I was lost, unsure of what country I was in and oblivious to what they were yelling at me. They were speaking Chinese of course, I know that now. There were signs, about a half hour before this, that were no longer written in Laotian. They were unfamiliar characters but with my approximate geographic location I could have assumed they were Chinese; at the time I hadn’t thought much about it. As I rode across the red and white checkered line and the police started frantically waving me back and I knew for sure that I had actually crossed the Chinese boarder. They didn’t speak English and I don’t speak Chinese so we smiled at each other while I turned around to ride back through Laos.
I made it to the boarder on a scooter that I had ridden through mountains, forests and villages. It was a ride that I was sure would have broken the little Suzuki scooter that was exploring with me for the day, and upon returning it there was no doubt that it was in worse shape than the day before. I almost ran out of gas in the middle of no where and the only fuel I had for my body was a small bag of muesli and some fruit leftover from that morning. Then I made a friend at a gas station, met some field workers, and made it home in one piece, great success!