Biking and Bac Ha

My last night in Laos was seemingly pleasant, having spent the night eating and drinking with the locals. As they were playing Patenque for beer money I thought I’d rather watch than end up paying for everyone’s drinks. One of the guys was a guesthouse owner I’d met down river, it was a nice to socialize with him away from the confines of his business. It was still an early night though, facing a 5am start I wasn’t about to stay up until the late hours, besides the Laoitians are not exactly late night revellers. It was only the following morning that I discovered a heap of money missing from where I kept it stashed amongst my luggage. Daft maybe, but you have to keep it somewhere, personally I don’t like to keep the bulk of my money on my person. £125 is a lot to lose by petty theft, and I’m sure it was stolen by the owners or staff of the hotel. So, If ever stopping over in Muang Khoa, be very careful about staying in Keophila 2 Guesthouse. (Photo: Banana plantation – Nr Loah Cai, Northern Vietnam)

A few of us caught the bus into Vietnam, all continuing onto to Sapa from the border town of Dien Bien Piu. Our night there was a laugh, with an Ozzie couple a local bar was the first stop. And weren’t we the centre of attraction, my dreads seem to grab people’s attention. At least it isn’t always in a negative way, but I’m still surprised at people’s reaction; it’s only a bloody hairstyle. First of all it was only the female bar owner who was curious, and then she called her friends over. Three of them twiddled and played with my hair, marveling as I showed them how to dread it. I’m sure one wanted to chop them off, luckily she wasn’t too serious and seemed satisfied to gather it together and secure it with a hair band. Laughing at the photos taken of us, as she played with my hair, her friends wanted in on the act. So I ended with a young woman squidging into my lap and wrapping her arms around me for a photo. Now that had nothing to do with my hair, and when the inevitable proposition came I laughed and said no thanks. Establishing that I was single was actually the funniest part, I knew what they were getting at so kept trying to say Jane was with me, not with Dave. He misinterpreted what she was saying and was pointed at himself and me, thinking she was asking who smoked. Of course the situation did get cleared up, which is when it was suggested I might be interested in the young woman. (Photo: Roadside pose – Pho Lu, Northern Vietnam)

Sapa was destined to be my first port of call, on recommendation of too many people to ignore. Two long days on buses were necessary to get there, so by the time I arrived all I wanted was to find a guesthouse and relax. That was before encountering the charming but persistent Mhong women. Walking into town with a pack on is a dead give away, fresh blood, the ideal opportunity to ingratiate themselves upon you. From a punter’s viewpoint it’s a gauntlet that has to be run, and running is the best way to deal with it. As you apologise and attempt to walk away they follow you, all round town if they think they might find a chink in your armour. And they’re by no means the only touts for business, it seems everyone wants to get their claws into your pockets. Whether for hotels, motorbike hire, food or bars the touts are out. And as I said a rucksack makes you a prime target. (Photo: Mhong women at the cattle market – Bac Ha, Northern Vietnam)

But I felt sorry for the Mhong, they walk miles into to town and back most days, purely to try and sell a few souvenirs to tourists. The sheer numbers of them, and their selling technique of completely engulfing tourists in a tide of eager women, can’t make for high sales volume. Some of their embroidered bags and jewellery are exquisite, but as soon as you consider having a closer look other women will pour forward, “you buy from me, you buy from me”. I’m pleased to say walking round town since my initial arrival hasn’t attracted the large groups of them. But they wait on the hill opposite my hotel, for the rich tourists to come by. All the hotels further up hill from me are the big plush one’s, but the police won’t allow the ethnic groups within a few hundred yards of them. Hence the women wait in ambush further down the hill, as many as thirty of them. If they creep further uphill the police hustle them away, prodding them with their batons until the willingly descend. (Photo: Various Mhong tribes women– Bac Ha, Northern Vietnam)

All the villages of this area are of one Mhong tribe or another, it’s the black Mhong nearest to Sapa. By hiring a bike I took an overnight trip to the market town of Bac Ha, where they have infinitely more colourfully dressed tribes women. It’s strange though, most towns women wear normal western dress, whereas without fail the outlaying villagers are adorned in traditional clothes. Even the guys coming in form the villages tend to dress traditionally, which is are to see amongst many indigenous people around the world. It’s often the men who stay at home with the kids while the women come to town to ply their wares. Apart from being inundated with sheer numbers they are friendly and pleasant, at least they befriend you rather than simply hassle. They’re well versed in enough English to make your acquaintance and extract promises of buying only form them. (Photo: Grazing the paddy – Pho Lu, Northern Vietnam)

The bike ride was great fun, especially after having the drive chain adjusted. With the exception of 30km along the river, it was all steep gradients and tight twisting turns. Due to mist laying heavy in the hills the views weren’t stunning, but it couldn’t detract from the pleasure of riding through tropic environs. On the way back I took a longer route, staying off the main road. Huge numbers of tourist buses had descended on Bac Ha as I was leaving, so finding small villages that didn’t suffer such intrusions was my ideal for the day. And I found just what I wanted. Anytime I stopped people would appear to see the foreigner, surprised at the sight of me. Hardly any spoke English, so communication was by hand, but I didn’t linger too long. A few words of greeting, a minute for them to admire the bike I was riding and off I’d go again. They ride mainly step-through scooters of minimal size, seeing a 150cc bike, with gears and a clutch raised many an admiring comment. (Photo: Buffalo buy – Nr Pho Lu, Northern Vietnam)

Luang bang bang!

