Totally Thailand - Friday, Nov-20

I am going on a trek today with a small group from my guesthouse. Our guide is Nok, who has been affiliated with Baan Bua for eight years, and from reading the testimonials on her web site, past guests have nothing but great things to say about her. Nok means “little bird,” and that name describes her perfectly. She’s tiny as a pixie, educated, fluent, with a good sense of humor and a warm demeanor. Today’s group consists of Mitsuo from Osaka, Eva from Poland, and Elise and Celine from France.

Our first stop is an Akha village in the highlands, about 80km (50 miles) north of Chiang Rai. We are welcomed inside a traditional Akha bamboo house. It is dark inside, with shafts of light filtering through the gaps in the bamboo. The owner, a wiry older man smoking a cheroot, enjoys posing for me while I take his photo. Inside the house we are shown the traditional kitchen with woodburning stove, a huge pot of food (“for the pigs”), and the household altar to the spirits. Some Akhas still practice animism, but many converted to Christianity long ago, and there’s a tiny church in the village for the Christian tribespeople in this village of about sixty people. We learn that men and women sleep in separate quarters, but there’s a special hut reserved for when a man and a woman want to bed together for the night. That answers that question. Nok hands me a 8-inch length of hollowed bamboo, about 4 inches in diameter. Inside are a few bamboo worms making squiggly sounds in their dark abode. Nok tells me they make a delicious snack when they’re fried and salted.

“Taste just like potato chips,” she adds. If the opportunity presents itself, I will have to try one.

Except for Mitsuo and me, Nok and the others walk to a Karen longneck village, so I go wandering about the Akha village on my own. It turns out Mitsuo had been to the Hilltribe Museum as well, and decided he didn’t want to be part of the human zoo, either. In the meantime, I take lots of photo of some young boys at play. Their heads are shorn, but they’re too young to be novices so I suspect it’s to prevent or get rid of head lice. Children are always delighted to see themselves in the viewfinder of my camera, but they soon grow tired of me and continue clobbering each other over the head with toy guns.

Our group rejoins in a little over half an hour, and we drive to Mae Salong, a Chinese village high in the mountains. The area has an alpine-like landscape and climate, but with banana trees, and is famous for its tea plantations and cherry blossoms. The history of Mae Salong begins at the conclusion of the Chinese Civil War in 1949, when some remnants of the anti-communist Kuomintang (KMT) forces refused to surrender, and fought its way out of Yunnan in southwestern China before seeking asylum here. In exchange for their protection, the Chinese settlers fought for Thailand until 1982, helping to counter the communist insurgency at the Thai frontier. As a reward for their loyalty, the Thai government granted citizenship to the KMT soldiers and their families. In Mae Salong, all the signs are in Chinese, and the inhabitants who are not from a hilltribe minority all speak Mandarin.

We stop at a teahouse and sample locally cultivated teas. The shopkeeper is quite proud of her products, and we sample as many as seven different teas, from green to black oolong, and one tea that is blended with ginseng, lending it a naturally sweet flavor. The tea is prepared in the following way:

When the water is boiling, it is poured into a small pot with about a teaspoon of tea leaves. This first water is meant to wash the tea leaves and is immediately poured out. The second water is poured in the pot and allowed to steep for no more than a minute. The tea is then poured in a small cylindrical cup about 2 inches high, and topped by another inverted tea cup that is dome-shaped like the tea cups you’d find in any Chinese restaurant, only smaller. Take both cups between thumb and forefinger, sealing them tightly, and flip them over so that the tea in the taller cylindrical cup flows inside the shorter, rounder cup. Take the now empty taller cup and roll it between your palms, inhaling the aroma left behind while warming your hands. And finally, sip the tea and enjoy.

There are many of bowls of dried fruits to sample: sweet cherries, salted cherries, apricots, tamarind, and lo and behold, some fried bamboo worms. Okay, here goes. Goodness, they are delicious, and they do indeed taste just like chips. I grab a big handful, then another and another, so I make sure to buy something before I leave because I did nosh on quite a few worms. The teacup set I purchase, both the tall snifter and the short drinking cup, is emblazoned with a black dragon that turns bright red when the cup is hot. I also buy a package of ginseng oolong tea.

