Bangkok Days (Nights redacted) with Side Trips To Phuket, Chiang Mai & Kanchanaburi – February 2008

INTRODUCTION

FOREWORD

MAI PEN RAI

PART I – BANGKOK

DAYS 1 & 2 – DAMN, THAT’S A LONG FLIGHT

TANGENT 1 – TOILET HUMOR

DAY 3 – TOUR PLUS MORE

TANGENT 2 – RELIGION

TANGENT 3 – MCDONALDS

DAY 4 – SILK MASSAGE

DAY 5 – BIG MARKET, TINY FIGHTERS

PART II – PHUKET

DAY 6 – FUCK IT, LET’S GO TO PHUKET

DAY 7 – PEE PEE IN POO-KET

TANGENT 5 – BEATS CARRYING A COFFIN

TANGENT 6 – PATONG TRAFFIC SUCKS

TANGENT 7 – TRAVEL MARRIAGE

PART III – CHIANG MAI

DAY 8 – TRAVEL & TROUBLES

TANGENT 8 – HOMELESS, HELPLESS, HOPELESS

DAY 9 – TEMPLE OF THE DOG

DAY 10 – ANIMAL EXPLOITS

DAY 11 – GOODBYE CHIANG MAI, BRING BACK BANGKOK

PART IV – HOMESTRETCH

TANGENT 9 – WHERE’S THE BEEF?

TANGENT 10 – WHEN SMALL RODENTS GO FREE

TANGENT 11 – UGLY AMERICANS

DAY 12 – KHON HEADS AND MANGOES

DAY 13 – HURRY TO KANCHANABURI

DAY 14 – BITE ‘EM BACK

DAY 15 – GOING HOME

TANGENT 13 – LONELY TRAVELS

CONCLUSION

INTRODUCTION:

If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you choose to go? Presented with the rare opportunity of having time off (between jobs), disposable income (nice bonus for completing the old job), and complete independence (no wife or kids), I chose Thailand for a two-week tour.

In order to share my thoughts and experiences with friends and family, I took a ton of pictures, as well as kept a running diary. I tried to be brutally honest in my descriptions. Read at your own risk.

FOREWORD:

Please note, these writings are the musings of a madman. They in no way reflect the values, beliefs, morals, or ideals of society, and should not be taken seriously. That’s right, this is pure fiction. I’m not the autobiographer, and I never even heard of him. The characters depicted herein are not real, so no need to change their names to protect their guilt or innocence.

Despite this forewarning, if you find yourself still disturbed by anything you read, I apologize in advance. I’ll consider seeking help. FYI, my goal was not to educate, enlighten, or offend. It was simply to entertain. Myself.

MAI PEN RAI:

Throughout this narrative, I’ll often throw in a Mai Pen Rai. This magical Thai expression is colloquially used to mean you’re welcome, it’s okay, no worries, it doesn’t matter, oh well, you’re excused, forget about it, and more. I personally translate it to Vonnegut’s so it goes. Since I can’t pronounce it anyway, I’ll give it my own meaning. Mai pen rai. MPR for short.

PART I – BANGKOK

Days 1 & 2 – Damn, That’s a Long Flight

Flight – leaving the house at 6 am on Tuesday, I arrived at the hotel in Bangkok a little after 1 am on Thursday morning.

This is a little deceptive:

Flying DC to Chicago – I gained 1 hour.

Flying Chicago to Tokyo – I lost 15 hours.

Flying Tokyo to Bangkok – I gained 2 hours back.

Net result: 31 hours elapsed from when I left my house until I arrived at the hotel.

Jet lag? I’m not sure what time my body thought it was, or was supposed to be.

Cab to Reagan Airport – $20 (w/ tip) – seemed a little high. Cab to Bangkok – 1000 baht (no tip) definitely high, but paid via credit card inside the airport, so I avoided the general lines outside. Not a bad ride to the hotel – approximately 40 minutes via toll highway (no traffic that time of night anyway). They drive on the wrong side of the road! What is this, England?

The hotel (Royal Asia Lodge) is adequate, though the bathroom is a little gross (see Tangent #1 below). And the cable reception is not very good (who cares?). Close to Nana Skytrain, and plenty of night action.

Tangent #1 – Toilet Humor

The bathroom in the first hotel. Incredibly weak water pressure, probably not helped by the fact that I’m on the top floor. Weak water, no big deal. Except the toilet barely flushes. Another tidbit I picked up in my guidebooks (I did my homework – or at least Fodor’s did) is that some places expect you to throw out your toilet paper, instead of flushing. There’s a trash can on one side of the can, and a hose on the other (the Thai version of a bidet). Hmm, I can leave my TP festering in the hotel room, or I can multi-flush! Sure it takes a while, but in the end, it seems cleaner to me. At least it’s not a squatter style toilet. I’ve seen them in several places, but there’s usually western style bowls too.

So the hose next to the toilet has a drain below it. To catch the overflow or bad aim from the bidet right? Sure, and how about to catch the shower. I’ve been in many shower stalls, and usually there’s a curb to keep water in. Inside, there’s a drain. Not at this hotel. The shower base is elevated (roughly 6”), and there is no drain. Water runs off this raised level, down to the drain next to the toilet. It works okay for me, because I can coordinate the sequence of crap then shower, so my feet don’t get wet while taking a dump. But with more than one person sharing a room, you might need to make a schedule, or bring a lot of extra towels. Mai pen rai.

Day 3 – Tour Plus More

Pretty weird. I was wide awake at 7:30 in the morning. No signs of jet lag. Since I’m on vacation, I still refused to get out of bed and be productive until 9. Wandered down to the Skytrain, and headed to the Victory Monument stop. It was the only place that sounded picture-worthy by name alone. In retrospect, not that impressive. It was a big obelisk in the middle of a huge traffic circle, and did not seem pedestrian accessible. Using the trusty Skytrain map I picked up along the way, I was also able to track down Peace Park, a quaint little plot of land with fountains and flora worth a passing glance (if you’re already in the neighborhood). Damnedest thing about the park: while on the paved path, no problem. But as soon as I crossed the grass to one of their benches, the bugs started eating me alive.

With my newfound confidence for the city, I headed towards another landmark on the map. Dusit Zoo looked like a pretty straight shot. Forget the fact that the map had no scale. How hard / far could it be? Two hours later, after venturing through all kinds of neighborhoods, including true 3rd world slums, I conceded defeat, deciding fuck the zoo. Walking around, there are street markets everywhere. Thais must love to shop.

Interesting side note (not quite worthy of its own tangent): I saw a disproportionate number of women wearing tight black skirts with white blouses. Apparently this is the college dress code. Very nice. I won’t say that all of them were beautiful, but none of them had bad bodies.

Anyway, back on the Skytrain, I took it to the farthest stop on one of the lines (there are only two lines – Sukhumvit and Silom), down by the Chao Phraya river. Turned out to be a good call, because I found a longboat tour group there. Since I had no other plans, I opted for their extended cruise, which included Wat Arun and the Grand Palace. The river was busy with a lot of other boats, and it was a nice way to see more of Bangkok. We looped around some side canals, passing beautiful mansions, ornate temples, and ramshackle hovels, in no particular order. As dirty as the water looked, we saw kids jumping in, and at a couple of stopping points, saw very large fish (over two foot long).

Wat Arun is a steep 67 m tall pyramid, with ceramic patterns inlaid all over. It was flanked by several other similar pyramids. Grand Palace is a series of buildings, mostly closed to the public. They ranged from gold to jeweled to ceramic; many different styles of structures, dedicated to the different King Ramas. A lot of people were dressed in black, because the current King’s (Rama IX) sister died a month ago. Her body lies in state for 100 days, before she is cremated and ashes stored in one of the temples. I was not wearing black because I didn’t get the memo. I was also wearing shorts, since it is unsurprisingly hot here, but they lent me pants to wear at the Grand Palace, since shorts are not allowed.

So here’s where the day got interesting. Our tour group consisted of me, two guys from Ireland with one guy’s son, a German guy, and Suam, our guide, whose English was less than stellar, but still a lot better than any of our Thai. I purchased one of their standard brochure tour packages, not realizing that you could customize things differently. At Wat Arun, an entrance fee was due, though the German and I were both covered. The Irishmen were confused. At the Grand Palace, our Kraut friend was sent back on the boat himself. Again, my entry fee was comped, and the Irish were not. Our guide told me that they were on their own at this point, and she quickly dissed them inside the large grounds.

My private tour guide told me all kinds of interesting facts, and I probably understood one in three. After Grand Palace, the two of us hopped in a minivan, and went to a gem factory. Pretty cool place, with a short video on the trade, workers cutting, polishing, and setting stones on site, and a large showroom, where, sorry to say, I elected not to buy anything. There were all kinds of items, from small rings and earrings, up to tacky necklaces fit for royalty or rap stars. Just not for me.

By this time, it was 4 pm, and I thought my 4 hour tour was over. Instead, Suam took us to Silom, a central area of the city, where we toured their new mall and had dinner (Suki Yaki). She picked, I paid. It was an interesting mix of noodles, mushrooms, lettuce, tofu-fish, oysters, raw egg, and other fish dishes dumped into a vat of water and cooked in the middle of the table. Weird as it appeared, not bad, though it wouldn’t have been my first choice. The roasted duck on the side was more to my liking.

The tour continued, taking us to Erawan Shrine, where we burned incense and bowed (wai’ed) to Brahma. Can’t say I took it too seriously, though it’s a cool sight to see so many who do. Suam’s friend (Poo – no, I’m not making this up) then met up with us, and we wandered through more street markets and past other shrines. When asked what I asked Brahma for, I joked that it was this: me and two pretty Thai women.

Let me just say that Suam was very sweet, and her friend was friendly enough, but I was just not attracted to either of them. The girls I saw the night before were much hotter, and I’m sadly superficial. I was not looking for anything to happen here, and eventually managed to excuse myself so I could sleep. Suam seemed annoyed that I did not have a cell phone number to give, and told her I would not be checking email, so there was no way for her to contact me. Tough love, but true. Mai pen rai.

Tangent #2 – Religion

I know religion should have no place in my vacation plans, since it has no place in my life ordinarily. No worries, I am not converting or anything, but I am curious…

Most Thais are Buddhists. Easy enough. But besides wai-ing Buddha statues and burning incense for him, they do the same for Hindu gods – Brahma, Vishnu, Sheva. Isn’t it one or the other – Buddhist or Hindu? I asked a few people, but haven’t really understood this. Best I’ve gathered is that both religions share similar ideologies, so Thais accept both together. But one girl assured me they do not hold cows as sacred, so they can enjoy McDonalds burgers if they please. Take that Hinduism!