Cor blimey, hoards of westerners and a vast array of accented English was the biggest impression I got from Luang Prabang. I haven’t seen so many tourists in one place for eons, certainly not on this journey. And of course where the hoards descend the locals flock to take advantage, except Laos isn’t really like that. Without doubt there were plenty of locals offering their services for transport, none were overly pushy though, all accepted a polite no thank you. Touts for guesthouses were very thin on the ground. Even the nightly craft market was a leisurely affair, no hassle off hawkers and no overbearing demands to buy anything. It isn’t exactly a large city, it is very laid back though. Tourists are only really en masse in two streets, the riverside road and the one on which the nightly market is held. Despite the presence of so many, even I could tolerate the tourists. (Photo: Farming newly exposed area of riverbank – Ou Nam, Nr Luang Prabang, Laos)

The night food market was slightly different, it isn’t exclusively tourists there, but few Laoitians sit and eat, they tend to do it take away style. The basis of most stalls is simple, load your plate as full as you can, for about 1€. A table of platters stand before you, typically a choice of 15-20, all vegetarian. If you want meat pick what you want barbequed and that’s another 1€. There’s little need for the meat, but for carnivores it makes for complete satisfaction. Of course the knack is to pile your plate as high as possible, get as much for your money as you can. And of course that’s precisely what I did the first night there, the second I held back a touch more, it was too much for me and I hate wasting food. It gets a bit cramped and the various stalls do a brisk trade and want a quick turnover, hence they’re keen for you to eat up and sod off. So there is little chance to relax over a long cool beer, but they cater well for tourists, there’s always the crafts market and plenty of bars. (Photo: Bamboo raft – Ou Nam, Nr Muang Gnoi, Laos)

I seem to be hitting a good number of festivals on this trip, it was the local Buddhist celebration, which I’m embarrassed to say I never remembered precisely what it was about. I does last a few days though, and culminates in a firework free for all, which was brilliant fun. But first of all is the boat racing, dragon boats that is. None of your namby-pamby western rowing, this is Hawaii five-o style without the outriggers. The crowds were out in force, and for once the locals outnumbered the tourists. The town itself was nigh on deserted, but along that stretch of the Mekong it was chaotic. I must admit though, few seemed to take too much notice of the races themselves, the picnics were out the beer was flowing and life gave way to carnival. Throughout the three days boats could be seen slowly being built, some more than 5m long, all destined to be lit up and floated down the river for the grand finale on the last night. (Photo: Water buffalo– Ou Nam, Nr Muang Khoa, Laos)

Health and safety be damned, it was utter mayhem and everyone had immense fun, well at least the locals and my small group did. Number one priority, forget all about any firework code. Number two, buy plenty of fireworks because they last no time what so ever. Bear in mind that most are small with a very short burn time, they’re also dirt cheap, 30p buys ten mini bangers, or bees. They were being lit and thrown everywhere, into the road, at peoples feet, into the path of cars, literally anywhere. And no, it wasn’t just irresponsible adults it was mainly kids, to the delight of adults close by. I must admit to holding one too long, the explosion tingled a bit but wasn’t enough to hurt or damage. Whilst it did seem utter pandemonium there was some semblance of supervision for the very young, the adults would light the fireworks for them and allow them to sling them into the road. (Photo: Riverside village – Ou Nam, Nr Muang Khoa, Laos)

Many tourists looked less than impressed, but the locals lapped it up. One actually explained that they did keep an eye on their children, they did ensure they weren’t too over the top. The river itself was aglow with thousands of illuminated boats, candles flickering from within crepe paper creations. Garlands of palm fronds and candles floated down, gathering in clumps along the riverbank. How none of the moored boats caught fire was beyond me. In the sky a continuous stream of Chinese lanterns continued to be released for hours, it was an amazing spectacle. Both garlands and lanterns are released for good luck, to make you wishes come true. I didn’t worry about wishes that can never be, simply cackled with laughter as we threw more fireworks, sharing them around between the kids surrounding us. (Photo: Ferry crossing – Ou Nam, Muang Khoa, Laos)

That last night was a great release for me, I’d spent days at my computer chasing publishers and planning the next stage of the trip. I wanted to cross into Myanmar overland, but it’s no longer possible. By land it’s only possible to travel close to the border, the surrounding area is closed to foreigners. It looks like I’ll have to wait until I leave Asia, then I can fly in on my way home. So next will have to be Vietnam, which I should cross into tomorrow. I’ve a month visa and intend to travel north to south. In many ways I’ll miss Lao, but I will be back, of that I’ve no doubt. I’ll miss the monks banging their huge drums, cymbals ringing in the background. Some of their music and chanting is enchanting, sure makes you want to move your feet. It was also a delight to see them letting off their own fireworks within the temple complexes. They’re a bit more devout here than seemed in Tibet, so it was nice to see them let their hair down; well they would have done if they weren’t bald. (Photo: Local temple – Muang Khoa, Laos)

Tales from the river bank.

Setting off upriver was easy and relaxed, it stayed that way for the weeks I spent there too. Accommodation was cheap at about £2.50 a night, there was indeed no internet and electric only ran for three hours each night, plenty of time to charge up the laptop and allow up to six hours of work each day. I make it sound well disciplined but it wasn’t, I spent much more time relaxing than writing. As I devoured book after book it became obvious how deprived of reading material I’d been. What really tipped the scales was a little coffee house/bookshop, so that got plenty of visits from me. My guesthouse was the furthest end of the village, quiet except for the various poultry and a mystery night visitor to the Laos woman next door. Luckily their coupling was neither prolonged nor noisy, I didn’t lose enough sleep to bother moving. (Photo: Along the River Ou - Muang Gnoi, North Laos)

Muang Gnoi itself is the main village on that stretch of the river, there’s little above a cluster of huts within miles of it. Accessible only by boat you’d have thought the noise of traffic wouldn’t be as bother. As there are few boats without engines that isn’t the case, though it’s a far cry from city traffic. It isn’t a developed tourist destination, but there are a couple of hundred bungalows/huts scattered around the village. A couple of establishments have comfy bungalows, in well maintained enclaves, most are only a few huts overlooking the river. Menus are reasonable, having a mixture of westernized Laos food and random items of curry or sweet and sour. The only problem is the lack in choice, almost all the cafes had the same menu, the Indian restaurant was the exception. There was another in Nong Kiew, why would Indian nationals come to Northern Laos to set up a business? Neither seemed as quiet as many of the Laos restaurants though, but I don’t think they’re going to manage early retirement either. (Photo: Fresh cave water - Muang Gnoi, North Laos)

