Xishuangbanna is less a part of China and more an extension of Southeast Asia, and I wanted to quit school and stay there. The streets of Jinghong could not possibly have fit any more palm trees, and the local Dai language was above every Mandarin sign. Burmese men in sarongs hawked jade and fruit. Instead of noodles, the vendors sold steamed bamboo, and there were practically seconds between when ripe mangoes, papayas, pineapples, and bananas were plucked and when they were sold right on the street. Courtney and I found a little alleyway that led to creaking huts, squashed around a damp courtyard hidden by banana trees, where we spent most of our nights.


I don't know what was better, being practically in Burma or meeting the other people who were just as awe-struck as us. We met an American motorcycler who had been detained for a few hours that afternoon for taking a picture of the border, and ran into the same pairs of Spanish, Israeli, Dutch, French, and Belgian backpackers in the cafes that dotted our section of town, getting to know all of them.

Courtney and I had taken the overnight bus from Kunming, settling down a 16-25 hour drive that we in fact made in fewer than 9 (causing us to wonder, at 4 in the morning, where on earth we were and what we had gotten ourselves into...cue nap on bus station bench). We decided to first check out one of the backpacker cafes we had heard about (after waiting until a more reasonable hour) and see what this town had. The Forest Cafe was a hole in the wall that served us muesli with fresh fruit; Sara, the famed owner, was a petite Han Chinese woman with cropped hair and a loose sweater over a peasant skirt. She offered to take us on a trek later that week, and tried not to laugh as she gave us directions to the elephant reserve (which was completely worthless) (which had no elephants) (which led me to follow the elephants' cue and thereby after swear off any place visited by Chinese tourists).

so Courtney and I rented bikes and spent a day riding around--Jinghong quickly turned into a series of huts and squatter farms lining pathetic roads. We swerved down a dirt path and found the Mekong River. I suddenly had visions of Martin Sheen and armored rafts, but quickly regained my composer as we rode along the banks. SO BEAUTIFUL.




The whole time I couldn't shut up, going on about how I loved Asia, was ridiculously happy, planned on purchasing a bike as soon as I returned to Boston, wanted to open a pineapple plantation, blah blah blah. I'm sure Courtney wanted to shoot me.

The next few days we explored the rest of Xishuangbanna Dai Autonomous Prefecture (as it is called), staying as far away from Chinese tourists as we possibly could--which consequently led us to be dropped off by a bus in a town the middle of nowhere, with naught to do but explore shanty farms until we were chased away by a farmer's dog (and his son, incidentally, who also barked).

every night Courtney and I went cafe-hopping, ordering smoothies, dinner, and deserts and the different backpacker havens. It was like living in a small, happy town--waving at our backpacker friends across the street, meeting up and deciding to all go to the next cafe, sharing stories about what to do and not to do. Trying different combinations of juice--orange and lemon turned out to be simple, yet the most refreshing.

In between activities we would often sit on the porch of our little hut, welcoming other pairs of backpackers as they moved in and out. There was a really nice sense of solidarity. One time at a cafe while I was using the computer, the waitress came over and handed me a potato.



The last few days we spent on our trek, which started out along the Mekong and swerved up into the (green, lush, misty, just kill yourself) beautiful mountains where we passed Dai, Ake, and Aini villages. We spent the night on the floor of a Dai family's hut, in a village perched somewhere really high up, wherever it was. It was us, Sara, and four other European backpacker pairs. We saw so much--all I can do is gush. The view was incredible. We followed the Mekong until we swerved onto the other side of the mountain peaks, where we saw rice paddies, tea terraces, and rolling mountains forever. As I was crossing a pineapple farm, I fell on my face in front of a Dai woman.


Anyway, the whole experience made me think. I'm studying abroad in China more to make the most out of a Chinese requirement than because this is necessarily the place I've been dreaming of. Chinese cities are hard to love. They are invariably gray and damp and filled with car exhaust, and there are no Westerners and quaint old buildings have been torn down in favor of drab apartment complexes. But no matter how sarcastic the tone of my blog is, I don't want anyone thinking I don't like it here in China! Because it's not the cities I ever really love when I travel abroad. Spending that week in the tropical countryside, seeing old buildings, old people, so many ethnic groups, was a transformation of how I feel about China. I can't wait to travel more.