The Laotian

Crossing the China-Laos border is an instant departure from the developed world . To mark my arrival, i was extorted out of $1 by the Lao border official, who politely explained that there was an extra fee for crossing the border on Sunday (I've completely lost track of the days, but i later learned that it was Saturday). From this point on, the pavement is regularly interrupted by bumpy patches of dirt, and the bus journey is regularly interrupted by the crossing of cows, chickens, and ducks, (one of which was involved in a nonfatal collision with our bus). Clinging to the highway are scatterings of small villages of thatched roofed huts, who all strangely have satellite TV. The prevalence of four wheeled vehicles on the streets decreases 10 fold compared to China, and the prevalence of children on the streets increases ten fold, (the lack of a one child policy is blatantly obvious). In China, a baby is usually never spotted without at least 3 elderly caretakers, while in Laos, its common for children to roam the streets in packs of 4-5 with no adult supervision. Its also not uncommon to spot groups of ten year-old's wielding machetes, or piled upon one another and zooming by on a motorcycle.

If I were reborn as a nation, I would likely be Laos. This is by far the most laid back place Ive ever been. I only spent 2 weeks in this little land locked nation of 6.5 million, and 40 of these hours were spent in transit, which is painstakingly slow here. So, needless to say, my understanding of the place is incredibly shallow. There were several things that remained consistent in my Lao experience. Every day began at a god awful hour thanks to the widespread existence of roosters, many of whom cluck to the beat of their own drum, with no regard to whether or not the sun is getting ready to rise. Each day was filled with gratuitous use of sahbaidee (hello), and concluded with beer Lao while watching the sun set into Thailand.
My first destination was Luang Prabang , a UNESCO heritage site and a tourist haven. The town is filled with temples, monks, and foreigners, and as a result, previously unimaginable western amenities such as Nutella! While leaving the city, I spotted a construction site, where government workers where drilling into the pavement of a closed off street. The scene may have been the same in any other city in the world, but here the work was being done with a hammer and a chisel - no heavy machinery in sight.

In route to the capital, I made the typical tourist stopover in Vang Vieng, which is world renowned for its drunken tubing. Tourists float downstream in inner tubes, passing a plague of bars blasting high energy music, where the locals persuade you to attempt all of the dangerous creations they've concocted like diving boards, water slides, and rope swings, which all deposit you into the dangerously low waters of the river. I later heard tourists swapping emergency room stories such as loss of teeth and broken bones resulting from these death traps in frivolous lawsuit-less Laos. Luckily i got in the river early and enjoyed what seemed to be a peaceful day, floating soberly down the river, passing water buffalo, with no drunken revelry or accidents along the way. Unfortunately, going to the stupid tourist place means being branded as a stupid tourist one way or another. In my case, the scarlet letter came in the form of a sunburn from hell. Falling asleep on the water in the midday sun, with my pale belly exposed, left the intersection of my stomach and waist looking like a slab of bacon. Besides this tragedy, the town of Vang Vieng quickly drove me away with an inexplicable cultural phenomenon. The town is littered with video bars displaying DVD's of shows such as family guy and the simpsons, in hopes of luring in tourist $'s. Unfortunately the most popular show of choice is Friends, which is played every waking hour of the day, volume blasting at full volume. I HATE FRIENDS!
The development of Laos is best described through my experience in the capital of Vientiane, which is roughly the size of Oakland. There is probably not a single structure over 50 feet tall, and the street lights are so few and far between that they're displayed on the city map. Any non major thoroughfares are non paved, which makes for a bumpy ride on a bicycle. Basically, Vientiane is a sprawling village. In a strange twist of fate, my visit coincided with a Sean Kingston concert, which was advertised wildly all over town. I went to the site of the show, which was in the parking lot of a huge shopping mall, to satisfy my curiosity as to what kind of crowd would turn up for such an event in Laos. Despite the reasonable $2.50 entrance fee, I decided to browse the mall instead, and departed with my musical values still in tact.

My Laotian experience concluded in the far south, in the land of 4,000 islands, which turned out to be my favorite Lao location. Here, accommodation includes mosquito nets, and electricity is only available from 7-10 pm. The days were spent lounging in a hammock, watching river life go by, and exploring the surrounding islands by bicycle. The island's claim to fame is being one of the few places to spot the rare Irrawaddy dolphin. I was able to catch a few fleeting glimpses of our porpoise friends, but the audible experience was the most memorable. After hiring a local teenage captain of a motorized canoe, which was taking on dangerous amounts of water during the journey, I was delivered to the place known as ''dolphin home,'' a stones throw from the Cambodian border. Here, I floated in the water and listened to the dolphins communicating under water, which was a bizarre and fascinating event. The only sound I've ever heard that i could compare it to is John Coltrane. For the duration of my 30 minute listening, the dolphins communicated at a steady pace, with no pause, which left me wondering what kind of schemes they were busy concocting.
All was seemingly well in paradise until a memorable but not so enjoyable transition into Cambodia...