Tangent #3 – McDonalds

I also complained to someone (doesn’t matter who, none of them can understand me, if they’re even paying attention) about the fact that they have McDonalds. I explained that this evil empire turned America into Fatland. I’m living proof (though beer is an unhealthy contributor too. Can I call my beer gut a Buddha belly, or is that sacrilege?).

I am seriously concerned that the infrastructure of this fine land will collapse if they gain weight like Americans. Stay skinny Thailand, and men will continue to love you for it!

Day 4 – Silk Massage

Another productive one! I’m getting good at this crap. Went to Jim Thompson’s house. Cool complex, and crazy story. In brief, American architect JT dumped his wife and moved to Bangkok after WWII, revitalized its silk industry, constructed an incredible house (stealing elements from all over Thailand), and filled it with priceless art and artifacts. After Jim disappeared in 1967, his home became a public landmark in Bangkok. Inspired by his remarkable story, I felt it appropriate to pick up an original JT silk shirt. Sadly, my brain did not make the trip with me (as some of the earlier escapades have demonstrated), so I completely botched the conversion of costs. Suffice it to say, this is now one of my most expensive shirts. Mai pen rai, right?

Back on the Skytrain, I recalled there was something in the guidebook near Chong Nonsi station, so I hopped off there and started walking. My lengthy walk ultimately revealed that the Kukrit Heritage House is only open on weekends. Should have read the fine print in the guidebook, but I’m an idiot.

Almost a complete waste of time, except I noticed a traditional Thai massage parlor along the way, so I stopped on the way back. Luong was a very sweet young girl from Isan Province (northeast Thailand), and she gave a great rubdown. Nothing sexual about it, no happy ending, but nonetheless a pleasant experience. It may not have been true Thai though, because I told her not to hurt me. I’ve read that real Thai massage can leave you sore for days. I’ve also heard that if not done right, it can injure you. So Luong went easy on me. I’m a wimp, I freely admit. Maybe I’ll try harder next time.

Ready to call it a day, right? Wrong. At Luong’s insistence, I ventured on, going back to the river. I picked up a day pass for the river boat, and headed upstream to Wat Pho. Like the Grand Palace, it was another complex filled with ornate buildings and cool stone statues. Unlike the grand palace, the buildings were open to the public. I saw a bunch of Buddhas, for those who care, and was most impressed with the Reclining Buddha, a 150 foot long gold plated statue. Fearing Lord Buddha would take offense to any heathen offerings, I decided not to wai, burn incense, or do anything more than snap some pics.

I next headed up the river to Khao San Road, a granola, hippie, bohemian, backpacker haven. Endless crafts and crap for sale. Nothing for me; I blew the budget on one silk shirt. I wandered aimlessly for a few hours, before finally finding the right pier to head back. Saw some nice parks and more temples, but nothing too special. On the Skytrain back, my back started feeling a little sore… did my girl Luong screw me up, or am I just out of shape? Time will tell.

I had dinner at Cabbages and Condoms. You read that right. It’s a trendy restaurant that seeks to promote safe sex in Thailand. There are cartoons and articles posted on the walls, and they give you two condoms (instead of mints) with the check. Good food, too. I had the chicken stir-fry.

Day 5 – Big Market, Tiny Fighters

Chatuchak Weekend Market (Jatujak – I’ve seen it spelled both ways). One of the world’s largest markets. The place was huge, jam-packed with stalls selling everything. Nice hand-made wood pieces, silk, used shoes, clothing, art, etc. My favorite wandering followed the sound of dogs barking. There were at least 30 stalls selling puppies. Made perfect sense, since there are dogs all over the street. The other night, the tuk-tuk driver from the hotel had his dog chasing us down the street, weaving around people and traffic. I found it very amusing. Not quite as amusing was one old lady at the market who was selling small rodents. Some of them were squirrels, and some I couldn’t identify. I read in one of the guidebooks that it’s supposed to be good luck to buy birds and release them. Could be the same with squirrels, I don’t know. My problem with this sale was that the animals were short-leashed with what looked like tie-wire (buy a cage for Buddha’s sake!). One squirrel was flailing like crazy in his one inch range of mobility. Most of the other critters looked half-dead and weren’t trying to move. I’d share photos, except this was the one stall with signs prohibiting photos or videos. Go figure.

Anyway, I walked the labyrinth for a couple of hours, including stopping at one place for some decent pad thai chicken. I didn’t buy any souvenirs today, because I figure I can always come back next weekend when I’m back in town. It’s never difficult to find a market anywhere anyway.

JJ market is next to Jatujak Park. Gorgeous day to chill outdoors and work on my tan, or not. Best part of Thailand (surprise-surprise) – The Women. There I am, sitting on a park bench, chilling in the heat, when two girls approached me with a tourist survey. Innocent enough, except as they’re bantering back and forth in a language I don’t speak (save for the four phrases I know, but can’t pronounce properly anyway – Please is Karoona. When a bartender asked me if I wanted another Singha, I said please, and he thought I switched to Corona), suddenly the one girl tells me that her friend thinks I am cute. I filled out their simple survey, delighting them when I denoted single status – that’s why I’m alone in Bangkok girls! And they didn’t leave. I tried asking them touristy questions, but their English and my Thai were incompatible for any kind of meaningful conversation. The one girl wanted my email address (not part of the survey). I couldn’t figure the Thai word for why, since I assured her I would not be checking emails while in Thailand. Finally, I relented, figuring what’s the harm? I gave her my email address, and they went off on their merry way.

Why doesn’t this happen to me in America?

Before you call me a buffoon (or worse), let me explain that I did not reciprocate the attraction. There are too many beautiful women here, and too little time to waste on ones I don’t want. I’m sorry, it’s incredibly callous and shallow, and Buddha / Brahma / Vishnu will likely punish me for it, but I don’t think they catch up with you until the next life. So I’ve got time, I hope.

After waiting a few minutes for a super-hottie to try to pick me up (no luck – Thanks Buddha), I moved on. Back to the hotel to recharge the batteries. By the way, I’m incredibly sore today. Knees, back, shoulders. I guess I’m a wimp even for the watered down massage treatments. Should I get another? I told Luong I’d consider re-visiting next week during my return. Is it worth the pain to let Luong have her way with me? We’ll see.

Freshly charged, I head to Lumphini Park, knowing they have Muay Thai (Thai Boxing) at Lumphini Stadium. I didn’t know where the park was when I got off the Skytrain, and after a few blocks, asked, only to reverse directions. What instincts. This park was much larger than the other ones I visited, and it was bustling with activity. Previous parks typically had people lounging, leisurely walking, and otherwise generally relaxing. Here, I saw an aerobics session with ~40 people, multiple groups volleying wooden hacky-sacks (look like they should hurt when you head them), kids playing badminton, and countless runners. The only thing I didn’t see was the stadium. But we’ll get to that.

First, a cool thing happened. As I was leisurely walking through the park (fitness buffs be damned), it was as if time stood still. I suddenly realized that everything had stopped. The entire park froze, because the national anthem was being piped through some speakers. A very patriotic moment. There were also armed military guards around the park; maybe they would shoot you if you didn’t respect the anthem. I didn’t test them.

Anyway, I covered pretty good ground, with the assumption that my never-fail instinct would get me to the stadium. Strike 2. I was redirected back to the main road outside the park, and told it was another kilometer or so up the busy avenue. By this time, I had already missed the opening matches, so I relented, and took my first public transport tuk-tuk. The hotel service doesn’t count, because it’s free, and only covered a short side street. I feared the tuk-tuk cabbies, because 1) I read they were sketchy, 2) Walking through town, they seemed like hustlers trying to get your business, 3) These things did not look safe.

I leerily considered the aggressive driver, asking how much right off, expecting a ripoff that I’d have to barter down. It’s how they operate here. But when he said 10 baht I didn’t argue. It’s roughly 30 cents. Along the way, he pimped some action for after the fights, despite me telling him that I was going to dinner afterwards. I’ll see you after, he promised, and I hoped he would not. In Bangkok, you really don’t need much assistance in finding women, especially from a sketchy tuk-tuk driver.

Back to the fight. Fodor’s told me that there was no need to pay extra for ringside seats, so I shelled out 1500 baht for the bleachers. They were willing to discount the ringside seats from 2000 to 1700 baht, but I figured the 200 baht I saved with bleachers could be better spent on something else. For those doing the math, it was almost $50 admission! Mai pen rai, it’s funny money anyway, who’s counting? I quickly counted my blessings inside the dingy arena, when I learned that beers were only 50 baht! That’s four free beers for those still doing the math. Cheers, Fodors.

There were maybe a few hundred spectators sparsely populating the venue. I sat in the back row of the cheap seats (so I could snap pics and just stay inconspicuous – I didn’t want to commit some farang faux pas and end up beaten up). I was maybe 50 feet away from the ring. No problem at all. Good job guidebook guys.

Muay Thai is Thailand’s deadly mixed martial art. They really used to tape their hands and dip them in broken glass (I thought the movies made that part up). Now they wear gloves. They use hands, elbows, knees, and feet to beat the crap out of each other. There is a live band choreographing the action, or responding to it, seems like the chicken and the egg to me. The music sounds like a bagpipe and drums, and really complements the experience, though from where I sat, I only heard the really loud fleshy hits over the beats.

Before the battle, the combatants perform a ritualistic warmup dance. They wear chrysanthemums (I think), around their necks, in homage to some Buddhist or Hindu deity or something. Without Suam to guide me, I’m making this up. Ring! First fight begins (actually the 4th match of the night, with the main event being #5 – good timing). First impression – Horrified! I hate to sound like a pussy, but it seemed brutal, barbaric. You could see the sweat flying with each landed blow. These guys were trying to kill each other! The red corner had much more vocal support, with cheers every time he did anything. Poor blue, but his side started to come alive after a few rounds. I wasn’t sure if they really cared, or were mocking the red people by cheering for hits that missed, and everything that blue did. Still, not enough, red was clearly the better fighter, and won the decision for the five round match. More important, I polished off free beer #1.

