March 28th, 2001

Sawasdee, krahp!

I'm currently in Chiang Rai, northern Thailand, and will be leaving tomorrow to head to the Laos border for the next day's crossing. Met an expat here who said the border can close at the most inopportune times without any warning (so when would an opportune time be - any time you DON'T want to cross?). I don't anticipate any problems, but you never know. Maybe I'll be heading to, oh, Bali instead.

Returning to Thailand from Malaysia, while not exactly like a homecoming for some reason, DID feel like coming back to a favorite place. It probably has a lot to do with the greater familiarity with the language and culture - I didn't realize I'd learned that much about it! But I really enjoyed the slight release of tension you feel when you suddenly realize that you'll now 1) know what the hell it is you're eating (well, mostly), and 2) feel assured you'll be understood at least 25% of the time. (Maybe...)

From Malaysia I headed to Bangkok again to secure Laos and Vietnam visas before moving further afield. Though I've heard you can get em at more remote locations (which I would have preferred, not having much desire to spend more time in Bangkok), I figured this would be the most reliable location to do it, and I was right. Ominously so. The whole process seemed way too easy when compared to the problems I've heard about dealing with each country's bureaucracy, especially Vietnam's. After nothing but horror stories about the officials' arrogance and obstructiveness, I was amazed by these guys. They were actually polite! It all smacked a little bit of ' "Come into my parlor!", said the spider to the fly'. Maybe I'm just being cynical. Maybe this country'll actually turn out to be a dream. Yeah, riiight! But the one thing that assured me that I had 'em pegged originally and that the nice veneer was actually just that, only a veneer, was the way their office was designed. All embassies put their officials securely behind some kind of barrier, usually a waist-high counter with a (bulletproof, I'm sure) glass front and some speaking system, either an intercom or speaking holes (which are a little less impersonal). The Vietnamese embassy, however, places their officials behind a solid (and obviously opaque) wall, with a 1 foot high horizontal
gap through which you can see the officials and communicate with them. But the gap is placed just a little above waist level, forcing you to maintain what is essentially a stooped position to see them. So basically, if you want to talk to them, you have to remain 'bowing' to them the entire time. And the gap is low enough that its not just us tall falangs that have to bend over - even the Asians are forced to do it. I'm sure these guys get an absolute kick out of watching us trying to maintain our composure while bent at the waist, feeling like we're about to be kicked hard from behind (literally) and in front
(bureaucratically). What an experience.

Fleeing Bangkok, necessary visas in hand, I took the train north from Bangkok to Chiang Mai and spent a day or two checking out the markets, watching movies, and trying desperately to replace the various bits and pieces I'd been dropping along the way - a bike computer, underwear (don't ask), a voltage converter, etc. The first couple of shops I stopped in to replace the latter suggested I buy the transformers they carried, models straight out of the 60's that looked (and felt, ironically enough) like 10lb metal bricks. Ok, maybe I don't need one THAT badly. Eventually got it all sorted out and headed out of town, stopping that evening in a National Park to camp for the night. Me: Do you have food here? Them: Well, only Ramen noodles and canned sardines. Me: Fine - can I camp here? Them: Well, no. Even though the sign says 'camping facilities', they won't actually be ready for another year. Okaayy... At this point the Better-English-Speaking park supervisor came out of his office (why is it the good communicators remain hidden until the last possible moment?) and said that I could use his spare tent and that he'd even give me a ride to the market 10km away to pick up food. Cool! He even went on to suggest I eat dinner with him, prepared by his housekeeper (how many US national park officials can boast their own personal 16hr-a-day housekeeper/cook?). Nice guy, he must have been a bit lonely stuck out here far away from his family, though it was a really beautiful place. We spent 3 hours slowly eating (well, me more than him - he seemed more interested in getting drunk and having a good time) and yapping away, as he spoke pretty decent English. But his accent deteriorated exponentially with his beer consumption, slowing our conversation more and more, until I finally made my 'need sleep' excuses (not really an excuse, as I'd done 130 long km that day) and slogged off into the dark. To the tent he'd had his staff erect for me! What service. It actually made me pretty uncomfortable to be waited on like that (he was constantly getting the housekeeper to pour more beer, get more food, etc). While most americans don't grow up in a servant-oriented society, it's totally common-place in many countries over here. Actually, in every country I've been in and will be in since Turkey, I think.

