I got a tattoo. My first tattoo (which implies that I caught the tattoo bug). It was forged down an alleyway in Bangkok. My arm was resting on a pink fleece Hello Kitty pillow for most of the time. We sat on the ground. Cockroaches and rats scuttled around us. Day turned into night. Hot turned to humid. Skin turned into an artist’s canvas. And one rum and coke turned into six. Five hours later I had officially joined the Mainstream (not that it’s something to always aspire to).

I introduce you to the newest addition to my “world”…

The concept.

Despite being at one with the street, other health and safety measures were A-OK!

The Bamboo of all bamboo.

Break time!

I deliberated just keeping it black...

...but I think the end product is pretty neat!

We went through Thai Immigration where we were “stamped out” and then crammed into narrow long-tail boats which took us across the Mekong River…and into Laos! It was a bit chaotic at the Laos Immigration booth to get our 30-day visa, but we succeeded. We then had to wait a couple of hours before catching the boat to Luang Prabang; at one point, everyone crossing from Thailand to Laos were crammed into this tiny restaurant where a guy tried to get us to pay 500 Baht for a bus to Luang Prabang instead of the slow-boat, and then tried to scam us for another 600 Baht per head telling us that there was only one hotel at the stop-off place. Fucking scrotum. We decided to take our chances on the slow-boat option, and ignored the ignoramus.

We boarded the slow-boat in high spirits – an 8 to 10 hour SLOW boat journey to Pak Beng, and then another 8 to 10 hour SLOW boat journey to our first destination in Laos: Luang Prabang. We were the last ones on to the boat (because we were buying yummy tuna sandwiches) so we didn’t get any seats; we made our way to the back of the seating area, finding a cosy area of wooden floor next to the toilet to sit on. This was so much fun. We eventually moved into the back of the boat, a separate room with a bunch of locals, and sprawled ourselves across the slightly more spacious wooden floor, wrapping our sarongs around us in an effort to find comfort. I think what got me through it was the view from the boat – hours upon hours, and mile upon mile of pure, organic, Laotian riverside landscape. The land was very unusual, well, compared to other river landscapes I had seen; it converged from rocky to grassy to sandy to silt in a matter of meters…all blending into a peculiarly hypnotising landscape of aridity meeting fresh waters. Every few kilometers we would sail past small tribal villages; they would stare at us curiously, and we would stare right back.

We arrived at our stop-off town, Pak Beng, just before dinner; we found MANY guesthouses to choose from, contrary to what the scrotum travel agent told us in the morning. We haggled with a guy for two rooms – me and Emmi paid 100 Baht each for our  room, and Owen paid 150 Baht for his. It was possibly the nicest room I’d stayed in so far.

Pak Beng was basically one short road with a few open-air sops, a few restaurants, and a couple dozen guesthouses. It was very quiet, the electricity in the entire town terminated at 11pm, and we were pretty much far from anything remotely familiar. Of course, I enjoy that kind of new and strange experience – we should all be cut off from our creature comforts once in a while – however, at times, I would feel isolated and suffocated by the remoteness and sameness of everything around me.

We left for out second slow-boat journey at 9am the next morning, this time on an even narrower boat (it didn’t seem possible!). It was a lot more uncomfortable than before, and I spent most of it curled up on the floor outside the toilet, next to some casanova French guy who shared with me his sweet baked goods and some interesting sideway glances. But, like most things in life, the boat journey ended, and we had finally arrived in Luang Prabang. We walked around the town for what seemed like hours – it was very hot and my backpack was VERY heavy and awkward – and then we settled it with a guy on a motorbike to pay 80,000 Kip a night for a triple room with a television and private bathroom at the Soutikone Guesthouse.

We soon found out that we loved Luang Prabang – it is nothing less than lovely. There are numerous chabby-chic, bohemian-looking restaurants, a few wine bars, roads littered with town bicycles, large Buddhist monasteries, and fantastic riverside views. The architecture is very subtle – wooden arches, large windows, orangey-red bricked streets – there are few, if any, buildings taller than an average suburban house. There is a textiles and handicrafts market in the center of town, several temples of sizeable proportions (one of which you have to climb 300-something steps to get to), bicycle shops, arts ‘n’ crafts shops, and the normal splutter-bang of tuk-tuks. We found an evening buffet on the main street – you pay 5,000 Kip (less than 50 pence) and fit as much delicious food on to your plate as possible!

The tuk-tuks in Laos are quite colourful.