Our group stops for lunch at a noodle shop next door, and I order a bowl of “black chicken with mountain herbals.” A large bowl of chicken soup arrives at the table, loaded with ginseng root and wolfberries and other herbs and roots I cannot identify. The chicken meat, as well as the bones and skin, is black and comes from a wild hen that is found around these parts. The broth is savory and warming on a cold, foggy day. One usually doesn’t think of the words “cold” or “foggy” to describe Southeast Asia, but at higher altitudes – and Mae Salong is at 1,800 meters (5,904 ft) above sea level — a couple of warm layers are necessary to ward of the chill. It’s November, after all.

Our group browses the market, which is but a row of blankets on the side of the main road displaying vegetables and tribal handicrafts. I meet a delightful Akha woman in all her finery. Through a series of sign language and charades, I learn that she is a widow with 4 children. I don’t doubt that life is tough for the people here, and often the most basic needs we take for granted, like healthcare and education, are unimaginable luxuries to them. I buy two small purses from her for 100 baht ($3 USD) and don’t even think of haggling. Souvenirs are cheap enough, and I know bargaining is part of the buying game, but I often don’t feel inclined to haggle over what amount to a buck or less. A cup of coffee in the States costs 3 times that, but this is their livelihood.

Madame Akha gives me a little woven bracelet that she ties to my wrist, and I take a moment to admire her amazing tribal dress. I point to a long silver pick like a four-sided dagger that hangs from her headdress, and I ask what it is used for. She demonstrates its use by picking her teeth, and proceeds to stick it under her elaborate headdress to scratch her head. Then she does the same to my head, so I kneel beside her and put my head on her shoulder, mimicking total bliss. Everyone around us is laughing, and Madame Akha and I hug tightly and laugh so hard we have tears in our eyes. I ask if I can take her photo, but she won’t show me her betel-stained mouth. Still, I capture her sassy grin and it will be one of my most favorite portraits of my entire trip.

The French girls are across the street, eyeing a beautiful Akha tapestry. It is astonishingly beautiful, with colorful yet delicate cross-stitching on a midnight blue background. Nok and I wander over, and we learn that it took the village ladies, working in turns, three years to complete. The asking price, non-negotiable, is 5,500 baht, or about $170. The money will go to help the entire village.

“If you girls don’t buy it, I will,” I say. A piece of handiwork like this, and for the ridiculous price of $170, needs to find a home. And knowing the proceeds will help the village is enough incentive for me to motivate the buyers. I put on my best saleslady hat and fawn over the details, trying to discreetly convince the French girls that something like this should not be passed up. “And it took three years – three years! – to make.” My ploy works, and the French girls buy the tapestry.

Our group heads to a tea plantation and wander about the fields, learning about the cultivation and fermentation process while taking in the majestic scenery around us. But it’s a short stop, because we have a long drive to Mae Sae, the Golden Triangle where the borders of Myanmar, Thailand, and Laos come together.

While the French girls take a longtail boat ride around the river and the others explore the Opium Museum, I wander the streets of Mae Sae, heading toward the giant gold Buddha that overlooks the Mae Kok River. Mae Sae is not a destination I would visit again. There’s not much to see and do except for the anti-climactic experience of saying you were at the center of the Golden Triangle, the Four Corners of Southeast Asia.

Everyone is very quiet during the hour-long ride back to Chiang Rai, and I actually doze off for a little while. Around 7 pm the minivan arrives at our guesthouse, where I make a beeline for Muang Thong Restaurant and order my much-anticipated meal of garlic chicken. My hunger sated, I head to the Peace House where there’s live reggae music tonight featuring Zam’s band, the groovy rasta with the perfect dreads. By the time I arrive, the band is in full swing and I get close to the stage so I can say hello. When the song is finished, I wai him, and he holds both my hands and smiles broadly.

“My friend,” he says.

I feel so at home in this place, full of young Thai hippies with their waist-length dreads and tie-dye attire. Mimi is tending bar, ebullient as ever, and always offering a smile for every person who comes to the bar. Ot asks a woman to take our photo together, and I also hand her my camera so I can remember my Chiang Rai friends. It’s midnight, and I’m tired from the long day. I need to call it a night. A very good night.