There were kids everywhere, from barely toddling all the way up, rarely with any adult supervision. Siblings took care of each other, not always with good grace. Which makes it sound worse than it actually was, I saw no fractious behaviour from any of them. But the look of determination of one lads face as he cycled like fury to escape the clutches of his wobbly sister. She only wanted to play with her big brother, but for a lad who’s struggling to master his bike without the stabilisers a taste of freedom from her wails was more attractive. The kids we passed in the boat upriver were hilarious. Playing slides down the sandy embankment they stopped to greet us, running to the highest point and waggling their bare arses at us while jiggling up and down. That was the boys anyway, though in all honesty I wasn’t trying to discern their sex. I don’t recall any with long hair, maybe the girls don’t get to play naked in the river. The river’s quite fast flowing, but the kids aren’t shy of it at all. I was assured that all the villagers, both young and old can swim. (Photo: In a paddy over the karsts - Nr Banna, North Laos)

Laos and its people have impressed me, they aren’t necessarily forthcoming but are generally happy enough to acknowledge you and wish you a good day. In the village you could easily go the length of the dirt road without having to wish all and sundry best wishes. But it was common to hear a sweet young voice calling, “Sabai dee,” accompanied with a slight wave and shy smile. No-one gets impatient except the occasional mother with a demonstrative child, and there doesn’t seem much of problem with alcohol fuelled fury. Guys may often have a drink during the day, but I never saw any blind drunk, none sprawled comatose across the street. There isn’t much to do in the area, few ways to make a buck or two. Low level farming, subsidized by fishing, is the traditional way. Tourism brings in the big money. (Photo: Delivery men arriving - Banna village, North Laos)

Like many isolated areas of the world the young want to experience the bright lights, the big city. So there’s a lot of migration to Luang Prabang and Vietiene, if they’re going to college there is no choice but to live in the city. It hasn’t caused a marked reduction in village populations, so many of them come back to their quiet little village and enjoy a more relaxed lifestyle. At the rate of reproduction I’m surprised if the figures aren’t steadily climbing. In a village where the lights go on at 6.30pm and back off at 10pm people have to find someway to entertain themselves in the dark hours. The old enjoy the protection of the extended family, the security of a home and food. It looks like most families share one large, open living space. Almost everything is built from timber and natural materials, the guesthouses generally have a more rustic look that the unimaginative blocks with tin roofs that the locals favour. (Photo: Lowering level on the River Ou - Muang Gnoi, North Laos)

Hiking in the close vicinity to the main village gave a few breaks from reading and writing, a few caves and vantage points made it worth the effort. Banna was a village a couple of hours walk away, in the middle of the paddy fields. And it was in a just such a place where an old lady carefully unwrapped a cloth bundle to reveal some sticks of opium. Smiling sweetly, she slightly raised her eyebrows, a polite and unassuming gesture, simply inviting interest. With detached amusement I gave my head the barest of shakes, placed my hands together and just as politely gave her a firm no. Then she went back to playing with her baby grandchild, oh the simplicity of village life eh? The day before a couple had gone out there and left some exercise books for the kids, I swear the torn pages used by the old guy for smoking the local tobacco were exercise paper. So whatever way you look at it, those exercise books are appreciated out in the sticks. (Photo: Cave cricket - Pha noi cave, Nr Muang Gnoi, North Laos)

The local caves are interesting, the first two I saw were the least interesting, but the third was great. It went in for about an hour walking and had a host of beasties to gawk at. The first were crickets with really long tentacles to feel around in the total darkness. I doubt if they faired very well, they were the low end of the food chain. They would have been easy prey for the spiders and other hunters, one was a kind of short fat centipede with only about twenty legs. Now that was a touch nerve wracking, it was large and moved very fast down the rock face towards me. It looked big enough to take on even the largest of the spiders I saw in there, and that would have covered the span of my hand. A colony of bats were the last of the creatures I discovered. They were hanging far up in the middle of the cave roof, gradually migrating to darker recesses as I blinded them with my torch and flashlight. (Photo: Half a mile in - Pha noi cave, Nr Muang Gnoi, North Laos)

Small wonder I’ve written so little in the last week, I’ve not even done my journal, but the book is done and dusted. Corrections made after the proofread, the epilogue and foreword written, and even the dedication. Which is why I’ve come to the city, so I can use the internet and find the right publishing company. I said ages ago that I didn’t want to self-publish, I wanted to see my book on the shelves of bookshops. At this stage I just want to see it between covers and available, but I must find the right company, which is proving hard to do. One guy sounded great, not the cheapest but a package that suited my ideas. Then I discovered he’d had a pretty vicious list of allegations made against him on the internet. I must say the people brutally attacked him on line, so I’m having serious doubts about using him. In fact I’d be mad to, he does promise a good deal but does he delivery what he promises.

Sabai dee Laos

Is it my imagination or are the Laotians more humble in their following of Buddhism? While in Tibet I wouldn’t have dreamed of accusing the devout in being less than humble, though the religious fervour within the Potala Palace was frenzied and hinged more on throwing donations at every icon than at any form of devotion. I’m not wholly sure, but now I see slight differences in methods to which people follow the Eightfold path. What I see in Laos comes from the heart, there’s no frantic show of worship, reverence; they just seem to get on with it. Even the pilgrims, prostrating themselves for hundreds of kilometers, would stop their actions and hail the passing traffic. Such actions smack of attention seeking for their glorious righteousness, watching a line of monks gathering alms in Udomxay gave a completely different feeling. Humble is the only word for it, they were almost coy about it. As they stood in line accepting a handful of rice in turn there was certainly no arrogance in their attitude, which I’m afraid can’t be said for the monks I encountered in Tibet. That is of course a gross generalization, and I’m sure there are extremely devout adherents seeking enlightenment in Tibet. It must also be borne in mind that Tibetans do follow another branch of Buddhism, they practice Tantric Buddhism and I do believe they view it as a purer form of Buddhism. Could this be the root cause to a certain arrogance amongst the practitioners, or does my mind go too far along flights of fantasy? In my humble opinion I think the Delai Lhama has been away from home for too long. If only the Chinese would sod off out of Tibet, then the poor guy could go and do some house cleaning. I think he’d be appalled to see monks hiding bottles of beer in their bags, playing argy-bargy in the courtyard and carrying wristwatches and mobile phones. (Photos: 1] Monks receiving alms - Udomxay, Northern Laos; 2] Nam Uo - Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

