Perhaps the only notable difference, landscape wise, when you cross from China into Laos is, quite bizarrely, the soil, which changes from a rich and fertile red colour to a more insipid, but apparently no less fertile yellow. Otherwise, the tropical theme that starts around a day's drive before the border simply carries on. Not all that surprising, I guess, as your journey continues along the path of the Mekong into the heart of this country. The similarity in the landscape is a poor reflection of just about everything else, however, which changes beyond all recognition. Most notable is the shift in architecture from the stone structures of southern China to the impossibly picturesque wood-thatch 'houses on stilts' that rise defiantly out of the padi-fields across most of SE Asia.

Laos, in fact, conforms to SE Asia stereo-types more-or-less completely. The landscape, the people, the dress, the padi-fields, the transport, the houses, the plants and the climate are all just about as you would expect them to be. This is not a bad thing in the slightest, however, as you immediately feel comfortable and at home here amongst the unfailingly friendly, smiling people.

As much as I enjoyed China, after seven weeks a change was very welcome and injected a much needed air of enthusiasm back into the trip. I had a feeling I was going to like Laos.

...And so, as the landscape around us edges towards the tropical and the road we follow sidles quietly alongside the brown, meandering and yet mighty Mekong we come, in many ways reluctantly, to the end of China. Home to some of the world's greatest geological heritage, perhaps the oldest human civilisation known to have existed and responsible for some of humanity's most monumental achievements there is one question that, in my mind, remains to be answered: How within their six-thousand year history can a civilisation that has given us the Great Wall, the Terracotta Warriors, gun-powder and calligraphy not have come up with eating utensils more effective than chop-sticks? Especially given that their staple diet is rice? Did they start out with the intention of whittling a fork and simply get bored? If it wasn't for the astonishing dexterity I witnessed in Levan, our Chinese guide, ambidextrously eating noodles with these hopelessly inadequate implements I would be tempted to postulate that they are the sole reason why this entire nation is SO BLOODY THIN.

Nevertheless, despite the unyielding cramp in my wrist that has resulted from 7 weeks of chasing various, often unidentifiable substances around my plate, I was sorry to leave this place. It has, if nothing else contributed handsomely to my now relatively trim physique.

China, love it or hate it (and it is possible to do both in equal measure) is what it is. Unlike India, which positively assaults you with a rich and varied culture, China, despite its longevity as a nation, does not. The seven weeks spent doubly traversing the breadth of this enormous country has, in many ways, left me with the feeling that it is distinctly empty. Not, of course, of people; there are the odd one or two of those but of any sense of permanence or identity. This is almost certainly a result of the cultural purges that took place in the middle of the last century. Aside from the 'Big Sights', the ones that due to their scale or historical importance survived destruction the density of any ties to the past is at most thin and this appears (to me) to have left the country culturally adrift. Of course this was at least partially what Mao set out to achieve. There is an up to every down, however, and in this case the 'up' it that indistinct links to the past have allowed the Chinese to reinvent themselves as a modern nation. Something that they are doing with a vigor and single-minded determination that is probably unsurpassed.

In the end being in China is less about its history as it is about simply experiencing China. On first inspection it is easy to tar this place with an undesirable brush. The people are often rude, arrogant and unhelpful, the food is often grim, personal interactions are in many ways bizarre and nonsensical and simply the way things are done are so far removed from what we, as westerners, are used to that it can be nothing short of disorienting. If ever a lesson in not judging by one's own standards is needed, however, China is the place for it to be learned. Elsewhere in the world the influence of western culture, either through physical proximity, forced imposition or simply through the inexorable passing of time has made an identifiable mark. China has so effectively been isolated and so recently been opened to western eyes that more than anywhere else we have visited the culture here is alien. There is no denying, though, that within their own context and expectaations this nation operates like cultural clockwork. Whatever you may think, love it or hate it, unfamiliar and disorienting though it is, the new China is an experience not to be missed. Personally, I loved it.

Our final stop in China was Kunming. Despite being the capital city of the Yunnan provence there was little to do here except visit the pretty gardens (yawn). Thus, the only reason I could ascertain for the existence of this city was that it provides a jumping off (or landing) point for a crossing into Laos (our next plan) and a convenient stop on the way to the Stone Forest.

