking at the riverside bars to play drinking games – beer pong was a particular favourite – and throwing themselves off ramshackle rope swings and slides overhanging the river. The tubing practice supposedly originated in 1999 with a local farmer, Thanongsi Sorangkoun, who lent the inner tubes to his workers to allow them to unwind on the river. It quickly developed into just as big a fixture on the itinerary of many backpackers as the notorious Full Moon parties of Thailand’s Koh Pha Ngan.
By the time of my visit in the early 2010s, Vang Vieng was a place of loose morals, light policing and Wild West tourism. Besides the riverine activities, the town was famous for its “happy bars” where blissed-out, red-eyed Westerners would sit before untouched plates of food, gazing up at televisions playing endless re-runs of Friends and Family Guy. Sit down in one of these establishments and open the menu, and, alongside the usual backpacker fare of pizzas, noodles, burgers and fried rice, you would find a veritable pharmacopeia: pre-rolled spliffs, mushroom pizzas, mushroom shakes – mushroom everything.
Needless to say, the combination of a shallow river, sharp rocks and unregulated rope swings, combined with the cheap availability of alcohol and psychedelic drugs, proved dangerous. In 2011, the town’s hospital recorded 27 deaths due to drowning or suffering serious trauma against the river’s rocks; that figure did not include patients taken directly to Vientiane, Laos’ capital, which is two hours away by road. The same evening as my adventures on the “death slide”, as it was known locally, I had to help take a fellow tourist to the hospital after she shattered her ankle falling into the river. As a group of us helped her up the riverbank towards the nearest road, an ambulance could reach, we passed through a forest ablaze with fireflies – a reminder that, for all the madness, natural beauty cannot help but intrude in Vang Vieng.