Next, two fighters entered the ring, and did the same startup dance. They didn’t get the fanfare I expected for the main event, and weren’t wearing gloves. They started sparring, and I noticed there was no referee. Turns outs, this was a simulated fight, with an announcer calling out blows, and these guys performing them. We’re talking roundhouse kicks to the head, with the recipient flying to the mat. It was like WWE, only no hot ringside women, no chairs involved, and a better soundtrack. I was enthralled. My favorite move was the flying elbow to the head. Head would position himself with one leg forward, bent slightly at the knee. Elbow would run, jump up from the extended knee, and come down with a solid landing of elbow on head. Based on hitting my humerus, shouldn’t this hurt the elbow more than the head?

Next, the main event. By this time, I was either hypnotized by the music, or hardened by the beer, because it seemed less barbaric, more balletic. It really is rather graceful.

The referee towered over both fighters, and had the very scary role of throwing himself in between them whenever one throws the other down. Once, he was a step late, and red nailed blue after tossing him to the mat. Bad form. What was I saying about not being brutal?

Then, a shocking realization. Looking again at my fight card (so I knew who to cheer for), I noticed they listed the weight class for the main event as 116. Pounds? These guys were lean, mean, fighting machines, but I had no idea just how tiny they were! The giant ref was probably 5’-9”. So, now I’m starting to sweat. I knew I’d lose if ever altercating with anyone, but now I’ve seen just how efficiently they could kill me! I have over 50 pounds on these guys. What happens when it’s his sister I’m seeing at night? Worse, what if it’s his girlfriend or wife? I’ll take a giant American any day over one of these guys.

After 4 rounds, the locals started streaming out. Apparently to them, the favored red had secured the victory already. I was willing to witness the last 3 minutes. It’s not like there would be heavy traffic getting out of there.

Match 6 was similarly sized fighters, and ended early after one guy kneed the other guy’s ribs 10 straight times, or something. I couldn’t count. All I knew was that one match remained, and I needed my 4th free beer. Last match was the heavyweights. 152 lbs. I didn’t think Thais got that big! Oh wait, they don’t. One guy is from Spain, and the other Switzerland. The Spaniard was shorter, and more of a boxer. Swissie used long legs to prevail. And I thought the Swiss were non-violent, neutral people? Where can I go to find beautiful women without risking serious injury from the men? Sorry Canada, looks like I’m coming your way. They can’t fight unless they’re wearing skates, eh?

At the end of the last bout, the arena was pretty empty. In my section were four Australians (I could tell by the accents and because they were doing the same beer per bout exercise as me), and two caucasoids to my right (didn’t hear them talk, but definitely farang). End impression of Muay Thai – mixed emotions. Definitely worth experiencing once, but not sure if I’ll go again (especially not at that price).

My tuk-tuk driver faithfully found me outside (somehow I stand out over here). I told him again that I wanted dinner, not massage, but I would call him later if I changed my mind. Turns out, neither of us had a phone. Bummer, mai pen rai.

He said it wasn’t worth the ride back to the Skytrain (guess I really screwed that walk up on the way). So, heading back, I found a nice outdoor restaurant next to another night bazaar (my shopping share filled at JJ market this morning, I focused on filling my stomach with food). Pad See Aw (beef) for dinner. Very good, but I don’t know if I can keep eating Thai food the whole trip. I may have to mix it up and go to Subway or McDonalds soon.

A large beer with dinner, to top off the four empty stomach brews from the fight, and I had a good buzz going. So good, I missed the Skytrain entrance. Must have walked right past it. Way past it. Everyone I asked told me to keep going. Either they didn’t understand me, or they were having fun with the drunken farang. Finally, I had enough. Every direction I had gone today had been wrong, so I hailed a cab. He went in a very different direction, and dropped me three stops down the line from where I started. Damn I’m good. Who needs exercise? Usually I would carry a city map in my backpack, but I traveled light to the fight and learned that my knowledge of the city still needs some work. Mai pen rai.

PART II – PHUKET

Day 6 – Fuck it, let’s go to Phuket.

Actually pronounced Poo-ket. A very reasonable and short cab ride to the Don Muang Airport (the old airport), and I’m starting phase 2 of the trip. I feel I’ve had a hell of a trip so far, and wouldn’t be unfulfilled if I was heading home. Phuket does not have as many noteworthy attractions, which is good, because I don’t know if I could maintain this pace.

Upon arrival, I ask the information desk how much for cab fare to my hotel. Typically, 550 baht she says. Private limo company offers 650 baht, but no waiting in cab line, so I figure what’s 100 baht of funny money anyway? (Around $3). I realized after accepting that I probably should have bartered, but too late. It was around a 40 minute drive, but took closer to an hour because this driver had to stop at a tourist company. They aggressively pushed a bunch of packages at me, and I agreed to Phi-Phi Islands for the next day. They aggressively pushed to drive me back to the airport after my stay in Phuket, but I told them that they had overcharged me already. Suddenly, the price for the return trip dropped to 500 baht. I promised to call them later if interested.

Anyway, arrived at Patong Beach Lodge. Very central location, nice lobby, room’s a little nasty. I suspected my first hotel did not want you to flush your toilet paper, but since no one explicitly told me so, I could in good conscience (as if I have one) plead ignorance. Not so here. There’s a sign right on the toilet. I just have to do my business in the lobby bathroom. The sacrifices I make to avoid putting up with my shit.

I ventured the two long blocks down to the beach, and it was an adventure. Everyone is pushing something. From tuk-tuks to bootleg DVDs, clothes, suits, they were out hawking their wares like vultures. Worse, Patong Beach has as many massage parlors as Dublin has pubs. The girls run up to you, and in a high-pitched squeal say Hellooo, Massage? That’s actually the name of one of the places. Some girls grabbed me, and I dragged them for several steps before they’d let go, to go after the next mark. Why do they think a single guy like me would be interested? Oh yeah, they are not stupid. I saw several T-shirts that read “No, I do not want a #$%@ tuk-tuk, suit or massage! Thank you very much.” Very appropriate.

The Patong Area of Phuket is like Dewey Beach. It’s where all the action is. Maybe more like South Padre Island. It’s not a place to enjoy quiet seclusion or anything. But that’s also why I chose this spot.

I walked a few miles to get the lay of the land. It didn’t help that I couldn’t find my hotel again, check that, it probably did help. Street signs seem sporadic at best, and my hotel is set down an alley, with a small sign that you only notice from one direction. After several back tracks, I landmarked it by Christin Massage on the opposite side of the street. Probably the largest sign of any of these fine, upstanding establishments.

Back at the hotel, I changed, went down to the beach, and walked to one end. On the way back, I found inspiration to go for a swim. Water was perfect temperature. I worried that I would lose sight of my towel and shoes, but I was again saved by a big landmark. Make that 2 big landmarks. A well-endowed young lass happened to be sunbathing topless a short way from where I made camp. What a coincidence! I kept sight of my stuff while wading out a ways. In general, the views at the beach were not impressive. It was a mass of humanity, none of which is local. Very touristy area, mostly Australian, but at least one liberal European, who I hope does not think I’m ogling her as I seek my stuff (I’m paranoid to leave my belongings unattended. A little too easy for pickpockets). Wait, now a Frenchwoman decided to frolic freely in the area. My landmark was not just another pretty face; she was a pioneer! I even named them: Rosa on the left and Parks on the right. There were some other hotties in this section, making me think that I probably didn’t belong. Sure enough, I killed it, because the uggoes and oldies started replacing the good ones. My damage done, I recommenced walking down the beach, waiting for sunset, thinking and worrying about nothing. Does this mean my visits to all those Buddhist temples are helping me towards his nirvanic goal of nothingness? Forget it, moment’s lost, as I’m now instead thinking about what a nice thong that was in passing. Nice easy day. Tough life, sometimes it’s good.

Oh yeah, and in between my two walks of the day, I bungee jumped 50 meters into a lagoon. Jungle Bungee Jump – the name just inspired confidence. Actually, according to the brochure, they’d been in operation since 1992, and were the only certified outfit. As I was signing my life over (if not them, who would be responsible for my death in their hands?), I asked the guy at the desk if he promised they would not kill me. You’re not going to die today, he responded, good enough for me. I expected some training or prep work, something to show their experience and assuage my lack thereof. Wasn’t happening. Should I empty my pockets? Yeah you should. Anything else? The jumpmasters will tell you everything you need to know. The jumpmasters were three young Thai guys, who looked bored out of their minds. Step on scale (more than 50 pounds on Thai fighters!), take off watch, sit down. They bound my feet together, and had me hop over to the jump basket. Up we went, and the instructions finally happened. We get to top, hop to edge, hold on to sides, count 1-2-3 and jump. Arms out when you jump, then bring together above your head, and close your eyes before hitting water. Mai pen rai – no problem. We get to the top, I ask how deep in water I’ll penetrate, and he says it depends how far out I jump. Jump far, just skim your head. Okay, wow we’re high! This is 15 stories! Hop to edge. Holy shit, what am I doing? Don’t look down, look ahead. Yeah right, of course I’m looking down. Hop to edge. Each hop gets me fractionally closer. Is it Fibonacci who says if you halve your distance incrementally, you’ll never reach the end? I ask my jumpmaster if he wants to push me. Don’t think, just jump. Okay, deep breath. Again. Again. Looking ahead, I see some kid looking up, waiting for the action. Damn, now I can’t puss out! He counts 3 – 2 – 1 – Go! Not a graceful dive at all, I completely lose all bearings immediately. I’m thinking where’s the water, when splash, I’m under it (too late to close my eyes), now I’m out of it, back in the air, falling back towards it (I can see clearly now). A few more bounces, though they felt more like gliding arcs, and I am jacked! Please excuse the expression I thought I’d never use. That was awesome! I yell to no one in particular. They lower me down, unstrap me, and say see you later. Wait, can’t we talk about this? I was shaking from the adrenaline rush. Apparently I didn’t jump too far off the platform, because I went waist deep in the water. Picked up my pics and belongings, and was on my way.

By the way, their bungee cords look nothing like I expected. It’s a giant spool of small rubber bands, maybe 2” diameter. The guy at the desk said that’s what they always use, not like what they use in America. This is smoother (I didn’t feel jerked around) and less likely to get wrapped around your neck (I thanked him for that). Back to the hotel, the whole experience took less than 10 minutes excluding transport. Check that off the list of things to do before I die. Like Muay Thai, worth the experience, not sure if I need to do it again. We’ll see.

For dinner, I sought out a couple places listed in the guides, but came across an outdoor place with an appetizing picture of a pepper steak. I had the pork in curry sauce. Not bad, more of a kick than I expected, but I’m a wimp.

