Off Into Laos

Having gained a minimal possession of the Chinese language, but a lot of good friends, we say our lasts goodbyes and set our feet back on the road. With a 9 hour bus ride down to Jinghong in the South of Yunnan, we stretch out on the sleeper bus and watch through the body-length windows as we leave Kunming behind.

We are welcomed to Jinghong by hundreds of elephant statues, along the roads, on roofs, everywhere, from pint-size to life-size. These probably far outnumber the amount of actual elephants to be found in the nearby national park, but as always, the tourist industry capitalises in whatever ways it can, even if it involves the tasteful 'wild elephant shows'. In this town Andi finally makes the most of his last chance to experience Chinese massage. After an hour of pure torture, focused on pressure points all over the body, he declines the offer of free 10 more minutes by ensuring them that he is relaxed as humanly possible. After some uneventful days spent in recovery, we gladly head for the Lao border, carried by a small bus transporting people and just about everything else. Despite failing a small interrogation about Lei-chester football club, the immaculately uniformed guard lets us out of China, and as the squeaky clean Chinese post disappears behind us, the small cluster of huts ahead tells us we are about to enter a very different country. As we all bustle around trying to fill in forms with a clear lack of pens, the border guard takes it easy slouched back in his chair. Luckily he lets it slide that I forgot to bring a passport photo, and give us change for our 37$ in a mixture of currencies that are lying around. We hop back on the bus and head off into Laos towards our next destination, Luang Nam Tha.

We soon realise that we are in a new world. Instead of concrete blocks and quarried landscapes, we drive through forest covered hills, passing the occasional bamboo hut along the way. Eventually arriving, we expect to land in a nice Lao town, but instead, despite not yet being on the main tourist route, we find a village of foreigners dominated by guest houses, restaurants and tour companies offering so-called "Eco-Tourism": taking you to new and unexploited hill-tribe villages, pushing the frontiers of the industry to the last remaining pockets of the country. Coming from China, where people want to have their photo taken with the peculiarity that is the westerner and even a menu in English is rare, South East Asia appears on face to be one big holiday resort. Having said that, walking away from the centre of banana pancakes, it doesn’t take long before normal life takes over. People appear to take great pride in themselves and what they have. We pass a man sweeping the leaves off the dirt road outside his house. Things are kept clean and tidy, even with chickens, pigs and naked children let loose. Most appealing is the difference in the state of the toilets, a sentiment shared by a Lao friend of ours: they may be basic, but they are always clean, and you get to have one for yourself.

With smaller chances than of winning the lottery, we coincidently bump into our Lao classmates from back in Kunming. After sharing a breakfast together, they invite us to a village festival – the celebration of the return of students from abroad – to which we gladly accept. Being welcomed as family and included into the ceremony we humbly experience this heart-full event for this generation of youngsters. With thoughtful words, the parents and elders bind their blessing to our wrists with the tying of white strings. Afterwards we sit together on long benches along the hall and eat with our individual packages of rice roast pork and tofu soup from communal bowls, along with the taste of a delicacy best described as solidified spicy blood. After manditory downing of unknown quantities of Beer Lao from a single cup,which was constantily passed, filled and passed again, the event cumulates in a big karaoke, with Andi's entertaining (and partially made-up) rendition of Reinhard Mey's 'Uber den Wolken'.