Where shall we cycle to next?!

One morning, whilst browsing breakfast eateries, a deep and familiar voice sounded my name, I turned around and before my very eyes, sat eating his breakfast, was Joshua Chapkin. Incredible! We chatted for a little, then I continued in search of a restaurant with Emmi and Owen, figuring that I’d see him later. I didn’t. I knew he was leaving for Vangvieng the next day, though, so I knew he would be busy.

We hired bicycles for the day, cycling around the town center, then across a wooden bridge (built only for bicycles and motorbikes) and over to the quiter suburbs. We found a gorgeous temple, the name of which escapes me now,  and had to push our bikes up a very steep dirt track and maneuver between bramble bushes in order to appreciate the spectacular glinting gold structure. Although by this point I was sticky and dizzy, it was totally worth it. We could see the entire town of Luang Prabang and the brilliant surrounding mountains.

We stayed for a couple more days, one evening bumping into four Danish guys whom Emmi and Owen had met in Vietnam – Thomas, Rasmus, Martin and Jakob. They were very sweet and awkwardly funny; we all went out for dinner, eating out of our buffet boxes at the riverside, and then moving on to a cosy wine bar, with puffy cushions, for drinks. I urged that I was in need of some crisp French Rosé, and everyone obliged. The first sip was incendiary. For one evening we were “civilised”, rather than the usual evenings of swigging back cheap Lao whiskey over 10 games of Shithead (which were wickedcool in their own right). It was a merry evening, and it was mighty fine.

Emmi takes the plunge

We left for Vangvieng the next morning, waking up at 6.45am in order to catch the 8am local bus (60,000 Kip). I purchased a plastic bag of hot noodle soup and jumped aboard the very authentic local bus.

The journey turned out to be a 6-hour vomit ride. We meandered across the most breathtaking landscapes – huge grassy plains and forested chasms, rice paddies, small villages, and behemoth limestone mountains that jutt out of the Lao countryside in jagged formation. All the while, as we hastily shot along the meandering mountain roads, the chorus of passengers vomitting echoed through the bus, followed by the crisp melod of whiffy chunks landing in paper bags. Oh, what a special experience that was. I kid not, the entire bus journey was on one continuous winding road of red dirt track in the mountains and the constant fear of falling off of the edge. It did end, however, and the three of us emerged from the bus unharmed, and our lunch just barely digesting in our quivering stomachs.

We found a place called the “Chillao Youth Hostel” for 60,000 Kip per night – discount, yo. After cleansing our bodies of the sweat of the afternoon heat (and the stench of bus vomit), we took a walk around the town. Now, our main reason for going to Vangvieng was just to participate in the “tubing” activities that it is famous for – and it seemed everyone else had the same idea. Vangvieng seems to have been placed in the ground solely to cater to the young tourists in search of drinking beer whilst whizzing down a zipline over a river. After such activities, one has probably quite thoroughly exhausted oneself, and on return to the center of town, one plonks oneself in the nearest restaurant (they’re all identical) where the tables are low and the seats are cushions….and the entertainment is not the person sitting opposite you, but rather the continuously played seasons of “Friends”. It really is such a special place.

One afternoon, we were strolling down the street and Josh zoomed past on a motorbike screaming my name.

It cost us 150,000 Kip to “tube”. On arrival, we were greeted by pumping techno music, the whiff of Lao Whiskey, bamboo-decked bars brimming with sun blushed foreigners in billabong bathing suits, and the shrieks of people jumping off of ziplines. We stood in awe for a few moments, with our human-sized tubes hanging from our shoulders, sort of petrified to enter the river of sin. We slowly descended into the water, half-naked people falling from the sky, drunks singing to themselves, guys dressed in pink shorts and dancing like it was 1999. It was all so overwhelming, whilst also a little disappointing. We floated a little way down the river – Emmi was nearly killed by Josh’s friend Tim who had just launched himself into the river – when some people from a bar across the way started hollering at us and threw out a long bamboo stick to pull us inland. We were greeted by a hippy-looking woman who forced free shots of Lao whiskey down our throats. This was apparently what they did at all of the bars – it was crap whiskey, but in the heat of the midday sun it was quite effective. We hung around for a little while, being entertained by all of the drunken people ziplining and pelting themselves from the bamboo decks, then we plunged back in to the river to continue our journey. Occasionally we would cross a series of rapids, which was hilarious because we would almost always end up crashing into jagged rocks and get covered in slimy algae. We must have floated down river for about 2 and a half hours, enjoying the limestone mountains to the right of us and the giggling children on the banks to the left of us. We began to get tired of paddling, and decided to get out of the river and make our way back to town via rocky road; where other opted for a tuk-tuk, we opted to walk! We walked all the way back to town, in the blistering sun, along rocky roads, our tubes dangling from our necks….barefoot. And after all of that play, we plonked ourselves down at some nameless restaurant, lounging on the awkward flat cushions, and watched almost an entire season of “Friends” before slumping off to our rock-hard beds.

