Chiang Mai (again)

               Awake and achy in the morning. Wondering only what to do next.
               What to do next?
               Answer: Chiang Mai National Museum.
               This is the reality of the outcome to the actual original intention: Hill Tribe Museum.

After an unbelievably easy currency exchange at a local bank, I show the driver where I want to go. I end up at the National Museum. The other was much further out of town, and I guess not many folk end up there. Perhaps it�s all in Thai script. Given my predicament when I leave the local, it may have been much harder to get back from this intended far North excursion. Located on the perimeter of town, far from small local roads, the availability of cabs is set back. I have to walk along a busy highway road feeling like a hitchhiker, and getting turned down by several drivers before I am finally picked up. I am allowed right into the passenger seat (on the left), segregated by the truckload of schoolgirls in the back. We go around the town dropping them off in small subgroups before I finally reach my next destination: Wat Chiang Man. Afterwards: Wat Chedi Luang.                Beautiful gold gilded Buddhas, demon guardians, stone-carved elephants and coloured-glass panels. A thousand beauties. Off to the side some men diligently carve and smooth out a new generation of Buddha images. Subsequent walks take me past antiquated stone Buddhas in forgotten cornerstone Wats. (=Temples). On every corner.                Inner-city wall (remnants of the old barricade standing all around) roads, women are friendly locals or prostitutes? Regardless, very friendly, and rumored of 50% HIV infection benefits for employees of prostitution. Lower than Bangkok. Less aggressive and staring in the eye than Bangkok.

               Out to a �reggae bar,� and this is where they play a few dancehall tracks, followed by an entire Bob Marley CD. Beautiful animated blondes with long flowing hair and single thin layer of clothing ready to be fucked by Chang and Singha and the right words. Sand floor and there�s an orgy to be had on this remedial beach. No one knows it yet, and never will. Couches sit with perfect asses and Thai and European haunches enjoying life to the fullest tonight. We reacquainted with the French duo back from the three-day permutation of the jungle trek, and are invited out for drinks with the group and guides.
               Down the road: Crocodile steak for 99 baht. Security officer patrols the streets, walking important and quiet. Around the blocks peeking in at each establishment. Policing the lax system gets to the bottom of nothing. Non-regulatory, un-enforced official last call at 1 am at the bar that will serve any age with impunity. At one the lights go down and it darkens for mystique and sleepy drunken eyes. Music goes down a notch but still prevails in its 5 to 1 Bob Marley:dancehall ratio.
               The explanation:
               Security makes sure all is going well. No worries. No problems. Also makes sure the establishments shut down at 1 am. And thus the low light volume phenomena. This, however has no bearing on the actual serving behaviors of the establishment, whose bartenders know no boundary or limit on the term �last call.� Were the curious uniformed man outside, who probably would much prefer to be �in� getting a taste of the music, slings, and blondes, to come inside the rationale is as follows: �These people ordered their tasty beverages before last call. They merely have not finished. We cannot close up shop until the glasses are empty and the tummies and heads are satiated and sated. Tourism is alive and well in North Thailand. We cannot make our guests and main source of revenue upset with pesky limits of last call and curfew times.�
               And so everyone continues to eat and drink and be happy. It is an obvious scenario of food and drink continuing to be ordered, served and consumed. These rules merely tactics and smack hits for a system to seem organized and give a man a reason to look authoritative with no consequence.
               I have ordered a squid red curry with coconut milk on this evening. Making note: there is another menu item of red curry marked spicy, presumably without the coconut milk. Upon its arrival, I have a giant bowl of curry in front of me. Not squid, but shrimp. This is not the first or last time this mistake has been made, but everything being so laid back as it, there is no room for complaint. Picking out chili peppers part way into the meal (who knows how many I actually swallowed (next day�s bowels spell hint at significant numbers)), turning mealtime into a heat match of green chilis vs. red, the final count on the side of the plate tallies in at 12-10 for green chilis.
               Losing time quickly. Not running out, just losing track.

               Missed the bus from W----- House. This involves a lengthier, more adventurous route to Chiang Mai Arcade bus station. All the minibuses, as cush as they sound, with AC and procured and priced just for a select decuple of backpackers often don�t involve that curious adventure and romance. No stops at lonesome bus stations in towns that aren�t even manifest to eyeshot. Direct and to the point of destination. Convenient and conscious. It�s the dingy local transport that makes it worthwhile run-amok adventure and romance. The stuff the locals travel on. The methods and byways that are common as day to these locals, who are only curious about the snackfoods and gadgets the backpackers tote around with them. A strange transient symbiotic mix. Where things start to get interesting.
               The whole time complaining you wish you hadn�t missed the damn minivan, or that you should have shelled out the extra couple of bucks for the direct route and extra comfort. Later where are the anecdotes?

Bus: Chiang Mai � Chiang Khong(Northern entry point into Laos).

               Not so long, yet eternal sweaty wait in Chiang Mai Arcade bus terminal. Glad enough we didn�t have to stay in the guesthouse above (for latecomers, and those with no sense of personal sanity left). Heat rises and nose never dies.

               No one tells us anything. Fourth-rate second-class seats. Careful not to decapitate yourself on the low-ceiling ceiling fans. If you�re not against the window you�ve got nothing to hold onto to. I�ve got nothing to hold onto. I snooze out only momentarily as heavy bumps or sharp mountain curves throw me right out of my seat into the aisle.
               Broken down coke truck at the side of the road. No one home. So many meters up pick up anonymous driver uttering his plight in fast, plunky Thai. Only 5 minutes on, at the crest of a thousand Northern hills in the sunlight hues, he egresses to nowhere, walking off into the trees like he never existed.
               It gets late and as is the case with subsequent rides, so many stops drag on and on and lead to confusion of final destinations. Paved roads give way to dust and gravel. Single lane wooden bridges creak under the weight of the over-packed bus trudging through the muddy roads.
               Finally and unknowingly reach Chiang Khong to meet single-rider chariot-style tuk-tuks. Upon confirmation that we are, indeed, where we want to be, and where we want to go, we�re separated and it�s the beginning of the onset for a frightening movie...but we end up at the same place. As do many more riders from the bus. Spookiness ebbs to simplicity. Email with chickens and lizards.
               100 baht cheap enough for a cheap enough room. Dank square with single light phototropically praised by the night�s entomological minions. They drop from the ceiling, covering and crawling all over the bedspread. Folding closet-style door bound with a small padlock keeps us safe and secure, but its faded plywood constitution would allow any intruder to just punch through to pillaging glory! But there�s nothing to steal, just a couple wooden white elephants already making their presence a hassle (much more on this to come). 100 baht for a 100 baht room. What else could you expect? (Next door, full, but still next door and originally intended, had satellite television...for the same price...still, this wasn�t expected). We wipe the slate clean but there�s insects everywhere still. A gecko�s dream, if they truly dreamt. We sleep in our clothes. A dirty few days to come.

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