Compressing an incompressible trip.

Name: Duo of Doom (regrouped remnants of former malicious biker gang, Trinity of Terror).

Aim: Unearth paradise, discreetly.

Where: The very paradisical northern Laos - Pak Mi, Pak Ly, Sayabouli, Hong Sa, Pak Beng, Huay Sai, Luang Nam Tha, Muang La, Phongsali, Hat Sa, Udom Xai, Vieng Thong, Viang Xai, Phongsavan, Vang Vieng, back to dusty Vientianne, again.

Modus operandi: Big motorbikes. *picture pending

Pertinent statistics: Between 2000 and 2500 kilometres traversed, count lost somewhere in between. 2 golden chicks inadvertantly murdered beneath the thick rubber tread of tyre (some hypothesise the chicks were suicidal, informed by their furious dash square into the line of oncoming traffic: me). 1 bloodspilling and mildshock-inducing crash, courtesy of a treacherous rut hiding wide in the 'road,' The Cursed One being Simon. The massacre of 3 wild bores, 4 quacking ducks, and countless swarms of chickens witnessed, the coarse deathcry of the wild bores most unsettling, that morning's pork dishes writhing in protest deep down in our stomachs. 1 key lost in the ether of a tri-terraced waterfall that we had all to ourselves two afternoons running, and soaped and shaved giddily in. 0 reserve keys proffered by motorbike rental agency. 1 new key fit following a tempest of invective from The Cursed One, thanks to the crafty grease-cloved mechanics dwelling in lifeless Xam Nua. 3 absurd Lao house, or hut, parties attended, comprised of barefoot dancing on hardened dirt floors, lewd propositions by young and old and male and female, endless mirth, sweating, and the ubiquitous Laos deejay saturated in alcohol doing a painstakingly subordinate job. The word Falang overheard 269 times in reference to us. 1 Lao stylee brothel-bar unwittingly attended- all we wanted was a peaceful beer, man- which was as interesting as it was saddening. 1 Chinese gold-digging rig boarded, involving an impromptu invitation to, well, a Chinese gold-digging rig in the middle of nowhere, the fluorescent glare of a full moon bathing everything in eerieness , where we ate and witnessed a demonstration of the digging process, huge metal troughs rotating along a vertical conveyor belt ripping up the delicate riverbottom, the noise warlike, the river rippling, the whole thing reminding Simon of a hairy 18th century industrial England construct, reminding me of Howl's Moving Castle, reminding the villagers bathing and laundrying and drinking riverwater now sullied by the rig of the avarice too many Chinese foster. 2 slowboats boarded thence offed, 150kg bikes in tow. 4 men required to board and unboard each bike. 567 balloons distributed to grub-faced Laos kids, one per person, rendering them ecstatic, giggling, jumping up and down, khawp jai khawp jai. 1 picnic held mid-ride on the towering ridge of a mountain, nothing but the soft cackle of leaves in the wind accompanying us. 0.5 cigarettes smoked. 1 email received from a British friend detailing his current status: 'Just left Pai. Kinda ended up staying there this entire time. 4 months. Just like the other time I did that. In Australia now, packing boxes. I'm pining for Pai, Mark. Help.' 1 raft constructed out of bamboo by a local teen, just for me, upon which we steered down a river without falling in, then sunk with rocks. 1 deaf girl befriended, who managed to articulate her entire past-in-a-nutshell to us, which was sobering: abuse, abortion, prison, addiction. Top speed reached: 120km/hr - The Cursed One. 0 verses of 'All you need is Laos' known, thus 0 renditions sung. 2 notable discussions a day regarding the unparallelled magic of Laos people - the bounce in their step, the joy in their hoots, the homely warmth felt each and every time we encountered a Laotian, like we were some revered international dignitaries, or something.

Outcome: We found paradise in a bigger guise than we'd anticipated.

We found paradise in a placed called Laos.