A bunch of us from work went camping with our Handler. He said he'd rent the gear and transportation and bring tons of beer and chicken wings. A bunch of us signed up; it seemed like a great way to spend the Mid-Autumn Festival. In retrospect, there were a few structural problems. We went as friends, but we really don't know each other all that well. We paid our Handler as a guide, except he's really not a guide. So we were a weird mix of paying customers and friends out on a trip together. We didn't bring out own things. We weren't really included in the organization, but we then had to help and take responsibility -- and that happened to a greater or lesser degree from different people.
The other problem was the amount of beer. Oh, it was fun having 10 12-packs of 20oz. beers and a bunch of crappy liquor, but it was a bit overkill. Most people got nice and drunk but managed to keep it decent. At least one camper went over the edge and became a very difficult drunk. Fires were built and destroyed. Grills were destroyed in the process. Chicken wings were trashed and potatoes stepped on. But that wasn't the worst part.
It all went south when we decided to go swimming. The day was hot and the water looked clear. I had seen little frogs along the edge and could hear ducks along the other bank. There were men fishing. OK, wildlife is a good sign. So I called over to my Canadian friend and he had already just said that he was going swimming. On went the suit and off we went to a rock overhang. I plopped in over the edge (but did not go under). It was cold and refreshing, ahhhhh. I tried to tell the Candadian not to jump in -- essentially, don't put your face in the water. "Don't, jump. Don't jump! Don't juuuuuuuuuuu" -- splash.
I was haning onto the rocks, trying to crawl back in. It was too high, though, and I couldn't mantle up. And then the smell hit us. We were swimming in Poo River. The Canadian started flailing for the edge, screaming. Then the hurling began. Imagine a couple of mildly intoxicated adults frantically trying to exit a river that smells worse with each footstep. I couldn't get out the way I came in, so I had to walk through the muck and weeds -- that then stole my flippy-floppy! "Man down! Man down! I've lost a flip-flip. Nooooooo! Oh, wait, it floats." Ew, now I have to touch the bottom. There goes the other flip-flop. All the while I was screaming at the Canadian to stop puking because he was making me wretch (think of the hurling scene in Stand By Me). One small hurl and a lot of disgusting weeds on the bottom later, and I was out and gasping for fresh air.
We ran back to the campsite and starting rubbing off vigorously with the baby-wipes that one of the Chinese staff had brought. I have never gotten out of my bathing suit so quickly. The Canadian (who had put his head under) took a swig of Stoli to kill anything in his mouth. I thought that a sound idea. Then he took a "shower" with some drinking water and hung out his bathing suit and towel on a tree. We continued drinking. (I have not been violently ill nor have I broken out in any sores, so I'm probably OK. My Handler told us not to. He went in a few years ago and discovered it was nasty, but he's OK, too.)
Turns out, no one brought any paper to use to light the fire. So the fire-starting for all the chicken wings (which had leaked all over the Candadian's backpack on the bus trip up and then had spilled on the ground when the Welshman thought the bucket was a chair and not a bucket and sat on it and broke it) was slow-going. The Canadian stepped up and took his fire-building seriously. He's such a good fire-started that I didn't have to do anything (unlike most camping trips where I become the expert on the fire). He even named the fire Jenny. Jenny cooked some good wings, until she was destroyed (as mentioned earlier) to build a campfire. Instead of just stealing coals, however, the Offender just through branches over the fire. At some point, while doing so, he managed to step on the grill and mangle it beyond use. None of us know why.
The hillarity continued with more jack-ass behavior and threats of fighting. Some of these people take their honor seriously. Ay caramba.
The true kicker came the next morning. I stumbled out of bed at 7am to use a bush. I was cold and wanted to put on my boots and have some water, except there was something wrong. My boots were missing. So was my Nalgene. And all the other drinking water. Maybe I was just confused and hung-over. Oh, I was confused and hung-over all right, but our stuff was also missing.
I lost my brand new hiking boots (about $60 for a pair of crappy boots) and my BPA-free Nalgene. Not only do I live with a Nalgene, I loved that it was BPA-free. I don't know how to say "BPA-free" in Chinese. It also had stickers on it. Irreplaceable stickers from my former students' band and kickball.
The Canadian lost his towel, his bathing suit, and his backpack. (Fortunately, my bag was in the tent. Earlier in the day, I had taken his wallet and keys and put them in my bag because he was a little drunk.) Another teacher had his bag stolen as well. His bag with his pants in it. (The pants he had taken off because it was so warm.) In his pants was his wallet and his keys. And his access card to school. And, well, yeah. I'm sad about my Nalgene, but it wasn't my wallet.
As some icing on the cake, somehow the chowderheads (face it, we were all chowderheads) managed to lose stuff sacks. Maybe they were taken with the other thieving, except the thieves only took things that were by the tables and nothing inside the tent ring. So why were stuff sacks anywhere not near where the tents and sleeping bags were? I am still confused by how they managed to lose stuff sacks. My tent went up easily and came down just as easily. All the mattress pads and stuff sacks for the the sleeping bags were present and accounted for.
