second time's a charm

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For the record, I wrote a lengthy bit of prose yesterday on a different computer in a different hole-in-the-wall and it was eaten by This Page Cannot Be Displayed monsters. Arg.

Nonetheless ... I'll do my best to recreate what I can.

My life as tourist has officially begun (despite the past two months of doggedly trying to prove otherwise); the word cliche might actually be patched on the back of my head by now -- one of those cute little iron on ones in the shape of Thailand -- who knows. Jason said there wasn't, but he might've just been trying to be polite.

Walking, shivering, and blinking furiously to rouse my sleepy head, curled under the weight of our packs like a plastic spoon under fire, I trekked behind The Tallest Man In Thailand (TMIT), looming greater than the mountains behind him, up the frosted streets of Mae Hong Son. A moment of warmth was found in a 7 Eleven-style pork dumpling, microwaved no less.

*For the record, dumplings here are of an entirely different breed than anything you've ever ordered in Asheville's Eastern Buffet. They taste a little like cloud.

Anyway, Lonely Planet under arm, we walk and we walk among the deserted "downtown," quietly hmm-ing as we pass the locked and gated front doors of grand hotels. It's 4:30 in the morning. Finally we rest our bags and our feet at the foot of a lake, so misty the pagoda on the far end is only noticed once day breaks, and giggle deliriously snapping pictures of water vapor. Welcome to the world of travel.

Backstory:

A quick recount of the past week: picked up Jason Thursday afternoon, fought hordes of flushed expat british men for last place in trivia at the UN Irish Pub, hiked up 306 steps to a wat of gargantuant and golden presence, caught the flu (J, not me ... can you believe it!), caught some pink eye (definitely me), fed elephants in the threshold of a bar with women on the menu, danced into the morning, got ripped off by tuk tuks, played scrabble quietly, skipped around a zoo who's most compelling exhibits were of guinea pigs and flamingos, pounded, pressed, coaxed, lulled, and chipped silver into rings and things, and ate lots and lots of rice.

Which brings us to the day we finally decided to pack up and roll out of Thailand's second most sinful city. And, much to the compunding crankiness of TMIT's capricorn side, the decision of where we were actually going changed approximately every three nano-seconds up until the very nano-second he, TMIT, jumped up on to the moving bus as it pulled away and off into the distance of Chom Thong.

So we embarked on this wonderfully thrifty idea of busing to Chom Thong, songtaewing to Mae Klang, tuk-tuking to Doi Inthanon for a lazy day of gazing at the meditative beauty of one of Thailand's most impressive waterfalls and its various accompanying birds and civets and the like. Between renting a tent for 10 baht and the spare change required for all of these rickety modes of transportation, we could've kept the price of the next two days under 100 baht each, easily. Baht pinching in the wilderness of the unknown is not recommended.

The Lonely Planet that was tucked so soundly under my arm 15 hours later really should have been chucked into the darkness framed by our bus window as we crawled up and under the mountains.

We arrived in Chom Thong only to find that the 45B we were planning on spending to hitch a ride to park HQ would, with entrance fees and fare, be approx. 1500B. Kawp khun ka, oak bpai ka. (email requests for translation ... this is a family site).

So, instead, we walk up the road right quick in search of the bus stop where we can hail down the bus from Chiang Mai to Mae Hong Son (our next scheduled stop) that should have been passing through around 3:00 (pm). We find it. It's a fruit stand. Nonetheless, the bus rolls through right on schedule -- we do a little "stop, bus, stop!" dance and it does. Unfortunately, as we ran to the door, packs on backs, we had to yell over six people crunched on the stairs to find out that the bus was, go figure, too full. The next one rolls through around 9 (pm). Joy of joys.

Despite the handful of hangman games I managed to squeeze out of a now especially cranky TMIT and some entertaining conversations with passing locals practicing their engish, and one lengthy conversation with a coffee shop owner about her friend Vin Diesel, it was a stupidly long six and a half hours. Chom Thong is not a town to be stuck in.

Regardless, after numerous fake-outs by buses not going to Mae Hong Son, another finally barrels through town at around 9:30. Standing room only, we're told as we climb aboard. We did manage to sit, however, on rice sacks in the aisles which were the exactly 3 inches smaller than the width of my hips. And our 3hr bus ride turned out to be 7. Which brings us to our walking, shivering, and blinking furiously to rouse our sleepy heads, curled under the weight of our packs like a plastic spoon under fire, trekking up the frosted streets of Mae Hong Son.

Which is, by the way, a beautiful city.

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Comments

[Andi]

Family WebSite
I want a translation of those bad words.