I realize that I have written virtually nothing regarding Thai culture, politics and the like, which I regard as a bit of failure on my part (after all, travel is about deconstructing the mythologies and ideologies we create about exotic foreign lands into tangible human experiences). To that end, some broad impressions, based anecdotally and on reading (subject to extreme bias ;), follow:
Thai People:
I thought the tag-line "Land of a thousands smiles" was some hoaky selling point, but it isn't. Wherever you go in Thailand, you're greeted by broad, warm smiles. Thai people are particularly interesting for an Asian race. They're fun-loving and relatively lazy, so forget the stereotype of the driven Asian doctor/engineer/i-banker etc. These people like to party and have a good time.
Some interesting snippets: Racism is well and alive in Thailand. Although I can't make a blanket statement, the Chinese minority, 15% of the population, in Thailand isn't loved all round. A big part of the reason might be their rampant financial success. Many businessess are owned by ethnic Chinese, and Bangkok features its own Chinatown. Thais tried to block Chinese dominance politically, by passing laws that required Thai heritage for property ownership in certain instances, but the Chinese bypassed the law quite simply; they intermarried with Thais, giving rise to a significant number of Chinese-Thais.
On a separate note, Thais have a very apparent color-caste system, in which lighter is better, and European features attractive (many of the pop stars and entertainers are of mixed Euro/American-Thai heritage). Skin whitening products are advertised even more visibly than in India!
Thai Politics:
Incredibly curious to say the least. I had no idea before I visited, but Thailand is something of a constitutional monarchy. While the king isn't the designated leader of Thailand, he wields ENORMOUS influence; he is incredibly popular, enjoying broad support, in good part because he seems to be a leader with needs of the people at heart (he sponsors numerous development projects around the country, and exerts considerable sway on the country's political course; he's had prime ministers dismissed after disapproving speeches). However, somewhat ominously, public criticism of the king is not tolerated, and can be punishable by law. To add to the mix, while the king is massively popular, his son is regarded as a complete wanker (it doesn't help that he's featured in his own sex tape).
Even more colorfully, this country doesn't seem to have elections; instead, they have coups, if I'm correct, more than ten in the 20th century. However, they have been largely peaceful, perhaps in good part thanks to the stabilizing force of the monarchy (an expat living here told me he thought there would be civil war when the king dies).
The economy:
Don't know much about this yet, but I can comment that tourism is the biggest industry and you can tell by the sheer number of people visiting even in the low season.
Sex Industry:
Yes, it's as visible as you might be led to believe. Hardly a day has passed in which I haven't been offered a chance to roll in the hay with a Thai girl, and you constantly see white men with Thai women (interestingly, not all are old and fat; many are young and attractive white men, which is a bit puzzling). What's really interesting about the sex industry is its cultural origins. Contrary to popular belief, 95% of the industry is devoted to Thai men. Polygamy was an accepted part of Thai society till the 1930s when it was outlawed. However, the practice was simply diverted, with "minor" wives being replaced by visits to brothels (estimates are that 2/5ths of the male population visits sex workers at least twice a month). It amounts to a staggering 3% of the national economy, with most of the sex workers being sourced from the poor, rural northeastern region of Isaan. On the note of Thai sexuality, even more interesting is the presence of katoeys, or lady-boys. Very visible, and often gorgeous, lady-boys are not exclusively sex workers, and some anthropoligists have postulated that they fit the criteria of a third gender within Thai society. Refreshingly, homosexuality is widely tolerated tolerated in Thailand, and while flamboyancey is not encouraged, most Thais would think it low to reject a relative or friend based on their sexual orientation.
Rural-Urban divide:
46% of the population still lives in rural settings, and rural/urban Thais are almost like two different races. My rural host, Buen-Choi, would find Bangkok as alien as any foreign country.
Pet-culture:
It would seem that Thais love keeping pets. Dogs are the most obvious, and seem to be very pampered (the strays are well-nourished, and actual pets are morbidly obese). Cats and fish are popular as well, with the occasional rabbit, hamsters, and even sugar-glider thrown in for good measure. I still haven't figured out what thin line demarcates pets from food, apart from ornamental value.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Back in Bangkok
We finished the loop on Sunday, and I've been back in Bangkok since Monday AM, taking a break on my way south to the tropical beaches of south Thailand.