Tags: Akha, Chiang Rai, Golden Triangle, Mae Sae, Mae Salong, Thailand

Totally Thailand - Thursday, Nov-19

I’m up again at 5 am, unable to sleep anymore. I might as well get up and do something, anything, until the kitchen opens at 7 am and I can get a cup of coffee. I sort through my gear yet again and wash some things in the bathroom sink. Traveling requires regular organizing, arranging, re-arranging, packing and repacking. It’s easy to misplace things, even when you have few personal belongings with you. The last thing you want to do is lose your passport or worse, a pair of undies when you’ve only got 4 pairs.

The kitchen opens, and I’m the first in line for a hot cup of coffee. Toby, a young fellow from London, and Renate from Austria join me at my table. They’ve been traveling together, having met along the way. Renate has been on the road for several months. I’m always impressed by folks who take three or four months to travel, or even longer. I’m curious how they finance a long trip. Most long-term travelers seem to be younger people in their 20s who do not have many obligations, like career or family. They sell their possessions, store what they can at their parents’ house, strap a pack to their back, and travel until the money runs out. The other demographic of long-term travelers are retirees. They are usually more solvent, have the time, sublet their home, and can afford to flash-pack from one destination to the next.

At 8 am I meet Eleanor from New Zealand. It’s an easy 10- or 15-minute stroll past the outrageous clocktower to the Morning Market. The food court is located on one side of the large arcade, and we soon find a soup vendor who serves us an appetizing chicken soup full of fresh vegetable and noodles. Chicken soup is by far my favorite breakfast food when I’m in Southeast Asia.

We part ways after breakfast, so I head over to Fat Free Bikes and rent a one-speed city bicycle. I’m going to pedal my way around this town and see what I discover today. I head toward the northeast section of Chiang Rai, past a nice residential area crisscrossed by khlongs (canals) choked with water hyacinth. Chiang Rai is flat and easy to get around in, with little car traffic and lots of places to stop and grab a drink or a snack. I find a nice promenade on the banks of the Mae Kok River, as the Mekong is called here in northern Thailand, and I ride past well-manicured gardens and playful statuary of elephants. In the evening, the big pavilion on the bank is transformed into a bustling beer garden, which must be a pleasant place to hang out and have a cold one.

I have a simple map of Chiang Rai and somehow find my way to Wat Phra That Doi Chom Thong, a hilltop temple with good views of the city. Even though today is overcast and much cooler than when I arrived, I work up a good sweat pushing my bike up the steep hill. There is no one at the wat today except for a young monk doing concrete repairs. Being a monk requires a lot of physical work; it’s not all chanting and meditation, apparently. I pull out a bandana and wet it in a cistern. It feels very refreshing to wear it around my neck, and I do this periodically during my bike ride to stay cool. The ride down the hill is exhilarating, and I enjoy the cooling breeze as I coast down the road under a dark canopy of teakwood trees.

There are signs pointing to Chiang Rai Beach. I vaguely remember reading about this place online, so I pedal my way in that direction, stopping briefly for an iced coffee and a rest. After passing a business district, the neighborhood becomes far more rural, the road flanked by huge banana trees and colorful bougainvilleas. I ride under an arch announcing I’m at Chiang Rai Beach. The road runs parallel to the Mae Kok River, and on the banks are many bamboo platforms for rent, each one shaded by a thatch roof and outfitted in rugs and triangular axe pillows for lounging upon. There’s hardly anyone here and a few of the food stalls are closed, but I’m sure it gets quite busy on weekends and holidays. On the opposite bank of the river is a large limestone cliff completely covered by greenery. It rises up suddenly from the landscape, reminding me of those Chinese silk scroll paintings with their exaggerated vertical perspective. It turns out the land really looks like that, so it’s not just the artist taking liberties with his interpretation of the terrain.

