My final day in Hanoi was spent at a leisurely pace with some people who I’d met sitting in front of the Backpacker’s Hostel after their night train, waiting for it to open. I saw the Temple of Literature, since I’d heard it is something to see, but it didn’t hold much allure after an entire winter of temple-gazing. After happy hour at Backpacker’s – happy hours are big in Asia – we went to an Irish pub to drink expensive pints before wandering farther afield to a streetside Bia Hoi (cheap, local draught, 3000 dong a glass) joint. We’d accumulated quite a crowd of us by that point, and it was with minor regret that I cut out early to catch a few hours of sleep before my flight to Bangkok.

Having missed the excitement of flaming buses careening into M16-wielding soldiers, the streets of Bangkok were much as I remembered them. I did very little my first day, read ‘On the Road’ by Kerouac, and tried to get to bed early, but had an atrocious time of it in my sweaty little Soi Rambuttri cell – I’d forgotten just how much of a dump my guesthouse was.

The next day I grabbed a taxi to Siam Square. The Siam Center is a mega-mall in the Western vein, and distracted me only until I could find the entrance to the BTS Skytrain that would carry me north to the Jatujak Weekend Market (JJ Market to the locals). I had known that the JJ market was huge, but I was unprepared for just how huge. While I couldn’t get a solid fix on how large it really is, it must span several city blocks, with thousands upon thousands of stalls crammed together with claustrophobic density, selling everything under the sun. I spent almost five hours of constant walking, bemusedly trying to take it all in, and I would be shocked if I saw even a quarter of what the market has to offer. Early on in my wanderings (before I realized that there was any method to the market’s mad layout, or had a real grasp of its unbelievable immensity) I came across a little stall that had some incense chimneys; a wooden tube sits over the incense, and the smoke is breathed out of the mouth of an elaborately sculpted animal coiled around it. It struck me as being absolutely perfect for the cottage, and I made a mental note to come back.

I promptly forgot all the landmarks I had set for myself to remember it by, and lost myself utterly in the market for a few hours, at which point I was just about ready to leave. By this time I had seen one of the maps of the market, and so figured that my chimney must be somewhere in either the housewares or handicrafts section. After a few more, increasingly frustrating, hours I still hadn’t rediscovered it – nor, amazingly, anyone else selling the same thing – and decided, with some finality, that I hated everything. I had basically resigned myself to leaving empty-handed, but on my way out through the market I caught the scent and managed to stumble upon the stall, just as they were packing up. Given how quickly the woman accepted my bid, I probably overpaid, but at that point I was mostly just thrilled at having found the only thing in the whole market that I’d really coveted.

So yeah, the plan had been to spend the day accumulating cheesy knick-knacks and gew-gaws at the market as gifts for all you folks back at home, but between being completely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the JJ, my general hatred of shopping, and my mad lust for incense chimneys, I didn’t actually come away with anything else. My other excuses are that there is no room in my backpack anyway, and that I’m not big on knick-knack collecting, anyway. (It’s true! I only got a handful of things from Africa, and only one wood carving for myself).

My flight was out of Bangkok at 7:45 am, so after a sweaty, sleepless night of anticipation, I caught a minibus to the airport at 4:00 in the morning, and that was the end of Asia.

Again, my reflections on Cambodia and Vietnam will come soon. I will jump ahead to Bangkok though to try to give a bit of a first hand account of the red shirt riots and Buddhist new year.

Accommodation in Vietnam was slightly more pricey than elsewhere, but at least you get what you pay for – in ‘Nam, rooms came with air conditioning, minifridges, internet, and cable TV. I must admit it was nice to be able to watch BBC world news again and catch up a bit on global happenings, and lo and behold the biggest news story when we arrived in Hanoi was the spate of protests by red-shirt wearing Thais. I was planning on flying back to Bangkok the next day, and now I was REALLY excited.

A little bit about Thai politics (because all I know are the vague details) – there are two main factions, easily represented by the colours red and yellow. The red candidate won in the last election (sometime before 2006), governed rather poorly (abysmally in the eyes of the yellows), and with the backing of the military the yellow candidate took over power in a 2006 coup. Since then the red leader has been in exile, and he had a definite hand in the current protests - basically the reds expressing anger over the coup and demanding elections. I’m pretty sure the yellows are more of an urban party and the reds rural, but support for each exists in both places. When I arrived, the red shirts had been protesting for a couple weeks, and the rallies were getting bigger each day. The day before I got there, 30 buses were taken over by the reds, many of which were burned, and 2 protesters were shot dead in the street near Khao San Rd (I saw the bloodstains on the pavement). Khao San Rd itself was being patrolled by tanks, and the streets were virtually empty, save for the soldiers and the reds. I arrived on the second day of Buddhist new year, and after the bloodshed the day before protest organizers decided to pause their protest until after the week long new years celebrations were over. The army responded by withdrawing to the monuments and Grand Palace, and there were no tanks on Khao San when I arrived.

Arriving at the airport, my initial impression was that something crazy was going on – troops, machine guns, and tanks were quite prominent. Anti-government protesters (reds) had shut down the airport last December and it was clear that the army would not let this happen again. When I was last here, there was a cheap bus to the core of Bangkok – this time the ticketing station was closed and taxi drivers claimed that the bus was canceled due to the protests. Taxi drivers lying about desired destinations being closed, full, or canceled is one of the most common scams in SE Asia, so I talked to one of the soldiers at the airport. He pulled out a newspaper detailing the riots of the previous day – the front page graphic was a map of Bangkok with little flame graphics marking where intense rioting had occurred. Though riots apparently occurred throughout the city, a great many of them were concentrated around Khao San Rd, the tourist heart of Bangkok. The soldier confirmed that the bus was canceled until further notice and I found a little Taiwanese girl to share a cab with.

The girl wanted to get dropped off in the trendy and upmarket Silom district, where she was staying for 45 dollars a night (I ended up paying 5). Exploring post-riot Bangkok was at the top of my list, so I decided I would walk the 10km to Khao San rather than take a tuktuk. Here is where Bangkok got really weird – the tuktuks that normally harass tourists every 30 seconds were pretty much gone, and I was able to walk in peace. I later found out that the tuktuks were being used to blockade several government buildings. In addition to the lack of tuktuks every storefront was shuttered and there was no business of any kind, besides selling beer, mud, or waterguns.

“Waterguns?” you ask? See – Buddhist new year is absolutely incredible. it’s a week long water fight throughout all of Bangkok (throughout the Buddhist world actually – apparently it’s even better in northern Thailand, though I can’t imagine how), and everyone participates. This is not an Andy hyperbole – men in suits, tourists, kids, shopkeepers, police, even soldiers on this day - all were gladly getting soaked, and almost all were fighting back with their own waterguns. It’s also a bit of a mud fight, as many people fill buckets with water and this dried clay stuff to make a creamy mud which is then smeared on people’s faces. I forget where it’s from exactly, but the mud is supposed to be from some holy Buddhist site – spraying or mudding someone is to wish them the best of luck for the new year. It’s simply the most incredible, unbelievable, best city-wide street party imaginable. Absolutely no one dared wear red to the party though.