The last two days of the loop were as spectacular as the first. After Mae Hong Son, we made our way to Pai, a hippy new-agey town bisected by a wandering river in a valley. Pai is a great place to have your chakras aligned over a cup of ocea butter, wheatgrass-infused, fair trade organic, buddhist monk-grown tea. The town is populated by sets of dreadlocked, moonshiney Thais interspersed with strung-out, druggie hippies. We stayed in little bamboo huts by the river, where I passed the night reading "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac (it seemed too perfect a book to not read on a trip like this).
Rising late the next day, we embarked on the last day of the loop, which was also possibly the most fun riding. As we climbed into the mountains near Pai, clouds gathered and the sky muttered thunder. Drizzle felly idly, until the monsoon unzipped its fly, and started pissing rain. Not Minnesota-nice, sweet summer rain, but fat, pregnant-with-twins rain drops. Slicing through it felt like climbing into needles, cold speed, adrenalin rushing, a happy to be alive kind of ride. Looking like tropical fish in neon orange ponchos, we swam home to safe harbor, riding past curtains of rain from behind which lurking mountains occasionaly peered like peeping toms.
On our way home, we made a stop at a hot springs site famous for a geyser which belches sulphurous warm water. Unlike other hot springs site I've seen in northern Thailand where taking a bath in the water requires having it piped into a jacuzzi and mixed with cold water (the hot spring water is ~100 degree C when it comes out), this hot spring spawned a warm creek, which rambles through jungle before emerging in a clearing where it forms three deepish pools. Here you can choose your preferred temperature, and bathe in sight of mist covered mountains. We did exactly that, enjoying the contrast of air spiced by the cool Thai monsoon, and the warmth of the hot springs, all amdist an absolutely deserted valley. To the add the ambience, the only other visitors that ever showed up were a band of Buddhist monks on a road trip; they bathed in the pool above us, bartering snippets of their English for snippets of our Thai, while laughing at me skid all over the algae covered rocks surrounding the springs.
It was a magical end to a magical trip as Naj and I were discussing, when my spacy travel buddy realized he had lost the key to his motorbike. After a fruitless one hour search, we gave it up for lost, and made our way home on a single bike through the vanishing day. It was a mad ride in the dark, pelted by an endless parade of insects before we arrived in Chiang Mai. The next morning, we rode back out with a spare key picked up from the rental shop, and retrieved Naj's bike.
The same night, I hopped a train to Bangkok, and the present moment. Next stop, tropical beach, and after that, tropical rainforest ;)
The last two days of the loop were as spectacular as the first. After Mae Hong Son, we made our way to Pai, a hippy new-agey town bisected by a wandering river in a valley. Pai is a great place to have your chakras aligned over a cup of ocea butter, wheatgrass-infused, fair trade organic, buddhist monk-grown tea. The town is populated by sets of dreadlocked, moonshiney Thais interspersed with strung-out, druggie hippies. We stayed in little bamboo huts by the river, where I passed the night reading "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac (it seemed too perfect a book to not read on a trip like this).
Rising late the next day, we embarked on the last day of the loop, which was also possibly the most fun riding. As we climbed into the mountains near Pai, clouds gathered and the sky muttered thunder. Drizzle felly idly, until the monsoon unzipped its fly, and started pissing rain. Not Minnesota-nice, sweet summer rain, but fat, pregnant-with-twins rain drops. Slicing through it felt like climbing into needles, cold speed, adrenalin rushing, a happy to be alive kind of ride. Looking like tropical fish in neon orange ponchos, we swam home to safe harbor, riding past curtains of rain from behind which lurking mountains occasionaly peered like peeping toms.
On our way home, we made a stop at a hot springs site famous for a geyser which belches sulphurous warm water. Unlike other hot springs site I've seen in northern Thailand where taking a bath in the water requires having it piped into a jacuzzi and mixed with cold water (the hot spring water is ~100 degree C when it comes out), this hot spring spawned a warm creek, which rambles through jungle before emerging in a clearing where it forms three deepish pools. Here you can choose your preferred temperature, and bathe in sight of mist covered mountains. We did exactly that, enjoying the contrast of air spiced by the cool Thai monsoon, and the warmth of the hot springs, all amdist an absolutely deserted valley. To the add the ambience, the only other visitors that ever showed up were a band of Buddhist monks on a road trip; they bathed in the pool above us, bartering snippets of their English for snippets of our Thai, while laughing at me skid all over the algae covered rocks surrounding the springs.
