It was when I saw the menu that I realised we were in one of the most debauched locations in south-east Asia.
Along with the glossy list of dishes we'd browsed through outside, we were handed a tatty exercise book offering fare including a "happy" omelet, opium shake and "a bag of weed".
Only then did I realise that all the other "diners" were practically horizontal.
I feared it probably wasn't the best place to try the Lao national delicacy of Laap - meat, minced with herbs and served in a salad.
As it turned out, it was delicious. Presumably the chef was too chilled out to suffer Gordon Ramsay-style stress in the kitchen and was able to calmly put his art to good use.
While the meal was great, the same could not be said of the surroundings.
By dark, Vang Vieng is like the Wild West. Drunken, topless men maraud the streets, bawling at each other, while girls in various states of undress stagger around aimlessly.
The dangers of all this excess could be seen in the form of one bloke who was leaning forward to talk earnestly to the pavement.
"Nononononononononono," he kept saying, in the style of that bloke from the Vicar of Dibley. Scary.
We had only decided to visit at the last minute, having been told that despite the depravity it is a beautiful place to go tubing.
For the uninitiated, that involves sitting in an inflated tractor inner tube and floating serenely down the Nam Song river while admiring the jagged peaks of the surrounding mountains.
However, the growing backpacker contingent has altered the experience to a simple process:
i) carry your tube to the first bar alongside the river to down a bucket of cheap whisky and coke
ii) on entering the water, float about 100 yards to the next bar for more drinks and lots of noisy splashing off rope swings
iii) repeat until somehow finding your way back to the guesthouse and passing out
iv) spend the next morning watching re-runs of Friends in a bar, while swearing to do it again and take in more of the scenery next time
Of course, the One With The Common Sense and I weren't going to get involved in all that and would instead enjoy the odd civilised beer while taking in the scenery.
You probably won't be surprised to know that instead we got a bit carried away, having met a really nice group of English and Norwegian people.
It was great fun but the problems started when I tried to get in my tube after polishing off the bucket of mojito.
We thought we'd been sensible by sharing the buckets and diluting their effect with some good old beer.
But as I lowered myself gracefully on to the rubber, I somehow turned a somersault, plunged into the water and then ended up clinging onto the edge of the tube as we drifted downstream.
I was quite happy. But The One With The Common Sense evidently felt I was something of an embarrassment and politely urged me to manoeuvre my rear end into the tube.
A couple more pikes with half-turn followed before I clambered, feeling quite pleased with myself, into the middle of the tube.
Only then did I notice I no longer had my glasses and - being unable to see properly - wasn't in a position to retrieve them from the river bed.
Things were to worsen as we left the next bar. With the skies beginning to darken, we started to feel a bit guilty about having concentrated on the boozing rather than the scenery and only having floated 500 yards of the three-mile route.
So back on the water we went - without the rest of our group - and, as the light faded, I took some splendid photos of the murky blackness of the mountainsides.
After 10 minutes on the water, during which the temperature dropped and the number of revellers dwindled, it was with some relief we grabbed the towrope to a bar and hauled ourselves to the bank.
Only on getting out did I realise I no longer had the camera - the handy waterproof neck-wallet we'd bought was empty - and that with it had gone the cash we'd tucked into the case.
I was livid with myself. If it had been stolen I'd have been happier but I can only assume I dropped it when trying to get out of the water.
Losing the camera is really annoying but - as always - it's the photos we'll miss.
Fortunately, we'd backed most of them up. But our images of the perfect sunset and beautiful pre-dawn in Halong Bay are gone, along with those of the crazy bus journey into Laos, the homestay near the cave and a video of my favourite bin lorry.
I might stop hating myself eventually.
The One With The Common Sense did see one small silver lining. The video of her doing some weird Macarena-style dance - a second out of time from everyone else - to that boingy-boingy dance tune that's been following us everywhere, was also consigned to the depths.
Despite still feeling sick over the camera - and having to wear my spare glasses - we're glad we went to Vang Vieng.
It was great fun and the first proper blowout of the trip. It also gave us the chance to visit my new favourite service station.
The bus journey to to the old capital of Luang Prabang wound through Laos' northern mountains - being tackled by numerous hardy folk, including a young family of four, on pushbikes.
Our meal break stop was at a cafe on a ledge overlooking a valley and for once the word "breathtaking" was truly appropriate. It even served home-cooked food - meaning it edges out the truck stop just off the M6, near Preston, as my service station of choice.
Luang Prabang is a place many people get "stuck" for days, thanks to its colonial charm and easy-going atmosphere.
We certainly enjoyed it - though mainly for the food. I could have spent a week there eating everything on offer, especially at the night time market which had all manner of fare on the barbecues.
It certainly had more going for it than the modern capital Vientiane, where even the best asset - its riverfront - had an unfinished air.
I can't think of anything noteworthy to say other than I dropped my hat into the only puddle in town (and a muddy one at that) and that The One With The Common Sense fell into a concrete draining ditch.
It's been one of those weeks.
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