Bus ride from Jiangcheng

The bus ride from Jiangcheng to Jinghong was long, slow, and bumpy. The windows were shaking with such intensity, I thought for sure at least one would shatter. The cool of the early morning departure meant closed windows, more than a few cigarettes, and plenty of spitting. I've already shared the smoking habits of the Chinese, now for the spitting. Spitting is a cultural phenomenon here. Nut just a little spit, but big, back of the throat, loogies. It's not just the men, but the women too. It has something to do with getting sickness and disease out. At one point, the government tried to ban spitting in order to clean-up its image by fining spitters, but a the habit runs far too deep for a little fine to make any difference. So the spitting continues, on the street, in restaurants, on the buses and trains, in the bathroom anywhere. Nowhere is it inappropriate to spit. The man next to me on the bus was the king of spitting--literally every few minutes, dropping a big one of the floor right next to my feet. Sick. Plus, he smelled like he had just crapped his pants, and every time I tried to open the window as he was lighting up a cigarette, he'd motion for me to close it. Luckily he got off the bus when we stopped for lunch!

About 3 hours into the journey, a man and his wife got on the bus with three squealing, squirming bags...pigs. The squealing didn't stop. The frantic squirming just intensified. 15 minutes turned into 30, which turned into an hour. All of a sudden, the bus came to a screeching halt. The pigs had escaped. Running explosively through the bus, desperate for an escape, those poor 3 little pigs ran under the seats, over baggage jumped up onto seats, trampled over people. People were screaming, hands and body parts flailing every which direction try to catch the pigs. But these pigs were determined to break free and redefine their fate as supper. The littlest one jumped, right out the window! He took off down the road and into the hills. The other two weren't so lucky. They were eventually caught and summoned back into their bags, kicking, fighting, squealing the entire time. The squealing got to be so loud that the driver put the pigs in the luggage compartment under the bus. But we could still here them. Those poor pigs. Makes me never want to eat pork again after seeing what they had to go through!

I arrived in Jinghong beyond ready to get off that bus and itching for a nice, hot shower. With Lonely Planet as my guide, I followed the map of the city in the direction of a few mentioned hotels, figuring they'd be easy to find. One again I am mistaken. I walked up and down the streets, got in a cab (who only pretended to know where I wanted to go and then proceeded to ask ME for directions!), got out of the cab, walked down a few more streets, and then ended up close to where I started. Frustrated, I asked the first foreigner I saw if he could point me in the direction of a decent hotel. Sure, sure. He said in a thick Spanish accent. He proceeded to lead me back to the hotel where he was staying, explained to the guy at the front desk that she's my friend from California, she's staying with me. Perplexed, I followed him up to his room. Two beds, that's a good start. I'm not so sure about this though. Can I really trust this guy? But he seemed innocent and genuine enough. And so, I plunked my stuff down and finally got that shower I had been dying for, although it wasn't hot. Cold would have to do.