I guess Bangkok seemed deserted for most of my trek because its population had gathered at several new year’s hot spots. One of them was Khao San Rd, and it gave this place a completely different vibe from when I was there 2 months ago. It was no longer a tourist street, but a street dominated by partying Thais with some tourists mixed in. As soon as I arrived near Khao San I began getting wet – by the time I found a guesthouse (I took the very first one I saw) I was soaked, along with all my stuff. I hung the contents of my pack to dry, hid my passport, threw my camera in a drybag, and went out to join the party. A decently sized watergun cost me around five bucks, and then I lost myself for several hours in the endless streams of people wandering up and down the streets of the area. And we were all merciless with out waterguns – those with nice clothes and fresh makeup were favourite targets of most (and the victims took everything with a smile as they ran away), and taxis would slow down to allow people to soak their passengers. Around and around I went, blasting anyone and everyone, when I suddenly turned a corner and came upon the Independence Monument – surrounded by thousands of soldiers with riot gear, M16s, humvee-mounted machine guns, water cannons, the whole crowd-control shebang.

The day before, this was the site of the most intense rioting in the city. The outlines of two city buses were burned into the asphalt, and the eerie reddish-brown stains of day old blood were also noticeable. Today it felt more like a public relations exercise for the army, as soldiers chatted with members of the press and allowed foreigners to take their pictures. Several women were even walking around with towels soaked in cold water for the troops, bringing them some relief from the 44C day. The soldiers seemed proud of restoring order, Bangkok residents seemed quite grateful to the troops (actively cheering them as they drove by), and tourists seemed dumbfounded by the presence of so many soldiers near their vacation spot. I chatted with a couple of the friendlier soldiers, snapped some pictures, did an interview with a Reuters journalist (he really wanted to write a story about how Bangkok was in a state of shock after the previous day’s events – it really didn’t seem like it was), and then headed away from Khao San to see what I could find. As I was walking away a pickup truck flying a big red flag drove by the soldiers, and several protesters in the back yelled obscenities – the scene got pretty tense for a few seconds, but relaxed again once the truck was out of sight.

Just down the road I was welcomed into a group of Thais (kidnapped by them might be more appropriate) and I spent the rest of my afternoon partying with an extended family of about 20 people. They had a BBQ set up at the side of the road, kegs, and several hoses. And did these guys take New Years seriously – they were quite disappointed if a single car or motorbike got by them without getting soaked. They weren’t disappointed often though, and they really knew how to have a good time. I was offered huge amounts of food and drink (they would not let me decline anything), and by the time I left I was stuffed with kebabs, mangoes, and beer. As I drunkenly stumbled back past the Independence Monument, I was amazed at how much more casual the scene had become in a couple hours. There was no longer a dry soldier in sight, and most of them had traded their M16s for waterguns and were busy blasting away at passing motorists (and me).

The mood in Bangkok this day was a weirdly jovial and embarrassed, celebratory and shameful. The waterfights of the new year certainly helped improve the atmosphere, but I still heard from virtually every adult I talked to some mix of, “we’re so sorry, I can’t believe this happened, are you scared of Thailand, will you come back, please remember how friendly Thais are, does this happen where you are from, please don’t leave because of this, oh please, please come back again.” I heard this refrain from the soldiers, my guesthouse owner, the family I drank with, people in the bars I stopped at. It’s amazing how aware the locals are of the huge impact tourism plays in the Thai economy. And as I promised everyone I talked to, I will tell everyone who will listen: Thailand is at least as safe as Toronto, the people are nice, though they almost always are trying to sell you something, the sights are amazing, and a trip here is definitely a good idea. You won’t be disappointed.

I needed to call it an early night. I was exhausted from catching such an early flight out of Vietnam, and had to be at the airport early the next day for my flight down to New Zealand. A New Year’s party in Bangkok was an amazing way to wrap up the Asian leg of my adventure though, and I eagerly await the more moderate temperatures of Auckland.

(Sorry about the photos – it’s hard to capture the drama of a huge waterfight when you need to keep your camera dry. It really was one of those things that you have to experience to believe, I imagine.)

I grabbed the overnight to Chiang Mai, and arrived nice and early. Spent the day wandering, booking activities, eating (had some really horrible Indian food), got a massage…Pavel’s wrong on this one I think – I’ve gotten a massage almost every day, including in some sketchy Bangkok neighbourhoods, and not a single time has a “happy ending” been offered. It just doesn’t work like that, man.
Got up early the next morning to go climbing at the Crazy Horse Buttress.. I was the only one who had booked lessons, and so I got two climbing instructors to myself. They had both been teaching climbing for over 5 years, and blew me away with their knowledge of the sport. My only previous experiences have been at Toronto climbing gyms, Joe Rockheads and the like, and these Thai instructors (I never did learn their names) put them to shame. The equipment was better, they were more comfortable with it, and they were incredibly helpful teaching me body positioning, strengths of different holds, and whatever else I needed to know.

Ok.. good instuctions and whatever… The climbing site was beyond belief. (NB After climbing in Vang Viang, Laos, later in the trip, I stand behind the greatness of Crazy Horse even more) We drove about 45 minutes outside the city, into the middle of jungle and nothingness, and arrived at a mammoth tower of limestone. It had to have been at least 60 meters tall and 100 wide (I’m trying really hard here to control my well known penchant for exaggeration). The rock just rose vertically from the jungle floor, and seemed to have absolutely no business there. Countless caves, ledges, and crags were apparent, and the top did indeed look very much like a horse’s head. There must have been 40-50 established routes scattered all around, ranging from beginner’s 5Cs through hard 8C+s (If you’re like me, that doesn’t mean much to you.. pretty much, climbs ranging from what any fit person could do first try through to ridiculously hard climbs that even the uber experienced and serious climbers there scoffed at). And there were lots of hardcore climbers around, most on climbing vacations in SE Asia.. I had no idea the sport was so popular. But it really deserves to be. The highlight had t to be rappelling 70 or so meters (said the guide, not even my estimate) through a small opening in the rock into a huge cavern that we then spent 30 minutes hiking out of. had an amazing time, got 6 climbs in, conquered a route that contained a reasonable stretch of overhanging rock, and now I have no skin on the inside joints of any of my fingers, save for my left ring one for some reason. Even opening a waterbottle will probably hurt for the next few days, but it was definitely well worth it, and the somewhat steep cost (2000 baht, or around 130 CDN, from 8:30 to 6:00) . Ate at the night market tonight, and then I’m gonna pack it in early. Over 2 km of ziplining through the treetops awaits me tomorrow….

This was going to be a separate post, but it has been edited and will continue to tell my Chiang Mai story:

The ziplining was a big disappointment. It was really fun at first, but each line was so short (50-100m or so, compared to the 800m ziplines elsewhere in SE Asia) that completing the course became more of a chore than an experience. The big surprise at the end was a 30m rappel down from the last platform, but considering my previous day’s adventure, combined with the fact that here you weren’t even in control of your own descent, made it pretty boring. Not recommended.