When we came back from Poo River, I showered for a long time. I washed my hair twice and my body twice (once with my super exfolient scrubby thing). I washed all my clothes. And then I got a DVD player and had homemade spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. I was in bed by 8:15.
The other problem was the amount of beer. Oh, it was fun having 10 12-packs of 20oz. beers and a bunch of crappy liquor, but it was a bit overkill. Most people got nice and drunk but managed to keep it decent. At least one camper went over the edge and became a very difficult drunk. Fires were built and destroyed. Grills were destroyed in the process. Chicken wings were trashed and potatoes stepped on. But that wasn't the worst part.
It all went south when we decided to go swimming. The day was hot and the water looked clear. I had seen little frogs along the edge and could hear ducks along the other bank. There were men fishing. OK, wildlife is a good sign. So I called over to my Canadian friend and he had already just said that he was going swimming. On went the suit and off we went to a rock overhang. I plopped in over the edge (but did not go under). It was cold and refreshing, ahhhhh. I tried to tell the Candadian not to jump in -- essentially, don't put your face in the water. "Don't, jump. Don't jump! Don't juuuuuuuuuuu" -- splash.
I was haning onto the rocks, trying to crawl back in. It was too high, though, and I couldn't mantle up. And then the smell hit us. We were swimming in Poo River. The Canadian started flailing for the edge, screaming. Then the hurling began. Imagine a couple of mildly intoxicated adults frantically trying to exit a river that smells worse with each footstep. I couldn't get out the way I came in, so I had to walk through the muck and weeds -- that then stole my flippy-floppy! "Man down! Man down! I've lost a flip-flip. Nooooooo! Oh, wait, it floats." Ew, now I have to touch the bottom. There goes the other flip-flop. All the while I was screaming at the Canadian to stop puking because he was making me wretch (think of the hurling scene in Stand By Me). One small hurl and a lot of disgusting weeds on the bottom later, and I was out and gasping for fresh air.
We ran back to the campsite and starting rubbing off vigorously with the baby-wipes that one of the Chinese staff had brought. I have never gotten out of my bathing suit so quickly. The Canadian (who had put his head under) took a swig of Stoli to kill anything in his mouth. I thought that a sound idea. Then he took a "shower" with some drinking water and hung out his bathing suit and towel on a tree. We continued drinking. (I have not been violently ill nor have I broken out in any sores, so I'm probably OK. My Handler told us not to. He went in a few years ago and discovered it was nasty, but he's OK, too.)
Turns out, no one brought any paper to use to light the fire. So the fire-starting for all the chicken wings (which had leaked all over the Candadian's backpack on the bus trip up and then had spilled on the ground when the Welshman thought the bucket was a chair and not a bucket and sat on it and broke it) was slow-going. The Canadian stepped up and took his fire-building seriously. He's such a good fire-started that I didn't have to do anything (unlike most camping trips where I become the expert on the fire). He even named the fire Jenny. Jenny cooked some good wings, until she was destroyed (as mentioned earlier) to build a campfire. Instead of just stealing coals, however, the Offender just through branches over the fire. At some point, while doing so, he managed to step on the grill and mangle it beyond use. None of us know why.
The hillarity continued with more jack-ass behavior and threats of fighting. Some of these people take their honor seriously. Ay caramba.
The true kicker came the next morning. I stumbled out of bed at 7am to use a bush. I was cold and wanted to put on my boots and have some water, except there was something wrong. My boots were missing. So was my Nalgene. And all the other drinking water. Maybe I was just confused and hung-over. Oh, I was confused and hung-over all right, but our stuff was also missing.
I lost my brand new hiking boots (about $60 for a pair of crappy boots) and my BPA-free Nalgene. Not only do I live with a Nalgene, I loved that it was BPA-free. I don't know how to say "BPA-free" in Chinese. It also had stickers on it. Irreplaceable stickers from my former students' band and kickball.
The Canadian lost his towel, his bathing suit, and his backpack. (Fortunately, my bag was in the tent. Earlier in the day, I had taken his wallet and keys and put them in my bag because he was a little drunk.) Another teacher had his bag stolen as well. His bag with his pants in it. (The pants he had taken off because it was so warm.) In his pants was his wallet and his keys. And his access card to school. And, well, yeah. I'm sad about my Nalgene, but it wasn't my wallet.
As some icing on the cake, somehow the chowderheads (face it, we were all chowderheads) managed to lose stuff sacks. Maybe they were taken with the other thieving, except the thieves only took things that were by the tables and nothing inside the tent ring. So why were stuff sacks anywhere not near where the tents and sleeping bags were? I am still confused by how they managed to lose stuff sacks. My tent went up easily and came down just as easily. All the mattress pads and stuff sacks for the the sleeping bags were present and accounted for.
When we came back from Poo River, I showered for a long time. I washed my hair twice and my body twice (once with my super exfolient scrubby thing). I washed all my clothes. And then I got a DVD player and had homemade spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. I was in bed by 8:15.
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