The REAL Thailand -- Chiang Mai, Thailand

I'm starting this post from the unforgiving mattress of the internet free family room in a lodge with an unpronounceable name somewhere in the jungle of Northern Thailand. 

A room with paintings of menacing owls and awkward, rather overambitious poetry plastered to the white, cracking walls. 

I couldn't tell you exactly where I am. And it's not just because the frightful poetry has addled my brain (although that could very well be part of it). It's because I ended up in the backseat of the poorly planned misadventure of a few of my classmates. 

Okay, Bourget. Just because you're a planning wizard doesn't mean that, a) everybody else is a planning wizard, b) everybody else appreciates the wizardry of planning, and c) that everybody gets as anxious as I do when what is supposed to be under an hour drive somehow turns into three hours of alarming ordeal. Complete with narrow, serpentine mountain roads, DARK, carsick Russians, Dutchmen so absorbed with drive-by photography that they forget that they're in charge of navigating, and all the phones with some manner of directions on them running out of battery. 

WOOHOO! ALL OF MY FAVORITE THINGS. 

Blurgh. 

We had been under the impression that our lodge was 5.3 kilometers from Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep, a famous temple in Doi Suthep Pui National Park. However, the five of us weekend adventurers fell victim to the infamous misplaced decimal point. We are, in all likelihood, 53 kilometers from Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep. 

We ravenously ordered dinner when we finally floundered into our lodge. It had been an agonizing three hour journey, and we were all run-down, worn out, ready to drop. 

"We made it!" the Canadian of the group cheerfully exclaimed. "And we didn't kill each other." 

"And we saw the real Thailand!" the Dutchman contributed his thoughts on the matter. Which he had been doing for the last three hours. Thoughts which had the tendency of being... well... the same. 

We'd pass a farm. 

"Guys! We're in the REAL Thailand!" the Dutchman would inform us. 

We'd narrowly pass a truck going breakneck speed towards us up the mountain. 

"Guys!" This is the REAL Thailand!" I heard his thick accent through the panicked cursing in my head.

"Yup. The real Thailand."

I held my sick Russian's hand and massaged her shoulder, for her comfort and for mine.

No...we can't all be planning wizards. And the world would be a miserably organized place if we were.  I'm glad that the Vietnamese woman is the gorgeous, graceful wizard of generosity. And that the Dutchman is the wizard of hugs I can (and do) disappear inside of. And that my Russian is the wizard of spontaneous tree climbing and dancing for her ice cream when she runs out of baht. And that the Canadian is the wizard of just being chill all the time. 

But I'm pretty frustrated. This sort of thing irritates me because it feels so unnecessary. So easily avoidable. And there is such an overwhelming abundance of unavoidable shit in this world -- why add more to it? 

At the lodge's restaurant, I settled on a pricey (for me, anyway) coconut cream pork curry. I specifically asked for no spice, but received a dish riddled with hot red peppers. My travel buddies were sympathetic to my eye watering, sinus clearing, taste bud murdering plight, and offered me some of their steamed rice to help ameliorate my harrowing curry. 

But I'm suffering now. 

I leave Thailand in about two weeks. I will pine for the glorious fruit salads with Jerry, delicious smoothies with Francois, Khao Soi with Marcin and a taciturn chap from Bulgaria, and Thai Iced Beverage with pretty much everyone from my massage school. 

But I will not miss asking for NO spice in my meal and being presented with a dish so hot I'm reduced to a flustered puddle of sweat and tears. 

Diana, a Vietnamese massage practitioner from San Francisco, spearheaded our excursion into this national park. She rented a car and found a reasonably priced hotel, and performed (what I naively hoped) was enough research to get us to both places without much mishap.

My Saturday morning started out as all my mornings do. I left Bumrung Bury Road, Alley 2 at seven am, to have my breakfast with Jerry at seven thirty. As we demolished our giant bowls of wondrous fruit, I told him all about the Sen energy lines and that it would be prudent to be wary of young coconuts on Tuesdays. Unless, you know, he was up for that sort of thing.


I paid the fruit woman ninety five baht for my salad and cappuccino, then heaved Ellie onto my back and set off towards the Dutchman's guesthouse, where I would leave Ellie for the weekend.

For how much I love my backpack, I'm always exquisitely happy to abandon her. 

