Well, it’s December now, and the leaves aren’t changing in Thailand.
The color of the Fall foliage still falls in that infinite range of deep, rich green hues. It’s still mostly hot as hell but it doesn’t rain as much.
The death throes of Autumn and the birth cries of Winter are begging to be heard over the seemingly relentless commotion of Bangkok. Only when the heat and noise quiet in the dead of night does the temperature dip.
Even the dogs are asleep when the temperature creeps below 80 degrees, and as the city awakens, so does the heat and the haze. As it always does.
Late Autumn is still raging in Southern China and occasionally it spares a southerly breeze for this country in the south. After the northern Thai mountain ranges have their fill, the scrap winds sweep down the plains of central Thailand and creep into Bangkok.
By the time the wind reaches my eighth-floor apartment on the northern outskirts of this metropolis, it’s just enough to send a flutter through the damp laundry drying on its metal rack.
Winter is coming though. So they say.
My first term ended October 1st. After a marathon, week-long grading session at school, I submitted grades, left school and began thinking about what I’d do for the whole month.
I’d been looking forward to having the entire month of October off, but when it began, I couldn’t decide what I’d do. I had notions about where to go, but I hadn’t even settled on a cardinal direction.
Go south? Lounge around the islands and while away in hammocks and bungalows? Go north? What does that mean? The ancient city of Ayutthaya is an hour train ride north of Bangkok and costs only pennies to get there. Chiang Mai is part of the northern-most section of the country and is famous for its mountain ranges, cool climates and ancient cultural heritage.
Go northeast into Isaan? That conglomeration of provinces famous for its culinary contributions to traditional Thai foodways and for the hospitality of the proud Thais that call the unique area home?
Leave the country? Go where? I had friends with plans for Bali, Malaysia and Australia to the south, and Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam to the east.
A chance phone call from some friends who were already in Chiang Mai (and Pai to the northwest) settled it for me.
“What are you still doing there?” asked Kerry. “We’ll be back in Chiang Mai in two days, we’re in Pai now. We have a room there already. Leave tomorrow.”
After a short pause, I agreed, and there it was. I spent the next day with my girlfriend Paeng before boarding a bus north. We’ve grown considerably close and it wasn’t easy seperating for what would be nearly a month.
The day I left for Chiang Mai was hectic, divided between spending time with Paeng and wrapping up a few things in my apartment. But when I boarded the bus, I realized that despite having moved to Thailand, I’d actually begun my first real independent traveling experience… and there was considerable anxiety involved, although now a laughable sensation.
The majority of white faces in this country are experienced travelers, mostly of the backpacker type, who use Thailand as a starting point before heading off to other places. It’s relatively convienent for the world traveler. It’s training wheels for the novice backpackers, like me.
And there I was, wobbling off to my first destination.
The bus ride itself was pretty uneventful, as it should’ve been, but I knew it was a 10-hour trip and I knew I’d be arriving at about 6 a.m., with no reservations or much direction. Only a text message from my friends describing how to tell a tuk-tuk driver how to get to Sarah Guesthouse on Soi 4 off Tanon Tha Phae.
The bus was on time and I arrived in Chiang Mai under a blanket of thick, cool, misty air; the sky a rich, pre-dawn deep blue. A fleet of cigarette smoking tuk-tuk drivers were waiting for the mothership to deliver its precious white cargo.
They descended, and I was snatched up by a nice enough fellow who charged me a reasonable 60 baht fare to take me to this guesthouse I knew nothing about.
Tuk-Tuks are funny contraptions. The idea makes a lot of sense, and they are convienent, but you take them when you have to. They’re uncomfortable, noisy and open, so you’re more than likely to sit at a traffic light staring down the barrel of a city bus’ chugging exhaust pipe:
Peering from the sides, I was seeing this famous city for the first time, and liked what I saw. Framed by beautiful mountain ranges, the city was waking up, and people were buying food mostly. We zipped through several narrow alley streets before reaching the guesthouse.
Dawn was growing brighter but the sun hadn’t appeared over the mountain ranges. The guesthouse, with it’s main brick house, and adjacent concrete-block hotel, were quiet as a graveyard. There was no one around, so I sat at a nearby table and continued reading Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn, until Sarah the owner came down to open the office.
I told her I came here to meet up with some friends who had been staying here but were, at the moment, spending a few days in Pai. She knew of them and rented me a room at 150 Baht ($4.50) a night, payable whenever.
I went up stairs to my room: a nice, simple room with double twin beds, a powerful ceiling-mounted fan and a nice bathroom. A great deal. I laid my pack down on one bed, stretched out on the other and fell asleep reading Tropic of Capricorn in this new place…