A flurry of stops came between Chiang Mai and the Laos border, including Chiang Rai to check out the White Temple that Andrew wrote about previously (I smuggled out some photographs of the art inside here), and Chiang Khong, a crappy little town where I got feasted upon by fleas as I slept. Better than bedbugs I guess.

Off to Laos…

(I promise I will get the pictures of the inside of the White Temple online in the near future. They’re too good to be missed)

Note: I wrote this, and the following Chaing Mai entry, more than a month ago. Various factors prevented me from posting them, number one on the list being that I can’t get computers here to work with my photos, so I’ve held off. I’ve gotten to the point now, though, where I don’t care anymore, and I’ll post them just as text. Photos will hopefully come later. I am now in Cambodia, after spending over a month in Laos, and it’s time to get the Thailand bits online. Considering Andrew has been keeping everyone up to date with day to day Laos happenings, I will have a general post about my feelings towards the country coming soon. Stay tuned.

I was expecting that dealing with culture shock would be the order of the day upon arrival in Bangkok, but the airport was as modern as Pearson or Hong Kong and Khao San Rd, the overhyped, overpriced, gaudy tourist asshole of Bangkok , was really not that much different than crowded markets or festivals in other cities. I’m not saying it wasn’t different – Bangkok is definitely uniquely Bangkok – but the differences are far more subtle than I was expecting.

Ok… Khao San… The night market was actually pretty fun. (For everyone who hasn’t been to Asia before, night markets are a nightly occurrence pretty much everywhere, from small towns to the big cities. Hundreds of vendors of all kinds, selling food, textiles, fake electronics, massages, kitsch, everything, begin to fill the streets around 6-7pm, and go until somewhere between 11 and 2.) Also, I guess because this area is full of hippie tourists, finding vegetarian options during this leg was easy. We’ll see how long this lasts… There was also lots of stuff on Khao San that makes you cringe… beggars, prostitutes, ladyboy prostitutes, opium pushers (with hindsight, this was the only place in Thailand where I was offered drugs – Laos is a whole different story), and what really pissed me off, baby elephants being paraded around with lights and glowsticks and stuff taped to them. The handlers sell peanuts for tourists to feed to them. I’m actually going to try to make the trip to an elephant sanctuary in Chiang Mai, where some of these elephants go when they grow up – the ones that aren’t just killed when they reach an unmanageable size. These elephants are never trained, just manhandled as babies – when they get bigger they become uncontrollable, and are then “rescued” or killed. The other thing about elephants is that they’re smart, and they hold grudges – just google “rogue elephants” in Africa – basically these are young male elephants that go on killing rampages, massacring humans until they are shot. The leading theory is that these rogues were babies when they watched their mothers get killed by poachers. I have to say though, tourists for the most part were pretty good about ignoring these elephants. Especially Germans, it seemed. I don’t know why, but they especially loved to heckle the handlers.

Other minor observations: Traffic here is absolutely nuts. Lanes are just guidelines, oncoming traffic is just another hazard to be avoided, pedestrians get as much respect as the garbage that blows around everywhere, and smooth acceleration is unheard of. If a car/bike/tuktuk doesn’t hammer on the gas at a green and gives up a foot of room ahead, someone will cut in to take the gap. Braking is just as sudden. It’s kinda fun at first, then becomes hilarious, then just frustrating. Oh well. The funniest thing I have noticed so far is that one of the hottest fashion trends among hip young Thai girls is wearing New York Dolls shirts. However, something got lost in the cultural conversion, and no one has any idea that the New York Dolls were a band – the translation is much more literal, and these are now taken to represent the superstar New York elite. I laughed every time I saw one. Last little thing – for being such an ugly city, Bangkok has a lot of over the top monuments – amazing temples and palaces, elaborate gates and arches spanning roadways in random places,

My last stop in Bangkok was the Chao Mae Tubtim Shrine, a monument to the ancient fertility spirit CMT. This is an odd little place, partly because it occupies the corner of a 5-star hotel’s parking lot, but mostly because it is just a pile of carved phalluses. Thousands of them, every size, colour, and material. Ceramic, wood, metal, bamboo, stone, it’s all been used. Unfortunately my photos aren’t too great, I just had a little point and shoot that insisted on needing a flash despite my noon hour visit, but hopefully you believe me that this place was truly awesome. (Hopefully I can actually get these crappy photos online at some point)

I checked my email before boarding the train to Chiang Mai, and Kevin had sent me two songs from the new Propagandhi album. I love Coach’s Corner. Thanks man.

Mae Sai is a thoroughly average, slightly dingy, town in Northern Thailand, and would be utterly unremarkable were it not located on the banks of the Nam Ruak river which forms a convenient marker for the border between Thailand and Myanmar. As one of the few (legal) border crossings into the country, Mae Sai has become one of the shopping hubs of Southeast Asia, with sprawling markets purveying loads of cheap Chinese goods that have made their way through Burma. Seeing as shopping is my favourite pastime, as you all well know, I found the place absolutely enchanting…

After getting a bit of a late start out of Chiang Rai (stopping for breakfast at the delicious Boonsita vegetarian cafeteria where I ate every morning), I arrived in Mae Sai in the afternoon, found accommodation in a somewhat run-down (real-estate agents would call it ‘rustic’) bungalow set off from the Nam Ruak, and set to wandering. I walked up to Wat Doi Wao, which has an excellent viewpoint of the country-side and Myanmar, as well as an enormous scorpion monument angrily poised facing the opposite banks. One gets the impression that Thai/Burmese relations may not have been the most amicable, at times.

I hadn’t been planning on going into Myanmar at all, since this border crossing doesn’t allow travel further afield into the country, so I’d essentially be handing the junta my $10 visa fee for the privilege of exploring a Burmese frontier-town for a few hours. Ultimately, I was convinced by a ex-pat Frenchman cafe-owner named Alain who expounded to me about the friendliness of the locals and said that I should at least get a taste for the difference between the two countries.

After some food at the night market on the main drag (night markets are one institution the West badly needs to embrace), I wandered back towards my guesthouse and got to chatting with Alain again. His Thai wife and a couple of other locals were there, as was another young French ex-pat. Alain had been nursing some Thai spirits, and when another bottle was procured, I was convinced to give it a shot. Lao khow (my spelling) is a clear spirit that can apparently be made from rice or sugar cane, and it reminded me a lot of sake’s stronger, nastier brother. You gulp the whole lot down straight, then chase it with water. One of the locals, who was drinking steadily (and seemed content to ramble on at me in Thai, happily oblivious to the fact that I was neither understanding nor responding), kept refilling my tea cup with the stuff, and I ended up drinking far, far more lao khow than I’d planned. It turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable evening, despite the fact that the conversations around me were either Thai or French, and I only had a very drunk old Scotsman who eventually arrived to chat with. When I got back to my guesthouse, there was a big lizard the size of my hand in the bathroom. I thought it was pretty cool.

