Well readers, Jeannie and I have had an eventful few days which will remain memorable, but for the wrong reasons.  It’s tragic tale, so keep the Kleenex handy.

After spending a few days in Kunming we decided to take an overnight sleeper bus east to the border town of Ruili.  Ruili is the main border between China and Burma and promised both the bustling excitement of a dusty border town and the opportunity to head out into the countryside to visit a clutch of magnificent temples and pagodas.  Perfect.  We prepared to board our 8pm bus but were promptly headed off by a scrawny little fellow who proclaimed to be from the bus company and was here to collect our ‘luggage fees’.

“You must pay 10 yuan (£) per kilo. Gas expensive in China. Everyone pays.”

“No-one told us this when we booked the tickets”

“It on back of ticket, look look”

I turned the ticket over – a sea of Chinese characters. It could have said “no dead dogs in the luggage hold” for all I knew. He shakes my rucksack, then Jeannie’s.

“You pay 150 yuan (£), hers free”

Then it clicks. He’s 100% full of bona-fida shit. What a cock. “I’m not paying”

“If you don’t belive me, I get the police”

Hum, not a great offer. We walk off to find the ticket office.

“Ok, half price, you pay me 75 yuan”

He’s starting to wind me up now. Patience wearing thin.

“I’m not paying”. We circle the bus station a few times, he springs out now and again to intimidate us. Finally we get a chance to hop on board. We gesticulate to the driver about the bags, he smiles and tells us to put them under the beds, no sign of a charge. Phew, we’re in the clear.

“You pay me in your country’s money”

Spoke too soon. Knob-features is on the bus.

“I am not paying you anything”

He’s really cross. “You pay me or I get my friends”

Hum. Red pill or blue pill. Fight or flight. My father’s stubborn morality gene claims the victory. “Fuck you Jack. I’m not paying you anything”

“Ok, I’ll be back”

“Ok, Arnie. Do your worst” I think to myself. Then visions of triads with meat cleavers flash before me. Realise windows are too small to jump out of. Heart steps up the pace.

Bus starts. Ok, looking good, we’re almost off. Dipshit hops on again.

“Ok, final offer, you pay me 50 yuan”

Don’t even grant him the courtesy of a reply. He leaves, bus door closes and we set off. Continue to shit myself for 15 minutes until we’re clear of the city. A storm sets in.

What an absolute arse, however as you’ll shortly find out this guy is like Mother Teresa compared to a gang of villains who we were yet to meet.

Back to the point – Ruili. Full of promise, excitement and culture. Had visions of a small border town with busy men cutting dodgy deals and ferrying goods back and forth over the border, how exciting. How wrong we were. Ruili is huge, the buildings look like they’re from Disney Land, but most eerily it’s devoid of people. It looks like the child catcher has won employee of the year, every year for the last decade. We sat in an (empty) bar and looked out into the market place. A handful of people, and an odd steaming pond in the centre. Darkness fell, the pond continued to steam, people started to appear from the shadows. Unbelievably eerie. Did we take a wrong turn in the storm and end up in Vampireville?

We saw nothing of Ruili during the 36 long hours we spent there. It rained every minute of every hour. We made it to the night market for supper, where we ate noodle soup and skewers of meat, tofu and the obligatory chicken’s foot. As we sat and ate Jeannie had a revelation with her Mandarin. “I’ve just remembered what ‘dog’ is in Chinese. We’ve just eaten it”. Sorry Fido-San, it was an accident, I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. You were great whilst it lasted.  Goodbye old friend.

Now readers, you’ve met Fagin, the Vampires and the dog murderers, now sit tight as I introduce you to the professional villains who eat babies for breakfast.

Same deal as before – night bus out of Ruili to Dali, yet no con men at this bus station. So far so good. We’re on the bus for 45 minutes and come to a police checkpoint. The policemen hop on board and check everyone’s ID and our passports and have a good search of the bus. Turns out this stretch of road is popular for smuggling heroin out of Burma, into China then onto Europe, hence the paranoid police. I suppose it adds to the adventure. Journey continues. This time we’re woken up at midnight at another police checkpoint. We’re all taken off the bus, our passports are taken away for inspection and the bus is searched by a rather scary power-obsessed female police officer and her gang of friends. After standing in the cold for 45 minutes by the bus we’re let back on. At three am, exactly the same routine is repeated, marched off, police on to ’search’, marched back on. Go back to sleep and wake up bright and early in Ruli.

As I reach under my bed to get my rucksack, something doesn’t feel right. There’s a slash in the side. I pull it out. The front fasteners have been slashed too. Look inside – my camera bag has been stolen, my wonderful friend who’s taken so many stunning shots, gone. I can’t believe it. Jeannie’s ruck sacks been cut up too. She checks her small bag – my laptop’s gone too. Poor Ruby (that’s what she’s called), complete with her flags from the countries she’s visited with us. I check my other bag, iPod gone. They even searched through my rucksack to find the power lead for my laptop. Arseholes.  I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about the perpetrators, but the only time we were away from our bags were when the police were on board searching them.

So here we are. That happened this morning. I’m now in Dali writing this post as part of the greivence process. I was pretty pissed off this morning, but the anger has gone. It’s not the financial loss that bothers me, it’s just I feel like I’ve lost a couple of really good friends who’ve been a really big part of this adventure too.  Here’s a photo of them playing together in Malaysia.  Goodbye Ruby and my wonderful camera, miss you.