Learning to surf

My last morning in Laos consisted of waking up early to grab breakfast, only to find that everyone else decided to sleep in due to the rain,  so it was one very hungry who traveller boarded the 7:30am bus to China. There is only the one border crossing to China through Boten, although my 9 hour bus went straight through from Luang Nam Tha to Jinghong. The entry point at Boten was an impressive looking steel structure, although the Chinese officials certainly weren't out to make any new friends. Once our bus arrived, armed officers

ordered us off and insisted we lay our bags on the wet ground for inspection, after some initial complaincancy that got me nowhere, I dediced it was easier to comply rather than being turned around before I even made it into the country. Inside the immigration office the mood hadn't improved much as they fired questions like"do you speak Chinese" and "why do you come to China", a simple look at the bloody immigration form shows that I'm on holiday, not that it was off to a pleasant start.

I was excited to be in a country that never rated highly on the to do travel list, ready to see what this unfamiliar land had to offer. The language barrier was my biggest concern as the month which my visa allowed me to stay was a blank canvas, hopefully somebody will speak English as I certainly cant read the destinations at a train station. First impressions were of significant land development; whatever hadn't been constructed on seemed to either be rubber tree plantations (sprawling over mountains as far as the eye could see) or otherwise utilised for agriculture. This outlook was enjoyed from the comfort of long roads, supported by tunnels straight through any mountain or bridges over any decline that might stand in the way of smooth driving .

My first stop was to be a couch surfing initiation, previously I had signed up to the online international community who offer accommodation (without remuneration), providing a great opportunity to gather some local insight and make new friends. Up until now the hosts have not fitted in with my travel plans but I was excited to be meeting Zaza, a 21 year old student who kindly rocked up on his scooter to collect me and my oversized bag from the bus station. We hit it off instantly and the rave reviews from the American girl I met in Muang Khua (who coincidently had just come from surfing with Zaza) were confirmed. We arrived at his apartment in one of the nicer areas of town where another Chinese couch surfer was staying along with Zaza's mum who was visiting from a nearby town.

That evening we ventured out for my introduction to Chinese cuisine, the boys were warned that I could handle it hot, so they took care of the ordering; a giant chili soup bowl with fish (bones and heads included), eggplant drenched in oil, salad, rice and a delicious tube shaped meat dish.. which they waited until after dinner to announce that it was in fact pigs large intestine. Later we headed to the riverside night market so I could satisfy my fruit juice craving, backed up by beers at a local bar.

The following morning I set out with the other couch surfer to check out a nearby minority village, while waiting for the bus I used the opportunity to practice my hitch hiking skills though everybody just smiled and waived, maybe I didn't have the technique perfected yet. For breakfast we ate some unusual large soup concoctions, they were very oily as I was soon to learn would be the cuisine standard in China, not a great country to visit if your health food conscious. Wandering around the city of Jinghong gave off what I would expect to be a bit of a Miami vibe; warm sun, palm trees and flash cars, all that was missing was the beach. We rode elephants and sampled the province speciality, rose petal cake which tasted ok although a little sweet for my liking.

It was a 40 minute ride out to the village and we told the driver to drop us off a kilometre prior as the plan was to sneak in avoiding the extortionate entry fee. He dropped us right at the entrance and we suspect also tipped off the officials that we may be up to something, possibly scared of missing out on some form of commission. This did not dampen our spirit and we hiked around to a small housing estate at the side of the village, playing dumb as if we were looking for a toilet when we ran in to the first security guard. It turns out you must be part of a group that hires a guide in this village, so on our own we stuck out like dogs balls. Further up the road we found another way in and quickly amalgamated ourselves with a tour group, mission successful.

The Jinou village is famous for being the last identified minority village in china back in 1979.We walked around learning about their hunting, banking, marriage rituals and the sun drum which is their most divine worshipped object. The whole village was totally geared for tourism, recently constructed to not just educate visitors but also empty their wallets on tacky souvenirs, hardly the ethnic experience expected. I was sucked in to buying a wheel of tea leaves after sneaking in and joining a demonstration of the various vintages , which the lovely girl tirelessly refilled my cup. Not long after during a dance performance we were spotted by the initial security guard who marched over with a red faced lady who kept yelling at us in Chinese, no idea what she was saying but my mate made sure he only spoke to her in English as we made a hasty exit.

Hitch hiking back to town was a success as we scored a lift to the main road in a ute and then then were picked up by a lovely couple in their M series BMW, boosting my confidence before the pending attempt to hitch my way up to Kunming. The boys took me out for dinner to try the famous hot pot, a large chili soup pot which is heated over a gas burner and filled with all kinds of meats and vegetables. Once your chosen dish is cooked, you  further enhance the meal with your individual condiment bowl, prepared in advance from a vast selection of ingredients. It was a great meal although they had built up the spice factor a bit much.

Zaza invited me to go along some of his mates to a festive lunch in a nearby village, although we were picked up we had to abandon the car which one of the girls had borrowed from her dad, the sedan was struggling through the rocky mud pit after a night of heavy rain. Around 5km from the village, covered in mud and carrying cartons of beer, we luckily managed to get picked up on motorbikes from the hosts once the phones were in range. I'm still not sure what the celebration was for, somebody might have mentioned their new years or something similar. Endless bowls of unfamiliar food and beers were provided, some of the guys fixated on catching wasps that were drowned in Baijo(local spirit) before knocking it back in shots. Unfortunately we couldn't stay late as our driver had another function that evening, though our wasp drinking mates were kind enough to give us a lift back to the car. In the morning we tried to hunt down the infamous BBQ pigs brains, although everywhere was sold out so we settled with Zazas mum cooking up a feast, which Zaza slept through until it was time to drop me at the highway for an attempt to hitchhike north.