No breakfast?
Before I make my way back to Laos, I need breakfast for the long journey.
Far from it – even in the morning around 9.00 most shops are still closed, as are all restaurants. Is that even possible? In China? Many people sit on the sidewalks, on their tiny little chairs, and sip their soup in peace of mind. This province surprises me more and more. And since I have learned in the meantime that questions at best lead to a shrug of the shoulders, I leave it at that.
So no breakfast today.
Looking for my hotel reception
Something else has to be done. I have to check out. Something very trivial, one would think. But at least this means that you know where to do that.
This is more difficult than I thought and leads to one of those memorable episodes that still remains funny even after being told many times.
Anyway, in the building where my hotel is located, as I mentioned earlier, there are numerous others, all scattered over ten or more floors, sometimes several on one. That's the problem. I would like to check out, but unfortunately I only remember the floor, but not which door leads to my reception. And of course all the doors are written only in Chinese. And the corridor seems to me like in Kafka's castle.
Infinitely long.
What's to be done? Slowly I get a little nervous, because my bus leaves in half an hour. So I have no choice but to try to find the reception by an exclusion procedure.
Knocking on the first and second door leads nowhere. Either the people are still in deep sleep or nobody is in there. At the third door I am lucky, whereby luck is a relative term, because the sleepy face of the lady makes a rather angry impression. And of course she doesn't understand a word and slams the door in my face.
I can not blame her.
What can I do? Call for help? Light a fire?
But at some point a door opens in the back of the long corridor and, indeed, it is my lady, my reception, my salvation.
I have never checked out with so much euphoria.
Return to Laos
From here on the next steps are problem-free – I find, with considerable difficulties, even the right bus. The young girl at the bus counter doesn't understand a word, of course, nor do I understand her annoying comments, but help comes in the form of a resident who actually seems to understand what I'm looking for. Bingo!
I'm sitting in the middle of a noisy company of trekkers just coming out of the mountains. This reminds me of my original plan to travel to the foothills of the Himalayas, but as I said, plans that couldn't be realized. The more the guys talk about their trip, the more I struggle with this loss of potential experiences. Meanwhile, the bus travels back the same way, towards poverty, but also towards the grace and friendliness of Laos.
First or last name?
At the Chinese passport control I get examined initially sceptically, then grimly, finally alarmed, before being politely asked to step aside and wait.
They consult in the back room, obviously a bit irritated, while I'm already struggling with the fantasy of being sunk into the depths of a Chinese gulag like Brad Pitt in "Spy Game".
Well, everything clears up, of course. It's a mix-up of first and last names. Well, yes, you grey-green-yellow uniformed, eternally suspicious officials, there are other countries, other customs, other writings, remember that. And the way first names and surnames are written, too.
And then I'm back in Luang Lamptha, almost a homecoming. Old hotel, old restaurant, old acquaintances. Somehow a reassuring statement. Oh yes, and tomorrow there's a trek announced ...
P.S. Matching Song: Apparat ft. Soap & Skin - Goodbye
And here the journey continues ...