It was a magical end to a magical trip as Naj and I were discussing, when my spacy travel buddy realized he had lost the key to his motorbike. After a fruitless one hour search, we gave it up for lost, and made our way home on a single bike through the vanishing day. It was a mad ride in the dark, pelted by an endless parade of insects before we arrived in Chiang Mai. The next morning, we rode back out with a spare key picked up from the rental shop, and retrieved Naj's bike.
The same night, I hopped a train to Bangkok, and the present moment. Next stop, tropical beach, and after that, tropical rainforest ;)
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Mae Hong Son Loop
The week has been incredible thus far, and I'm just processing all that has happened.
After my last post, Sunday morning, I had intended to take the day easy. But as usual, I hopped on my bike to head for lunch, and soon, I found myself motoring through the steep mountain forests of Doi Suthep, the largest mountain overlooking Chiang Mai. It was a wet, rainy ride, that only got wetter as I ascended into the clouds that shrouded the mountain. Catching glimpses of the city far below as I ascended curves steeped in clouds made for an atmospheric afternoon.
My cousin Naj arrived on Monday morning, via a flight from Bangkok. Naj and I met only a few months ago, but got along easily, and since we had both been planning on traveling, it was a natural choice to make this trip together. Immediately after he arrived, we got another motor bike, and headed out on a day trip, to the Mae Sa valley, a pretty area of gentle rolling hills 50km west of Chiang Mai. To unwind, we enjoyed Thai massages from two little old ladies back in the city; I was amazed by how strong these women were, as neither could've weighed more than 90lbs. Easily, the best massage I've ever had (Naj was so mellowed out, he fell down the steps on our way out).
Chiang Mai Day Trips
Tuesday morning, we shelved our larger packs in favor of mini-packs, and hit the road to Mae Hong Song. The Mae Hong Song Loop is a legendary 600km motorcycle ride through Thailand's most rugged landscapes. 80% of Mae Hong Son province is on a 45 degree incline, and by the time our journey is complete, we will have navigated almost 2000 hairpin bends (many also at 45 degree inclines/declines). Needless to say, it's been a wild ride.
Tuesday afternoon, we cruised into Doi Inthanon national park, a sprawling mountain reserve that is home to over 300 bird species, and Doi Inthanon, a specatuclar peak overlooking the region. Lunch by a waterfall was followed by a two hour hike around the summit, which included cutting through a cloud forest (again, we spent a good deal of time inside monsoon clouds). Our day went long, and we found ourselves racing the fading daylight to Mae Chaem, a village where we intended to stay for the night. Little did we know what was in store for the night.
On our way to Mae Chaem, we paused to take some photos of the sunset splashing brilliant hues across a peaceful farming valley. While doing so, a Thai man, in a dirty white t-shirt, and worn jeans, motored up to us on his bike, rattling off something in Thai. Puzzled, Naj and I exchanged quizzical glances; finally, he started miming "barn," and "sleep." I figured he was a tout trying to earn commission by taking us to a guest house, but thought, "What the hell, let's give it a try." We followed him through a tiny hamlet, on to increasingly rougher roads. Anxious thoughts crossed my mind....would there be a gang of Thai thugs waiting for us around the next corner? Was I being completely naive following him? It was getting dark, and we were well beyond the point where I could find my way back to the main road.
Our fears were misplaced, and we were to happen on one of the most embarrassingly warm acts of random kindness I've ever experienced. We followed our random host, Buen-Choi, as I would learn, to his ramshackle barn, where he insisted we stay the night. Later, I relaxed, but still assumed he was trying to earn a buck. I only realized that he was giving freely of his time, energy, and home, when he sat us down in the midst of the family, and served us dinner. Buen-choi had two adorable kids, a daughter of about eight, and a son of three, in addition to his elderly parents, and a brother my age. Amongst this cast of country Thais, he sat us down, and he fed us dinner, serving us in the only bowl he owned.
Dinner was interesting, consisting of a spicy dish of rubbery texture, and a vegetable curry, complemented by sticky rice. I ate blankly, stunned by the randomness of it all, watching Buen-choi's son play with a bucket full of pet frogs. It took about twenty minutes before it clicked. The frogs weren't pets....they were dinner, the rubbery dish.