On the way to the border we made an over-night stop at the Stone Forest which, despite the name, sits in a landscape that is almost completely devoid of trees. What this actually is is an area of limestone (karst) rock formations that have, though various forms of weathering, been converted into a vista of rock pinnacles that stretch pretty much as far as the eye can see.

Arriving here we reluctantly coughed up yet another quite extortionate entry fee and spent the next 5 hours thoroughly enjoying ourselves trekking through, up and around the multitude of weird rock pillars, small crevices, tiny pathways, dark tunnels and deep gorges that lie at the heart of the park. Many of the more significant formations bear weird and fanciful names such 'Woman waiting for husband', 'Monk in repose', or 'Camel taking a crap' (I jest). Some of these are clearly what they claim to be like the 'Elephant' (see recent photo) and the 'Giant Turtle' and can be easily spotted. Some are vaguely similar to their appellation and can be recognised if you squint sideways in low light. Some, however, can only have been named by an observer in the depths of an opium induced trance and bear absolutely no resemblance to their name whatsoever, even if your name is Picasso. The one thing that all these rocks have in common (aside from their chemical composition, collective tendency to the pinicular and geographical location) is that none of them are labeled. Whilst this adds to the general air of exploration associated with the whole experience it makes navigating around the park using the highly stylised map distinctly challenging. Getting lost in this beautiful and evocative landscape is part of the point, however, and emerging from the depths of lightless coves to find yourself suddenly confronted with an apparently infinite vista of rock fingers collectively reaching for the sky is awe inspiring in the extreme.

This was perhaps one of the best places we visited in China and I left feeling slightly less resentful of the highway robbery exacted at the entrance.

We awoke the following day (our last in Dali) to torrential rain. So it was that I spent the majority of the day on the internet. Well this stuff has to get written somehow doesn't it?

After a day of catching up with e-mail, writing this and generally pottering around I found my muscles stiffening up nicely as a result of the previous days exertions. Thus I embarked on a course of action that was to provide something of an obsession over the rest of the journey to Bangkok. I ordered a massage.

Whilst in Turkey ordering a massage in a hammam typically results in being washed, scraped, screwed up, bounced around and generally physically abused by a large, hairy, partially clad Turk, China is a different story. Nevertheless, ordering a massage here has to be done with a different, but no-less astute air of trepidation as, along with hair-dressers but perhaps more obviously, massage is often code for... ahem, well you get the idea. I was assured that this was legit, however, (which it indeed turned out to be) and so I settled in to wait for my masseur to arrive. When she did, she turned out to be one of the smallest girls I have encountered in China. At a stretch she was 5ft tall and so slight that a strong wind could probably have broken her in half. It was something of a surprise, therefore, to discover that she was in fact a direct descendant of Mao Zedong's head torcherer, had the hands of a brick-layer and fingers like carpet tacks. After an hour of exacting revenge for the entire catalogue of colonial injustices inflicted on her country by mine, she left the room 40 Yuan better off and me feeling like I had been run over by a combine-harvester.

This, I thought, cannot be the massage experience that our drivers are raving about and so began my quest for the perfect massage.

Whilst the consumption of duck will remain one of my abiding memories from Dali, the main attraction of this place is actually the lake. The accepted way of seeing the lake is by pedal power and there are a number of shops that will hire you cycles. These range in standard from borderline ridable to a sack of metal pieces that on close inspection vaguely resemble bits of something that used to be a bike. Being 6'4'' in a region of the world where the average height is around waste-level has meant that hiring bikes over the course of most of this trip has been problematic. I was surprised to find, therefore, that Dali proved the exception. Whilst I would not have trusted the mountain-bike I ended up with to carry me anywhere actually off-road it was at least the right size, the wheels went round in the right direction and the brakes and gears worked. This represented something of a successful find when compared with previous experience and thus boded well for an excellent day...

..and an excellent day it was. The large group that started cycling together soon fractionated, and Steve, Ken, Trish and myself, having found our way through the narrow, winding streets of the old town to the ferry terminal decided to cross the lake to the less populated, more picturesque eastern shore. The lake crossing cost yet another ridiculous 130 yuan for the round trip (half an hour, two stops). However, after making as sure as we could that it was ok within this price to get off and cycle the far bank before continuing the tour we somewhat reluctantly coughed up and climbed aboard.