Bangla Road is the main scene in Patong, their version of Bourbon Street. It connects the first road along the beach to the second main artery, along which was situated my hotel (via the non-descript turnoff aforementioned). Running off Bangla Road are side streets, Soi Seadragon (strip clubs), Soi Easy (clubs and beer bars), Soi Gonzo (beer bars), Soi Eric & Soi Crocodile (lady boy bars), Soi Lion and Soi Tiger (beer bars), and some other Sois with restaurants and other less interesting stuff. At night, Bangla Road is closed to vehicular traffic, and is jam-packed with all kinds of people, surprising given the nature of many of the Sois. Of course, hawkers tout their crap, including much talk of a ping pong show. I knew the Chinese loved the sport; Siamese too? Who knew? I might have to check that out at some point.

There are also some normal bars, pubs and clubs along Bangla. I found a film shop that agreed to develop my 24 pics from Jungle Bungee in two hours. When I went back later, they said it was 28 pics, so it cost more than the initial quote. I said I only wanted 24 pics, confusing the hell out of them. Mai pen rai, why don’t they understand American sarcasm? Or maybe I’m just not funny. Again, mai pen rai.

The pics were startling in showing just how white I am. I wore a white T-shirt, but took it off for the jump. In the pictures, you can’t tell the difference.

Day 7 – Pee-Pee in Poo-ket

Woke up early for the Phi-Phi Island tour (pronounced Pee-Pee, not Fee-Fee). By the way, I price compared the package with the travel kiosk next to my hotel, and I had gotten a really good price! Interesting side story on the travel agent – see tangent below.

The minivan picked me up at the hotel, and took our group to the dock (about 25 minutes away). Along with hundreds of other people, we were organized onto our speed boats to head out of Phuket. 46 people on our boat.

Very choppy ride, and my side of the boat got soaked. They gave us sick bags. At one point, I took mine out of my pocket, and noticed the Aussie girl next to me looking concerned until I used it to keep my camera dry. Made you nervous there, didn’t I? Oh the sad irony, later.

We arrived at the incredible island from the movie The Beach. And damned if Leo Dicaprio didn’t ruin paradise, because this amazing scene was packed with tourists. I didn’t see a single dope-running hippie anywhere. Somebody should cap that Dicaprio kid (I’m thinking Matt Damon’s buddy).

Next, we moved offshore aways, and stopped for some snorkeling. Our guide said the coral is very beautiful, like Thai ladies. No contest, who cares about coral? A large school of small yellow and blue striped fish swam around our boat, with the occasional larger red, blue or purple fish deeper. Very cool.

Then, onto Monkey Island, where you can feed bananas to a bunch of small critters (maybe 2’ tall). My favorite part was our funny guide sneaking up behind people, making a monkey noise as he grabbed their ankles, and watching them jump! As domesticated as they appeared, we were warned that they are still wild animals, and will bite. I saw one jump at a girl (she ran).

Buffet lunch, Thai style, at Phi-Phi’s main isle. A more developed dock with resorts, dive schools, merchandisers, restaurants, and the occasional massage parlor. To me, another disappointing exploitation of something special. Food was good, though not hot. A round table centerpiece spun the different plates around to us.

Next, on to another island (less commercial) where you could lounge on the beach, hang by the beach bar (free coconut and watermelon), or snorkel in the shallow depths. The beach was too rocky, so after tearing up my feet, I felt it best to chill in the shade of my rented umbrella.

Back to mainland Phuket, shuttle to hotel, and I was virtually unscathed. Minor sunburn patches only.

For dinner, I went to one of the places on the list from last night (I found it a minute after leaving the other restaurant). It was a mixed Thai / Australian establishment, so I mixed Singha beer with Fish and Chips. Battered red snapper, pretty tasty. I watched the Aussie side of the staff devour a plate of french fries. The Thais would not touch them. These people eat fried grasshoppers, but not fried potatoes? Maybe McDonalds won’t do them in. Cool place, laid-back atmosphere, friendly staff. Combined with the nice Aussies I met on the boat, I thought Australia might make a great place for a visit. Just then, a gang of mixed age frat mates took over the joint, hooting, hollering, carrying on like American frat boys. The waitstaff brought them pitcher after pitcher, as they engaged in some boisterous drinking games. I thought they were watching Rugby the way they would suddenly cheer a big play, but the TVs were all tuned to Motocross. I believe these people are insane.

I quickly moved on, because I was too stressed for these antics. Why was I stressed? Because I checked my flight time for the next morning, and discovered it was for the wrong day! Not good. I called Thai Airways, but their office was closed, so I decided I would show up on-time for my flight, and beg to standby (hopefully for less than a day). A little nerve-wracking. I was so tense. What could I do for relief? That’s right, drink beer and play pool. I am so lame sometimes.

I kept the drinking light, as I wasn’t feeling too great. Two small beers with dinner, and two with pool, I was done. I didn’t want the last beer, but I owed a drink to Duan, who beat me 5 games to 4, and who I didn’t want to drink alone. One of the few girls working amidst all the working girls, she played a mean game of pool. First rack, I broke, rattled off six straight solids, barely missed on the seventh, and never got to shoot again as she ran her side of the table. Duan promised not to let me win, and I shot some of my best pool (more than pride was on the line – I couldn’t lose my marbles!), until we knotted up at 4-4. Tiebreaker game was pretty sloppy, and I blew an easy chance to run out my last ball and the eight, on which she capitalized to seal her victory. Lucky for me, she opted I buy her a drink instead of taking my balls after the emasculation was complete.

Humbled, I vowed to return to America, practice up, and someday avenge my honor. Mai pen rai.

Tangent 5 – Beats Carrying a Coffin

I had a great conversation with this late 60 something Aussie while waiting for my ride to Phi-Phi. I only picked up maybe half of what he said because he mumbled on top of the accent. But what I gathered was, similar to me, he was making vacation plans, and decided Fuck it! I’m going to Phuket. A seventy something friend was convinced to come, because they agreed that they would not repeat the trip carrying either of their coffins. Loved the spirit behind this logic. As DMB would say, eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

Tangent 6 – Patong Traffic Sucks

 

This town is great for cars, terrible for pedestrians. Two main directional arteries, each one way in opposite directions, and few (if any) traffic lights. A couple of connecting roads (one of which is Bangla Road, closed to traffic at night). What this works out to is a continuous flow at all times, with no stops for pedestrians. Crosswalks exist, to be used at your own risk. I typically only managed to cross by sidling up to a braver soul, and walking inside of them so they could absorb the brunt of impact. If I couldn’t find a crossing cushion, I often wouldn’t cross. Chaos is not cool; call me chicken, but I wouldn’t play freeway.

Tangent 7 – Travel Marriage

The tourism girl next door to my hotel is great. I stopped by to inquire about the cost of bungee jumping, and she had me booked, bounced and back before I could have second thoughts. While talking, (she spoke very broken English), she introduced me to the old man stalking nearby. My husband, she tells me, and I guten tag the nice German whose English is worse than hers. It seems he came to Thailand (Phuket specifically), met her, came back a month later, married her, and was now back again visiting. He did not speak any Thai (and she was not teaching him), she did not speak any German (and he was not teaching her), so they shared a mix of terrible English and the universal language of love. How sweet, or weird, you decide. Neither considered moving to the other’s home country, so they were a happy holiday coupling. Out of this relationship she got dental (braces filled her abysmally bad teeth), and he got a much younger looking wife. I was shocked to hear that she was 41; I had her 10 years younger. Not as shocked by his 48. Good for them, freaks!

PART III – CHIANG MAI

 

 

Day 8 – Travel and Troubles

 

Started off great. My 7:15 am wake up call came at 7:25 am. I rush downstairs to check out and catch my cab, but he’s twenty minutes late. Sorry, big accident. Mai pen rai, I reply of course, as I abuse the phrase whenever possible. Heading to the airport, we pass a line of traffic gridlocked in the opposite direction. This is where accident occurred, he points out, just as a pickup truck jumps out from the congestion into our lane. Squealing tires stop us inches short of an accident of our own. MPR to his apologies, no worries, but he was clearly shaken by the near miss.

The rest of the ride was drama free, and I arrived at 9 a.m., 24 hours and 35 minutes before my scheduled departure. I did my deepest Sawadee Krup and wai to the window woman, and ask if she can please put me on a plane (preferably two planes) today. First I needed a plane from Phuket to Bangkok. Then a plane from Bangkok to Chiang Mai. MPR, she reprints my itinerary for today’s flights, sends me to the front of the line for my boarding pass, and I’m on my way. My first flight was actually 20 minutes late, so I was good to go without a rush. Looks like today’s going to be a good day after all. So far, aside from the late wake up call, late cab ride, and near accident, my only problem is this hangover. I don’t understand it, because I didn’t drink much last night. Approaching Bangkok, I feel a rumbling in my stomach, and quickly find the airport facilities upon landing. During the three hour layover, I alternately slept, shat, and vomited. The nausea I was feeling was not alcohol-induced after all.

After the second wave of puke, I pondered the impending flight in this nasty condition, and decided to chance it with the first aid station. Told them I had food poisoning (Damn Aussie food! Black Sheep is now black-listed), and they gave me pills for nausea, powder for electrolytes, and anti-biotics for precaution (I already had anti-diarrheal medicine in my checked bag). I chugged the orange electrolyte concoction, washed down a nausea pill, and bolted for my flight, which was already boarding.

Mid air, nausea continued, and I subtly filled my airsick bag with my orange drink. The irony alluded to yesterday was that my scare with the barf bag on the boat came to be real for the poor passenger to my right on the plane. In the lavatory, I disposed of my electrolytes, dropped some more in the toilet, and headed back to my seat. My neighbor did not object to me taking his sick bag, just in case.

4 pm, arrive in Chiang Mai, short cab ride to the hotel (only 120 baht), and I manage to check in, by leaning heavily on the counter. My legs wobble like Jell-O.

The Imperial Mae Ping is a very nice hotel. It even has a working in-room safe and a fully functional bathroom that I utilized several more times as the day progressed. Nice view from my window (Patong Beach Lodge didn’t even have a window in my room – it took me two days to figure out why it was always so dark in there).

My 6, 7 and 8 o’clock rallies all fell short; I fear the Orangina; I cannot take the anti-diarrheal medication or anti-biotics without food. What a day. Mai pen rai. FYI, I actually dumped a few coins in some of the homeless people’s cups last night, hoping good karma might help my chances today. I’ll have to ask a monk if it worked.

