The time had come to leave China for Vietnam so I boarded a bus to Hekou. In my head it instantly became “the smoking bus” — each passenger had a cigarette between their fingers and another resting above their ear. Cigarettes were passed back and forth, tested and reviewed, bought and sold, thrown out of windows and used to light the next ones.

Whenever we passed another bus the drivers stopped to exchange cigarettes. When there was no one to trade cigarettes with we tore through the open roads — stopping only for pigs to cross the street — their bloated bodies silhouetted by the setting sun.

I didn’t book a welcome party but on my arrival in Hekou I got one anyway. A man, dressed in a black suit, bounded aboard the bus. With a firm handshake he announced his name was “Lee” and he helped tourists to pass into Vietnam. This was — as I was about to learn — a position he took very seriously.

“Change the time on your watch because Vietnam is one hour behind.”

“Ok,” I replied, planning to change it later.

“Your watch!”

I fumbled for my watch and changed the time.

“Do you want to go to Hanoi or Sapa?”

“Sapa.”

“Tonight there are no buses. So we will go to a hotel and tomorrow you will get a bus.”

“Ok,” I replied.

“Now! Quickly! Come on!”

By the time I’d picked up my backpack Lee had almost reached the end of the road. I hurried after him toward a tiny storefront with a neon sign. Near the door there was a man sitting on a miniature stool. His huge moustache swallowed all of his other features — it was so large that in my memory he’s just a human-sized moustache on a pair of shoes. Lee barged past him and beckoned me up some rickety stairs into a dirty hotel room. He turned up his nose, “This room is no good.”

I followed him up a second flight of stairs to an equally dirty room — only this one had two beds. Smog flowed through the open window and the ashtray on the dresser was piled high with cigarette ends. A yellow stained quilt lay crumpled on the floor — which was strewn with dirty bottles, wrappers and cigarette butts. “This room is good,” Lee said. “But dirty. Clean it!” For a second I thought he was talking to me. Then I noticed the Moustache hovering at the door.

Lee checked the bathroom while the Mousatche began to sweep the floor. First he inspected the miniature sink and hosepipe shower. Then he pressed the light switch. Nothing. He tried it again. Still nothing. “No light!” he shouted at the Moustache. “Change it!”

I threw my backpack onto the bed.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” asked Lee.

“No.”

“I have lots! In China you can have many girlfriends. Look! In this room you have two beds. It’s so easy! You tell the girl you have a spare bed and it will be cheaper to share the room. Then you can have fun all night!”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Is there much to do in Hekou?”

“There is nothing. But! You can go for a massage. For just 200 Yuan you can have fun all night.”

He flicked cigarette ash onto the floor, marginally missing the Moustache’s head.

“Do you plan to visit Cambodia?”

“Yes” I replied. “I’m hoping to.”

“Cambodia is very cheap.”

“That sounds good.”

“Yes! You can get a girl for 100 Yuan.”

“I see … and … what about Laos? What’s that like? Have you been there?”

“No, but I hear the girls are cheap. And you must go to Thailand! Many people go there! Many tourists! There you can find a girl. There they are very cheap!”

“Is the food expensive in Vietnam?”

He stared at me with confusion. “Why do you want to eat when you could be having fun all night?”

By this time the Moustache had finished preparing the room —  he had thrown the quilt on the bed, emptied the ashtray, and swept up the ash Lee had flicked onto the carpet.

Lee pointed a finger at me: “You! Give me 60 Yuan! I give you! One key! Tomorrow! You give me! One key! Tomorrow! I give you! Ten yuan!”

“You mean you need a deposit?”

“Something like that!”

I gave him the money — which he threw in the general direction of the Moustache.

“Now come with me!”

I followed Lee onto the street, where we twisted off the main thoroughfare into a dank alley. A series of shop signs glowed pink. “Here you can have a massage,” grinned Lee. Against the fluorescent backdrop he looked like a child in Disneyland. Lowering his voice to a whisper he added: “They’re not really massage places — they’re full of girls for sex! See you tomorrow! Have fun all night!”

When Lee had gone I returned to the main street, where it took me about two minutes to realise Hekou was pretty grim. Everyone appeared to be either drinking or drunk. Soldiers yelled across empty roads. Fat hags with crooked teeth coaxed passers-by into massage parlours. Outside filthy restaurants, chefs cooked old noodles on giant woks. I chose the least threatening restaurant and decided to return to the hotel as soon as I’d finished.

Instead however I managed to get completely lost. I hate to point the finger but I blame Lee. He’d been talking so much I’d forgotten to memorise the name of the hotel or the street. And so for the next two hours I trudged the depressing streets of Hekou, searching for anything that seemed familiar. Two Alsatians followed me — scouring the alleys and searching for scraps. When they tired of this they fought instead.

To escape the dogs I entered one of about four shops that were open. At the counter I pointed to “bus station” in my phrase book. (I knew my hotel wasn’t far from there). The haggard shop owner barely glanced at the book. Instead she stared at me and screamed. Evidently she thought this was the quickest way to get rid of me. And she was right.

Twenty minutes later I turned onto yet another empty street — only this time I saw a welcome sight. There, in the distance, a giant moustache sat on a tiny stool. My relief was such that for a few seconds I considered growing a moustache in his honour.

The next morning Lee arrived to show me to the Lao-Cai-Hekou border.

“Did you have fun last night?”

“You were right,” I replied. “There’s not much to do here.”

“Did you have a massage?”

“No. I had street food. Then I got lost.”

I thought he’d given up on me because he barely acknowledged my presence after that. But at the Lao-Cai-Hekou border his energy returned. “Goodbye Tom,” he smiled. “And do not forget to go to Thailand! It’s very cheap! You can still have fun all night!”

As he disappeared I loaded my backpack onto the archaic x-ray machine. A petit and pretty customs officer — dressed in a military uniform — checked the monitor for dangerous items.

“Excuse me sir, do you have any books?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Can I see them?”

I opened my bag and showed her my guidebook.

She flicked through the pages. “I’m sorry sir. I’ll have to take this.”

“Why?”

She pointed to the map on the inside cover. “This book doesn’t recognize Taiwan as part of China.”

“I’ve had it for a long time. I’d really like to keep it.”

“I’m sorry sir, that won’t be possible.”

“What if I tear out the map?”

“I’m sorry Sir. But there are many pages that say Taiwan is not part of China.”

Arguing was pointless — and potentially troublesome — so I handed it over. Then I picked up my backpack and walked along the bridge to the checkpoint at the other side.

Near the Lao Cai exit a row of moped taxi drivers were waiting for customers. A Vietnamese boy stood next to them with a cardboard box at his feet. When I saw the contents I had to laugh: it was full of photocopies of the book I had had confiscated just moments ago. “This is why I love Asia,” I thought to myself as I picked one up and began to haggle for it.