I crossed into the town of Tachileik, Myanmar the next day, and since my time was so short, decided to actually hire one of the tuk-tuk drivers who perpetually harass passersby to give me a bit of a tour. I should have been a bit more discriminating, since my driver spoke no English, making for a rather opaque round of sightseeing. Sitting in the back of my rickety autorickshaw, we made our way around the town, to a few temples (at one of them, a boy hoping to sell me some junk, showed me a few little rituals that I was supposed to do for good luck), and then to a ‘longneck village.’ I’m not even sure what hilltribe they were supposed to be from (maybe Akha, though I’m not sure the proprietors even specified), but considering it was on the other side of the entrance to the “Regina Hotel and Golf Club,” I didn’t have high expectations. When someone came up to give me an admission ticket for 140 baht, I was downright skeptical and tried to ask what it included. No one could speak English, and I’d seen a sign about a dance show, so I tried to gesture if that’s what it was for, and they nodded cheerful affirmatives. I regretted spending the money. The was no dance show, just a walk up a crass, commercial, hokey version of a hilltribe village that had been erected to milk tourists (and undoubtedly gave lucrative commissions to all the tuk-tuk drivers to take people here). I passed a few of the ‘longnecks’ (village people who have stretched their necks with golden rings) working to make crafts at their looms, but the whole thing felt a bit like a human zoo (and not even a very big one, at that). I felt pretty cheated, especially since I don’t expect anything but a pittance of my money will make it to the people there.

Since my ‘guide’ was incapable of explaining what the sights I was seeing were, I was always a bit in the dark as to what was next, though it had always been largely self-evident. When we drove into a little side street in a residential area, I was a bit puzzled. I was ushered into a room with some dim reddish lighting, a Bollywood music video on the TV, some locals, and some plastic chairs. Someone gestured for me to sit down, but there was no indication of what I was supposed to be doing or seeing. It occurred to me that all the locals were girls, and they had lined up in a row along the opposite wall. There was a pregnant, awkward silence in the air, and I wasn’t exactly sure why, until it struck me. The driver (sitting contentedly a few chairs down from me) had taken me to a brothel. Apparently this must be a common stop on tourist itineraries. I waved my hands to show I wasn’t interested, and we were off again. Next up was a stop at a gem shop. I groaned and didn’t even bother getting out, just urged the driver on. We drove through the market, where a hawker thrust Viagra pills in my face, and ended up back at the border. I paid the driver, thoroughly unimpressed with my tour.

I set out on foot to try and gain some other impressions of the city, and maybe the country by extension. It seemed a little bit dustier, a little bit more run-down than the Thai side, but not especially remarkable. I was hoping to try some Burmese food for lunch, so I went to a local stall, asked about Burmese food, and gestured for them to make me something. I’m pretty sure it must have been a Thai food place, since the (unremarkable) soup was just like a dozen others I’ve had.

Armed only with ‘hello’ (min gala ba) and ‘thank you’ (ce zu tin ba deh), I tried to be friendly and hopefully find someone I could talk to, but found the legendary Burmese cheerfulness largely absent. Distraught with my inability to communicate (I hadn’t felt so out of my element since Burundi), or to glean anything at all about the culture, I wandered a bit more before finally being flagged down by someone who spoke English.

He was a scooter driver (though he’d hired out his scooter to an American that morning, who still hadn’t shown up with it again), and we went to a cafe to chat. Here I got an actual Burmese lunch (that was a bit different from Thai food, but not especially good), and some painfully sweet, milky tea; most importantly, though, I had a chance to talk with someone. While it seemed like he wanted to talk about politics and religion, he skirted the topics somewhat uneasily – he mentioned (between spitting out brown juice from chewing leaves) that nearly a fifth of the people in Tachileik worked for the junta in some capacity, many posed as monks, beggars, or lunatics to act as ears for the secret police. It was a bit of a heartbreaking conversation, since he had genuinely given up all hope that he could improve his lot in life. His university education in agriculture was worthless, his fluent English barely served him here, and his attempts at earning money in China and Thailand had come to naught when he was found out to be an illegal immigrant and had had his savings confiscated. He was a Christian, and when I asked him if it was difficult to practice in a country that was overwhelmingly Buddhist, he said he’d rather not talk about it, alluding to ‘the monkeyhouse.’ He had a wife and a young child, but business as a scooter driver was slow, and he couldn’t afford to lease a tuk-tuk from the monopoly that owned them all. He had lived several places in Myanmar, but found that Tachilek – as a border town with Thailand – was one of the few places that he could actually have some exposure with the outside world. I got his e-mail address, but he told me that he very rarely checked it, since he could ill afford to pay the border crossing fee into Thailand in order to get Internet access.

After, I spent a little bit of time wandering the market (where I could GameStations, iPhones, and ‘brOwn’ electric razors, galore!) and picked up a few postcards of Burma. Items here rarely have pricetags, as bargaining is the order of the day, and I wasn’t actually interested in anything (though I did inquire about a knock-off Strida fold-up bike; I was quoted 6,500 baht), but apparently this is one of the cheapest possible places to buy things. That is, if you don’t care that what you’re getting is a garbage Chinese counterfeit, anyway.

While I only spent four hours in Myanmar, I came away a bit depressed by the whole affair. I do think it would be a fascinating, and quite beautiful, place to spend a few weeks (not to mention an opportunity to at least do a little bit to support the struggling locals) if I had the time, but its not in the cards for this trip.

That afternoon I made my way to Chang Saen, a quiet town southeast of Mae Sai sitting on the Mekong river. The Mekong, which here divides Thailand and Laos, makes for a much more attractive border than the shallow, garbage-clogged Nam Ruak. Had dinner and drinks with a French woman I’d met on the bus, and took an early night (easy to do in such a sleepy town).

The next day I rented a bicycle and rode the 9 km to Sop Ruak. At what has got to be one of the least picturesque stretches of the Mekong, it converges with the Nam Ruak to form the tripartite border between Thailand, Laos, and Myanmar, dubbed the Golden Triangle. There’s nothing much special about it, but the sign alone is a tourist trap (and it obviously worked on me).

The Golden Triangle has quintessential connotations of the illegal opium trade, and so Sop Ruak made a fitting site for the government’s ‘Hall of Opium’ museum, on a huge, beautifully landscaped plot surrounded by lush forest. While I balked a bit at the 300 baht admission fee, the production values are pretty stellar throughout. The first impression is a 107 meter walk through a twisting, cave-like tunnel, complete with diffuse lighting and mood music. Distorted sculptures of human figures, faces, hands, appear partially submerged in the cave walls; subtlety in symbolism was not the goal, I imagine.