Whiskey woman

The bus ride to Vientiane is one I don’t think I shall be taking any time soon – it was only four hours but it was so jam-packed that people had to stand…for four hours! At one point, the conductor came over to my seat, pulled it out so that it would fit three people – however it meant that one of my buttocks had the pleasure of cushion comfort and the other was squished between two metal rods. It took two days for my arse to recover. I was not impressed. I also made a complete prat out of myself; I was teetering on the brink of sleep, my body hunched over and sticky with sweat, when my forehead hit the metal handlebar of the seat in front, and I jolted from the shock and cursed from the pain – all of the locals around me just laughed. Ah, good times.

The city of Vientiane was nice. It was like any other city really; buys, loud, and a little smelly by midday. We visited a few temples, got lost in a corpse-smelling market, and ate Indian food. We didn’t really do much at all. I think we were a little disappointed with Vientiane, perhaps the magic of Luang Prabang just set an incredibly high standard for the rest of Laos, and up to this point it had failed to be met. We bumped in to Josh, for the third time, and I agreed to meet him and his new friends for drinks later. It was strange, although I was so happy to see him and hug him, I didn’t feel like I should split from the Canadians just because my best friend was around. One might have thought now that we were reunited, we should continue traveling together, but it didn’t feel right. It was a wonderful twist bumping into him in Laos, but what was even greater was the fact that we could see that we were both okay and still continue on our separate journeys. We seem to take a lot of care ourselves, our own ideas and plans, and we’re better of for it. Of course, I felt that familiar warmth that I always feel when I’m with Josh, but I knew that we had found our own traveling styles, and we should just keep our reunion short and sweet. I think, also, that I fell under the spell of the Canadians – Emmi and Owen are quite brilliant company.

Next stop: 4,000 Islands.

The sleeper-bus journey lasted 16 hours. I bunked with a young English guy, he was quite out-of-it from taking 3 sleeping pills, and kindly gave me some too.  I was knocked out until 6am – I felt like I had lost 12 hours of my life.

We arrived in Pakse and decided to take the local bus to Don Det (30,000 Kip). It turned out that the “local bus” was actually a large tuk-tuk and it would take 3 hours. So there we st, with no backs to our seats, in a tuk-tuk of about 15 people. Sitting opposite us was this cool Canadian girl, Jess, her boyfriend Jeff and their new friend Ollie were sat behind us. They were awesome. Jess spoke in the most ‘far out’ manner, sported slick silver nose hoop and “traveler blonde” hair. Jeff was quiet, but very sweet. Ollie was an experienced traveler, very matter-of-fact, and a blotchy-eyed pothead. He lived for the road.

We would stop every few miles or so in small local villages; the villagers would run towards the tuk-tuk, holding dozens of chicken satay sticks, bunches of turnips, cockroach kebab sticks, and bags of roasted beetles. Jess persuaded me to try beetles with her – it turns out that I love roasted beetles! For realz! They taste like salted popcorn, with a bit more crunch, and a bit of juice.

We arrived at the ferry port a while later, jumped on a boat and took it over to Don Det (one of the 4,000 islands),traipsed around with our bulging backpacks in tow looking for cheap bungalows, and finally settled on a set of bamboo bungalows for 20,000 Kip per night. Hammocks included.

Everyone in Laos is laid-back, even the cats.

Home!

We spent about 4 days, I think, on the island. It has one short road, a few restaurants, and the rainstorms are awesome. Mud galore! The point of being there is to wake up, escape your box mozzie net, stroll down the muddy track to a Cafe Rouge and eat a pancake with maple syrup, read your book, stroll back to your bungalow, swing on your hammock whilst reading your book and gazing out to the river landscape…and continue that cycle until bedtime. Occasionally you will find the energy to go to Reggae Bar, drink some rum, smoke some pot, and walk through the mud in the rain. It’s bliss that I cannot begin to describe.

I will return. There is a charm about 4,000 Islands that is just too good to pass up.