The ferry crossing was pleasant and mercifully uneventful and so it was with some dismay that we disembarked at our first stop to find that in order the leave the dock there was a further charge and two 'heavies' (in as much as anyone in China is heavy) standing at the gate to enforce payment. This highway-robbery-like practice of hidden charging once a tourist has come too far to back out is apparently becoming common practice in China, but having paid such an extortionate amount for the ferry crossing this was too outrageous to accept. It was thus that Steve and I entered into our first Chinese altercation. Whilst being 6'4'' and 14 stone is a distinct disadvantage when trying to hire a bike around here it is something of the opposite when dealing with Chinese 'heavies' whose combined weight was probably less than mine. So it was that, perhaps wrongly, but with an undeniable feeling of self ritcheousness we barged through the gate and avoided paying the extra 10 yuan (70 pence). It's the principle, you understand :) Trish and Ken, being far more polite, coughed up the extra wonga to join us for the ride.

The ride northwards along the eastern shore of the lake followed an undulating half finished road. The views across the lake from the high points of the road were spectacular. The lower sections provided us with wonderful lake-shore scenes as we passed through picturesque villages with fishing nets laid out on the road-side drying the small catches of the day and the fishermen went about their business. For perhaps the first time since leaving Tibet this truly felt like rural China up-close-and-personal, which made a very pleasant change from seeing it through the window of a speeding truck. After about 2 hours of cycling we stopped in a ramshackle cafe on the lake-shore and had a lunch fit for an emperor or six. A slight miscommunication on the ordering front resulted in somewhat more food than was strictly necessary, but as the whole thing cost around 20 Yuan (1.50UKP) each it didn't really matter. So it was that, thoroughly sated and somewhat less energetic, we set off on the 10 mile ride back to the ferry and, accompanied by petulant looks from our abused hosts our return to the far shore. Another grand day.

Our penultimate stop in China (disregarding a series of rough camps) was Dali. This is another very pleasant town in the Yunnan provence famous for its Three Pagodas of the Chongsheng Temple, its old city and the monstrous and very beautiful Erhai Lake.

The Pagodas, which sit beneath the mountains just to the north-west of the old town are an impressive 1800 year old landmark, providing as they do a stunning example of ancient Chinese architecture. Sadly they have more recently become a testament to the on-going development of a capitalist, rip-off culture in China. It costs tourists a slightly bizarre 121 yuan to enter this temple complex which is about 15 dollars. That is more than it costs to enter the (far more impressive) forbidden city in Beijing and, putting it in context, more than the amount that half the population of China earn in a fortnight. As much as I would have liked to take a look around this monument, this entry fee was so far out of kilter with the local economy and so blatantly designed as an exercise in ripping off tourists that I balked. I don't really mind paying slightly over the odds in some places but, guys, don't take the p*ss.

Having gained some time, as a result of being miserly, we decided to take a wander around the old town. Dali's old town, like Lijiang's, has been sympathetically converted into a tourist trap providing a plethora restaurants, art/craft stalls and tat shops. The local specialty here is marble and jade. There were a raft of different marble creations, including sliced, polished and framed marble sections and - allegedly hand-made - jade carvings. Not wishing to be a 'Doubting Thomas' but if these were hand-made they were done with a level of exactness and repeatability that was, frankly, astonishing and were remarkably (read exactly) similar to artifacts that we had seen in the markets in Lijiang. Hmmm! Hand made only to the extent of programming the machine that produced them, I feel. They were, nevertheless, rather nice if sadly a little too heavy to take home.

The old city, whilst similar in concept to its cousin in Lijiang is nowhere near as nice. It does, however, provide a pleasant place to kill some time and there are some very nice restaurants. Here we went on a quest to satisfy Steve's desire to eat Peking Duck. This, you would think, would not be difficult to achieve in China - it has, after all, to be one of their most famous dishes. After around an hour and a half of searching and a distinct loss of confidence in achieving our goal we finally stumbled on apparently the only restaurant in southern China that knew what a duck was - astonishing in itself given the normal range of the Chinese diet. Despite the alleged rarity of ducks in the region, this particular establishment cooked a mean 'duck a la orange' complemented as it was with some amazing Thai style fried rice, a mean helping of apple crumble and a couple of Dali beers. So good, in fact, that we went back the following evening had the exact same thing.