My bike ride takes me past the beach and down rough rural roads, where I encounter lop-eared Brahma cows noshing on the rich greenery, their large bells clanging under their chins. I ride until the road ends, so I turn and head back the way I came, stopping at Wat Maharaj, another hilltop wat where I am the only visitor. My route back to town is not the same one I took to get here, but all main roads lead to Chiang Rai and I eventually end up at the south end of Jet Yod, less than 10 minutes from Baan Bua Guesthouse.

My ride today lasted 4 hours, and I’m overdue for a beer, a meal, and a shower, though not necessarily in that order. I return to the corner eatery near the Night Market, called Muang Thong, and this time I order garlic chicken, which comes out crispy and covered in minced, fried garlic and tastes superb. It won’t be the last time I eat this.

Back at Baan Bua I meet Monika from Poland, who is sitting on her porch reading The Lord of the Rings. She looks adorable in her Amélie haircut. We talk about the books versus the films, and how much sexier — I think I used the word fuckable — the film’s protagonists were than the book characters, who seemed so chaste as to be sexless.

“Those films provided many a sexual fantasy,” I confess.
“Legolas or Aragorn?” she asks playfully.
“Neither. I’m thinking more of a sweaty gangbang with Orcs Boromir and Faramir.”

I learn Monika is staying here in Chiang Rai for the next year. She has a Master’s in Early Childhood Development and was recruited to oversee the kindergarten in one of the schools. She invites me to join her for drinks at Coconuts Bar, where she’s meeting a fellow teacher from Australia named Angie. We settle into one of the front tables near the street and order a couple of beers and a bucket of ice. We’re joined a Heiko, a German expat who looks a bit out of place in grey flannel trousers and a crisp, long-sleeved white dress shirt. Angie and Monika move to another table, as they’ve got some details to discuss about school, leaving Heiko and I to talk. We discover we both love heavy metal, and we discuss our favorite books and films. Angie and Monika are still embroiled in shoptalk, which leaves Heiko and me to discuss other subjects like philosophy, and free will versus destiny, a subject that has been on my mind lately. He’s an atheist, and I’m a philosophical Buddhist, which means I follow the precepts but don’t observe any of the rituals.

One of Monika’s countrymen joins her at the other table, so Heiko and I go to the bar next door for another round. He orders a strawberry roti to share from a street vendor who passes by with his cart. I’m not sure why, but this climate kills my sweet tooth, and I find the roti too cloying for my palate.

Heiko tells me he’s starved for intellectual conversation. “It’s rare to have these conversations with Thai people. Most of the ones I meet here are undereducated. These subjects just never enter their heads. And to have this kind of dialogue with a woman? Impossible.”

He’s animated, and a touchy talker like me. I cannot resist the urge to touch another person during conversation. It satisfies a compelling need to connect to another human being on a level that transcends the intellectual, as if our chi is making contact. Or perhaps it’s because I grew up in an extended family that had no notion of personal space. Watching TV on the sofa was always a tangle of feet and elbows, with cousins piled on top of cousins for the best seat to watch our grandmother’s “color” TV: a sheet of red or green acetate taped to the screen.

I’m feeling a bit sassy now. “We’ve exhausted every subject, Heiko, but we haven’t talked about sex.” Ka-pow. Our conversation starts mildly, but I steer it into the gutter before too long. “All Germans are kinky, aren’t they?” Ka-POW!

I’m never going to see this person again, and being a San Franciscan, meaning we’re used to talking about sex like Midwesterners talk about corn, I have no qualms discussing SF’s Folsom Street Fair leather festival and my politically incorrect fetishes.

It’s midnight, and I make a move to leave but can’t figure out why Heiko won’t just come out and ask me if I want to fool around. His body language is telling another story altogether. Why can’t people be more direct? The worse that can happen is your intended object of lust says no. Big deal. Seize the moment. Grab the bull by the cojones. Life is too short to pass up on opportunities, blah, blah, blah….

“Can you walk me to my guesthouse?”
“Why? Are you afraid of the dark?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Just walk me home, you big doofus.”

The rest I leave to your imagination, dear reader. Suffice it to say that I stimulated his mind, and he reciprocated by stimulating the less intellectual parts of my constitution.

Tags: Chiang Rai, Thailand