The museum had a flashy video introduction in a large auditorium (with a dose of requisite Thai propaganda that I found rather funny), and across two large floors covers the history of opium through the ages, including a significant section on the trade and opium wars that ruined China in the 18th and 19th centuries. There was also an area with an assortment of opium paraphernalia (including some incredibly elaborate pipes, and some rather uncomfortable looking porcelain pillows), a section on the drug’s effect and medicinal use through the ages (laudanum, an opiate/alcohol mixture was often prescribed for teething pains in babies), one on laws, enforcement, legalization, and approaches to tackling the drug trade, and finally some tear-jerker case studies extolling the evils of drugs. The final area was the ‘Hall of Reflection,’ with triangular pillars displaying abstract enlightening quotes from theology and philosophy, where we were to ponder what we had learned. I worry that I’m too cynical for pondering, sometimes.

I rode back to Chiang Saen, and after lunch (well, two lunches, really – four meals a day is de rigeur for a lot of travelers in Thailand, it seems) explored a bunch of the wats and ruins in town. Chiang Saen is actually a rather ancient city with a lot of history, and was actually of great strategic importance in certain eras, though time has largely passed it by. Chiang Saen is only a few square kilometers, so before long I’d seen the lion’s share of the ruins, and ended up on the road out of town to the south. I didn’t really have any aim, per se, but saw a bright white wat atop a hill in the distance, and decided to go there. I tried a shortcut (since I didn’t know where the real path was, anyway) down some rutted roads at the base of the hill, and ended up climbing a hill lined with a row of white and red-painted boxes. I didn’t pay them any heed until I was right next to them and suddenly became acutely aware of the swarms of bees everywhere. I gingerly retreated and decided to abandon the scenic route.

I eventually found a road leading up (the shrines and religious flurry around its base seemed to bode well), and after abandoning my bike and walking up, I came upon a stunning teakwood temple. The relief carvings were among the most incredible I’d seen, and while it was not as huge or ostentatious as Wat Rong Khun, I think its one of my favourites. Modestly scaled, but with absolutely beautiful craftsmanship captured in the warmth of wood, set in a deeply peaceful place on a hill surrounded by forest, it made a real impression on me. If I were the praying sort, I think I’d probably like to do it there. It’s amazing that there is such an abundance of beauty in this country that you can stumble upon it so easily without even looking for it.

A few hundred meters uphill there was the white wat I’d spotted. It was large, and impressive, and nice enough, but didn’t have anywhere near the same charm as the teak temple. Rode back to Chiang Saen – night market dinner, shower, journal, bed.

Today I grabbed a sawngthaew to Chiang Khong along a beautiful stretch of highway parallel to the Mekong. The trip cost me 200 baht, pricey, since me and a Frenchman needed to charter the whole truck for ourselves (he offered to pay 600B, since he was in a hurry and wanted someone to split the cost with). I could maybe have caught the boat to Laos today, but decided to spend an unhurried day here in Chiang Khong instead. Maybe I’ll stake out a nice spot on the Mekong and do some reading.

(Wow, for a relatively straightforward couple of days, this has turned into an absolute monster of a post. Hope the details aren’t too dense for you casual readers)

The two days I spent in Pai in the aftermath of my motorbike spill were utterly unremarkable. I did nothing of consequence, though I did read “The White Tiger” by Aravind Adiga. It’s a fun book, a firmly tongue-in-cheek tale of class struggle, political corruption, and entrepreneurship in the new India of the 21st century. Recommended.

The next day was spent entirely in transit, heading back down the mountain roads to Chiang Mai in a cheap, rattly bus. I was sitting on the bench at the back, and the rear doors, two feet from me, were open the entire time – I appreciated the breeze and the view. From Chiang Mai I caught another (far more comfortable) bus to Chiang Rai, further in the north, but between the two trips, my daylight hours had been spent. I ate dinner at the Chiang Rai night market, and was in search of Internet when a Thai man lured me into his streetcorner bar where I spent the night sitting outside on low stools drinking and chatting with an eclectically international bunch (two hairy, tattooed Finns, a South African girl, a guy from Cameroon, and at least one dude from Malta of all places).

I wandered around Chiang Rai a bit the next day, hoping to find a beach that supposedly exists in town, but gave up after a few hours of fruitless walking in the heat, and circled my way back to my guesthouse for a nap. Re-dressing my wounds, reading “Barbarians at the Gate,” (an account of the late ’80s leveraged buyout of RJR Nabisco in particular, and of Wall Street shenanigans and corporate excess in general), another night market dinner, and Internet made up the balance of my wildly exciting day. At the night market a few locals were parading around a baby elephant and selling people snacks to feed it. It had a flashing red bicycle light taped to its tail.

The following day, a sightseeing trip to Wat Rong Khun, the White Temple, was just what I needed to break out of my funk. Hopping on a creaking, woman’s single-speed (complete with a handy basket on the front to hold my water), I rode the flat, easy 15 km or so out of town to the temple, gleeful to finally be doing something.

Wat Rong Khun is the most spectacular temple I’ve seen so far, if only because it’s a totally unique, contemporary spin on the architectural themes that typify the Thai Buddhist style. It looks straight out of a fairy tale – it has all the requisite Thai intricacy of detailing and sculpture, but forsakes red, gold and coloured gems for a uniform coat of bright white, highlighted with mirror-like facets. The effect is spellbinding, especially when placed against the backdrop of reflecting pools (filled with white fish!), fountains, trees with snaking limbs, and meticulous landscaping.

Arched over the entrance causeway were two enormous concrete horns, and in front of each was a pit filled with a terrifying sea of beseeching, disembodied arms holding bowls, pots, and human skulls (!) for people to throw in offerings of coins. So cool, and completely unexpected. This was my first hint that Wat Rong Khun may be a little bit offbeat.

I went down the causeway, admiring the brilliant white detailing that shone in the noon sun towards the temple proper. I thought the temple’s interior was somewhat more typical, though nicely executed, and I was pleased to see the inclusion of framed architect’s drawings showing the tiered effect they wanted to produce – a seated monk flanked by two increasingly large Buddha statues, in front of a huge Buddha painting on the front wall. When I turned to leave, something on the mural on the back wall caught my attention – a space station (!).

Upon closer inspection, the rest of the imagery proved to be even more bizarre, enough to leave any Western tourist utterly flabbergasted, especially compared to the tame depictions adorning the other big temples that dot the country. I just stood agape the whole time, trying, out of respect, not to burst into laughter. On one side of the door, there was – I shit you not – a dragon, who’s tongue was wrapped around a missile, which was firing a bright red laser beam at a giant luxury wristwatch being worn by a horn growing out of the ground (though I can’t be sure of that interpretation – the horn might also have been the trail of a projectile coming from the Earth, which sprouted an apocalyptic mushroom cloud). The theme continued throughout, with fighter jets, missiles, Star Wars-esque robots, aliens, and spaceships. And if all that wasn’t enough, one of the central images on the right-hand side was of the Twin Towers. On 9/11. One of the towers was belching flames and smoke (and two demonic spirit heads), and sure enough, the other tower awaited the impact of a tiny painted jetliner.

Photography inside was prohibited, or you’d better believe I would be posting snaps of this shit. I barely even believed it myself.

