With the sun on their faces and courage in their hearts they lofted machetes and headed into the virgin rainforest like latter day Dr Livingstones. The entire trekking group consisted of a Thai little old lady guide, 4 colonials (2 septics and 2 aussies) our heros and another son of fair Albion.
Of course with exploring to be done the 3 Brits quickly went into proper British Imperial mode and with a pot of pink paint and brushes led the march into the wild unknown.
At this stage readers of Chapter 16 may have an inkling of the travails facing Biscuit Boy.
Having literally hiked for several minutes up hill and down dale Sir Ranuph had a proper bead on and the cry went up of "nurse, the screens".
Fortunately after a few more minutes they located the waterfall the track led to (hang on what's this about a track - ed).
The trekkers paddled into (in Hoots' case slipped and fell into) a pool halfway down the mighty cataract to cool off before heading off deeper into the woods, well higher actually, about 300 steps higher and by this stage he was leaking at an alarming rate. Fortunately at the top of the staircase was a truck to take them on.
After a quick rejuvanative luncheon, including their first taste of Tamarind - looks like a dog turd tastes like a sweet date - they headed off to tame some wild elephants and go for a trek on them.
Having located some friendly mahmoots and their domesticated beasts they headed off however not before one the the graceful beasts had let out the loudest and longest of farts reducing our travellers to Beavis and Butthead giggling for about 15 minutes not helped by Hoots' observation that they are "just big cows with dicks on their faces". You can't buy class.
After a trek into the jungle and across a river and through a Lisu village (hill tribe). They clambered off. They are not the most comfortable of rides, rather too much rocking and rolling for some tastes.
Next box to tick was white water rafting and so back onto the truck they headed to be transferred to the top of some mighty rapids. Of course when they got there there were no rafts in sight so after a wait of about 2 hours whilst a raft was found (and a guide roused from a rum induced coma) the sun was setting before they finally set out to tame the upper reaches of the Mekong.
The three Brits clambered into the newly christened HMS Tamarind and off they went.
Having somehow survived the first set of mighty rapids and as they gently cruised down the river to the next set through a deep valley Hoots observed that it was like something out of the Lord of the Rings. If by that he meant that our hero with his face moss looks just like Gimli our correspondent would have to agree.
Despite the mashing maelstroms that were the rest of the rapids they shot they survived unscathed and headed back to town for some serious and well deserved Changs.
Boxes ticked.
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