In the hotel at one of the northernmost cities, Chiang Rai, I met Lincoln, the Yale philosophy major, Yosemite climbing ranger, and fellow 'what'll I do when I grow up'-er. (Funnily enough, a large percentage of the people I meet on the road share this characteristic...) He and I hit it off well and spent a few days dinking around together. Rented a couple of motorcycles and scooted around the Burma/Thai border area, goggling at all the Apache helicopters and humvees roaming around. We even went through several border-area checkpoints. At one the soldier asked for our passports, checked 'em, and then handed us a bottle of water. Were we supposed to pay for it? Since they never fired at us as we drove off, maybe it was just a gift after all. The first actual gift I think I've had so far in Thailand! While there we had what has to be the worst meal I've of this entire trip. And it wasn't so much the food (though that in itself wasn't exactly stellar) as the service. And it wasn't that the service was bad, so much as absolutely random and hilarious! To start with, Lincoln places his order (chicken w/ cashew nuts, rice, and a Fanta) and then the waiter scoots off without taking mine. Okaaayy... He then brought back 2 Fantas, both of different colors (orange and green), one of which looked radioactive and tasted like liquid death, before zooming off, again without taking my order. I chased him down and ordered the fluffy fried catfish and mango salad. In a bit, here comes Lincoln's food first (of course) and we proceeded to spend the next 5 minutes trying to figure out if this plate of fried rice (with a fried egg on top) and 5 half-sized nuggets of fried meat was his or mine. We guessed his, 'cause after a little bit longer here comes what looks like mine. Lemme tell you, NEVER! EVER!! (!!!) order anything off a Chinese menu labelled "fluffy"! Accompanying the mango salad (that looked suspiciously cucumberish) was a large plate covered with a piece of deep-fried Weetabix. It had all the texture of a brillo pad (albeit a tender one, granted) and the pleasant tang of a Thai shrimp boat left standing in the hot sun for 6 weeks. And if that weren't enough, at the exact moment that Lincoln finished his last bite of rice (the fried mystery meat having been dispensed with long ago), the waiter returned and sheepishly set in front of him a plate of, yes, chicken with cashew nuts. Man, we had a hard time staying upright and not choking to death, we were cracking up so hard. Wotta meal. One tipless exit later (upon reflection, he was actually worth something, given the entertainment value of his service) we were back on our little two-wheeled buzz-bombs heading down the highway. And 30 minutes into the trip back, as if everything we'd encountered that day wasn't enough, we ran into a rainstorm that I mistook for hail, the drops were so large, hard, and cold. Five minutes into it Lincoln gets rear-ended on his bike at 35mph by a little mini-truck, shoving him forward about 10 feet on the slick streets and scaring the living sh*t out of him. Pulling alongside the still upright (somehow) and rolling Lincoln to check him out (oh, falang, no big deal), it then drove off. No more riding in traffic for me - I'll stick to the shoulders where it's safe(er).

The next day, while scanning the guide book for anything else to do (no more wats, please!), we noticed that airfares to nearby Chiang Mai were $11 for a 40 minute flight. Dude! That evening we embarked on the only road trip in history to go 200 km by plane just to see an English-language movie. Arriving there and having achieved our purpose ("Miss Congeniality" with Sandra Bullock - worth all of 50 cents of the flight price) we found ourselves hanging out in The Escape, an expat restaurant and hangout run by Bill, a Santa Cruz refugee with huge black fluffy (uh-uh, there's that word again) Sam-the Eagle eyebrows and his friendly wife Newt. In fact, they both played a big part in us deciding to spend another couple of days there, as we loved his colorfully outrageous personality, great western food (though we're not sure about the coffee you're so proud of, Bill), and wonderful advice ("never ever do what I'm doing", "here's where you go for the cheapest prostitutes", etc). Bill, we loved it all, too much, especially those great BBQ ribs! Waah!

Lincoln and I parted ways, him to head for Paris and a free apartment to stay in for a couple of weeks (poor guy) and me to head back to Chiang Rai and then Laos. Oh, we had a good time! Lately I'd been feeling more than a little unmotivated to keep moving. I've been on the road for 190 days now, and probably have 2 more months to go. But the time in Chiang Mai was a great recharge and served to remind me of all the unknown possibilities ahead. I'm looking forward to the new places remaining, but also eagerly anticipating my return to friends and family, so I have to be careful not to get too anxious and zip through them too quickly. So, onwards, Don Quixote! Bring on those Laos-style windmills, and me 'n the Cannondale will take em on!

All the best,
Mark

Northern Thailand jungle road. Thankfully not many of the ones I have to ride are like this. Until I get to Laos, that is...	A herd of deathmobiles, resting between slaughters. You can tell the ones ridden by falangs by the presence of helmets.
An airport sign - we actually fit one of the categories.	Crumbling old wat in the middle of a warren of alleyways.
Sampling the local delicacy -dried squid (mmm, it tastes as good as it sounds!)	Me and Link hanging out at the Escape expat bar and restaurant.
Religion vs business here in modern Thailand.	Sunset over the wing of an $11 plane ride (the ticket cost, not the plane..).