4,000 islands at sunset

The journey back into Thailand from Laos was a long one. This is how is went:

• Boat ride from Don Det to the mainland – 15 mins
• Songathaew from ferry port to Pakse – 3 hours
• Tuk-Tuk from Pakse bus station to a different bus station in Pakse – 5 mins
• Tuk-Tuk from Pakse to Laos/Thai border – 1 and a half hours
• Songathaew from Phibun (Thailand) to Udon Ratchathani – 1 and a half hours
• Songathaew from Udon Ratchathani to Udon train station – 45 mins
• Local bus from Udon train station to Udon bus station – half of my life
• VIP bus from Udon Ratchathani to Bangkok – 16 hours

Needless to say, not every part of this journey was enjoyable, but that’s budget traveling for you! However, Emmi and I played 21 questions all night that turned into 3 billion questions and a lot of hushed giggling.

The course cost us 600 Baht – that’s extremely good, by the way. We were joined by two nice English girls, and our new (and very funny) German friend, Marcus. Our cooking teacher, Mama Wa-nee, picked us up at 9am and drove us to a local fresh market where we would by our ingredients. First, however, we had to choose our six dishes, I chose:

1. Green Curry 2. Glass noodles with vegetables 3. Chiang Mai Noodles

4. Coconut Milk soup 5. Mango and sticky rice 6. Papaya Salad

The market was fantastic, and because it was early in the morning, it didn’t smell like most other markets that I had been to in Thailand. Mama Wa-nee took us around the market to the relevant stalls, and told us about the ingredients and why certain items were particularly good to use.

If only you could smell a picture...

Clare sniffin some 'erbs

Mama Wa-nee is a bad-ass

How to make coconut milk - a very important ingredient in Thai cooking.

I nearly passed out with joy when I saw these mounds of curry paste...

Fresh tofu

We then drove to Mama Wa-nee’s cooking school, I think it was her house. The kitchen, for students, was a large area outside under a gazebo; there were lots of gas cookers, large tables, pestle and mortars, and cooking oils of every kind. I was in my element!

Our kitchen at Mama Wa-nee's

The beginnings of my curry paste

The theraputic act of shmooshing 'erbs

Green curry paste! Made by moi!

I'll cook you sideways, mate.

Glass noodles with veggies

Mama Wa-nee and my classmates

I cooked all of these, and they were quite possibly the best dishes I have tasted in Thailand. I'm just saying...they were that good.

Marcus was distracted very easily

Oh snap! Mango and sticky rice - made by L. Devlin

A very spicy papaya salad...

So yeah. I think we all came away feeling quite chuffed with ourselves – the cooking was very relaxing and the food was splendiferous. Plus, we were in Chiang Mai – what more could you want?!

++++++++++++++++++

When Owen and I returned, Emmi was hanging out in the courtyard of our guesthouse waiting for us – we all really wanted to check out the famous Sunday Market together. All throughout my stay in Thailand, when telling people that I would be going to Chiang Mai, the first thing they would ALWAYS say was: “Ohhh, you have to check out the Sunday Market! It’s amazing. Ohh man, it’s so great, you just want to buy everything!” I can confirm that this is in fact very, very, very, very true.

There are stalls selling Thai trousers for 99 Baht, elaborate lampshades, silver jewellery, funky t-shirts, handsewn childrens books, olive soap, classic wooden toys and games, woven handicraft jewellery, handmade leather bracelets, strawberry and rose-shaped fairylights, rice paper umbrellas, linen dresses, handmade sandals…it goes on and on. The foodstalls are another story: freshly made sushi, thai ice tea, thai dumplings with egg and pork, thai dumplings with sweet cream, dim sum of every kind, strawberries/bananas/apples dipped in pink/white/milk chocolate on skewers, tapas, noodles, tempura, pad thai, pancakes, fried shrimp, fish kebabs, spicy chicken skewers, fried squid (with all the tentacles!) dipped in a sweet chilli sauce….all of the smells fusing together, sort of intoxicating you. It was all wildly fabulous, and we were sorry to be leaving in just a couple of hours.

Chocolate covered fruit!