As we ate, it became apparent that Buen-choi knew very little English, so I broke out my Thai phrase book, and started a stuttering conversation in phrase book Thai. One of the first things I figured out, flushing with embarrassment when I did, was that he refused to accept any money, for the dinner or the stay. He was doing it purely out of kindness. Later, I learned how old he was (thirty), the names of his kids (which I've forgotten), what his mother was making (she was in the back spinning cotton for blankets), and that he had a brother.
After dinner, we took family photos (we would later make prints for the family), and our host took us from the main house, where his parents and children slept, to the "barn" (an elevated wooden house where we would spend the night). Buen-choi made us instant coffee, boiling water over a wood fire, and we shared freshly rolled tobacco cigars while continuing a broken conversation. My phrase book turned out to be hilariously bizarre, as the largest section is devoted to "romance." A sample exchange in the phrase book:
Person 1: "That girl is very cute"
Person 2: "That's not a girl. He's a lady-boy."
Person 1: "He's very cute just the same"
even better yet:
Person 1: "Does that woman have a boyfriend...."
Person 2: "I don't know! Why do you ask?"
Person 1: "I suspect that he's handsome. I'm sure that he is tall and thin"
Person 2: "No. He's fatter than an elephant."
best of all:
Person 1: "Why didn't you kiss her?
Person 2: "Because I kissed the lady boy that was sitting next to her"
Person 1: "Why did you kiss him"
Person 2: "Because he was cuter than the girl" (frighteningly true in some cases)
Using the "romance" section, we learned that Buen-choi's wife had been cheating on him, and had run off with another man to Chiang Mai. It was heartbreakingly funny to see him mime "jealous," "lonely" and "I want to shoot him."
After coffee, both of us were practically passing out (it was only 9:30), so we politely took our leave of Buen-choi's company, and retreated to our "room" (We slept in the opposite corner of the room from Buen-choi and his brother). The night was unlike any other, the darkness all encompassing, penetrated only by the pinpoint glow of amorous fireflies and the melodic croak of tokays (alarmingly large, ~35cm, but harmless lizards).
In the morning, after an invigoratingly cold bucket shower in a corner of the barn, we ate breakfast in town, assembled a small care package for Buen-choi (whisky, cigarettes, candy for his kids, and a huge pack of instant coffee), and set off on our way. The man left our lives as quietly as he entered them, but I will never forget meeting him; easily one of the most humbling acts of random kindness I've ever experienced, rendered particularly significant by his poverty.
From Mae Chaem, we embarked on a hair-raising, bone-rattling ride to Mae La Noi, 120km away. Our journey took us on roads that coursed through mountains and valleys, and many times, over sheer precipices where mountains gave way to clouds. In Mae La Noi, we stayed in a sprawling country villa, the only place we could find in the tiny town (not actually a common stop on the loop).
Yesterday, we made the ride from Mae La Noi, to Mae Hong Son, the capital city of the same province, another crazy journey, at times, replete with hairpin turns and speeding trucks, but mostly, just deserted country roads winding past life-changing scenery.
The trip is roughly half over, but what a trip it has been! The sheer liberation of a motorcycle paired with the landscape of Mae Hong Son....a perfect complement, the travel equivalent of wine and cheese. It's reputation as a classic ride is richly deserved. Today, we ride to the hippy, new-agey town of Pai, for our last night. Tomorrow, we wake up before dawn, to see the sun rise over clouds from the mountains around Pai.....it just keeps getting better.
Mae Hong Son Loop Photos
After my last post, Sunday morning, I had intended to take the day easy. But as usual, I hopped on my bike to head for lunch, and soon, I found myself motoring through the steep mountain forests of Doi Suthep, the largest mountain overlooking Chiang Mai. It was a wet, rainy ride, that only got wetter as I ascended into the clouds that shrouded the mountain. Catching glimpses of the city far below as I ascended curves steeped in clouds made for an atmospheric afternoon.