But it sounds like I’m picking holes, which I don’t mean to. I found the people of Tibet inspiring for their warm friendly nature, my criticism rests solely on what smacks of religious arrogance. Maybe looking at the political situation they have a right to a touch of arrogance, they have after all maintained their devotion under the harshest of regimes. In Laos life does not have such pressures, and it shows. From the minute I crossed the border the atmosphere changed in my eyes. I wasn’t hustled at all, whilst not bothering me people did enquire as to where I was going. Of course I didn’t know my first destination, only that a bus left for Luang Prabang, which I missed by dithering with my map. Someone suggested I take a minibus, again I messed up by assuming she meant a private hire. So I took songtheaw, a pickup converted into passenger transport. I headed for the nearest town, and form there caught the shared minibus that had been at the border. Oh well, you live and learn! (Photo: Not quite a Dragonfly- Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

I find it hard to say no to nice mannered people, so reaching Udomxay I took a room in the first guesthouse I looked at. I took the £4.50 one with a balcony instead of £5 with toilet ensuite. My hosts were a lovely old couple, she’s the one doling out rice to the monks. Despite travelling a lot through Buddhist SE Asia, I’ve never seen a procession of monks gathering alms before. I loved the shy glances and barely concealed smiles of the three youngest members of the entourage, poor lads found it hard to join in the mantra they were smiling so much. That was at 6am, so heaven knows what time they got up. I’d forgotten to change the time on my clocks, so got up thinking it 7am. It wouldn’t have mattered as the bus I wanted to ensure I caught didn’t go, there weren’t enough of us going to Nong Kiew so he buggered off again. (Photo: Riverside village - Nr Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

Pak Mong is little more than a transit point, which is where I had to take another bus. This time it was a full size bus heading for Luang Prabang, but it would take me to within about 20km of my destination. With all day to play with I wasn’t concerned, the only aspect I do find hard is the policy of being given literal information. Inquire about Nong Kiew and a person is as likely to point in the direction of the place, rather than at where you can catch a bus. As it happened I got a lift from a pickup, not free gratis, any space in transportation costs money here. You can put goods or luggage on the bus and have it picked at it’s destination by someone else. And you can transport anything by bus; one had five motorbikes on the roof. If you’re willing to pay for it they’ll find a way of loading it for you, and there was me worrying about my rucksack being strapped to the roof. (Photo: The burden of village life - Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

Nong Kiew is a sleepy little place with a growing tourist infrastructure, though I don’t mean much in the way of luxury accommodation. There is only one place that exceeds basic backpacker needs, and that’s only £25 a night. I’m trying to be frugal though, funds are hard to access here, the nearest ATM is hours away by bus. The only alternative is the luxury resort, who no doubt make a fair wedge for every cash advance against your card. I discovered this morning that a bundle of notes I thought were of 10,000kip denominations were in fact only 1,000 kip notes. So I’d been ripped for about £30 at the border by the Chinese money changers, no wonder she was in such a hurry to get away after we’d completed the transaction. Don’t I feel stupid now? After countless times of changing money on the street I’ve never been had like that, the worst has only ever been a fairly low exchange rate, often the exchange rate is better than at the bank. (Photo: River trading- Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

None of it matters, I’m here now, in Nong Kiew and about to leave tomorrow to head up river to Muang Ngoi, an even quieter more remote destination. So although I’ve been telling people I’ll have better internet access I’ll actually have less. That’s the price I’m willing to pay to finalise my book.

Farewell me old China

I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry about leaving China, the tour had taken its toll and not in a physically arduous way. Neither was I about to sink back into the depths of despair, I’d missed first hand exposure to the delights of Tibet’s great outdoors, but it’s no good crying over spilt milk. The final days were like most others, long hours of driving and few chances of feeling a part of the passing environment. Sitting behind a car windscreen will never really do it for me, it’s too far removed from the surrounding nature, it’s too closeted. Maybe if I were the one driving I could associate better with the experience, as a passenger I feel no better than a casual viewer. Of course none of this changes the beauty we pass through, merely dilutes it to a tepid experience. If the tour had been as promised, the days sat in the car would have been marvelously offset by nights in the wilds. (Photo: Rice paddies at harvest - Nr Dali, Yunnan)

So unlike Tibet, Yunnan is Chinese in every way; intense agriculture, stylised architecture and even fewer hotels that can accept foreigners. Dali was described as a nicer version of Li Jiang, unfortunately not in my eyes. With dressed up characters of Chinese myth parading the streets, and rams attached to carriages, cutely adorned in pretty bows, all for tourist's photos, it was rather tacky. Along the main thoroughfare there was not a single establishment that wasn’t selling tourist souvenirs. The buildings were rather lackluster, in desperate need of a new coat of paint. It didn’t accentuate their age, it simply made them look uncared for. There was one nice aspect, the restaurants. Displays of fresh food lined the streets outside the old city, food harvested from the lake being abundant. (Photo: Harvesting by hand - Nr Dali, Yunnan)

A host of freshwater fish floundered in tanks, unable to move, but oxygenated by pumps. Mussels, snails, crayfish and prawns sat in buckets; actually the snails had a habit of escaping, but not to quickly. Water plants were also kept fresh in buckets of cold water, some resembled sea moss, I assumed the various bulbs were from such things as water lilies. Loads of local mushrooms were on offer, a variety of different boletus, oyster mushrooms, beefsteak fungus and even some that looked suspiciously like Fly Agaric, but couldn’t have been because they’re poisonous. It was an impressive array anyway, I really like the practice of seeing the food before you order. How better to ensure you’re eating quality food. This has been the one part of travelling through China that is exceptional, I haven’t once grumbled about the food. (Photo: Water buffalo - Dali to Pu Er road, Yunnan)

It’s strange the manner in which the Han talk about the minorities, which is the term they use when referring to different ethnic groups. Their paranoia verges on the ridiculous, they really are convinced the various minorities hate them. I shouldn’t really scoff at this idea, because they would have every right to do so. The worst of it is that each group are actually dominant within their region, despite the influx of Han business opportunists. Wherever you go the majority of businesses are run by the Han Chinese, in particular restaurants and hotels, whatever the local ethnicity. In places that have any form of tourism, or seasonal slump, the businesses will close down during the quiet period and the Han return to their home towns. So it isn’t as if there is much investment locally from their presence, they make their profit and take it out of the area. Forgive me if I’m missing the point somewhere here, but surely that would incite any local population to loathing the intrusion of outside businessmen, ask any local in wales about that one. (Photo: Maize growing terrain - Dali to Pu Er road, Yunnan)

