Sitting in one of the many Buddhist temples of Bangkok. Even the most atheist and materialist among us must feel something sitting on the floor of a temple looking up at the calm golden Buddha on top of his throne. A feeling of more than this. Of unity, perhaps. Of "well maybe there is something out there anyways, or in here maybe". A truth. Stolen religious moments, not sitting there only as a tourist. The religious longing the books of Gandhi and Peter Matthiessen had awaken in me was more evident then ever in Bangkok, the city of a thousand temples.

The beaches of Railay, near Krabi in Southern Thailand, are some of the most astoundingly beautiful beaches in this world. Everything is perfect on Railay beach. The bright colored sand, the crystal blue warm water, the frying sun, the restaurants, the low prices, and above it all rise the scenic white, forested cliffs. Climbing the cliffs, swimming in the lagune. Photos that would make those at home green of envy. Silence on the sand under the stars and cliffs with a cold Thai beer as the night falls. Whiskey influenced dance in an intimate little rock club.

We could stand it for three days, then we just had to move on. Sitting in cold, windy November-Toronto writing this, I have to ask myself why? What the h... drove us from Railay after only three short days. I think the answer is that we where addicted. We were addicted to new experiences. In Railay days became routine, oh-so pleasant routine, but still they repeated themselves. We didn't come on holiday from a hard working term, but from India and Nepal, from seeing some of the most impressive stuff Asia had to offer. We weren't ready to lie on our backs for weeks. We wanted more!

To this very deep phycological analysis I need to add that I have never been able to lay on a beach for more than three days. Railay was my personal back laid record. And to tell you the truth, we never got to like the people of the beaches. The fellow backpackers, who's company we had so much enjoyed in India and the Himalayas, seemed not to have followed us here. Don't want to say anything bad about German sunny-holiday-tours, but... You know, too much of anything, is just too much.

We reached Sumatra's capital, Medan, by boat from Penang in Malaysia. We had three things to do there, in eleven days. We where to visit the orangutans rehabilitation center at the edge of the jungle (Bohorok), see the volcanos of Berastagi, and have some relaxing days on the island on the island in Lake Toba. So we did, the three things, and the orangutans were cute, the volcanoes were stinking of rotten eggs, and the island was an inexpencive, scenically marvolous two day's of traveller rehabilitation.

This map is borrowed from Lonely Planet.

Back in Thailand, we went directly to Bangkok. Despite the complaining of many fellow backpackers about the noise and pollution, we both liked Bangkok. Coming from the cities on the Indian continent had cured us of dust, noise, and exhost sensivity for a while. It had also made the ready-to-eat pineapples of Bangkok's street vendors something right out of paradise.

With its wide flat surfaced valleys the Lijiang region is situated where the grand Himalayas transforms to the plains of south western China. The town itself lies at 2500 meters above sealevel with surounding mountains at more that 5000m. Safe back in a Norwegian sofa, I heard the news of the earthquake that struck the region some time ago, killing hundreds and destroying much of the old town.

We have all seen the pictures of the millions of bikers in China, and particularly Beijing. We decided to join them for a day. In front of the functionalist (= ugly) style hotel (a multifloored builind of 12 and 15 beds dormatories) there were always somebody renting out bikes. We chose the first we met and tried to pick out decent bikes, while the rental man kept trying to start negotiations on the deposit. Well, I thought, deposits will be returned, so why make a fuzz about it. If the man wants 500 yuan (about US$ 60), let's give him 500. My friend is less naiv, or more stubborn, depending on the viewpoint, and bargained the deposit down by half. (Bargaining a deposit, I thought, how stingy can you get!?)

Off we biked to see the sights of Beijing from narrow hard seats. Almost everywhere you park your bike in Beijing, there are someone charging you to look after it. At the first two-three sights we therefore unwillingly payed out the enourmous amounts of a couple of yi (about a couple of nickels) for the seemingly unnecessary luxury of having our bikes watched over. (How stingy you get in a "bargaining economy"!) Having climbed the hill behind the forbidden city to gaze upon its red tiled roofs, all the way to the Tianman Square, and the Mao Mosoleum, we went to the clothes markeds in the embassy area. This time there was no watch person. We simply parked the bikes next to the sidewalk, three meters from the nearest street vendors.

Upon returning after maybe ten minutes out of sight the bikes were long gone. Vanished. Locks, because they had locks, and all. We were slightly puzzled and very eager to get back the bikes. So eager in fact that we started questioning the street vendors. "Where are our bikes? You are three meters away, how could you see nothing? So you are smiling, don't think I am being serious?" They must have had a good time. Starting to feel the stink of a little everyday conspiracy, we understood that there was more here than the eye could see. The street vendors also got tired of our game, or rather their game, directing us to the nearest police station up the street. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we did report our two black male bikes stolen in the black male bike capital of the world, Beijing. The officers were polite trying to understand our discriptions. "Black" "male" "bike". "Two".

We returned to the hotel on one of Beijings buses. Slowly dragging itself through heavy trafic. I was sitting on my seat, still a bit annoyed about the overprice charged by the bus ticket salesperson (usually a well-dressed woman), but more worried about the coming confrontation with the bike-rental man. Should we just say; hey, too bad, you have our deposits? Or were the bikes more worth, leaving us in debt to him? How are the Chinese laws on this point? As it turned out I worried in vain. Back at the hotel we didn't find the bike-rental man. Nor did he turn up the next day, or the next, in fact we never saw him again. But we did see this little note on the bill board on our floor: "Don't rent bikes from the man just outside the hotel. He steals the bikes back, and keeps the deposit." Be adviced.

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