While it was plain to see after the interior, some unfinished detailing on the aft building confirmed just how new the temple was. Strolling around the grounds again, I noticed a few other fun little details. Not one for half-measures, the architect had obviously decided that plain pictographs to prohibit smoking and drinking simply wouldn’t do. At the rear of the temple, an ornately shaped signpost had a cut-out holding a real liquor bottle, circled in red, with a red chain stretched across it to form the strike mark. But the warnings at the front of the temple were even better – on one side, vivid, red-painted skulls, eyeballs, and claw-like hands surrounded a bottle ominously labeled “WHISKY,” while on the other side skulls and demonic fingers dripped with blood and held packets of cigarettes. So cool.

I ate some lunch, bought some lemongrass toffee (about as weird as it sounds), then walked around a gallery showcasing some work by the artist who (I assume) painted the temple interior, then rode back to Chiang Rai.

Tomorrow I think I’ll go to Mae Sai, the northernmost town in Thailand, bordering Myanmar, and possibly dart around a few other towns in the Golden Triangle before making my way to Chiang Khong on the Laos border.

The big ol’ chedi in the center of the Doi Suthep temple complex.

A picture of me in front of something, since mom bugged me about it.

This one is also for mom.

The view of Chiang Mai from the temple. This is part of a panoramic series, so by itself is painfully boring. I just wanted to show that I rode a bicycle up to here from down there.

Generic cool ornamentation stuff.

Pai is a tiny town nestled in the mountains of northern Thailand; discovered by hippies in the 70s, it has been an icon ever since. Sadly, the cult legend that is Pai has long since been outgrown by the realities brought on by its celebrity. I get the impression that it would have been an immensely charming little place, years ago, when it truly lived up to its reputation as a sleepy mountain paradise, but since then it feels as if its become a caricature of what it once was. The Lonely Planet lists its population at 3000, but I imagine it must be at least double that in the high season. It seems nearly all of its growth has been on the strength of tourism, to the extent that almost every business in town now seems to cater to that influx.

That said, it’s not all bad. It is a colourful, laid back, friendly place, and while its hippie quirkiness can at times be cartoonish, it does make for an awfully relaxing environment. If you aren’t exploring the surrounding countryside, there’s almost nothing to do in Pai proper except chill out, and that’s not such a bad thing. And while the night life again caters to Western tastes, live music abounds, and fliers for acoustic shows, cover bands, and open-mic nights are distributed liberally.

The day I arrived from Chiang Mai (after a somewhat hungover 4-hour minivan ride through twisty mountain roads) I was pained by the extent of its gentrification when I struggled to find affordable accommodation, lugging my backpack all through town and wincing at every guesthouse that was charging 400 baht for a night. After a long hunt, I was eventually able to find a modest room for 150 baht; despite its minute size, Pai is the most expensive place I’ve visited in Thailand.

After dinner I hopped from place to place listening to live music, and finally ended up at the aptly named Re-Tox on the advice of some Australian girls I’d met in Chiang Mai who’d spotted me wandering that afternoon. It took some work to find Re-Tox, located at the end of a long road in the middle of nowhere that took us past a rather dismal pig farm – one of the stalls was smeared with blood, and the smell was rank. While I was taking it easy for the night, the strength of Re-Tox seems to be in encouraging everyone to get really, really hammered – a beer pong game was in progress when I arrived, and free shots are distributed for various reasons, or none at all (I was handed a die and told that if I rolled a 6 I would get some tequila).

I woke up in good time the next morning, and having heard that there were stunning sights to be seen in the countryside, I decided to rent a motor scooter and do some exploring. I got a 125 cc automatic Honda for 100 baht per day, and while the initial learning curve was a bit jerky and worrisome, after a short while and 50 baht worth of petrol later, I was on my way. I didn’t really have any particular plan for where to go, so I simply decided to follow one of the roads out of town and see where it would take me. The roads in Thailand are an enthusiast’s dream – beautifully surfaced, well-signed, with twists, turns, and elevation changes galore. I took it slow, having heard too many stories of motorcycle accidents to do anything else, but gradually I became more comfortable. Slight counter-steering to initiate a lean into the corners became natural, and the smoother my technique became, the corners began to flow together with a Zen-like focused ease. Eventually I came to a sign pointing to some nearby caves, which I’d heard made for an interesting afternoon trip, but my gas was dipping towards the half-way mark, and I had forgotten to bring my camera, so I decided to save it for another day. I was just enjoying the ride enough as it was, so I looped around and headed back to Pai, looking forward to the return stint.

On the way back, I realized that I had perhaps been getting a bit enthusiastic for my own good, so I decided to slow it up and just enjoy the scenery. Ironically, caution coupled with inexperience would be my undoing. Around one long sweeping corner that I could certainly have made it through had I simply turned in and leaned further, I made the mistake of grabbing the front brake.

In a flash, I was down. Bike sliding, me tumbling, my vision alternating between sky and pavement. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” is my internal monologue at this point. I leapt up, retrieved my sunglasses from the pavement, noticed my sleeve in tatters, cuts on my feet, hands, elbows, and spotted the bike wedged neatly under the guard rail a short distance away.

I was glad I’d chosen a light bike. Surging adrenaline helped me drag it up and right it, its intensity adding to my mental stew that blended fear, confusion, and amazement. There was a moment of panic when the scooter refused to start, but after about 15 seconds it sputtered to life. I feel like in a former life I would have been too shaken to ride, but after resolving to go slow – very slow – I again settled into a rhythm, albeit a timid one. At a rest stop down the road I pulled over and took stock of the situation – the bike looked amazingly unscathed (though the scuffing and a missing plastic exhaust cover added up to about $15 of damage, the rental company later reckoned). I was also in amazingly good shape. I had some fairly generous road rash on all the usual surfaces, but no individual patch was worse than what I’d suffered in bicycle spills in the past. That one of the biggest post-crash peeves I registered was my ruined clothes is a testament to how lucky I was.

I was humbled. Despite my perceived caution, obviously my enthusiasm had overwhelmed my skill; yet even after the crash, I still look on the experience as a positive one. Morever, I know that if I’d been wearing leathers (yes, of course I was wearing a helmet – I’m not that stupid, though many tourists are), the whole affair would have been almost totally trivial. I’m thankful I was able to walk away relatively intact, having learned a valuable lesson on the cheap. A Brit I met on the bus to Pai who had drunkenly lost control of his scooter in Chiang Mai had earned himself an arm in a sling, a chipped tooth, a nasty cut along his chin, and who-knows-what-else under the clothes, though the accident could well have killed him.

In the evening we watched “3:10 to Yuma.” It’s a pretty badass movie.

Today will be spent in Pai to lick my wounds, and hunt out a new book to read. After that, onward to Chiang Rai and towards the Laotian border, methinks.

So yesterday I rented a bicycle for the day – a ’steel is real’ era KHS from the 90’s with 21 gears – a shockingly good find (despite the locked-out front suspension) for the 50 baht I paid. The frame was still a bit too small for me, and the saddle grew to be remarkably uncomfortable, but at least the seat-post could extend to a proper height. The reason for expounding on my steed with such detail is that the bike became an intimate acquaintance of mine throughout the day, as I set out on a trip that was probably too ambitious for my own good.