This is particularly the case in Tibet where the Han empty out for winter. It’s a strange situation in China, people are registered in the town they’re born in. To move or work elsewhere they must gain permission, which seems to be easy if you’re from a wealthy background. It sort of puts a sham on the term communism, but there again China has a strange form of capitalist communism. There may be wide ranging areas of China with a heavy Tibetan influence, but for those within Tibet permits are rarely granted for freedom of movement outside Tibet itself. For the amount of censorship and control in China I didn’t actually feel secure making such criticism whilst in the country. Few people will voice an opinion against the party, especially to criticise the great Chairman Moa. My first guide was a perfect example, praising the actions of the leader of the cultural revolution, yet failing to realize that as an educated man he would have been sent to toil in the back of beyond. (Photo: Misty tea hills - Pu Er to the border, Yunnan)

Well I’m out now, and free of the yoke of an oppressive regime. My last two days didn’t feel like China, not while driving through the countryside. The vegetation took on a more tropical flavour, bananas sprouted from the roadside, huge stands of bamboo hung heavy over the carriageway and birds and insects filled the air with the sound of nature. We had plenty of tropical downpours too, it got to be hot and steamy. But it wasn’t just the areas we drove through, the local minority looked much more Asian than oriental. The houses were less ornate, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me, shabbier too. The countryside was hilly and generally less ordered, though in tea country the regimented rows of tea bushes dispelled this illusion. Gone were the vast acreage of rice paddy, replaced first by the slopes of tea then huge plantations of bananas. On the rough broken slopes nearing the border the land must have been useless for intense agriculture. Rubber trees inundated the near hills, only on fairly flat land could bananas be seen. (Photo: Banana plantations - Nr Laos border, Yunnan)

A great sigh of relief escaped my lips on reaching the border, so much so I gladly allowed the moneychangers to have the last of my Yuen, I was pleased to be shot of it. And so with no further ado, I ambled, unhindered, through a deserted border crossing and emerged instantly relaxed. Welcome to a land of the free Les!

's no snow!

For the final leg of Tibet we were caught up in a whirlwind of mad departures, desperate attempts to outrun road closures ahead. More road construction barred our path, they work from 8am to 8pm making it impossible to drive normal daylight hours. With two mountain ranges to cross it was going to be impossible to appreciate the views of both, if we were lucky we could squeeze in one. Well, what can I say but we were bloody lucky and copped for them both. It isn’t always the case, but sometimes the road crew stops for lunch. It just so happened we struck lucky, not only had they stopped to eat but they’d cleared their machinery out the way. We made a mad dash of over 30km trying to get there before they resumed work, and we made it. It did come at a cost though! (Photo: Sandstorm on mountain peak - Yunnan province, China)

It was another case of false promises, another failed attempt at camping. Of course I could camp by another holy lake, but it would mean getting up at 4.30am so we could make the roadblock before 8am. In all my bloody mindedness I was sorely tempted, but my spirits were too low for it. What was the point, there wasn’t actually very good places to camp anyway, and I was buggered if I was packing away all my stuff at that time of the morning. And so began the hell for leather drive to beat the roadblocks. Amazingly it all went well; though the tent hasn’t seen the light of day since I have stayed in a few reasonably nice hotels. Hot water is one luxury that didn’t seem to come in the price. Which may be very well in hot steamy countries, but in the chilly mountains it’s a touch too bracing in my opinion. (Photo: Snow Mountain - Dequin, Yunnan province)

Somewhere along the way we made the last checkpoint in Tibet, another holdup by less than intelligent police officers, frightened of allowing a foreigner through without checking with their superiors. And like most superiors, they’re never there when you really need them. I’m amazed at the state of dress of Chinese police officers in general, they may seem fairly presentable in the main cities, but out in the sticks they’re slovenly slobs. I’m assured they do receive training, that they should understand the various permits allowing me free passage. If this is the case they are either too thick to interpret the instructions given, or too scared to make the slightest mistake. Most of them look so young you’d expect them to be phoning their mums for reassurance rather than their inspectors. I should think myself lucky though, they don’t seem to get off on the same power trip the UK police do. (Photo: Shangri-la plain - Yunnan province, China)

There were no sudden changes to the landscape. We remained in gorgeous mountainous terrain, the style of housing remained the same, and indeed so did the people. A big overlap occurs, Tibetan people and influence stretches for a long way into Yunnan. Bearing in mind the centre of power in China was based in Tibet (thanks to the Mongols) sometime around the 14th century, this is hardly surprising. They remain a fairly accountable minority through half of Yunnan, long after evidence of their classic style architecture disappears. First sign of entering a region of an alternative minority ethnic group was by the apexed roofs, with up curved corners and rounded tiles. The Tibetans favour flat roofs, maybe to hold the snow and so form an insulated layer, making it easier to keep the house warm in winter. The Naxi homes are at lower altitude, it rains more so more efficient dispersal of water is necessary. They still sport fanciful decoration on the exposed woodwork, but it’s different, it’s carved but not as intricately painted as on the Tibetan houses. (Photo: Tiger Leaping Gorge - Yunnan province, China)

Snow Mountains, as the Chinese refer to glaciated peaks, draw in the domestic tourists. They don’t attain the lofty heights of their Tibetan counterparts, nor do they maintain such abundance of snow. In fact over recent years many have been slowly receding, some have vanished altogether. At least my guide could associate this with global warming, even linking it with the increased activity of local road construction. I’m not sure how accurate the latter information actual is, but I’m sure the increase in dust particles in the local environment must contribute to the rather dirty appearance of many of the glaciers in Yunnan. Most of the snowy peaks were obscured by cloud, only keeping a constant watch from my hotel window did I manage to appreciate the sun setting behind one of the most impressive. It was a little off putting watching a bunch of geriatric Australians trying their damnedest to bastardise the practice of Tai Chi, they would insist on doing this in public rather then hiding away in shame at their uncoordinated attempts at poetry in motion. But each to their own, eh? (Photo: Tiger Leaping Gorge - Yunnan province, China)