My cousin Naj arrived on Monday morning, via a flight from Bangkok. Naj and I met only a few months ago, but got along easily, and since we had both been planning on traveling, it was a natural choice to make this trip together. Immediately after he arrived, we got another motor bike, and headed out on a day trip, to the Mae Sa valley, a pretty area of gentle rolling hills 50km west of Chiang Mai. To unwind, we enjoyed Thai massages from two little old ladies back in the city; I was amazed by how strong these women were, as neither could've weighed more than 90lbs. Easily, the best massage I've ever had (Naj was so mellowed out, he fell down the steps on our way out).
Chiang Mai Day Trips
Tuesday morning, we shelved our larger packs in favor of mini-packs, and hit the road to Mae Hong Song. The Mae Hong Song Loop is a legendary 600km motorcycle ride through Thailand's most rugged landscapes. 80% of Mae Hong Son province is on a 45 degree incline, and by the time our journey is complete, we will have navigated almost 2000 hairpin bends (many also at 45 degree inclines/declines). Needless to say, it's been a wild ride.
Tuesday afternoon, we cruised into Doi Inthanon national park, a sprawling mountain reserve that is home to over 300 bird species, and Doi Inthanon, a specatuclar peak overlooking the region. Lunch by a waterfall was followed by a two hour hike around the summit, which included cutting through a cloud forest (again, we spent a good deal of time inside monsoon clouds). Our day went long, and we found ourselves racing the fading daylight to Mae Chaem, a village where we intended to stay for the night. Little did we know what was in store for the night.
On our way to Mae Chaem, we paused to take some photos of the sunset splashing brilliant hues across a peaceful farming valley. While doing so, a Thai man, in a dirty white t-shirt, and worn jeans, motored up to us on his bike, rattling off something in Thai. Puzzled, Naj and I exchanged quizzical glances; finally, he started miming "barn," and "sleep." I figured he was a tout trying to earn commission by taking us to a guest house, but thought, "What the hell, let's give it a try." We followed him through a tiny hamlet, on to increasingly rougher roads. Anxious thoughts crossed my mind....would there be a gang of Thai thugs waiting for us around the next corner? Was I being completely naive following him? It was getting dark, and we were well beyond the point where I could find my way back to the main road.
Our fears were misplaced, and we were to happen on one of the most embarrassingly warm acts of random kindness I've ever experienced. We followed our random host, Buen-Choi, as I would learn, to his ramshackle barn, where he insisted we stay the night. Later, I relaxed, but still assumed he was trying to earn a buck. I only realized that he was giving freely of his time, energy, and home, when he sat us down in the midst of the family, and served us dinner. Buen-choi had two adorable kids, a daughter of about eight, and a son of three, in addition to his elderly parents, and a brother my age. Amongst this cast of country Thais, he sat us down, and he fed us dinner, serving us in the only bowl he owned.
Dinner was interesting, consisting of a spicy dish of rubbery texture, and a vegetable curry, complemented by sticky rice. I ate blankly, stunned by the randomness of it all, watching Buen-choi's son play with a bucket full of pet frogs. It took about twenty minutes before it clicked. The frogs weren't pets....they were dinner, the rubbery dish.
As we ate, it became apparent that Buen-choi knew very little English, so I broke out my Thai phrase book, and started a stuttering conversation in phrase book Thai. One of the first things I figured out, flushing with embarrassment when I did, was that he refused to accept any money, for the dinner or the stay. He was doing it purely out of kindness. Later, I learned how old he was (thirty), the names of his kids (which I've forgotten), what his mother was making (she was in the back spinning cotton for blankets), and that he had a brother.
After dinner, we took family photos (we would later make prints for the family), and our host took us from the main house, where his parents and children slept, to the "barn" (an elevated wooden house where we would spend the night). Buen-choi made us instant coffee, boiling water over a wood fire, and we shared freshly rolled tobacco cigars while continuing a broken conversation. My phrase book turned out to be hilariously bizarre, as the largest section is devoted to "romance." A sample exchange in the phrase book:
Person 1: "That girl is very cute"
Person 2: "That's not a girl. He's a lady-boy."
Person 1: "He's very cute just the same"
even better yet:
Person 1: "Does that woman have a boyfriend...."
Person 2: "I don't know! Why do you ask?"
Person 1: "I suspect that he's handsome. I'm sure that he is tall and thin"
Person 2: "No. He's fatter than an elephant."
best of all:
Person 1: "Why didn't you kiss her?