Wat Pra That Doi Suthep is said to be the resting place of a holy relic that had been carried on the back of a white elephant, entrusted with the task of delivering it to its rightful home. It is located high upon one of the hills on the outskirts of Chiang Mai, some 16 km out of the city. 16 km up a hill, I decided, wasn’t so far – I’d hiked as far in one day while climbing Mt. Kenya, after all, and now I had a bike and paved roads!

I had forgotten just how unpleasant climbing hills on a bicycle really is. Shortly after beginning the ascent in earnest (the first stretch going out of the city is almost flat), I strongly considered going back and paying the 40 baht for a sawngthaew (pickup-bus with benches and a roof) for the trek up, and then just riding back down. Even though in the real world that’s less than $2, I rationalized that it was nearly the same price as the bike itself, and talked myself out of it – and in my stubbornness, it was cheating, anyway.

Two hours of sweat-soaked pedaling (and several breaks to ‘admire the scenery’) later, occasionally egged on by incredulous riders flying past on motorbikes, I had reached Doi Suthep. The road had been fairly well-trafficked, but I was still amazed at the extent of the tourist infrastructure, with dozens of shops selling food, knick-knacks, jewelry, and souvenirs. Thoroughly exhausted, I was dismayed to see the huge staircase that still awaited me (flanked by two immense dragon sculptures that formed the railings) before I could reach the temple. I later learned that there was actually an escalator installed (“you know you have way too many Western tourists when…”) to get up to the temple!

The Wat itself was quite impressive – not quite up to the level of ostentation displayed at the Grand Palace in Bangkok, but still thoroughly encrusted with beautiful gold, stones, carvings, and sculpture. The architecture itself is also of a slightly different style here in the North, so it was interesting enough, despite being ‘just another temple.’ The main chedi (the ornate spires in Thai religious architecture) was resplendently golden, and was, I assume, being restored at the time, because it was surrounded by a nest of (gold-painted!) bamboo scaffolding.

While many pilgrims wait to see sunset at Doi Suthep, I gave myself plenty of time to descend, since bombing down mountain roads on a bicycle with no lighting and no helmet didn’t sound like a brilliant plan. As much of a struggle as the climb had been, the sublime ride down erased all memories. The smooth, sweeping, cambered mountain roads snaked their way down the mountainside, and I was easily able to hang with the motorized traffic (the first part of the ride was actually spoiled somewhat by being stuck behind a tour bus that noisily laboured down the hill, before I decided to pull over for a few minutes and let it go ahead). At times, there was almost no traffic but me, and I blazed down the hill, leaning my way into the twisting corners with the wind in my face. Just beautiful.

The last part of my adventure was confounded a bit by a wrong turn that brought me several kilometers out into the new city (part of it along a major highway), with attempts at navigation spoiled by a complete lack of any Roman alphabet signage. I finally managed to find my way by some landmarks just as darkness fell, and after navigating my way through the spaghetti-bowl of Soi’s (side lanes) back to where I’d rented the bike, found that the shop was closed. Bah.

Despite our fancy new digs, Jasmin (the Swiss girl I’m rooming with), discovered a decidedly larger bed bug on her sheet this morning. I didn’t see any on mine, and I don’t think she had any bites, but I think I might have one (though it’s difficult to discern from the cut where bike pedal dug into my leg at one point, yesterday). Amazing how I managed to travel through Africa for two months without ever encountering them, and now they’ve found me twice in a row in Chiang Mai.

I ended up taking a one-day Thai massage course today, which, after yesterday, seemed like a better call than attempting a day on an organized mountain biking trek. The lesson took place outside of Chiang Mai, at the instructor’s house. Wasana, our teacher, was a pleasant woman, and impossibly well-preserved for her age. It must have been something of a slow day, because only me and a Dutch dude (who I’d actually met at a bar previously) were in attendance.

I wasn’t fast enough to snatch the opportunity to be demonstrated on, so the morning was spent watching techniques and taking notes. That said, I’m not sure whether it’s more useful to know what it feels like, or what it looks like (though I could have really used a proper massage after my bike ride). Lunch was a tasty home-cooked meal with vegetable fried rice and Thai soup – it crystallized the experience a bit for me, setting it apart from a more impersonal course at a bigger school.

The afternoon was spent being practiced on and then practicing (and revising notes that seemed so clear when you were watching someone do the techniques, but were suddenly utterly confusing to recall). I suspect if I don’t get a chance to use the skills regularly (which equip me to perform a rather thorough 1-hour massage on legs and back), I’ll forget everything straightway, but it was an interesting enough way to spend a day all the same.

Pai tomorrow? I think so.

For good measure, two of my scant pics from the Grand Palace complex in Bangkok:

Besides my own motivations, probably the only reason that any tourist would bother to visit Khorat is as a base for day trips to the Khmer ruins in the surrounding areas, at Phimai and Phanom Rung. While my day in Ayutthaya had overloaded me on Thai ruins a bit, the ones surrounding Khorat are in a different style and from a different era, and it was something to do while staying in an otherwise rather bland city.

Phimai is a quaint town, and I got the impression (from the profusion of signage) that the ruins were something of a point of pride for the local people, something to put them on the map. Walking over to the site of the ruins, I absent-mindedly attached myself to group of old white tourists who had just been disgorged from a tour bus, bypassing the toll booth (only partly by accident). Prices throughout Thailand, and especially at historical sites, have been raised across the board recently, so for the historically-inclined backpacker on a budget, it can get frustratingly expensive. Thailand is no longer nearly as cheap and cheerful as it once was; my Lonely Planet (or ‘Lying Bastard,’ as one Englishman I met in Uganda called it) was only published in 2008, and as with Africa, a fair rule of thumb is to double most of the prices listed.

The ruins, while not huge, were quite impressive – massive post-and-lintel Cyclopean masonry combined with elaborate relief carvings of bizarre Hindu creatures on all the surfaces, and the dramatic main spire that characterizes Khmer architecture. Even in such degraded state they have the power to inspire – I can’t imagine what it must have been like when it was newly built (or any of the Wonders for that matter – what the Great Pyramids must have been like when they were sheathed in marble and capped in gold!). As in Ayutthaya, it struck me as really interesting the way the ruins had become so integrated into the fabric of a contemporary town; there’s something a bit surreal about peering through thousand year old ruined arches and seeing girls on scooters and street hawkers on the other side.

After the ruins, I rented a bicycle (lamentably Thai-sized) and pedalled over to Saingam, a 350 year old Banyan tree, the shoots of which have sprawled across an entire island, wrapping themselves around the stonework and generally taking over.

The tourist map that I was using mentioned a ’scenic bicycle route’ to the north of the Banyan tree, and I still had two hours before the last bus back to Khorat, so I decided to try it out. I don’t imagine I found it, since the path I rode along was not especially scenic, but it was enjoyable all the same. I must have been a little bit of a ridiculous sight, a big white man on a tiny Thai bicycle, knees pistoning up to my chest, with one hand on the handlebars and the other rooting about in the front basket, popping little flaky pastries into my mouth as I rode along.

