Street food

I’m fascinated with borders, especially those with isolated countries like Burma. So I rode a clunky gearless bike out to it. There wasn’t much to see. On the Chinese highway was a huge structure. But it was manned by only one guard, and cars, trucks, and bikes came and went as they pleased.

I rode along the river through Burmese villages with bamboo houses and dilapidated stupas. It was indistinguishable from being in Burma. Tantalizing views of the Burmese town of Mu-se were visible across the river. There were a couple of tall buildings, probably the only outside of Yangon, most likely hotels for Chinese tourists.

I rode to the “One Village of Two Countries,” where the Chinese border guard in his smart uniform looked confused. I don’t imagine too many Westerners ride through on bikes. But an unshaven Burmese border guard in a shabby uniform came out of a shack and waved me away.

I rode through some more villages where the children didn’t even know how to say “hello” and just gaped at me in disbelief. I think if I were to keep going though the fields I would be in Burma.

Now I have to back track 10 hours to Dali, then a further six to Kunming. At least this sleeper bus is bigger and more comfortable.