Flip Flops No More

Here's the deal: This blog's main purpose is to keep an as detailed as possible record of my cycling routes, most of them being well off the beaten track and finding any up to date info on the net is close to impossible. I planned to do a long post about my 3 weeks of “backpacking” holidays in Laos with Dimitris and Stefania, two friends from back home but decided not to, simply because a series of very fortunate events has brought me to China, and its great firewall has proven to be quite a pain in the ass effectively blocking the access to my blog in the beginning, and now that I finally found a way, it's slow enough to make me think twice before starting the posting process. But fear not my fellow readers, soon everything(blog-wise) will be back to normal and freedom of speech will shine.

Though tempted I am to write about the astonishing beauty and great mountains of Yunnan, I'll try not to disrupt the time-space continuum. The next 2-3 posts will be about the eastern trails of Laos, with a taste of western failures and Thai pleasures.

One thing is certain: High altitude, Yaks, snow and flip flops don't mix well...

Respect

If there is one thing in over-abundance in Laos apart from sticky rice, that's signs regarding the dress code. In most of the backpacker-heavy towns it is expected that foreigners will keep their bodies covered, much like the locals do. Why is it then that I see so many shirtless men and bikini-clad women walking around as if it's their party, their rules? Is it the booze, or plain imbecility?

Then there is the other type, the one walking around like vagrants with torn clothes that haven't been washed for millenia, the one that makes you wonder: Is 1$/kg too much to spend for laundry? Or maybe 5$ for a new t-shirt? What the fuck are you carrying in those huge backpacks, isn't there room for an extra pair of clothes? Oh, I get it, you need to show that you've been out in the wild for long, you're a weathered traveler, full of memories and stories to tell. Well my friend, go home. You stink.

We keep expecting for the locals to respect us, not to try and rip us off, but we forget that this is a two-way process and that respect can only be earned and not granted. Go to the last village on top of the mountain, the one without electricity or water, where people live off rice and roots and observe how's everybody dressed, simple as that.

Ok, rant off, everything back to normal...