The next day I met up with Lindsey and Antony, the couple who I’d met the first day in Khorat, and took another day trip, to Phanom Rung. It is considerably more out-of-the-way than Phimai, and not directly accessible by bus, much to the delight of the local owners of pick-up trucks who can name whatever price they like to take tourists the rest of the way. Phanom Rung is similar to Phimai, but larger (complete with several Naga bridges), apparently the 3rd most significant Khmer ruin in Southeast Asia (Angkor Wat, of course, being the 1st). I’m glad that I saw it, but I’m always a bit frustrated by day trips; we ended up spending about five hours in transit to spend two hours at the ruins, and by the time our bus pulled into the station back at Khorat, the sun was already dipping below the horizon.

After a quick dinner, I then hopped the overnight bus to Chiang Mai in the north. It took about 13 hours, and would ordinarily have been considerably more comfortable than the transit I grew accustomed to in Africa, but I found it a bit difficult to sleep as the headrest didn’t do much to accommodate my height. They played Home Alone 2, dubbed into Thai – I don’t think I missed much by not understanding any of the spoken parts.

Chiang Mai is a cool enough city – considerably more laidback than Bangkok, but still heavily traveled by tourists. Trekking, biking, climbing, cooking or massage courses, and a slew of other activities are big business for the local guesthouses, and nearly all of them – not to mention the dozens of travel agencies – seem to advertise the exact same palate of options. I’m not sure whether I want to do any of the activities here, or hold out for somewhere a little bit more remote where groups may be smaller, such as Chiang Rai, or even Laos.

I accomplished very little during the day, slightly zonked from my snatched sleep on the bus. The evening, however, turned out to be the highlight of my time in Thailand having convinced some people to come with me to a Muay Thai boxing match, something I’d been looking forward to since the sticker-shock at the Bangkok stadium. General admission still gave a great view from the wooden benches circling the ring, and cost only 400 baht – almost a quarter the price of standing room in Bangkok. There were eight matches to be seen, and we arrived after the second or third.

The stadium gave off a decidedly local vibe, and was thick with atmosphere. A small band with a reedy Thai woodwind and some metallic percussion filled the air with its funny skirling, establishing the rhythm of combat. The first few bouts we saw were between shockingly young-looking flyweights without an ounce of fat on them. While boxing has never really captured my interest, between the liberal rules of muay thai, the exoticism of the environment, and the pervasive gladiatorial air fueled by the cries of the crowd, I found myself riveted.

Muay thai is a pretty brutal sport. Round-house kicks to the head, and close grappling punctuated with knee strikes to the kidneys join boxing-style punches to fill out the pugilistic repertoire. The amount of punishment, dished and received, is just staggering. You could hear the smack of meat-on-meat, and the spray of sweat and saliva was visible by the harsh ring lighting whenever an especially solid blow was landed.

Our night’s playbill was filled out with three international fights as well as the local matches. The most captivating was between a Canadian fighter and a local Thai – throughout the entire match it was anyone’s fight, with some rounds leaving us certain that one boxer or the other was finished, only to be surprised by a wild resurgence in the next round. The last rounds were especially vicious, as fatigue and the incredible, ruinous persistence of blows meant that defenses lapsed, letting each fighter strike with opportunistic flurries. During one round, the Canadian repeatedly grappled the Thai’s head down, only to meet it savagely with a raised knee. The crowd groaned with every blow – I was amazed that either fighter could still stand by the end, which saw the Canadian decided the victor.

The next international fight was between a terrifyingly muscled German and a Thai who looked much softer, as if he’d put on weight to fit in the same class. It ended after only a few rounds, with a surprising knockout punch from the Thai that utterly dropped the German.

The last international fight was between an Australian and Frenchman. It was one of the less eventful ones, neatly decided in the Australian’s favour after only a few rounds. The Aussies I was sitting with in the crowd were quite pleased. “French never win!” they’d been heckling, drawing laughs.

After the muay thai fight, we made our way to a pair of rather excellent bars, Roots Reggae and Heaven Beach, across the street from each other. Both had really entertaining cover bands, one playing reggae and ska classics, while the opposite belted out rock and alternative tunes. Chang beer flowed liberally, and we spent the evening drifting between the two bars.

Street food and the inevitable trip to 7-Eleven (they’re ubiquitous in Thailand!) followed, along with chilled out conversation at a guesthouse. I didn’t end up getting to bed until past 6:00 am.

I was quite content to do essentially nothing the next day, though I tagged along with a few other travellers on a rather half-assed sightseeing walk that was really just an opportunity to wander and chat rather than an earnest attempt to see the city. After a (very) late dinner at an Indian restaurant, I ended up at Roots and Heaven again. There’s something to be said about variety, but the two have such a good crowd, and there are few things in life more fun than ska dancing.

The night ended (thankfully) rather earlier, though the morning was unpleasant for reasons entire unrelated to drinking. Stirring to the sound of the TV blaring in Thai in the common room, I glanced down at my bed to see a tiny red bug ambling across the sheet. Smearing it into a little speck of blood with my fingernail, I noticed that the sheet was already dotted with a few other bloodstains, presumably from former residents. Good morning! Rampant speculation with my two dormmates ensued, followed by some frantic Googling. I suspect it was an ‘engorged bedbug nymph’ rather than an adult, since it was incredibly tiny (and so far there are no tell-tale rows of itchy bites), but it’s still not the sort of thing I enjoy waking up to. We resolved to find another room that day.

Today was the epitome of lazy days. After finding a new guesthouse (much, much, much nicer) and eating some lunch, we wandered over to an idyllic little park that is crammed in the southwest corner of the old Chiang Mai city (I’ve yet to do much exploring past the moat that separates it from the new city). After renting a straw mat to lie on for 10 baht, I spent most of the afternoon reading “A Thousand Splendid Suns,” a historical fiction about the Afghan revolution (which actually reminds me a little bit of “A Fine Balance”).

Afterwards, we wandered through the enormous Sunday bazaar that takes over two of the main streets in the old city, almost in their entirety, every week. Unlike most markets I’ve been to in my travels, the atmosphere was really pleasant - relaxed, without hassling vendors, and with a really interesting variety of food, crafts, clothes, and everything else.

I’m not sure how much longer I’ll stay in Chiang Mai. It has grown on me significantly since I first arrived, when I’d been a bit underwhelmed. It’s just so easy to hang out, without the sensation that the days are being wasted the way I’d felt in Bangkok. At some point I’d like to do a day trip to mountain bike, but I’m also tempted by the prospect of a Thai massage course…

I may end up spending longer here than I’d intended, before visiting Pai and Chiang Rai, and then onward to Laos.

(n.b. except for the Phanom Rung shot and the banyan tree, the other three photos are actually from Ayutthaya, I was just too lazy to upload them before)