Tangent 8 – Homeless, Helpless, Hopeless?

 

Believe it or not, the homeless are not just in America! But here, they seem to take it up a notch. You have the hardworking type, who play instruments or sing through this weird music box they wear on their chests. The self-contained karaoke machine is a little different, but otherwise they are comparable to America’s street talent.

Next, you have the deformed, missing limbs, or twisted in unimaginable ways (when Thai massage goes wrong). I’ve seen a couple of them lying on the ground, completely contorted, to the point where it looks like they cannot move. Where do they go to the bathroom? I can probably guess. How do they collect their donations, and what do they buy? I can’t say I’ve seen any of them crawl into a restaurant or store. It’s pretty disturbing. I guess it’s possible that they are really talented acrobats, feigning horrible pain. Maybe I’ll steal one of their cups to see if they can spring to their feet and come after me. Call it curiosity (or cruelty). No worries, I know better. I’m sure even these cripples know enough karate to kick or stump my ass.

The third type of panhandlers are the single moms. I believe I do more than my fair share of supporting their cause by frequenting their favorite places of employment, commonly known as strip clubs. But these women couldn’t cut it on the meat market, especially in a land with so many young hotties. What’s a girl to do? How about camp out on the skywalks of Bangkok, so that thousands of pedestrians can trip over you and your kid? Better yet, just leave the kid with a cup! Mai pen rai.

Day 9 – Temple of the Dog

 

There’s more to this city than my hotel bathroom! Woohoo, who knew? The hotel is conveniently located centrally, walkable to the old city as well as the night bazaar and other venues outside old city. I walked down to the old city proper, where more people were selling stuff. The only thing that could destroy this society faster than McDonalds would be Wal-Mart.

In my meanderings, I came across another wat, which isn’t exactly challenging in Chiang Mai or Bangkok. Phuket is more difficult, at least in Patong, which appears to be completely sold out to tourists. So, I venture into the quiet little temple grounds, (the gate was open). Figured if I didn’t belong, the monks would chase me out. Wrong. They have dogs for that. Two rather angry animals came charging out of nowhere, snarling, holding ground a few feet away from me. I held my own ground, knowing there was no way I could outrun the evil Buddhist beasts. After a tense standoff of at least 20 seconds (but it felt much longer to me, in dog minutes we’re talking years), a monk rescued me, and chased the dogs away. He asked me if dogs was the correct english word for the ferocious animals, and I corrected him to say scary dogs. A quick glance at their Buddha, and I was relieved to be out of there. There were several other dogs throughout the compound maliciously eyeing me the whole time.

Feeling weak and/or lazy (as well as a little lost), I grabbed a tuk-tuk for the ride back. Instead, we agreed to a one-hour tour of the city for 50 baht (less than $2). He seemed pretty knowledgable, though a later tour guide halved his figures for the population of the city (250k v 500k) and the province (2.5M v 5M). Maybe he was like me, just making this stuff up as he went along. We passed lots of wats and some neat teak houses, without a word of explanation. What a tour! Then, he pulls into a gem factory (no sale), carpet store (no sale), umbrella and furniture factory (no sale), sweat shop, er silk factory (no sale), notice a trend here?

The workmanship was actually pretty impressive, more so than the salesmanship, but I was not looking to buy no matter what. One of the 4’x6’ rugs I saw would take 7 months to make by hand. To give proper credit, they were not made in Chiang Mai, they’re made in Chiang Rai, a city further north. On site artists do paint impressive panoramas on parasols and fans. Silk scarves are amazingly soft, and the bedspreads are extravagant. Prices were negotiable, but they wanted more than free, too much for me, since I thought I was only taking a tour of the city.

I next partook in a real tour to the Wat Phra That Doi Suthep, the temple on the mountain. They say if you go to Chiang Mai but don’t visit this temple, then you didn’t go to Chiang Mai. I couldn’t have them say that about me. The tour group consisted of one crazy driver, our guide (Wao, from 20 miles east of Chiang Mai), one American (me), one beautiful Australian blonde (Debbie- whose boyfriend was back at their hotel battling some sort of kidney infection), one lad from England (winding down his 4 month holiday), and a couple from the Netherlands (who have visited more DC monuments than me, but I’ve probably been to places in Amsterdam they wouldn’t go).

First part of the tour, we visited the Hmong (Meo) Hill Tribe. This is one of the seven (fact check this) distinct tribes of people currently residing in Thailand. They used to prosper off their opium harvests; now they subsist off corn and tourists. The opium farms moved across the border. Bummer. They weave and wear ornate skirts and dresses, with beads, jewels, and different colors further identifying them into black or white Hmong (not a skin color thing). Adorable little girls in full garb ran up to us, offering to let us take their picture for some change. I ran them right the hell out of there. Okay, they got me for 10 baht (all the change I had).

In Bangkok, I had seen many women in beaded dresses walking the markets with wooden frogs, ridged backs, across which you run a wood stick to make a croaking noise. It was cool to learn that these are hill tribe women.

Next, we went to the temple, where we all elected to walk the 306 steps to the top, much to our guide’s dismay – she wanted to take the train. At the top, more statues of monks and Buddha. Story goes, some 600 years ago, a special white elephant was given holy relics, and set loose to find the site of the new temple. The great beast walked awhile, made his way up this mountain, and died at the top (he didn’t have the option of taking the train). That’s why this wat was built here.

There are seven (7) different Buddha poses, one for each day of the week. If you know what day you were born on, you can determine which Buddha is right for you (I’m guessing reclining Buddha for me). What about happy Buddha? I didn’t see him anywhere. That’s Chinese, per Wao. One story goes that Chinese Buddha was skinny (like the Thai’s), but was getting too much attention from the ladies, and put on the fat suit to be left in peace. That’s crazy Buddha to me. But I am learning something.

There’s also an incredible view at the mountain top. You can see all of downtown (Wao was able to point out my hotel), and the surrounding countryside. Definitely worth a visit if you want to claim to have visited Chiang Mai.

Back down at the bottom of the steps, the lovely Debbie informed us that the corn on the cob was delicious, prompting me and the Brit to follow suit. It was pretty tasty. The Netherland couple made fun of us, saying that we were eating chicken feed.

From the hotel, I walked to the Night Bazaar, more people peddling their wares, though it’s all more laid back than Bangkok and Patong. It’s a nice, easy city. Dinner at Sila-Aat (stone chair of Buddha or something), where I had local specialty Khao Soy (fried noodles in chicken curry soup), with a Chang beer. Singha is still better. Kind of like chicken noodle soup, with a kick. Followed up with a fruit shake (damnit, supposed to avoid the ice!) and I realized that my stomach was not fully recovered from yesterday.

At the night bazaar, two things impressed me the most. One, the artists drew amazing renderings of any photograph you gave them. Several worked on the old National Geographic cover of the young Muslim girl with the striking blue / green eyes (some artists went with blue, others with green). Very impressive talent on display. Two, avoiding the crowds, a couple times I walked in the street behind the stalls. There, many people were watching portable TVs, but a couple crowds were watching some weird form of chess. I watched for a while, but couldn’t figure out how they were moving their pawns. Interesting, to me. I also later saw some tuk-tuk drivers playing checkers, or so I thought, until they made some crazy super jumps that were beyond me. I can only surmise, based on playing pool, watching chess and checkers, that the Thais make up their own rules as they go along. No wonder I lost to Duan. Mai pen rai.

Day 10 – Animal Exploits

 

What to do? I ask my friend from the laundromat across the street from the hotel, and she says her friend Noy will take me by tuk-tuk to the snake, monkey and elephant farms, for 500 baht. She calls Noy over, he says 600, I say she said 500, so 500 it is. Chiang Mai’s traffic is always moving (unlike Bangkok). The tuk-tuk tops out at around 50 kph (30 mph), though on open highway it seems faster (until the other vehicles blow past). No problem, I’m in no hurry, and the open air feels good.

The Mae Sa region is 45 tuk-tuk minutes away, in another world. We passed horses, cows and water buffalo, stopping at each to make animal noises and take pictures. The natives quickly ascertained another crazy farang.

First stop, the Orchid Farm. They cultivated hybrid flowers of all different colors. Oooh, Aaaah! Aside from botanists and maybe herbivores, who cares? Oh yeah, I guess women like flowers too. Whatever, the only thing that really interested me was that the plants did not appear to have any potting soil. The roots hang in the air, without any dirt! Neat trick.

There was also a random collection of classic cars in the middle of the place. Then, at the far end, they had cats and dogs caged for sale. Thank Buddha they were caged, because a few dogs didn’t seem to like me. They must have been trained under the same monks in Chiang Mai. A sign advertised siamese cats, but they must have been post-op. No conjoined felines to be found anywhere. Time to move on.

Next, the snake farm! This is more like it. Poisonous snakes in wire cages with signs reading do not touch. Thanks for the warning. Otherwise, I was pulling teeth. They had iguanas, alligators, and birds as well. I wondered if they fed the birds to the snakes, since serpents are their main staple. A goofy old guy in an anachronistic Simpsons T-shirt complained to me that the Chiang Mai zoo was much nicer, bigger cages, more animals, and half the entry fee. Mai pen rai, it’s not real money anyway. He’s an Englishman, touring with a group called SAGA – sex and games for the aged. Whoa, too much information bud. He and his wife sat next to me for the snake show.

Wood bleachers flank a round bowl, in which a young Thai dances with a couple cobras. A color commentator alternately blares annoying house music, and makes hilarious comments, like “Very deadly snake. One bite, you die in minutes. Takes one hour to hospital. You no believe, you try. You die.” The dance is him slamming a knee in front of a snake, and leaping back as it strikes where he was a split second before. Not a job I’d want. He lolls the snakes to sleep, before a blast from the stereo startles them back to action. They then milk one for venom, of course offering a drink to anyone in the audience – You drink, you die!

Some other handlers then torment a python, some water snakes, and jumping snakes (not poisonous). For added entertainment, they would now and again let a slitherer seem to sneak away, into the stands, grabbing it back before it got to any audience members who failed to scramble like mad. Cruel for sure, but also entertaining.

Onto the monkey school. They train them to retrieve coconuts because they’re cheaper and more efficient than child labor (and bleeding heart liberals do not raise as much objection). I’m extrapolating some of this. The animals seem sadly chained up, but they assured us that it’s for our protection, and they unleash the monkeys after 5 each day. Some coconut tricks, dunk a basketball, and the all-important skill of riding a tricycle. Very handy in the fields. Perhaps they’ll teach them to drive tuk-tuks too. Sorry Noy. They even do backflips into a pool of water to retrieve thrown coins. Now that could come in handy at the mall.