Diana had told us to be at the Dutchman's residence by eight thirty, as she had planned to pick up the car at eight and then we would all mosey off to the park.

I arrived at eight twenty-five. As I do.

The Dutchman and Diana were sitting around the table eating breakfast. The Canadian and the car were nowhere to be seen.

Traveling alone spoils me in so many ways. I never have to wait on people from other schools of wizardry. 

At around nine o'clock, a chap pulled up with our car.

"You said eight," he told Diana, looking at the time.

"I know, I'm sorry," Diana smiled.

"Eight. You said eight. I worried," the poor fellow complained.

I observed the unfolding scene in sympathetic camaraderie. Recognizing one of my people.

Your pain, sir. I feel it. 

Diana had to drive my fellow planner back to his car rental shop. During her absence, the Canadian finally ambled up. And then off again, because he hadn't eaten breakfast.

WHERE IS MY KNITTING WHEN I NEED IT? 

Diana blazed back into the parking lot of the Dutchman's lodge, followed by a red songthaew. Which was missing a mirror.

"I need a thousand baht. Can someone give me a thousand baht? I need to pay the driver for his mirror."

During the short drive back to the lodge, Diana had managed to knock off the songthaew's mirror.

In all fairness to Diana, the drivers in Thailand are so deranged that had I been the one driving, I would have knocked off both mirrors and probably managed to do in a tire or two.

Still... this does not bode well. 

Traffic out of Chiang Mai was heinous. It took hours to extricate ourselves from the polluted city of nearly a million people.

When we arrived at the National Park, we were unpleasantly surprised by a 300 baht entrance fee.

And this is research I could have done. But didn't, because I just assumed that Diana would know. Which is a silly thing to assume. 

The park was beautiful. And well worth every single one of those baht.

I needed this. Clean air. The sound of rushing water. A moment of respite from motorcycles and stray dogs and deep-fried-god-knows-what. 

My Russian was as happy as I was to just sit with the sound of the waterfall.

"Can you?" a boy motioned to his camera as I hiked to the top of the falls.

"What?"

The young man gestured to his camera again.

"No, I don't need a picture," I said, mightily confused.

"They want to take a picture with you," Diana kindly filled me in.

"OH!" I smiled. Still surprised, after three months in Asia, that people want pictures with me simply because I'm Caucasian.

We found ourselves another waterfall --

-- where my Russian managed to break a couple of rules.

After a quick lunch of papaya salad I'd ordered with "NO SPICE, PLEASE!", but had somehow turned out still hot enough to make me cry, we all set off into the woods for a nature walk. Where yet another 200 baht had to be paid to our guide. Which we were, for some reason, required to have. Even though the path was quite unmistakable in its pathiness.

We continued our journey to the highest spot in Thailand --

-- and then set off to find our guesthouse.

And you know how that went.

Blurgh. 

We happened upon elephants the next day. And my Russian got a bit too playful with a baby. As she does. 

We found a gorgeous little cafe where my Russian asked the chill Canadian to paint her face with ketchup.

Which the chill Canadian agreed to with approximately zero hesitation.

We ended our weekend excursion at Chiang Mai's "Grand Canyon."

I jumped off this. I asked my Russian to video the event for evidence, but she pushed the wrong button. So now you'll have to ask my Russian yourself. And she'll tell you that she did indeed witness a very frightened Coloradan timidly hop off Chiang Mai's Grand Canyon.

I feel so old these days. I'm tired of not having enough money to just brush off an extra three hundred baht. And to not pull a hundred percent of my weight on these kind of excursions. And I think... I think that traveling alone and doing mostly what I want for the last few months has made me more rigid than usual. I mean, I just had the opportunity to spend a weekend with four gorgeous human beings in the countryside of Thailand... 

... and I'm feeling... frustrated?

Bourget. You're allowed to feel frustrated. But also. Cool your jets. Remember that when you travel with others, you win a lot and you lose a lot. Try to capitalize on the winning (the great company and the chance to share experiences) and to just breathe through the frustrations. 

Like when you happen to be the only planning wizard aboard a car of desperately lost classmates in the jungle of Thailand, and you're feeling helpless and trapped in the backseat. 

Yeah. Just breathe through that. And giggle at the Dutchman every time he says, "Guys! This is the REAL Thailand!"