Person 2: "Because I kissed the lady boy that was sitting next to her"
Person 1: "Why did you kiss him"
Person 2: "Because he was cuter than the girl" (frighteningly true in some cases)
Using the "romance" section, we learned that Buen-choi's wife had been cheating on him, and had run off with another man to Chiang Mai. It was heartbreakingly funny to see him mime "jealous," "lonely" and "I want to shoot him."
After coffee, both of us were practically passing out (it was only 9:30), so we politely took our leave of Buen-choi's company, and retreated to our "room" (We slept in the opposite corner of the room from Buen-choi and his brother). The night was unlike any other, the darkness all encompassing, penetrated only by the pinpoint glow of amorous fireflies and the melodic croak of tokays (alarmingly large, ~35cm, but harmless lizards).
In the morning, after an invigoratingly cold bucket shower in a corner of the barn, we ate breakfast in town, assembled a small care package for Buen-choi (whisky, cigarettes, candy for his kids, and a huge pack of instant coffee), and set off on our way. The man left our lives as quietly as he entered them, but I will never forget meeting him; easily one of the most humbling acts of random kindness I've ever experienced, rendered particularly significant by his poverty.
From Mae Chaem, we embarked on a hair-raising, bone-rattling ride to Mae La Noi, 120km away. Our journey took us on roads that coursed through mountains and valleys, and many times, over sheer precipices where mountains gave way to clouds. In Mae La Noi, we stayed in a sprawling country villa, the only place we could find in the tiny town (not actually a common stop on the loop).
Yesterday, we made the ride from Mae La Noi, to Mae Hong Son, the capital city of the same province, another crazy journey, at times, replete with hairpin turns and speeding trucks, but mostly, just deserted country roads winding past life-changing scenery.
The trip is roughly half over, but what a trip it has been! The sheer liberation of a motorcycle paired with the landscape of Mae Hong Son....a perfect complement, the travel equivalent of wine and cheese. It's reputation as a classic ride is richly deserved. Today, we ride to the hippy, new-agey town of Pai, for our last night. Tomorrow, we wake up before dawn, to see the sun rise over clouds from the mountains around Pai.....it just keeps getting better.
Mae Hong Son Loop Photos
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Dhamma is for lovers
Chiang Mai is an airy city of 250,000 people, Thailand's second city in terms of tourism. It's somewhat scenic being flanked by mountains on one side, but heavily touristed, with a massive number of western restaurants serving banana pancakes and pizza. The vast majority of tourists head to Chiang Mai for hill-tribe trekking. Northern Thailand has a substantial population (a few hundred thousands) of fourth world peoples, so called because they are not naturalized Thai citizens, but supposedly live a relatively pre-modern life as subsistence agriculturalists in the highlands, isolated from outside influence. Western trekkers typically take 2-4 day treks to see these tribes in their "natural habitat." However, I don't plan to do so. My impression is that while it might have been authentic thirty years ago, it's an industry now, and there must be, literally, around a few hundred thousand trekkers who pass through each year. As such, I've repeatedly heard from locals that many of the hill-tribes are now paid to stay put, continuing their traditional way of life. I can just imagine it, a bunch of hill tribe people, lounging around in denims, watching TV, get a call that a tour group is coming, and throw on their traditional clothes, and hide the TV.
Regardless of whether the "ethno-tourism" based out of Chiang Mai is authentic or not, the highland villages of farmers in the North, are no less "ethnic" or Thai. As such, I've rented a little 125cc motorcycle, and tomorrow, I head out to do the Mae Hong Son loop, a 600k journey through some of the North's most stunning mountains and valleys. I went on a sample ride outside of Chiang Mai yesterday, to the San Kamphaeng hot springs area. Snaking past glowing green rice paddies, and small mountains, I got my first taste of rural Thai life, replete with little flocks of chickens darting across narrow roads, and warm smiles of farmer's looking up from their fields at the clueless farang rolling by. I ended the day, strictly platonically, in a steam bath with three Japanese men. Water piped from the hot springs outside proved a wonderful respite from a beautiful, but cold and rainy day spent pelted by the Thai monsoon on my bike.
Speaking of warm smiles, I got a lot more from the Thais at my guesthouse, who helped me learn how to ride a semi-automatic Honda dream motorbike. When they weren't scrabbling out of my way as I rolled the throttle too far, jumping around the courtyard, they were rolling with laughter at the circus show taking place. Even though I much more confident riding now, they still smirk and keep their distance when I ride into the guesthouse.