Next, the elephant show, where the giant animals number at least three dozen. Feeding a few revealed that they too are chained, when one could barely reach the fence to receive my bananas. Others walked freely, only burdened by the tourists on their backs.

The specially trained beasts showed their skills in tooting harmonicas, playing soccer (pretty good with set kicks, a little less reliable hitting a moving ball), stacking logs, and most impressively, painting. The human hands set up easels (with paper made from elephant dung – they recycle!), and gave the elephants one color at a time, with which the animals each drew a unique floral work. Some of them were awesome! Each was beyond my capabilities. Upon completion, the elephants picked up their tool box of brushes, and carried it away. The pictures went to sale to interested audience members.

At the night bazaar last evening, I picked up a brochure for an elephant conservation camp. I’m guessing those people would not be as amused by these stupid animal tricks. I go where Noy drives me. Sorry big guys, but thanks for the show.

Last stop was another hill tribe village. But first, my cheery English Simpsons fan had to try to ruin it for me by telling me that New Zealand offered land for these tribesmen, but the Thai government wouldn’t let them go because they like the tourism. Oh well, I’ve seen snakes, monkeys and elephants exploited, why not indigenous people too? At least Thais exploit indiscriminately of species, right? To be fair, other than lacking dirt, the flowers didn’t seem to suffer too much.

So what stupid human tricks did they teach the hill people? Basically to live like they always did, only now say hello, wave, and offer trinkets for sale to tourists. It was a village of two dozen raised wood shacks, with a rice paddy in the middle, chickens running wild, and water buffalo in the fields. The women dressed traditionally, beaded ensembles, etc. And they also wore gold bands on their long necks. Not hip-hop bling, more like plates that seem to take the place of vertebrae in supporting their heads. Even the little girls wore them. I can’t believe the Thai government would subject these poor creatures to wearing electronic chokers! Even if it is to protect the tourists, I hope they unleash them at night. The women were nonetheless beautiful, and fully immune to vampires!

Back to the city, grabbed a quick dinner at Cafe De Siam, a coffeehouse and restaurant, where my chicken and garlic, rice and sprite totaled less than $3. I wanted to try the famous sticky rice, another northern Thai specialty, but mangoes and rice did not sound filling enough.

In the hotel lobby, I listened to and looked on with great interest at the khim player. This delicate flower in a traditional white outfit (looked Japanese to me) played a multi-stringed board with two long, thin spoons. Kind of like guitar meets xylophone. Not sure if it counts as a string or percussion group instrument, but soothing sounds emanated, not at all hurt by the fact that the source player was gorgeous. The night before, they also had a girl carving flowers out of soap, impressive art, but I preferred the khim player. I need to get one of them. She can bring her toy with her.

Next, on to the night safari. Another hike out of town, no problem for Noy, my tuk-tuk driver. He seemed determined to push the vehicle to its limits, passing temporarily a few scooters on the highway.

Night safari is a great concept. They say there are only three in Asia – China, Singapore, and Chiang Mai (fact check this). An unlit double bus (hitched, not stacked) crawls along the dark park path, spotlighting all kinds of nocturnal animals. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Rhinos, zebras, giraffes, cheetahs, elephants, deer, hyenas (pronounced hi-jeenas), antelope, llamas (recently added), emus, ostriches, and a bunch of others. No hippoes, and our guide could not explain their empty area. I hear the hippo burgers were pretty tasty though. It was pretty cool, and I would have thoroughly enjoyed the experience, except for two things. On the first loop, other people on my bus flat-out ignored our guide’s instructions to refrain from using a flash, as a courtesy to the animals. Jackasses.

On the second loop, a different guide was able to convey more clearly not to use a flash, but the request to be quiet went unheeded by the kids sitting behind me. I wanted to feed them to the lions. It’s not that I don’t like children (no comment), but I really don’t like ill-behaved brats. There were plenty of other kids under control. But then again, the quiet ones had quiet parents, whereas the wild bunch, well, blame genetics. I refrained from throwing anyone off the bus, but I hastened away to the bar as soon as the safari ended. Mai pen rai.

Day 11 – Goodbye Chiang Mai, Bring Back Bangkok

 

I wake up feeling good. Have a hearty western style breakfast of waffles and eggs. First real breakfast since I’ve been here. Hit the streets, where I walk aimlessly around the old city, into one wat after another. Wat’s the difference? Lost on me, I’m just happy not to see any scary dogs. I find the river, and it smells like the sewer. Glad I skipped the boat tour and river cruise. First strike, Fodors. I also found Chinatown, without knowing there was a Chinatown. Didn’t see anyone I knew, just masses of people moving merchandise, much like Thailand in general. I really had no idea which way back to my hotel (go figure), and the midday sun was starting to scorch me. After declining a couple of high tuk-tuks, I asked a songthaew for a lift. A new one for me. It’s a bike taxi, pedaled by the oldest man they could find, with the fewest teeth, the only one who could recall ever pulling anyone of my girth. Against oncoming traffic, he guided us out of Chinatown, back to my hotel via directions I never would have guessed. I really should invest in a compass.

A tuk-tuk ride to the city outskirts gained me some lucky elephants to decorate my condo, and back to the hotel with some time to kill before the afternoon flight. Time for an hour-long massage, so I ask my friendly launderette if any of the adjacent outfits are any good. No, of course not, she escorts me several blocks to her friend’s place. Along the way, I learn that she came to North Carolina over twenty years ago, spent 3 months there, couldn’t find a decent man, and went back to Thailand. Next month, she is marrying a gentleman from Singapore. Too bad Tarheels. Like the Phuket tour guide and her German husband, these two will not move to be with each other.

She also tells me about her beautiful little sister, whose 24th birthday happens to be today. One year left at University, and of course she’s single. I should stay another day. Why didn’t you tell me about her yesterday?! And why doesn’t this happen to me in America?

Anyway, I elect to receive a 1 hour foot massage. Though painful at points, overall it was a very relaxing experience. A dim room with elevator music playing helped me to nap. Upon its conclusion, I beat a hasty retreat back to the hotel to catch the 3 pm airport shuttle. Of course I am sidetracked by the launderette and her younger sis Ning, who really is rather attractive, clearly too good for me. Quick introductions are made, but I’ve got to catch a bus, so off I dash. Shuttle’s running late, I borrow pen and paper, run back across the street, give Ning my email address, why not?

Last domestic flight in Thailand, and I have to commend their airport efficiency. A few flights have been delayed, but I’ve never been forced to wait in long lines anywhere.

PART IV – HOMESTRETCH

Back in Bangkok, and the cab driver never heard of my hotel. He knows the major street it’s on, but the address number is Greek to him. Like everything else, I guess Thais make up their own rules with house numbers. Finally, I spot the sign, across the street from Central World. A very central hub, amidst all kinds of activity, and I miss the quiet of Chiang Mai already. The hotel is modern, and adequate for my limited needs.

By the way, Central World used to be World Trade Center, until they changed it a few years ago. Whether it was to deter terrorists from targeting it, or merely to distance themselves from America, I’m sure W would say they gave in to the terrorists. Regardless, I’m also pretty sure that the Thai people couldn’t care less. Their king has reigned for 62 years, with unquestioned approval ratings. To be fair, I’m not sure how much power Rama IX really holds, versus their government parties. Also reference the tangent on American influence over here.

I skytrained to Sala Daeng, trying a new stop for dinner and evening entertainment. Suffered my first terrible meal of the trip (I won’t count the fish and chips that made me sick, because at least it tasted good going down). This dining experience was another story of its own. The street of my hotel was lined with food carts during much of the day and evening. I probably should have just grabbed something there.

Patpong (off the Sala Daeng stop) is the notorious nightlife area invented to service US Servicemen from Vietnam. It’s also known for its cheap knock offs of designer fashions. Can’t say I’m a fan of the place. The vendors are very pushy, nothing new, but the touts for the clubs are absolutely ridiculous. I had to change directions a few times because the salesman would not go away. No thanks does not mean please walk with me for a few blocks, and then I’ll suddenly change my mind and want to see your ping pong show.

I also found the Japanese block, where they somehow figured out that I am not Japanese, and hustled me away. I guess it’s payback for our Jap-Am internment camps and nuking them. Mai pen rai.

Tangent 9 – Where’s the Beef?

Richard’s Pub and Restaurant sounded safe enough. Set just of the main drag, indoor and outdoor seating, expansive menu, and I was starved, not having eaten since breakfast twelve hours earlier. This was the first place I found where I didn’t worry about the Jap elitists chasing me off. The clientele out front seemed mixed and white enough to allow my kind. I opted to eat inside because it was air conditioned. On the way to my table, I suddenly realized something was amiss. Again, out front, there were a few groups eating together, a couple happy couples, some dudes starting out their night, I didn’t fully study the social dynamics, but nothing out of the ordinary. Inside, there were no women. Then the stereotypical gay-speak assaulted my hetero-ears (do they take separate language classes?). I was immediately uncomfortable, in a homophobic way, sorry to say, mai pen rai. Still, I didn’t want to show my ignorance or be rude, or be seen running like a woman for the front door; I would play it cool, gulp down my food, quickly quaff a beer, and be gone before anyone sees me here. Who knows, maybe the fairies found this place for its gourmet food?

Not the case. There’s a big difference between crispy beef and charcoal briquettes. I had two bites, and was done. No interest in waiting for alternate nourishment, the steamed rice was okay. The happy / gay manager / owner with an American accent (most of the customers seemed to be older gay American men with young Asian boy-toys; that’s how I heard the homosexual inflection in the voices. I probably wouldn’t pick up on it in a Thai conversation. I guess Viagra is helping this demographic too.) flittered from table to table making small talk with all the customers. When he stopped by my table to inquire if my meal was okay, I told him honestly, this food is terrible. It’s burnt to a cr… Before I could even finish my word, he had heard enough, about-faced and strode off to engage in more pleasant conversations elsewhere. Gee, sorry you asked.

I would not have judged this place so harshly by its owner and customer interests alone. But when the food is inedible, management is unresponsive (I didn’t want a free meal or anything. Sorry you didn’t enjoy it would have been ample acknowledgement), and the place has no women, it’s all around a losing proposition.

