Although I’ve never considered myself an adrenaline junkie, I have certainly done some adventurous things in my life. Climbing Mt. Fuji. Trekking the Himalayas. Walking in the Costa Rican rainforest. Etc. At the time, my adventures never felt particularly “dangerous;” they were just fun things to do while visiting the host country. Heck, the guidebook even recommended them.
Looking back now with the advantage of a few decades of hindsight, I have a slightly different perspective on these activities. On the one hand, I can congratulate myself on having the youthful gumption to put myself out there, throwing caution to the wind, pushing my boundaries, and so on. On the other hand, “What the heck was I thinking!!!” I mean, my poor parents — biting their fingernails every time I went off on one insane adventure after another.
Thankfully, I’ve survived most of my escapades unscathed. There have been some close calls, though. Stepping on a sea urchin in Bali was not fun. Being part of a boat accident in Costa Rica that gave me huge contusion on my back & sent me briefly to the hospital—no bueno. Crossing a rope bridge in Nepal at the same time a sherpa was leading his herd of oxen across from the other side…well, that’s a story for another time.
The point is, I’ve been to some dangerous places and done some dangerous things—and somehow lived to tell the tale. Perhaps that’s why I don’t bat an eye when my path leads me to the Thai/Laos border…and an afternoon of smuggling.
Oh, I’m not one of the law breakers that sunny day in Nong Khai. I’m merely an observer. Yeah right, tell that to the cops!
Luckily, there are no police in sight as I sit in a little café with my friends, enjoying a beer and watching the smugglers transport goods back and forth across the Mekhong River. Apparently, this kind of thing was par for the course in northeast Thailand back in the 80s – I wonder if it’s still happening today? At that time, the Thai/Laos border was kind of the wild west. Nearly every hotel had a room reserved for the local Madame. Smuggling appliances on small boats across the river was just an average day at the office.
And what’s funny is, after months of traveling in Southeast Asia, this kind of thing all seemed so normal to me. What’s the problem? Have another beer and enjoy the show.
I have to wonder if I would have the same attitude if I was in Nong Khai today, a middle-aged man who understands the consequences of getting arrested or ripped off in a foreign country.
Back in my 20s, though, it was just another adventure, another opportunity for some cool selfies (back before selfies were a thing). I guess that’s the beauty of youthful adventures; you do them while you feel immortal and bulletproof, then remember them later from the perspective of experience and consequences. Two viewpoints, same person, overlaid across different eras.
(Are we the same person today as our younger selves, or are we completely different? What’s the throughline? I mean, our cells are constantly dying and regenerating. The bacteria in our youthful guts have long since cycled out of our bodies. Not a trace of our teenage blood remains. And yet, we feel like we’re the same self, the same consciousness, the same person – maturing over the years. But are we, really? These are questions for biologists and philosophers. Am I still the same self that did all those crazy, adventurous things? Is the self even a real thing at all, or just a mental construct? These are matters worth pondering I think, don’t you?)