At one point, we split off in the direction of different stalls, but still within reach of each other. As I stood at the exchange counter, changing some dollars, I noticed that everything behind me seemed to slow down, everything became very quiet. The natter of Thai women, the giggling of small children, the hollering of food vendors, the whistling of tuk-tuk drivers, the obnoxious din of American tourists, all simmered and then ceased below the fuzz of a loud radio, much like a wireless, blaring a piece of cheesy instrumental music. I turned to find everyone standing very still in their places – the entire street was silent and still and I hadn’t the foggiest what was going on. It gave me the creeps. I stood on an elevated pavement peering down the mile-long street market that overflowed into nearby temples and alleyways; I managed to find my bearings and realised that the peice that was playing on the radio was in fact the Thai National Anthem, “Phleng Chat”. It plays twice a day, at 8am and 6pm, though I had never before witnessed this spectacle – probably because I am usually comatose at both of these times. Anyway, it was a totally and completely bizzarre image – hundreds of Thais and Westerners just standing silently still! Crazy! And then it ended, and as if we had just been clicked to “pause” on a television screen, we were suddenly clicked back to our normal bustling pace. Incredible.

There was a large group of us sat around the table, and the Thai guy who ran the place, ‘Tony’, chatted with us about the different treks we could participate in, and giving us the option to stay at his guesthouse, of course.  I felt like I had to book a trek just so I would be doing something productive…I hadn’t really done much at all in Bangkok, apart from go to the cinema, purchase hippy clothing, and eat sushi in the park by the Chao Praya river whilst watching the evening aerobics session. So anyway, I booked at 1900 Baht 3-day trek in Pai…..leaving the very next day!

The Old City Wall

I hung out with this German girl called Nadine, whome I had met from the trekking group; we went for breakfast, and then rented bikes to cycle around the city. It seems that there are no rules for the road in Asia – it’s quite fun, actually. For the rest of the day we wandered around bookshops and arty postcard shops, then returned to the guesthouse. Tony, the owner of the guesthouse, managed to persuade us to go and see some Muay Thai (Thai boxing) that evening. We were picked up by guys on motorbikes who took us to the stadium. The stadium was quite small, more like a large gym. Some very lovely ladyboys greeted us at the entrance, taking our tickets, and then another rather flamboyant ladyboy tried to chat me up when showing me to my seat. This confused me very much. We ordered cocktails and readied ourselves for a night of violence. It was quite fun, surprisingly, the boxers were very well trained and….strong. But, I don’t think I’ll be attending another match, if I’m being honest.

We (about 8-10 of us) departed from Nice Place II at 9am, stopping at a local food market for breakfast and snacks. We arrived in Lisu Village, a hill tribe in Pai, a couple of hours later. It was just what you’d expect from a hill tribe village – bamboo huts, dirt tracks, chickens and pigs scattered everywhere, remoteness, and there’s the strange feeling of realising that you are far, far from anything you’re used to.

We were sat down on the bench at the table, under a tin canopy, after lunch, when the village children were “let loose”; they swarmed around us, two or three children to one person at the table, locking our arms into their embrace, tying woven bracelets around our wrists. We were pretty much powerless to stop this – completely taken by surprise, we looked helplessly around at each other, the stench of English (and Canadian) polite awkwardness hung in the air. The “aim of the game” for these kids, was clearly to attack strangers and tie them up in pretty “friendship” bracelets….and then they stand there….short, dark, shiny black hair, big brown eyes, soft caramel skin, smiling, barefoot………and then they say: “Ten baht, ten baht!” Wow.

We headed off into the wilderness half an hour later. We trekked down muddy and rocky paths, across streams, through lush vegetation, weaving up and around steep, forested slopes, and finally into another village – Lahu. We settled in to our bamboo hut and on to the damp bedding on the floor, that would serve as our living area for the night. The guys in our group were persuaded in to playing football with our tour guides and some of the young men from the village – it had rained earlier, and everyone got very, very muddy! The women, meanwhile, took refuge under a thatched hut that stood high above the saturated earth. Some of the village children came to sit with us, pouring over our hoop earrings, ceramic necklaces, and our colourful bracelets.

In the evening, we ate a scrumptious green curry that our tour guides cooked up, and then, after discarding our bowls and cutlery, the children from the village entered the hut, sporting tribal dress of fuchsia, deep purple, and spates of lemon yellow on a black background.They performed songs and dances that were very sweet, though we did not understand what they were singing, nor did we expect an accompanying dance. At moments, I felt as if they were being forced to perform, by the tour company of course. As the songs blared at me, I began to wonder what my money was being spent on and to whom it was benefiting. I imagine, with much despondence, that very little of this money was passed on to the villages. I also kicked myself after the realisation that I now fell under the category as “just another tourist”, and that stung even more.