Although we’ve still been twisting and turning our way over mountain passes, our elevation has steadily dropped over the last few days. Snow Mountains or not, Yunnan in distinctly lower than Tibet. Yet it’s been delightful to note the presence of naked rock hasn’t diminished in the slightest. If anything the mountain terrain has become more stark, more unruly. As we’ve dropped in height more gorges cut through the landscape; as the waterways join forces the rivers become raging torrents. Murky waters pound their way through towards the distant sea, scouring out an ever increasing channel, giving rise to dramatic drops, spectacular views. Much of South East Asia relies on the water pouring down from this area, so the building of many new Hydroelectric dams by China does no favours to it’s southern neighbours. There are few points to cross these torrents, yet perched high on the slopes of bare rock are farmed terraces, accessible only along miles of tiny paths cutting across nightmare mountain slopes. (Photo: Romantic Lijiang - Yunnan province, China)

Reaching Shangri-la a huge waterlogged plain stretched for miles, edged by cultivated land. Cows and horses dotted grasslands, wooden frames laden with hay were everywhere. Some form of beet seemed the only other crop, the wooden frames alternated between hay and this root veg, hanging high out of harms way. Certainly with the hay it served as a means to dry it, I can’t imagine they successfully dried the beet though. Renamed in recent years, after the publication of the book, the city fails to conjure up any magical illusions. It’s newly built, in fact mainly still under construction, dirty and unwelcoming. We didn’t delay, merely passing through on our way to Tiger Leaping Gorge. Now that is impressive, and you can hike down into the lower confines of the Gorge itself. But as with everything in China, it comes at a price. At numerous points payment is requested, if anyone has set down a log of a rickety plank there is a toll. It adds up quickly and sort of takes away the sense of freedom. We managed a three hour hike in one and a half, it had me puffing a bit, but I coped rather better than my 26 year old companion. (Photo: Gorgeous valley scene - Yunnan province, China)

And so my organized tour draws to a conclusion, a few brief days and the border of Laos will greet me. A quick succession of cities await, and many thousands of acres of agricultural land. It doesn’t matter how steep the hills are, terraces line their slopes. Between the hills are vast areas of flat land, wet land, perfect for rice paddies. For the first time in China I’m faced with large scale rice production. There’s plenty of other crops, tobacco, maize, peaches, but the rice is definitely dominant. Lijiang is probably the most famous city in this part of Yunnan, one of the most ancient of cities to survive in China. It’s without doubt incredibly beautiful, a very romantic place to visit with its crystal clear, coy filled, waterways running past lantern strewn, cozy restaurants. It’s also renowned in China as a singles pick up point, or as they call it, “the place to come for one night stands”. The food stalls were brilliant, delicious grubs and maggots, the yak kebabs were a delight, though I couldn’t bring myself to try the grasshoppers or dragonflies. (Photo: Farming community with waterwheel - Yunnan province, China)

Tibet, beyond Lhasa!

Cruising down the highways of Tibet can easily be likened with the highways of life. There is plenty to occupy the mind, to appeal to the peripheries of the imagination; but it’s more profound experiences that really matter. No matter how wonderful the scenery, how amazing the formation of rock, if your heart isn’t there, it’s an empty unfulfilling time. How wondrous the sight that befalls the eye, how amazing the swirling patterns that volcanic layers form. Seeing the spectacle unfold is delightful, yet it holds holds no substance, there is more to life than a slideshow. Sat in a car, watching the scenery unfold, doesn’t fulfill me. I want so much more; I refuse to succumb to the vagaries of mainstream tourism, and so I instead plummet into misery. (Photo: Little Switzerland - Route 318, Tibet)

Who could criticise the bountiful sights that line the highway of Tibet? It’s a country that merits attention, a kingdom of heavenly wonder. The mountains beg to purge your soul of wanton thoughts, enwrap your heart and soothe your soul. This is the land to leave it all behind, forget your worries and heal your hurts. The faithful travel for many a mile to pay homage to the holiest of sites, they prostrate themselves for a thousand kilometers or more on their pilgrimage to the holy capital. I thought it admirable to see the faithful a few hundred km from Lhasa; after two days of travel to still see them heading to the holy city, well, I’m impressed. To see these people taking a few steps forwards then prostrating themselves, for hundreds of kilometers, makes me ashamed of failing to ride my bike the distance. (Photo: Pilgrimage - Route 318, Tibet)

The last thing on my mind was being a humdrum tourist, a rich bitch with more money than sense; Tibet was never about buying my ticket and enjoying the ride. My aim was to live the life, get out there and breath the natural freedom; the environs no government can curtail. But life is never so simple within the domains of Chinese control, they dictate every aspect of life. However far flung the destination, their say so is ultimate. And don’t the tour agents play on this, it doesn’t matter whether or not it’s possible, their say so is final. They play the system, lulling in the unsuspecting tourist and blaming the authorities for their own shortcomings, their own failures to deliver the goods as promised. And they do indeed promise to ends of the world: but delivery is seldom sweet. (Photo: Little Switzerland - Route 318, Tibet)

How many days I’ve been held in suspense amounts to how many days I’ve been travelling since re-entering Chins. The constant promise of camping, the constant failure to comply. My desires were simple yet explicit, I intended to travel the length of Tibet, camping along the way. I was assured this was possible, although neither the guide nor driver would accompany me; they’d retreat to the secure environs of the nearest town or village. The trouble was they wouldn’t even give the opportunity for me to camp at all; once a week was only managed with the greatest of effort. I’m sorry but pitching tent on the outskirts of a busy town doesn’t fulfill my criteria of a tranquil setting; it’s a measure of necessity not luxury, and I intended the luxury of full on natural bliss. (Photo: Homestead - Route 318, Tibet)

