Vinnie had escaped to Singapore. I was alone and needed to get out of Laos as fast as possible: everything I put in my mouth made me sick, the hotel was infested with little mice and the smell of goat had begun to permeate into the very fabric of my being. There was only one choice:
There is nothing like a food borne illness from raw meat to ruin a trip to new country. We’ve become unusually accustomed to the toilet situation in Asia- the lack of toilet paper, the need to squat in the middle of an open room and the general inability to actually flush your waste. It’s gross.
After an entire day of mud-surfing our way through the jungle we finally reached our destination: a large, remote Akha village deep in the middle of nowhere. And we arrived just in time. The entire village was gearing up for a massive party. A party that could rival any full moon rage fest on any beach in South
Luang NamTa in northern Laos has a reputation for being a trekking paradise. The one-street town is filled with hiking outposts, saloons, and a large variety of farmyard animals. People don’t come to Luang NamTa to explore the urban jungle, they’re looking for the real thing. I suppose that somewhere along the way Vinnie and