Nam Ha National Park - Luang Nam Tha

Russel, Katherine, Veronica, Fred, Simon, and Olivier...Friends
A brisk three-hour walk through deforested woodland and cultivated fields, and we were back in Luang Nam Tha.

The weather was drab, my mood was heavy (yesterday's soaring sense of freedom swiftly brought to earth), and I'd decided I would check my emails in an effort to garner a good dose of self-pity. You see, I expected to find my inbox empty, devoid of any birthday greetings. Out of sight, out of mind. That's the kind of impression I make on people. Well, back at the tourist office, a long, detailed questionaire awaited us, so I couldn't actually get away until I'd filled out the damn paperwork.

By the time I had, my mood had mellowed, and I joined the others for lunch. I was glad I did. Continuity of relationships is something I struggle with, and this was a small step towards changing that. Through my life, friends have come and gone like seasons of fashion. The only friendships I have been able to properly maintain are with people I met around seventeen -- and even those bonds have weakened. There are many people I love dearly, I just don't seem to be in contact with them very often. Life only has so much room, and everyone's so geographically distant -- scattered like the flowers in a daisy chain. I should just pick-up the phone...but I always feel a sense of loneliness after hanging-up. I don't just want to read about, or talk to, people. I want to see them, smell them, watch them, prod them, get drunk with them, dance with them, share life with them. Phone conversations are so safe and bland and unreal by comparison. A detached voice. Pauses. "Take care. Goodbye." And then the sound of a dead line. So, that's why I don't phone or write so much. But I'm happy to be visited, or preferably, do the visiting, so be warned!

Invigorated by the meal, I skipped back to the guest house of a few nights ago imbuing my original room with much romance. A simple place, but clean, light, knows what its about. A place to get down to business and jolly well get some writing done. The kind of place I imagined Mark Twain, or Thoreau, penned one of their classics. Furnished with a small table and a basic bed, nothing adorning the walls, but still proud in its way.

Was it hell. Actually, it was. Hell, I mean. Squalid, dirty, dark. Cockroaches and bed-lice. Brown water from the taps. Broken nozzle on the shower, curtain torn and blemished with unknown stains. Not my scene. Encouraged me to get out and about, at least. No writing today.

At the internet cafe I found thirty or so birthday messages. No doubt, many corraled by the dictatorial Shaz -- at the time, half girlfriend, half ex -- but I was happy for the thoughts. Until you really spend a good few days with one or two people, travelling can be lonely, and the emails helped a lot.

I went to dinner with the trek gang, and the conversation come round to everyone's age.

"How old are you, Steve?"

"Twenty-six....I mean, twenty-seven."

"What?"

"Err." Long silence. "My birthday was yesterday."

So, in fact, I did get to celebrate with these folks. We shared dishes, drank more Lao Loa, and had a fun time. So much so that five of us agreed to travel on together -- a first for me on this world trip. Something I should've done sooner, but happy it's happened at all. Had a final toast, before turning in and enjoying a good night's sleep.

And not just because of the alcohol and the bed.