FYI, there is a very gay section of Patpong, highlighted by neon signs like Boys of Bangkok. I saw this street during one of my turnarounds from the persistent touts. Richard’s Restaurant was not in that area.

Tangent 10 – When Small Rodents Go Free

When I got home late one night to Bangkok hotel #2, the food carts that line the block were gone already. In their place, I saw my first street rat. Then my second, third, and holy shit, this street is being overrun! These bastards were huge! They make the DC rats look like lice. When I reached my hotel without being carried off to the queen mother rat, I had to do a double take to be sure the dog out front was actually canine. Most of this city is kept impeccably clean. But don’t hang around in the after hours of the food carts, if you know what’s good for you.

Tangent 11 – Ugly Americans

Americans are not as popular here as I would have expected. That is not to say they don’t like us (they generally don’t seem to care), but we’re few and far between. It’s funny, every non-Asian I see, I expect them to start speaking English. Most of the time, they’re German, Russian, French, Dutch, or something else. I shouldn’t be surprised, since Bangkok is the world’s playground, not just ours. Still, having to play games, I often ask the girls I speak with to guess where I’m from, rather than telling them when they question me. I’ve heard England, Sweden, Scotland, Switzerland and Canada much more often than I’ve heard America. A few said I don’t seem American, but the only elaboration I received was one girl who said I was too pale for her image of an American. It’s curious, because I don’t really have a physical image of our people. We really are incredibly diverse. I wonder who they envision when they think American (clearly it is not me).

At the same time, I also appreciate the paucity of my people, as I dread the ugly American image that I also embody. Never said I wasn’t a hypocrite. Mai pen rai.

Day 12 – Khon Heads and Mangoes

 

Bangkok days again. Fodors mentioned the Suan Pakkad Palace is close to a skytrain, so it was worth seeing. The name means cabbage patch or something, because that’s what the property was before some prince moved in and spruced up the place. Like Jim Thompson’s house, more cool teak structures with artifacts throughout. However, JT’s was more like acquired artwork, while this was museum style. JT also had tour guides, as it’s a popular stop. This place was much more low-key (and lower entry fee).

Cool story: The first building you enter is a museum about the Banchang People, an ancient civilization from over 5000 years ago. They were largely forgotten / undiscovered until 1966, when a clumsy sociology student from Harvard literally stumbled onto them, faceplanting and finding an intact old pot, that prompted serious excavations. There was even an original letter from Stephen Young to his family talking about how he feels like fate felled him then and there.

Another room showcased khons, special masks worn by traditional Thai performers for artsy enactments of classic stories. Many of the popular performances were written by or expanded by several King Ramas. Useful information, just wait.

As exciting as the old pots and pans and masks were, I moved on, back to Jatujak. It had been so hard to find any good shopping in Thailand, I had to hit up their largest market again. Since I already had my own souvenirs (an overpriced silk shirt and some lucky elephants for the house), I needed to pick up crap for the family. Instead of fake rolexes all around, I went to JJ.

I did not go in blindly this time, nervous like a virgin in the red light district. No, I had been here before, and this time I had a plan. Well, not really a plan. More like a list. I could have used the extensive map of the place to mark the stalls that sold the stuff I was looking for, but where’s the fun in that? I’ve done just fine without maps for most of this trip. I took my list of intended items, and started walking / swimming through the sea of humanity. It wasn’t even a very original list, so it wasn’t too hard to find people selling what I was looking for. Then it was time for Let’s Make a Deal. How much? 800 baht. No way, 400 baht. 600 baht. 500. Can’t do less than 600. 550. Can’t do less than 600. Okay, I go somewhere else. Wait, boss says 550 okay. Deal. That was a tense negotiation. My easiest was when I picked up an item sticker priced at 320 baht. I was going to offer 200, but the guy said 150 before I opened my mouth. No argument from me, I just saved at least 50 baht! It was kind of fun. Did I win the negotiations? Doesn’t matter, it’s how you play the game. I was done in less than two hours, with another hour thrown in finding my way back out to the skytrain.

On to Kukrit Heritage House, that enigmatic property only open on weekends. It’s another old teak house filled with historic artifacts. Been there, done that. What makes this place so special? The queen or some princess once declared that it was the best house in Bangkok. I believe there was also some blood relation between the royal family and Mr. M.R. Kukrit, so that somehow biases this proclamation.

Like Suan Pakkad, Kukrit was low-key, low-fee. Like JT, it offered a guide. Sirima said she was not the usual tour guide, but she voluntarily took me around (so I couldn’t steal or break anything). This lovely secretary by trade was incredibly apologetic for not having better English skills, despite my MPR assurances. It’s not like I really cared that much anyway. She was also exhausted from having started her day at 4 am, preparing the place for a wedding ceremony that ended shortly before I arrived.

Short story on M. R. Kukrit: Born in 1911 into a wealthy, connected family, he dilly-dallied in all kinds of crap, from art to acting to music, to philosophy and politics, to teaching. He was the first Thai actor in Hollywood, with a role in Ugly American with Marlon Brando. He was prime minister for a term in 1975-76, and like Nixon, ventured to China to chat with Chairman Mao. He had a few nice vase gifts from Mao. The house featured a large stage area (where wedding ceremonies are currently held), that he often used to entertain diplomats and other bigwigs with Khon shows. I knew all about the khons from earlier that day.

The house had a more lived-in feel than the museum of Suan Pakkad, and the arthouse of Jim Thompson (Jim hadn’t lived there in forty years). Kukrit died a few years ago, and the place maintained his personal touch, with a modern library (mostly English), a TV, VCR, and stereo system. More real, I have to agree with the queen or whoever said it. One of the upstairs rooms had a door that opened out, without any steps or balcony to catch you. I questioned this doozy of a step, but Sirima (nicknamed Jib) was on her game. That was for hopping on your elephant, of course. In all of these houses, the living areas are all on the second floor, with the ground floor open so the flood waters can pass through.

Jib showed me everything. Downstairs, I saw the office where she worked. At the backyard pond, she had me feed the fish (more giant catfish like the ones I saw in the river). We passed the pet cemetery (they don’t come back), a little shack in the back with some xylophone type instruments (she couldn’t find the sticks / hammers / whatever to play for me), and my favorite, the mango tree. Do you want a mango? Sure, are you going to climb the tree? Moments later, she was up in the air, fetching me fruit. Unbelievable. I don’t do this for everyone, she told me once planted firmly on the ground. But my guide book says to come to Kukrit for fresh mangoes. You’re joking. My god, this girl actually understood my sarcasm! We helped an old man and woman retrieve more mangoes, then the old lady went to prepare a platter for me. To accompany it, Jib offered coffee, tea, me? Trust me, I’m not creative enough to make this stuff up. I settled for a water, comped for me. Back inside the office, she showed me photo albums of the weddings held at the house, and we ate fresh mangoes. Jib and another staff member made an unfunny joke about how she wanted to marry me, and I made a serious joke about running out the door. In the end, no vows were exchanged, only email addresses.

Jib’s a pretty girl. She said Thai boys don’t like her because she is too short, stocky and dark for their tastes. Personally, I like them a little thinner, but the girl is not fat (by American standards), not a dwarf (I’d guess 5’-2”?) and has a healthy complexion (not too dark). I don’t see why Thai guys would not love her. A girl who will climb a tree for a complete stranger, imagine what she’d do for the man she loves? Mai pen rai. My pen pal.

For dinner, I sought the sky lounge atop the Baiyoke Hotel. However, the Baiyoke Sky Lounge on the 43rd Floor of the Baiyoke Suites Hotel is dwarfed by the Rooftop Bar on the 88th Floor of the Baiyoke Sky Hotel. By the time I understood the error of my ways, I decided 43 floors was high enough to eat and see the city. Still quite a view, and the buffet style Thai food was good enough.

The very nice girl at my hotel found me train and bus schedules for my trip tomorrow to Kanchanaburi. She even wrote me Thai instructions requesting a ticket, to be given to the agent at the station (unless she’s fucking with the stupid farang, and it really says something about the agent’s mother, I’ll have to trust her). The Thai people have generally been extremely warm and friendly. I like these people.

Day 13 – Hurry to Kanchanaburi

 

A half hour taxi to the bus station, then a two hour bus ride to Kanchanaburi, finally a 10 minute cab ride to the hotel. The cab was a converted pickup truck, with bench seating in the back. I had heretofore avoided such luxury vehicles, but in the small town, options are fewer. The driver offered to take me to Erawan Falls (and several other places), but I didn’t expect an hour plus trip in the back of the truck would be too enjoyable.

Felix River Kwai Hotel is a full-tilt resort facility, with spacious grounds, conference centers, huge rooms, private balconies, golf course, tennis courts, pool, pond, spa, and countless other amenities I would not use in my one night stay.

I did take advantage of its proximity to the historic Bridge on the River Kwai. On the opposite side of the bridge, there’s a bustling village of shops, museums, wats, and restaurants. The WWII museum is not as uplifting as you might expect for a place commemorating the site where thousands of POWs perished building a bridge for their Japanese captors, only for it to be blown apart by their allied forces, with hundreds of POWs on the bridge at the time of destruction. Of the roughly 62,000 soldiers here, tens of thousands died, including 356 of the 700 Americans. A memorial for these Americans can be found at the foot of the bridge. In spite of these atrocities, the damn Japanese still have the nerve to claim their own block in Patpong. Mai pen rai, mofos.

I found 40 baht walking through one of Thai history museums. That’s over a dollar! I was then confronted in the next room by signs prohibiting theft, warning of surveillance, and bespeaking of honor. Seemed like I was being set up. To be safe, I donated my dollar plus to a collection box beside a Buddha on the way out. Come on, Karma!

The bridge itself is not that impressive. It’s maybe a ten minute walk across, though it would probably be shorter if not for all the tourists. You have a 2’ wide steel plate in the middle, with rail ties flanking it. Outside that, you have a hodgepodge of wood planks, in different sizes and states of decay. Beyond this, you could easily walk into the water, about 20 feet below, because the steel frame is still another 4’ away. There are also periodic pulloff points where you can safely stand when a train comes, so there’s no need to run like hell (a la Stand By Me). No fun. They’ve thought of everything, except handrails. The water below is pretty slow moving, and there are plenty of boats in the area, so you’d probably survive the fall without too much difficulty. Nonetheless, I should probably heed my hotel’s warning not to cross in the dark (no lights).