Xin nian kuai le

My three weeks in the Yunnan province of Southwest China represent the full spectrum of what traveling alone can and will be. It began in a solitary, agitated, and snot infested state, followed by an escalating scale of China highlights. The journey started in the provincial capital of Kunming, known as the city of eternal spring for its supposedly constantly pleasant climate. Due to false advertising or bad luck, I was disappointed to find Kunming blanketed in a thick grey cloud, which gave it the appearance of any other generic concrete Chinese jungle.

In what can only be described as a shitty few days, all of the little things began to take their toll on my sanity. There was the chain smoking, knee tapping, caffeine addicted teenager beside me in the Internet cafe; the cats who were either mating or slowly dying outside of my dorm room; and the old man who was slowly dying from the worst snoring I've ever encountered inside of my dorm room. So, after a frustrating, mucus filled, and otherwise uneventful stay here, i made the 5 hour bus journey West to Dali, which would shortly feel like a world away from Kunming.

Known as one of the backpacker meccas of China, its no surprise that locals constantly greet you on the street with friendly hello's, followed by chants of "smoke the ganja?," usually from innocent looking old women clutching small children in their arms. (This isn't the reason why my fortunes changed for the better). Dali is plagued by swarms of tourists from all over China and beyond, and this results in all of the main corridors being filled with merchandise whose quality and functionality are highly debatable. Luckily, this madness is easily escaped on a bicycle, and riding through the nearby villages and rice fields, combined with improved health, and suddenly meeting handfuls of interesting folks from all over the globe signaled good things to come.

From Dali, I headed as close to Tibet as i will go on this trip, to the city of Lijiang. Another backpacker mecca, Lijiang's old town is a winding maze of cobble stone streets, lined with more useless tourist crap and some entertaining streets sings.

The town itself was nothing too special, but it was the jump off point for the Tiger Leaping Gorge, the highlight of my 5 months in China. With a group of fellow travelers, I embarked on a 3 day trek of the gorge, named after a famed tiger, who according to local legend, was being chased all over China, and eventually came face to face with the surging rapids of the Yangszte river, which slices through the second deepest canyon in the world. With no other alternatives, the tiger took his historic/mythological leap over the river and the rest is history.

From the onset of the trek we were chaperoned by a seemingly friendly man on a donkey, who cautiously followed our group. We debated his presence, wondering if it was included in the 50 yuan park entrance to prevent naive foreigners from wandering off the trail. His intentions quickly came to light, as one of the group members struggled to make it up a steep pass, and donkey man, as we came to immortalize him, came to the rescue and offered up the back of his sturdy, 4 legged companion, charging 140 yuan for his services. Once we reached our destination, the sun was setting over the gorge and we were face to face with the most massive mountain i have ever encountered. It took up my entire field of vision, which can't possibly be communicated through pictures, but here's a sample.
It will go down as one of the most impressive natural sights I've ever witnessed. Darkness soon prevailed, giving way to the best star gazing I've experienced in China, which compared to previous attempts, felt like a thick layer of Chinese smog had been squeegeed from my pupils.

Back in Lijiang, the scene was set for lunar new years. I didn't have high expectations for this event because most Chinese folks told me that people generally just light fireworks and stay at home with their families. This turned out to be a pretty accurate forecast, but new years eve ended up greatly surpassing my expectations. Never have my ears been bombarded with such a continual assault, not even 4th of July in East Oakland. From 11:45pm to 12:30am, there wasn't a single moment of silence or clear sky. Bootleg Chinese fireworks of varying degrees of quality and safety erupted into the night sky, or in the faces of innocent onlookers, in what was the closest experience I've ever had to being in a war zone. This was the first time i really felt completely removed from the western world, despite the fact that the display took place in the foreground of the local KFC. All over China, since there's only one time zone for this whole massive nation, the scene was likely identical, a sky full of bright lights and explosions, while the majority of the rest of the globe was carrying on business as usual. The festivities continued for the next 5 days, marked mostly by a continuous flow of fireworks, usually ignited by small children who could barely tie their shoes - if they were wearing any.

What I thought was my symbolic exodus from China took place before getting my passport stamped, on a one hour flight to Jinghong, located a few hours north of the China-Laos border. The airborne journey replaced what would have been a grueling 20 hour bus ride traversing its way down 6,500 feet of mountain terrain into the tropics. As fate would have it, the carrier for the flight was none other than "Lucky" airlines, which only became known to me at the airport check in. The thought of blasting through the atmosphere at 30,000 feet in a massive steel vessel already makes me search for a higher power to answer my prayers. Combine this with an overcompensating name like "lucky air" and you have a passenger who is ready to join an evangelical church. After a turbulent hour, I touched ground in the tropics and contemplated hugging a palm tree. Before my flight i symbolically deserted my $9 jacket which i had been wearing every day for the previous 5 weeks, evidenced by multiple grease stains resulting from careless noodle soup consumption. Its now perfectly clear that I'm not built to live in a place which suffers through freezing cold winters.

It suddenly appeared that China as I knew it was in the rear view mirror. Bilingual street signs lead the way in Chinese and Burmese, monks roamed the streets, and sandals and shorts were the normal attire. Vendors selling coconut milk and pineapple on a stick produced flashbacks of past trips to the tropics. This all felt like i had left china, at least until i officially crossed the border into Laos, which is another world entirely....