Tibet is amongst the most wonderful of places one can imagine travelling through, there is no doubt about that. No two days are comparable, from alpine scenery to arid desolation, it offers the lot. Terraced hillsides spring up in the most inhospitable of places, high altitude springs feed remote villages, veritable oasis of fertility nestle in the driest of hills. The people survive where least expected, along tiny paths threading between plunging drops on precipitous slopes. These are the villages where Han Chinese fear to tread, the living is too harsh for them to contemplate; profit is doesn’t exist, only a pernicious tenacity to survive can endure. The new towns are where the incomers abide, along the newly constructed roads, where passing traffic provides a steady flow of cash. (Photo: Arid mountainscape - Route 318, Tibet)

How delightful it was to awake one morning, to the sound of cows mooing, pigs grunting. On a quiet meadow, in a misty valley, I could escape the trappings of modern life; pretend for an hour or so I’d fond utopia. Of course it was all illusion, before I’d shaken loose the sleep from my eyes my chaperone had emerged, requesting when I’d be ready to make a move. How I wished I could maintain the dream of freedom, pretend I was truly at loose in the spiritual centre of the universe. But no, it was just another Han illusion, a pretense of being at one with nature. In reality we had hot and cold running water, flushable squat toilets, Wi-Fi and cooked breakfast; such is the Chinese sense of adventure. Mind you the pot-bellied pig was quite cute, she even rolled on her side to allow me to scratch her neck. (Photo: Terraced agriculture - Route 318, Tibet)

Oh, the relief of my new guide taking over the proceedings, my initial contact with the tour agency, this was a person who knew exactly what I wanted, a person who promised to deliver the goods. She was certainly better equipped to deal with people, but most important she knew of my insistence to be out there amongst the thick of nature; it had after all been the main selling point of the tour. If the first guy, Shanshan had rejoined the tour I think I would have refused. He was a brainwashed idiot, a fat fool able to do no more than regurgitate facts from the official book of Chinese trivia. Further more, he spoke English in a high class, patronising tone; of course he wasn’t going to enamour old working class Les. (Photo: High altitude road - Route 318, Tibet)

It was so nice to have friendly chatter filling the air, the driver became positively animated, clearly relieved at the new company. It relieved me also, no longer was the journey stifled with awkward conversation; I could stare mesmerized at the rolling slideshow of spectacular scenery without pregnant silence. Accompanied by her boyfriend there was a choice of English speakers to interrogate. And fair play, they were both willing to give honest opinions of the current state of China. Such a shame I had to break the reverie and confess how dissatisfied I was with the tour. Not that the country lacked much in the way of wonderment, only the complete lack of opportunity to grasp it by the balls; to eat, live and sleep amongst the best it had to offer, to savour Tibet’s great outdoors. (Photo: Rocky paradise - Route 318, Tibet)

And that is all I’ve wanted to do, to appreciate the true nature of this fabulous country. I wanted to sleep amongst the hills, by the lakes, gazing at snowy peaks from the shelter of my tent. There’s no taking away the marvelous scenery I’ve passed through, the huge smiles and well wishes hailed from the roadside. Tibet is amazing, the mountains beyond belief, the people lovely. But sat in a car, viewing it all from the comfort of a metal box, it’s sorely lacking. It’s never like this on a bike, and the only chance of recreating the experience was to be under canvas. Going from town to town, hotel to hotel, has failed to hit the mark. If only, oh if only, the powers that be opened the world to allow me to open my heart fully. What a lovely place the planet could be, if only! But we can’t live with if onlys, we have to make do with what we’ve got. What a bummer! (Photo: Rocky gorge - Route 318, Tibet)

Lhasa - City of devotion

It’s hard to beat an experience that is as uplifting as that of visiting Everest base camp. Neither the beauty nor the wonderful people alone could have achieved the state of tranquility I found myself in. The only thing that could have improved on this is to have spent more time there, to have camped out and felt even closer with nature. That was the plan, but it didn’t happen, such are the restrictions of organised tours. Is it only me, or are people generally promised the stars and dumped on the moon? However much of an improvement my Tibetan guide may have been, he was still reluctant to fulfill my wishes to camp out, away from civilisation. No matter how I’ve tried putting it, and I’ve been assured by the agency these wishes have been made known to the guides, they have found any excuse possible to transport me from town to town, from hotel to hotel. (Photo: A rather affluent beggar - Shigatse, Tibet)

And so I found myself deposited in Shigatse, at another hotel, another run of the mill, glitzy tourist trap. “This is cheap price,” I’m assured by the guide. To be honest I’ve almost given up trying to object, my thinking isn’t at it’s clearest or most understandable. Yes, in a word, my head’s a wee bit F****d at the moment. We seem to have skipped between the worst hovels and the most expensive hotels, the difference in price didn’t always reflect the difference in quality. But for once paying slightly more was worth it, to have internet in my room. I wanted contact with home; hey it was my Mum’s birthday, I wanted to wish her a happy day! But it was more than just birthday wishes. Since receiving bad news of another tragic accident within Cai’s peer group, my emotions were all over the place. I wanted contact with my family, I wanted to hear familiar voices. I could have handled the emotional stress isolated in the wilds, in solitude, but not stuck in a hotel room alone, not wandering the streets of a strange city on my own. (Photo: Monastic life - Shigatse, Tibet)

Every day travelling through Tibet has been like a film gradually unrolling, a glorious landscape unwinding before my eyes, every minute of every day. But it’s failed to hit the mark. Being driven from place to place, escorted by my chaperones, hasn’t been fulfilling, not as I’m used to. Moments of wonderment have come and gone, but I feel cut off from the amazing world I’m passing through. Chances to stop and mingle have been few and far between, I’ve yet to feel at one with my surroundings, like I do when mounted on my motorcycle. Many times I’ve wondered on the wisdom of my choice to continue in a hired vehicle, with a constant escort. From the Tingri valley we passed through a rich and fertile land, a natural world of simple folks working their butts off to survive; from the comfort of a chauffer driven Landcruiser it was hard to associate with the land we passed through. (Photo: Churning Yak butter - Nr Lhasa, Tibet)

