May 25. Hey. Pssst. Motorbike?

Countless curves await us on the eight-hour busride to Luang Prabang. The scenery is pretty as we expected, and makes up for our diet of dry cookies and sodas. I remember having a can of beer during the break, but apart from that, don't expect any events from the busride.
Arriving at Luang Prabang comes with the expected dose of tourist stress.
"Hey, pssst. Motorbike? Tuktuk?"
-"No thank you..."
"Which hotel where ya staying sir? I bring u there very cheeeeep."
-"No, we're fine..."

"Motorbike?"
I am stubborn and Yeon has to persuade me to hop on a tuktuk to move towards the heart of this touristic mecca. There are tourists everywhere and handicraft markets as far as you can see. We stroll around the night market where handicraft and textiles are displayed in such abundance that a naive visitor might doubt Laos' poverty. I don't buy anything here, probably because I feel a bit overwhelmed by all the carvings and batiks.

We stay in a backstreet guesthouse, in (vain?) attempt to support a struggling Lao family rather than an expat nouveau-riche. The staff of the obviously family-owned business is very friendly; the boy who shows us our room is preparing for some school exams.

May 24. Of motorbikes and hospitals.

We almost miss our morning ride to Namtha. I have the bus tickets and the bus (there are only a few daily) stops at Bryan and Leila's house early. We rush to the streets and take our seats in the crammed minibus. Quick handshakes and best-of-luck constitute our goodbye to these wonderful people. I want to move on to Luang Prabang, but overestimated the bus frequency on the tourist trail. We stay in another guesthouse and book tickets for tomorrow.

Today, we rent a motorbike with the innocent intention to do some sightseeing here in Luang Namtha. We ride around and quickly find out that there are not so many roads we could travel on. In a silent backstreet, Yeon tries the motorbike but unfortunately operates it with the wrong reflex, making the Honda leap forward in first gear and then throw her on the asphalt. It's a flesh wound, and she's bleeding a lot. A woman sees us and takes Yeon to the hospital, giving me the opportunity to follow her on the motorbike - a stressful yet effective way to get to know a vehicle. I still prefer those Honda bikes if I rent a light motorcycle. Anyway, we rushed through the quiet streets of Luang Namtha towards the small local hospital with Yeon holding her arm tight to stop the bleeding.
At the hospital we can explain ourselves and a young doctor will stitch the wound. When I walk to the paying counter I suddenly see a familiar face: Bryan is here. They came to the hospital too for an x-ray, and the unfortunate conclusion was that the wrist was broken, and the couple would travel to Bangkok for decent treatment. Such a coincidence! When I leave that hospital, I am full of mirth.
With Yeon's wound stitched, the bike brought back, we steal into one of the wifi-enabled restaurants and indulge in the internet.

March 13. Auroville.

I am not Shakespeare what do you expect? I don't even, even. Just .. howheea, grrr.. man .. why .. blog has been disappointing lately. And I can't do anything about it. How can .. a sincere story .. experiences .. the personal account of an incredible journey trying to make the world a better place (slightly, don't forget slightly). Sorry. It is torture. When I don't craft my sentences I find them dull, unrhythmic, simple. But when I do I feel them drifting towards a kind of universally approved rhythm, a universal spicyness, complexity, standard. So either I write pure and it reads like detached babble, or I craft them like epitaphs on marble, and get detached from them myself.

Today we visit Auroville, universal city in the making. Nehru has arranged for a car with a driver, and before sunrise we are on the road to Pondicherry. Although we can't communicate with the driver and miss the opportunity to stop at some interesting sites, we make it to the mysterious Auroville in good shape. It is quite famous and chances are that you have heard about it. In fact, my friend Malia is now working there and we want to pay her a visit. But first we check in at the guesthouse, a wonderful place called Gaia's Garden on the way to the heart of Auroville, a golden dome containing the biggest crystal on the planet. After we install ourselves in the office room, that is rented out for the price of a normal room (we deal with Dutch), we hire the bicycle of the maid and roll towards the said dome on a sandpath. Most Aurovillians have a motorbike, and we see many of on the way to the solar kitchen, a place where they cook food entirely using solar power. We meet Malia there and have lunch in a canteen-like restaurant where shoes and cash are banned. After lunch, Malia has to go - to Tiruvannamalai! We decide to meet her tomorrow afternoon and show her the orphan home where we are staying.
We hang out in Auroville and try to get the feel of this lifestyle. Sure, you should stay here at least a few weeks on the farm to get the idea, but we have other plans. Still, we can judge it is a pretty nice place that treats you well if you come there with the right mind. If we walk back to the guesthouse the roaring of the motorbikes is too much.