On the way to dinner, I was approached by three young monks, one of whom asked if I speak French. Why does no one recognize an obnoxious American when they see one? Je ne parlez pas francaise, or something. I was going to throw him in the river for the affront. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed, so I didn’t get to find out how much Muay Thai these peaceful monks knew. The kid was studying French and English at Ayuthaya, the old capital city raided of its rich religious treasures by Jim Thompson and friends. The first monk was apparently a much better English student than his companions, because they just grinned like monks while we talked. I wanted to ask why there’s no place for women in wats; poor boys can enter monkhood to escape troubled lives, while the girls end up in go go bars. (Would I rather the girls were nuns? Most definitely not, but at least give them that miserable option). But I didn’t think it was a fair question for this kid who just wanted to chat. Besides, I was hungry. We ended our unenlightening discourse, and I went to dinner.

I ate at the floating restaurant next to the bridge. No choice but to get seafood. How can you order chicken while sitting on a giant raft? My server suggested the ruby fish with a sweet and sour sauce (not too spicy). When you order sweet and sour chicken, you get cutlets mixed with fruits and vegetables. Ruby fish will be the same, right? No, it’s a full fish, staring up at me, saying eat me and my gilled brethren will bite you back, next chance we get. Now I definitely need to find a way home that will not drop me in the river. I’m a true carnivore, but I also feel that rule #1 in meat prep should be decapitation. With the river below me, the bridge before me, and the setting sun at my back, I enjoyed eating ruby.

I asked the server where to find a cab and how much for a ride into town. 50 baht, she’ll get me a taxi. Sounds perfect. Motorbike okay? Ummmm, no regular taxi? Regular taxi 300 baht. So I can either spend more and look like a complete puss in front of this girl I don’t know who I’ll never see again, or I can suck it up and ride the back of a motorbike. My rule was never to ride one of those deathtraps unless it was a cute girl driving, I was drunk, or both. Not the case this time, but here goes. I held on to the bars under the seat, rather than holding the guy driving (still homophobic), and he took me past a neighborhood full of open air bars, dropping me off at the night market, of course. For a moment, I was afraid there wouldn’t be any more shopping today.

They had shoes, clothes, DVDs and food. I tried some Thai candy, out of curiosity, and found it to be inferior to American junk food. There’s a reason we outweigh them so dramatically. Another vendor had an assortment of fried insects, but I was too full from fish and candy. The market was more local, not very many farang at all, and some of the Thais started to make fun of me. No idea what they said, as they would not translate, but they seemed to be laughing in my direction. They must have thought I was French. So I moved on, heading back to the bar area for some evening entertainment.

There was one bar I noticed in passing that will remain nameless (No Name Bar), advertising Get Shitfaced on a Shoelace. Granted, I was wearing laceless shoes, but figured I’d give it a shot. Rejected! Not for the shoes, but because Thailand’s prohibition was in full force. Over the last few days, I noticed certain establishments were unable to serve beer or alcohol. This was somehow related to elections over a three day period. I couldn’t figure out the full rationale, because restaurants seemed immune, and there was inconsistent compliance among other places. The bars of Kanchanaburi seemed serious about it. Bummer.

Walking down the road, I passed a massage parlor, where this woman’s young son (maybe 4 years old) yells out Hello welcome massage! Should this be funny or sad? The mother and I both erupted in laughter at the absurd first English words of her child. Years from now, I’m sure he’ll tell the story to his therapist.

Another place called to me We have Thai girls! Do you have Thai beer? A conspiratorial wink, and I was inside the speakeasy. They couldn’t legally serve beer, but they had some of the best beer-flavored coffee you can imagine. It was as if they took a bottle of beer, and poured it into a coffee cup. The rollup exterior doors were kept 3/4 closed, so I could drink my coffee inconspicuously along with another farang, Eastern European I’d guess, but I’m not sure.

At the bar, I noticed these cool critters climbing the walls and ceiling. Couldn’t tell if they were insects or small lizards. I was told the name of the buggers, but quickly forgot it. Whatever they were, I’m sure you can find them fried up at one of the markets.

Their pool table was out of level, and the cues were crooked as Cheney, but I shot a few ugly games with the proprietress. Nice girl, but not nice enough to take home, despite her offer. 100 baht for ride home. 1000 baht for ride home with girl. I took her up on the initial proposal, and Pail drove me home herself. Several miles to reach the next bridge, to cross the river, and back to Felix. The ride was fun, since I didn’t have to sit on my hands. Wind blew her hair back, stinging my face (weak on sunscreen today). If I can survive these motorbikes, I can survive a little sunburn.

Day 14 – Bite ‘em Back

 

Yesterday, I declined a taxi ride out and back to Erawan National Park. The driver wanted 1000 baht for the trip. Checking with the tourist agent at the hotel, she wanted between 2000 and 3000 for the half day tour. The bus ride was only 45 baht each way, for the 1 1/2 hour trip. 200 baht park admission, and you’re free to explore at your own pace.

Erawan Falls is a seven step series of cataracts, spread over a mile plus in trails. A couple of tricky points to the trail, and the steps / ladders they set up at a few points were scary, but generally an easy hike. The lower levels of falls were packed with people, but by step 4, it thinned out enough that I could go for a dip in relative peace. Clear blue ponds, filled with fish, chilly, but felt great after a sweaty walk up the mountain. But damnit, the little fish bite! I knew last night’s dinner would haunt me. Not piranhas or particularly painful, but a nuisance nonetheless, so I didn’t stay there for too long.

Onward and upward through the forest. Passed a few sacred trees, adorned with bright robes. Not sure what makes these trees special, other than their keen fashion sense. At certain points on the path, the grasshoppers / cicadas became distressingly loud, as if they were planning on attacking. I swear, I didn’t eat any of you last night! I feared a scene from Starship Troopers would occur over the next ridge. Tried to see if I could find the source of all the racket, but every time I stopped, some other bugs would land and start to eat me. I’m a delicacy. They’re not used to meat this white.

I hit up a couple more quiet points to relax or swim (constant motion to ward off the little fish), generally just leisurely enjoying the scenery. At trail’s end, waterfall number 7, there was a breathtaking backdrop of shear rocky walls. Water cascaded down to another crystal clear blue pond at my feet. No fish at the turbulent area under the fall, so I could enjoy it nibble free.

Not a bad way to spend my last day in Thailand, I thought, as I headed back down the trail. Does it get much better? My solitude was pleasantly interrupted by a Thai woman with two twenty something daughters who befriended me on the trek back. Mom is opening up a new travel agency, and wants to take me all over Thailand when I come back next year. She’s got it all planned out for me. Aor, the elder daughter, is a rail-thin girl with slight acne scars on her face. With proper makeup, she could be stunning. An education degree, working as a personal assistant. Her sister, Cartoon (I kid you not) is some kind of factory engineer, not as attractive, and speaks less English. Dad and brother are still up on the mountain. They are from Pattaya, a party beach city less than an hour from Bangkok. It’s seedier than Bangkok, and more touristy than Phuket, if that’s possible.

Mother matchmaker informs me that both her daughters are single, because they work too much. Clearly she’s pushing Aor my way. Aor posits that being single is better, because she enjoys the freedom. Certainly worked for me with this trip. She also tells me that Thai men are butterflies. If that’s not immediately clear in meaning, she elaborated by saying they have many girlfriends at the same time. There are a lot of pretty flowers here. What are American men? Pigs, dogs, jackasses? I personally personify any number of animals, but felt it prudent not to disillusion the poor girl. I don’t want her ending up in a nunnery or something. We exchanged emails, bringing to four the number of potential pen pals I have acquired in my two weeks in Thailand. The first one shouldn’t count (the girl from JJ park), since I really had no interest. Ning, Jib and Aor are all sweethearts. Plus, they’re all in different cities, so I could butterfly my way…

Back to the bus to Kanchanaburi, a quick go and back taxi to Felix to pick up my bags, a bus ride back to Bangkok, another cab ride to a hotel we can’t find, and I’m ready for my first meal of the day around 8 pm. That means that my special last Thai dinner need not be special, as long as it’s not Richard’s or McDonalds. I found a place with live music, Singha, and pad thai, so I was set. The band had three (3) singers. First, a young hip-hop dressed Thai guy who proceeded to sing Lionel Richie’s Hello (an interesting juxtaposition). Next, a chubby chick who wears sunglasses at night covered Whitney Houston. Then, a skinny girl gave her all to the Bangles Eternal Flame. No Susannah Hoffs, but not bad. The cheesy music and my early flight ended the evening before the next set.

It’s unfortunate that the prohibition is over on a night when I can’t fully imbibe. Mai pen rai.

Day 15 – Going Home

 

5:30 am wake up call, 6 am cab to airport. The hotel porter told me the metered cab ride would be cheaper. 400 baht quote from the cabbie, meter totaled 290, including tolls. I only used the meter twice, and both times it was cheaper than I expected. Good to know for next time.

Twice in the last few days I dreamt about starting the new job. Guess it’s time I get back and make some money to finance the next adventure. It’ll be tough to top this, but I have several willing tour guides if I want to see more Thailand…

Tangent 13 – Lonely Travels

 

Who goes on vacation alone? Before now, I really didn’t know, because I have always traveled in the company of others. Except once, when I ventured overseas for a friend’s wedding, and had some great times on my own (including picking up the girl at the front desk of the hotel – never would have found time for that with fellow travelers). So, given my own tight timetable between jobs, I could either do nothing, or do something myself. I could also have joined with other packaged groups, and probably met some fun people, but I thoroughly enjoy having open flexibility. It’s nice to have options without deadlines. If I miss a day because I’m busy throwing up, no problem, do more or less on the next day, no one is impacted (except myself, and I’m on vacation, so no worries).

There were times when it would have been nice to share an experience, and I surely would have done things differently with a companion, but then these adventures would not have been the same (for better or worse). This running diary was my way of sharing. It also filled some of the voids in my days, especially at airports, on planes, and in the quiet times when I recharged my batteries between activities. As an introvert, this trip forced me out. Will I go it alone next time? Maybe, but either way, I know it’s possible to have an amazing time with or without, with the right attitude for adventure.

CONCLUSION:

 

I came, I saw, I came, I had a lot of fun. Met some great people, beheld spectacular sights, even learned a little. I highly recommend visiting this wonderful land. Worth every penny (and costs a lot less than most places).

I have no regrets. That’s not to say I am proud of everything I’ve done, nor that I wouldn’t change a few things if given the chance to go back in time. I definitely would have gone in a few different directions, chosen some alternate restaurants, and avoided a few people. But mai pen rai, so it goes, it’s all good!