Shigatse is a mainly Tibetan town, though swarming with Chinese tourists. The road has become chocked full of tourist buses and groups of 4WD cars of happy snappers. God, I’ve become one of the masses; it doesn’t rest easy on my soul. Luckily my visit to the monastery was a quiet one, the hoards didn’t arrive until I was leaving. I was blessed, I wandered peacefully, with only the monks to disturb the tranquility. As one adjusted his bag I spied a bottle of beer hidden within, my how the world has changed. Not only sparkly watches and mobile phones, now inebriation relies on external fortification rather than inner devotion. It was also housekeeping day, the monks were busy sweeping and tidying, a task that apparently didn’t bring out the best in all of them. A couple of situations unrolled before my very eyes, almost a scuffle between two initiates, signs of bullying from superiors. But in all fairness, it was a far cry from the dog eat dog world of outside life. (Photo: My boudoir - Lhasa, Tibet)

Between towns and cities Tibet has increasingly been a hive of productivity since travelling south from Mount Kailash. The countryside has been busy with harvest time, all and sundry hard at it, if not with the physical task of harvesting, then with the responsibility of overseeing the livestock. Even kids as young as the pre-teens are left to ensure the safety of the families animals. Bearing in mind the inability of Europe’s youth to take responsibility for themselves this is a pretty remarkable fete. It broke my heart to see a young girl almost apoplectic at the sight of her family’s sheep being panicked and driven in a frenzy in all directions by my driver forcing his way through the flock, horn blaring. Poor thing, it was her worst nightmare. All I could think of was the ignorance of my driver, his lack of understanding, lack of care; he actually seemed amused by the event. How I wish I could make a difference, maybe I’m too cowardly to force the issue, maybe I should do more than show mild disapproval. (Photo: Potala Palace - Lhasa, Tibet)

But onto Lhasa, the true home of the Delai Lhama, the spiritual centre of Tantric Buddhism. Probably the two most important aspects of Lhasa for Tibetans is the Potala Palace and the Jokhang Temple; the former being the official residence of of his holiness, the latter venerated for the statue of Sakyamuni, who we consider, ‘The Buddha,” though there are many Bodhisattvas; those who have attained enlightenment. A constant flow of pilgrims circle the old town that encompasses the temple. People of all ages, of all walks of life, complete many circuits, thus ridding themselves of accumulated sin. They all walk clockwise in their endeavours, many completing the circuit by prostrating themselves every inch of the way. It isn’t obligatory to walk clockwise, though I do wonder whether we accumulate sin by walking in the opposite direction. I think I’ve achieved a balance since arriving, so I’m still an awfully bad sinner. (Photo: It's for your own protection, honest! - Lhasa, Tibet)

The Temple is the heart of the old town, which is a wonderfully lively place; busy, bustling, truly alive. It may be thick with tourists, but the locals and Tibetan pilgrims easily outnumber them. Lining the devotional route stalls sell every imaginable item of tat a tourist could desire, it’s the purely for them, there is little to interest the pilgrims. Almost every side street is filled with shops and stalls for the locals; which I guess is good, there is little to tempt the devout from their religious administrations. Probably the biggest distraction is the constant trooping of the security forces, through every part of the old town, but in particular the circuit around the temple. Every couple of minutes a patrol forces its way through the throng of devout; one commander, at least three with automatic rifles, and one with a fire extinguisher. It’s a sad fact that most protests against the Chinese occupation are by the self-immolation of monks; and we can’t have that can we? (Photo: Never too old for devotion - Lhasa, Tibet)

As for the Potala Palace, what a fantastic place. A seething hub of despicable tourism possibly, but so beautiful, so phenomenally gorgeous to visit. I nearly didn’t bother when told I had to hire a guide to visit at all, I nearly bailed out when joining the tourist throng at the gate; I’m so glad I didn’t though! True, there were constant tour groups hustling through, with barely enough time to even see what the guide was talking about. They were hustled through at a stupid rate, too fast to appreciate anything. People came with bundles of 1 Yuan notes, thrusting them through wire mesh safety netting, hurling them over wooden barriers, even lobbing them over the heads of anyone in front. Clasping their hands in supplication they hardly even noticed what it was they paid homage to. For me it was ugly, it was a show of false reverence, very few managed more than a superfluous imitation of sincerity. (Photo: Modern monk - Lhasa, Tibet)

Initially my only thoughts were, “what the hell am I doing here”? My guide knew how negative my thoughts are on being lead around by the hand, being filled with facts I’ll never remember, hustled through to a set timetable. He done the wise thing, took me in through the gate and said you’re on your own. And as I reached the first walk-through of the Red Palace, and saw the tour groups packed in tight, I retreated. Attempting to cut in front had me turned back by security. The guy was trying to help, gesturing the correct entry point, trying to lead me in. No chance, I gestured there was too many people and backed completely away. I hung around for nearly half an hour, when it went quiet I ventured in. You know what, it was amazing! The opulence, the beauty, the vast wealth invested in thousands of years of devotion was truly spectacular. Hardly a beam of wood anywhere was left undecorated, not a single surface of anything was unadorned. Never before have I seen such attention to detail, such a huge display of worship to one central theme; the propagators and key followers of one individual faith.

I actually abhor the waste of money and resources thrown at opulent shows of wealth under the guise of religious devotion. Seeing countless stupas and tombs with thousands of kilos of gold, and millions of precious stones, is gross. Such wealth would be better spent feeding the poverty struck areas of the world, maintaining a balance of health and wealth for the whole planet. But in all honesty, when immersing myself in these places of reverence, I feel the spiritual pull, I get off on the profoundly intoxicating nature of tranquility. So instead of getting pissed off, rather than storm through in a huff, I stood back and waited. I spent all morning in the palace, each time a tour group caught up with me I retreated into a corner and let them pass. I took my time and thoroughly enjoyed it. I didn’t need to throw money at every available opportunity, but I seemed to appreciate much more than those around me. It doesn’t do to just go through the motions, I’ve seen this displayed before my very eyes here. I need to bear this in mind, adopt it into my own life. If your heart isn’t into what you’re doing, you’re doing something wrong. Now I need to carry that with me, keep it foremost in my mind. There is no point travelling because it’s easier than being at home, if I’m getting nothing out of it, it’s time to quite, seek some other solace in life. (Photo: Prayer wheels - Lhasa, Tibet)