Just Married? -- Chiang Mai, Thailand.

I'm starting this post from Zakka Cafe in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Jazz music plays softly in the background, two yappy dogs go berserk across the street from me and the occasional moped rumbles past. 

A blue cat surreptitiously slinks under the table to my left, setting the yappy dogs off again.

"Hey, hey, hey!" a man with a yellow shirt and orange dangling earring slaps one of the dogs across the face. 

I mean... I don't particularly enjoy yapping, but face slapping is not the answer. 

I am abundantly happy to be in Chiang Mai right now. Drinking my creamy cappuccino out of a gorgeous clay mug, watching the backpackers trudge past and wishing the blue cat luck in evading all the yappy dogs. 

I'm so happy partially because this area of Chiang Mai seems lovely. Peaceful, bursting with good coffee, clever kitties and Wi-Fi that doesn't only sometimes sort of work. 

But mostly, I'm happy because I'm here at all. It almost didn't happen. 

Trains running in between Bangkok and Chiang Mai fill up quickly. I booked my ticket through a travel agency (because it's impossible to book tickets directly from the train station online) ten days in advance, and there were only four available seats at the time. I'd hoped to catch the train that left Bangkok at ten pm on the seventeenth, giving me plenty of time to play with between landing in Suvarnabhumi Airport, but that train was full. 

Damn. 

So I was left with the train that departed from Hua Lamphong station at seven thirty-five pm. 

Okay... so, my plane lands at three thirty pm. Let's say it takes an hour and a half to get through immigration, baggage claim and ATM shenanigans. This has me leaving the airport by five. Then it'll probably take me about an hour to get from the airport to the travel agency where I pick up my ticket. So, hopefully, I can arrive at the 12Go Asia office by six. Which gives me half an hour of wiggle room, because if I don't pick up my ticket by six thirty-five, they give it away. 

I hate having only thirty-five minutes of wiggle room. I hate it so much. But my only other option is to cancel my first night in Chiang Mai, book a hostel in Bangkok instead, and catch the train the next day. 

Against my better judgement, I booked the seven thirty-five train with the meager thirty-five minutes of wiggle room. 

  

Andrej and I caught a cab to the airport Friday morning at eleven o'clock. Our last couple of days together had been spectacular, full of jungle walks -- 

-- waterfalls,

-- Aimee finally standing under waterfalls, 

-- soft sunsets,

-- and cheese.

Cheese... how I've missed you... and how have I survived this long without you?

Andrej and I said goodbye at Terminal 1 of Manila's International Airport.

"See you soon, Cat," he hugged me.

"See you soon. Thanks for everything. This has been such a beautiful trip."

I love saying goodbye to Andrej. I love it because I know I'll see him again in a few months. 

My flight was scheduled to depart at one ten in the afternoon, but at one o'clock, we had yet to board.

And there goes my itty-bitty wiggle room. Fuck. 

We flew out of Manila International Airport at nearly one forty-five.

I can still make it. If everything else works out, I'll be fine, I tried to console myself as my anxious mind did its worst-case-scenario thing.

The worst-case-scenario is I miss my train and have to stay in Bangkok until the next available train. Which could be a week from now. Which means I'd miss my first five days of massage school. 

Why didn't I just book the train for tomorrow? Oof. Never again, Bourget. Never again. Go with your gut next time and give yourself all the time you need to get from A to B. 

The flight attendants never passed out immigration cards, so I assumed we didn't need them (like in Malaysia). However, upon disembarking, I promptly discovered that we did, in fact, need them. And there were none available at the counter, so I had to hunt down an airport employee to find a spare. Then I high-tailed it to immigration, rudely weaving in and out of other passengers in my haste.

HOLY FUCKING HELL. 

That's it. I'm missing my train. 

I gaped in hopeless defeat at the longest immigration line I'd seen in my life of travel thus far.

"Excuse me," I approached an official at the side of the line. "I have a really important connection at Hua Lamphong station. If I wait in this line, I'm pretty sure I'll miss it. Is there any way for people with connections to get to the front of the line?"

"No," he smiled at my dismay. "Not possible."

Okay. Well, I tried. 

It was five thirty before my passport was stamped. I sprinted to carousel 14 to retrieve Ellie, and found --

-- nothing.

Awesome. 

"My luggage is missing. I flew here from Manila. It was supposed to be on belt 14, but it isn't there," I spouted off to the first uniformed person I could find.

"Go to missing luggage," she gestured down the hall.

"Where?"