The two day high-level trek through Tiger leaping Gorge was brought to my attention by Michael Palin on his Himalaya tour. Since seeing that I have wanted to do this trek. It was with some surprise, therefore, that when push came to shove I found I just couldn't be bothered. This was pretty much the first event of this trip that I have missed out on and in some ways I regret it. The thought of following two nights rough camping with a 2 day trek, potentially in the rain, with another three nights of rough camp close on its heals simply sapped the motivation out of me. So rather than risk spending 2 days wet and miserable I decided to spend the time chilling out in Lijiang.

Lijiang is probably the nicest town we visited in China. The old city, which was built up the side of a small but steep hill, has been sympathetically remodeled into a tourist attraction. The maze like stepped streets of pagoda buildings house a huge range of art and craft stalls and restaurants. The whole effect is magically complemented by hundreds of red paper lanterns hung along the streets and lighting the small stream that flows through the town and under a number of decorative bridges. Exploring the markets, enjoying the restaurants and spending a very pleasant day in the dragon pool park was more than enough compensation missing the trek. Besides I squeezed in a day-trip to the gorge anyway, so what the hell.

Also, as ashamed as I am of doing so in China, the Frosty Morning Bar and Restaurant (the 'English' bar) do a cracking burger, cold beer (a rarity in China) and Phil, the proprietor, plays a mean game of pool (his wife is meaner still). Check it out if you are ever in Lijiang.

The gorge day-trip was a very commercial affair, designed as it primarily was to provide local market traders with a captive audience. It involved a large amount of time sitting on a bus and listening to Chinese commentary. The guide spoke perfect English but was apparently not in the mood to do so, despite having a greater than 50% European audience. The tour started with a stop at a big and very unmemorable stone tablet, the significance of which I forget, and a traditional music display by some locals. The latter was very impressive if only for the fact that they managed to get something vaguely musical out of the most obscure collection of tin-pot instruments I have ever seen together in one room. The trip then took in the 'first bend' of the Yangtze river, which, whilst being wholely impressive from the air, was wholely the opposite from the ground. This excursion did however provide enterprising local highwaymen with another golden opportunity to fleece gullible tourists. A half-hour boat-journey was on offer and cost around 100 yuan, one of your arms, half a leg, several teeth and at least one camel. We declined.

And so to the final attraction: Tiger Leaping Gorge. In a slightly uncharacteristic show of apathy I had at the time failed to read up on the mythology of this place, and am sorry to say that I have been remiss in following up. I therefore have no idea why the gorge holds this name, other than that at some point an apparently hyper-caffeinated tiger is supposed to have jumped it. Mythology aside, the gorge is a stunningly impressive land-form and the path that has been carved into its side, thus allowing you to traverse the length of the otherwise impassable torrent that flows down it, is an equally impressive feat of engineering. A two hour walk along this path, through some incredible scenery delivers you to 'the rock'. This is allegedly located at the point the tiger jumped and provided a convenient half-way stepping stone for the leap. This no doubt saved the poor creature from downing at least five more Red-Bulls before making the attempt.

Sarcasm aside, the gorge walk rescued an otherwise mediocre day and, combined with a very decent lunch (the ingredience of which I remain mercifully ignorant), made this well worth the money spent. An excellent day had by all.

After my near scalping experience in Chengdu it was off to the Yunnan provence, Lijiang, Tiger Leaping Gorge and a welcome return to the Himalayan foot-hills.

Perhaps the most pleasant thing about being back in the mountains was that it gave us a welcome break from the crushing humidity of central China. This meant that the journey to Lijiang became progressively more pleasant as we got closer - traversing as we did some of the most beautiful country that we have seen in China outside of Tibet. The road, which is often in bone-crushing condition (from the perspective of riding in the back of a truck with only rudimentary suspension), takes you through a series of high (circa 3000m), cold mountain passes that are covered in beautiful pine forest and low terraced agricultural valleys.

Entering this country also meant that the rough camping became pleasant again, it was lucky therefore that we picked this part of the journey for our wine-tasting and fancy dress evening (in honour of Dee's and Beth's simultaneous birthdays). A scream of an evening was had by all with costumes ranging from the ludicrous to the down right obscene (Ant) and wine that even when thoroughly diluted with, er, more wine would not have been out of place on the shelves of the paint section at B&Q. Wine production, it would seem, is not currently one of China's more successful industries.

And so it was that after three very pleasant days of camping we arrived in Lijiang.

Photo courtesy of Ken.

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That time again. Last from China...