Just few miles, few curves out of town and it is clear that Laos is another world, trapped in the past and with the roots still firmly planted in the soil plowed with the hoe and the help of few buffalos. Over 80% of six million Laotians spread over a territory slightly smaller than the Italian one, live in the villages, often isolated in the forests of the northern mountains. Electricity is provided only for few hours a day, usually at dusk, the water supply is a task often given to children: a bamboo trunk constitutes the bar which ends are attached two plastic tanks, cut on the top; six to eight years old girls load them on their shoulders walking back and forth to a stream not too far away; most of the houses are soaring stilts to avoid night incursions because here are living dangerous animals such as tiger, clouded leopard, elephant and various species of snakes.

The launch that takes us from Houay Xai to Chiang Khong, crossing the Lao-Thai border, would be an obsolete and anachronistic conveyance in the 2011 hyper technological West, but here becomes the most efficient and suitable for riding the shimmering waters of the river, vehement and daring during the monsoon season, placid and languid in the dry season. Long and narrow as Gondole among Venetian channels, they lap the water with a ridiculous draft bouncing from one bank to the other of the Mekong, living their lives to the service of tourists and travelers in the limbo of a border at the world's border. Seeing them from the small Thai immigration office where we get a stamp to get out of the country, there arises spontaneously a question: "How will we carry our bikes loaded with luggage on the other side?" Certainly not on those floating jalopy which even our small weight could cause a reversal... few minutes later we get a short answer to our question and we promptly are denied. The gesture of the Thai Charon is unequivocal: "Bring your bike here that we load!" his hands say and we, as loyal schoolchildren, obey, jumping on the unsteadily wood. A minute and a half of adrenaline holding our breath to avoid too many undulations and we landed in Communist territory.

The Bokeo, one of the more remote provinces, is our first port in the mountainous laotian lands. Villages, dust and many cyclo-travelers escaping the European winter: the firsts are a strange Chinese-Swedish trio, then Swiss, French, Germans, Australians... two-wheelers seem to have a fatal attraction for Laos and its tortuous and twisted roads. It's not hard to understand why, after a few days: they should call the Laotian mountains roller coasters, those carousel that mark the passage of every teenage in which you climb, descend, turn and turn constantly. The streets of northern Laos are all like this, carved in the rock they often follow the course of intricate rivers that have eroded long valleys to turn then abruptly on one hillside and start climbing. They rise gently, never breaking legs, but constantly go up following the irregular shape of the slopes, in and out,. They endless meander up to find a dimple to conquer the other side, starting over in their harmonious dance down into the valley. Slowly the main arteries lose appeal for travelers acquiring their asphalt cover that speeds communication and transport, and reduces, but does not reset, the adventure. The road to Luang Nam Tha is one of them: now largely paved, with the help of the monsoon is trying to get rid of the bituminous seal that limits and ties its wildness. Few short stretches are able again to spit dust in the face to the poor children of the villages that line it, every time a truck passes over it. We eat dust too...plentiful, but it only has the taste of adventure for us.

We sleep for two nights in the villages, up and down the hills of Nam Ha National Protected area, covered with lush forests elsewhere replaced by endless rubber plantations. Welcome is cautious, undecided, then everyday life takes over and we camouflage ourselves observing men lighting the fire while women wash theirselves down the river and children play with exhausts motorcycle tires. Dogs, pigs, cows, chickens, geese and buffalo roam free along the paths of the village and a cover of darkness dotted with millions of stars falls on our corner of the world, sending everyone to sleep