"There," she pointed rather vaguely again.

After frantically asking three more people, I managed to locate Ellie in Thai Airways Missing Luggage.

Okay. So. It's five forty-five. Now what? Now I have to withdraw cash, find the Airport Rail Link, buy a ticket and board. 

I waited in line at the ATM. I waited in line for the ticket. I rushed towards the train, and arrived just as it was pulling away from the station.

I may or may not have cried a little bit. 

Alighting the Airport Rail Link at Makkasan Station, I shot across the skywalk and found myself in yet another line.

Last ticket to buy. 

Again, the train to Hua Lamphong pulled away just as I arrived.
 
Six thirty-one, I looked at my phone. So close. So, so close. 

"Excuse me," I accosted the perfectly innocent fellow to my right. "Can you help me? I'm late to pick up my ticket for a train. If I'm not there by 6:35, they'll give it away. If it doesn't cost you any money, can you call this number? Then I can tell them that I'm on my way and ask if they can hold onto my ticket for a few more minutes."

The perfectly innocent fellow made the call.

"Sure, we'll hold onto your ticket. See you soon," the receptionist at 12Go Asia reassured me.

Thank. God. 

I tiredly, triumphantly flung open the door of 12Go Asia's office at six fifty pm. The Thai woman with an impeccable English accent handed me my ticket and said, a little amused, "Your train leaves in about half an hour. You should probably head over."

"Yes. Yes, I know. I'm on my way."

Platform six, train thirteen, car two, seat twenty-seven. There you are, you beautiful, marvelous, spectacular bit of cushion. How unequivocally happy I am to see you. 

I settled down into seat twenty-seven and immediately blurted out my entire saga to the poor American girl named Ashley in seat twenty-eight. She took it well (she's a clinical psychology student and was probably thinking... "hmmm... this person has anxiety... is a bit manic... probably suffering from... ), but after sharing a few other stories, she pulled out her e-book. Which I interpreted as a clear sign to leave her in peace, so I tuned out to RadioLab until an employee came along to make up the beds.

I get to sleep in a BED. On a TRAIN. How absolutely delightful. 

The train slowly wobbled on its rails through the quiet night, rumbling to a stop every now and then to pick up a passenger or two.

Mmm... I snuggled up with my blanket on the top bunk. This is deliciously cosy. And soothing. And I still can't believe I actually caught the train. 

"Where are you staying?" I asked Ashley in the morning.

"Mi Casa. You?"

"Nature's Way. If they're close together, do you want to share a cab?"

"Sure!"

We tumbled out of the train at eight forty and made our way to the information desk.

"Excuse me," I displayed our two addresses. "Can you tell me how far these are from each other?"

"Walking, ten minutes."

"Okay, that's grand. We can go to your hostel first, and then I can walk to mine," I told Ashley.

"One hundred and fifty for taxi," the man told us.

"That's fine," I did the quick math.

Thirty-five baht is one dollar. So about two dollars each. 

Ashley and I were led to a taxi reminiscent of the colectivos I'd ridden in Mexico. As in, it was a truck with benches in the back.

"Hotel address?" the driver asked Ashley.

"Mi Casa," she replied.

"What?"

"MI CASA."

"What?"

"Here," she showed him the address and he squinted at the paper.

Super. So our driver appears to be partially deaf and blind. 

After squinting for a few moments, the driver nodded slowly and then started the engine.

"What's that sound?" I asked Ashley as we rattled off down the road.

"It sounds like what they put on "Just Married" cars," she wrinkled her forehead in confusion.

"Yeah. It does."

Everyone we passed turned to look at us. People pointed fingers and laughed. I made eye-contact with the amused locals and tourists alike, giggling and shrugging my shoulders.

"Just married?" a fellow on a motorcycle yelled as he drove past.

"We only met yesterday!" I crowed.

"I work fast," Ashley grinned.

Our deaf/blind driver slowed to a stop in front of Mi Casa Hostel and Ashley and I jumped out of the back, wide grins plastered across our faces.

"What?" the driver peered below the truck in absolute surprise and removed a string with three cans attached to it.

"HE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW!" I nearly cried for the second time in the last twenty-four hours, but this time from pure mirth.

Ashley checked into her hostel and I connected to the Wi-Fi so that I could locate mine.

"Wanna grab dinner tonight?" I asked my new spouse. "I mean, if we're married, we should probably go on a date."

So we exchanged WhatsApp numbers and parted ways.

What a nuts first day in Thailand.