Meeting locals like the Thais at my guesthouse has been one of the highlights in Chiang Mai. After spending so much time with other travelers in Bangkok (mainly CSers and a French-Canadian buddy I made at the hostel), I decided to avoid other travelers here. They're perfectly charming, but I felt like I was missing out on experiencing more Thai culture. I lucked out the other day, at a Buddhist Wat (wat = temple). A monk spotted me from his lunch table, and invited me to eat. I was a little stunned, since I figured he must be bored mindless by tourists, but over the course of the meal, I learned that he had lived in Madras, studying Buddhist philosophy there. He was enjoying the chance to reminisce about India, and I was happy to oblige. When I was leaving, I spotted a giant photo of him on the wall of the wat, and I mentioned that he seemed popular. He replied most casually, "No, I'm just the senior monk of the wat." You've got to love the kindness of strangers.
The other highlight was meeting a British expat during a sleepless night. Unable to sleep, I wandered out to the main strip of bars at 2:30 AM, and sat down for a red label whisky next to what I initially took to be a sex tourist, since he was with a Thai woman. However, over the course of two hours, I got to know Phil and his Thai wife, Nui (or Pi Nui to me, i.e. "Big sister Nui). Phil had met Nui 5 years previously when her motorcycle broke down, and now, they're married. It was fascinating get a window into the expat world in Chiang Mai, as there are a significant number of farangs who live here year round.
That's it for now. Today, I relax before heading on a five day motorcycle tour through Mae Hong Son.
Regardless of whether the "ethno-tourism" based out of Chiang Mai is authentic or not, the highland villages of farmers in the North, are no less "ethnic" or Thai. As such, I've rented a little 125cc motorcycle, and tomorrow, I head out to do the Mae Hong Son loop, a 600k journey through some of the North's most stunning mountains and valleys. I went on a sample ride outside of Chiang Mai yesterday, to the San Kamphaeng hot springs area. Snaking past glowing green rice paddies, and small mountains, I got my first taste of rural Thai life, replete with little flocks of chickens darting across narrow roads, and warm smiles of farmer's looking up from their fields at the clueless farang rolling by. I ended the day, strictly platonically, in a steam bath with three Japanese men. Water piped from the hot springs outside proved a wonderful respite from a beautiful, but cold and rainy day spent pelted by the Thai monsoon on my bike.
Speaking of warm smiles, I got a lot more from the Thais at my guesthouse, who helped me learn how to ride a semi-automatic Honda dream motorbike. When they weren't scrabbling out of my way as I rolled the throttle too far, jumping around the courtyard, they were rolling with laughter at the circus show taking place. Even though I much more confident riding now, they still smirk and keep their distance when I ride into the guesthouse.
Meeting locals like the Thais at my guesthouse has been one of the highlights in Chiang Mai. After spending so much time with other travelers in Bangkok (mainly CSers and a French-Canadian buddy I made at the hostel), I decided to avoid other travelers here. They're perfectly charming, but I felt like I was missing out on experiencing more Thai culture. I lucked out the other day, at a Buddhist Wat (wat = temple). A monk spotted me from his lunch table, and invited me to eat. I was a little stunned, since I figured he must be bored mindless by tourists, but over the course of the meal, I learned that he had lived in Madras, studying Buddhist philosophy there. He was enjoying the chance to reminisce about India, and I was happy to oblige. When I was leaving, I spotted a giant photo of him on the wall of the wat, and I mentioned that he seemed popular. He replied most casually, "No, I'm just the senior monk of the wat." You've got to love the kindness of strangers.
The other highlight was meeting a British expat during a sleepless night. Unable to sleep, I wandered out to the main strip of bars at 2:30 AM, and sat down for a red label whisky next to what I initially took to be a sex tourist, since he was with a Thai woman. However, over the course of two hours, I got to know Phil and his Thai wife, Nui (or Pi Nui to me, i.e. "Big sister Nui). Phil had met Nui 5 years previously when her motorcycle broke down, and now, they're married. It was fascinating get a window into the expat world in Chiang Mai, as there are a significant number of farangs who live here year round.
That's it for now. Today, I relax before heading on a five day motorcycle tour through Mae Hong Son.
