A Slow Boat's Fast Moments

“The best way to get to Luang Prabang is the Slow Boat. Seriously, you have to do it.”

I’m not entirely sure whom exactly it was that said those infamous words to the girls and I, but we took that advice and ran wild with it.

So with tickets booked, pockets stocked with travel day goodies, and plenty of time before departure, we sauntered down to the boat, handed off our bags, and was presented with our seating options for the next two days: the backseats of station wagons set up like church pews. Sweet. With no assigned seating, and the free-for-all commotion of fellow riders, we sniped the first couple of seats we could and claimed the territory as our own.

We sat and told stories, as traveling friends do, as we watched the rest of our slow boat crew make their way from their guest houses and hostels to the boat. The closer we got to departure, the more we realized that this slow boat was very quickly turning into a human sardine can. “There’s no way all those people are getting seats.” One of my guy friends said, pointing out the non-paned window towards a large lineup of travelers. “You guys must be new.” An Irish stranger piped in “They always sell more tickets than seats. Consider yourselves lucky to have a cushioned arse for today.” We collectively started counting our lucky stars.

Trying not to mind the amount of humans that had made their way onto this wooden raft that was supposed to keep us all afloat for two days, we drank, we sang, we laughed, we snoozed, we wandered around, we heckled strangers and they heckled us, we told stories, we took photos, and we danced. Boy, did we ever dance. “Hey, play this song next!”, “tocar esta canción”, “spielen dieses Lied”, “jouer cette chanson”, and so many other languages were shouted at us, insisting we plug in their iPod next. We were the happiest boat of travelers who were jamming out to some of the world’s happiest tunes.
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We could tell day one was coming to an end when we were all sitting quietly– whether it was in a seat, on the floor, or on the lap of a new friend – watching the sun set behind the scenery that we couldn’t believe we were missing out on this whole time. It was one of those moments where a photo can’t do life justice, but you have to at least try, so you take a handful of snapshots. And whether it be true or not, it was at this moment in time that I, and I’m sure each and every one of my new slow boat family members, genuinely believed that we were the only people in the world.