A little later, we transformed the dining area into a games room (playing cards). Our tour guides hung out in the background, with a few of the men from the village; I soon realised that what I had initially thought was that they were super chilled and amused by our company, was actually a bunch of Thai guys smoking opium and coke from pipes. Strangely, and quite unexpectedly, it made me feel extremely uncomfortable; I think it was that I didn’t feel as safe as I thought I was. It actually really pissed me off that they were taking drugs in such a nonchalant manner, that they hadn’t bothered to clear it with us. However, they did offer us some – 50 to 100 Baht per pipe. I tried to chill out, trying to reason with myself that this was part of a lifestyle, a culture, that I had willingly stepped into. I would have to sit back and observe, like normal. It did occur to me, though, that they do live a rather insular life, and they are surrounded by the “fruits of nature”. Do I ask the question, “Why?” or do I ask, “Why not?” Pssshhhht.

Family Night in the hut!

The following day, we departed the Lahu “dot com” village, and continued our trek of Pai; after an hour or so we came upon a small village situated next to a stream. It was almost lunchtime and we were very hot, sticky, and smelly from tackling the rough terrain – we were directed up and over a steep hill whilst the tour guides prepared lunch. So we crossed the stream, clambered clumsily up the hill, wobbled over some jagged rocks, and manoevered our way down. What we were presented with, like someone who has just traveled the seven seas to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, was an insanely “wow” waterfall. We stripped down to our bathing suits and grabbed our toiletries – standing under a waterfall, scrubbing shower gel over yourself and trying to stay upright is not as easy as I thought. However, it rinsed my hair of shampoo within miliseconds! It was the best shower ever. For realz.

So modest...

After lunch, we continued trekking, this time towards an elephant “sanctuary”. We arrived and found only a few elephants, we had to wait whilst they were being bathed and prepped for “take off”. It was eerily quiet in this part of the jungle, and I didn’t feel particularly fabulous about riding elephants – it just felt like I was some English toff at a parade during the British Raj. I cooperated, however. I couldn’t NOT ride the elephants as they were to take us quite a way down river, to give us a head start on the long trek to our second village. It would be three people per elephant; Emmi squealed like an excited child when choosing who would sit around the elephant’s neck: “Ohhhh! I want to! Yeah, can I?!! Me! Me! Meeeee! Yay!” That’s actually not an exaggeration…

So there we were, a bunch of Brits, and two Canadians, strolling through the jungle on elephants, high enough to observe the lower canopy. It was a great experience in that the perspective of the jungle from up high is far more rewarding. An hour later, we descended from the rough, rubbery backs of our sweet, clever family of elephants, and pursued our trail. When we arrived at our sleeping quarters (another village) that evening, we were starting to feel the exhaustion, and had a very slow, relaxing evening. We played a game where we had to clap and count, “passing” the number on to someone else, if they messed up then someone would have to rub to soot from the wok on to their face, drawing something funny. I think the best part of the evening was when I made Emmi look like a Gollywog. She was not impressed.

On our last day of the trek, we only had one activity – bamboo rafting! It turned out to be girls against guys. Despite there being three bamboo paddles on the guys’ raft, and two on ours….and despite they guys jumping in the water on several occasions in an effort to get ahead of us…WE WON. Ha.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Back in Chiang Mai, it took us a few days to recover from the trek; me, Owen, and Emmi just walked around the “old city” most of the time, spending most of our time at the market, or eating at the awesome food court. A lively bunch of people had checked in to our guesthouse, a tonne of Canadians, and a few Brits. Laura and Mara, from Toronto, taught us a new card game: Sociables. I won’t go in to it, but I will say that it was a very silly evening!

Owen and Emmi were to be leaving for Laos on Sunday evening, and so it made me think about what my next move should be – I hadn’t the faintest idea to be perfectly honest. We were eating lunch at this sweet little bohemian cafe on Saturday afternoon, I pondered, aloud, all of the possible locations for my next stop, and was producing little enthusiasm for any of them. “Come to Laos with us,” suggested Owen. “Oh yeah, eh?” continued Emmi. “Yeah, come to Laos with us!” Their sweet, super loose and casual vernacular makes me giggle. I love Canadians. It hadn’t occured to me that I could leave the country – I had been living/traveling in Thailand for what felt like years, and just presumed that that would be where I resided until I flew off to China. I made a face, completely thrown by the suggestion, thought about it for 20 seconds, and then said, “Er…yeah!”