Train Journey from Bangkok to Chiang Mai
After four days in the mad, steaming bustle of Bangkok, the quiet train journey to Chiang Mai was tonic. Thai trains are not altogether different from Indian trains. I rode second class, which has far more room than Indian second class, and larger, open windows (no glass, or mesh, just open); they're also much more sedate, with no vendors loudly announcing the sale of hot tea, or the violent stink of human waste.
I shared my compartment with an adorable Thai family, two kids headed to spend some time with grandma and grandpa up north. My iPod and a box of chocolate pocky sticks ensure I had two buddies for the duration of the journey.
The countryside outside of Bangkok quickly turned scenic, and the landscape slowly changed from the tropical plains to deciduous forest under the setting sun, until night time found us speeding past forests that looked wraith-like in the inky black of night.
Dawn close to Chiang Mai was nothing short of glorious.
I shared my compartment with an adorable Thai family, two kids headed to spend some time with grandma and grandpa up north. My iPod and a box of chocolate pocky sticks ensure I had two buddies for the duration of the journey.
The countryside outside of Bangkok quickly turned scenic, and the landscape slowly changed from the tropical plains to deciduous forest under the setting sun, until night time found us speeding past forests that looked wraith-like in the inky black of night.
Dawn close to Chiang Mai was nothing short of glorious.
Conveyor Belt Sushi
People are going to start thinking that all I do is eat here, but my last dining experience in Bangkok was probably also the most fun. It actually wasn't even Thai food. Ever since I was 16, I've always wanted to eat at a Japanese conveyor belt restaurant, which I first saw on the BBC. Basically, it's a budget buffet style place, with one big catch: you get your food off a conveyor belt that circulates past every seat in the restaurant. The chef continually makes items, and then places them on the belt, for customers to pick up as they please. As for payment, items are grouped into categories, and each price category has a plate color corresponding to it. At the end of the meal, the hostess tallies up your plates, by color and count, and bills you accordingly.
I found such a place 2 hours before I left, and checked in for a delightful lunch. As soon as I sat down, I realized I had no idea what I was doing. For one, there was practically no sushi on the belt; it was mostly slices of raw meat and fish. Puzzled, I was about top pick up a plate and start eating it uncooked when I spotted my neighbors doing differently; they both had bowls of steaming soup placed on burners in front of them. I thought this was an option, but it was actually the main course. The burners heated the soup to a boil, and you cooked your own food. I overcooked my first slice of meat, but after I got the hang of it, I had a blast, fancying myself a little chef, throwing together clams, beef, bizarre looking mushrooms and some leafy greens.
Later, I moved onto sushi. Actually, I had to wait to move on to sushi. The thing I was to realize was that at a conveyor restaurant, you're at the mercy of the tastes of everyone to your right. In this case, the Japanese guy to my immediate right had a hankering for sushi. For the first twenty minutes, every time a sushi plate emerged hopefully from the little conveyor belt opening, I waited optimistically for it to come my way, but to no avail. The man to my left snagged every piece until he had finally gorged himself, and then I had my turn. Moral of the story: the best seat in a conveyor belt restaurant is the one at the start.
I found such a place 2 hours before I left, and checked in for a delightful lunch. As soon as I sat down, I realized I had no idea what I was doing. For one, there was practically no sushi on the belt; it was mostly slices of raw meat and fish. Puzzled, I was about top pick up a plate and start eating it uncooked when I spotted my neighbors doing differently; they both had bowls of steaming soup placed on burners in front of them. I thought this was an option, but it was actually the main course. The burners heated the soup to a boil, and you cooked your own food. I overcooked my first slice of meat, but after I got the hang of it, I had a blast, fancying myself a little chef, throwing together clams, beef, bizarre looking mushrooms and some leafy greens.
Later, I moved onto sushi. Actually, I had to wait to move on to sushi. The thing I was to realize was that at a conveyor restaurant, you're at the mercy of the tastes of everyone to your right. In this case, the Japanese guy to my immediate right had a hankering for sushi. For the first twenty minutes, every time a sushi plate emerged hopefully from the little conveyor belt opening, I waited optimistically for it to come my way, but to no avail. The man to my left snagged every piece until he had finally gorged himself, and then I had my turn. Moral of the story: the best seat in a conveyor belt restaurant is the one at the start.
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