2013_02_22 Chiang Mai, Thailand, continued

On 22 Feb  Alexa sent the 2^nd installment of :  Chiang Mai, Thailand

I was lucky to be delayed as two friendly young American Lesbians were
leaving Lucy's couch as I arrived. One had my same haircut but
plans on keeping it. I can't wait for my bald head to disappear.

 My wonderful ex-pat couchsurfing hostess, Lucy, never wants to live in
the states again and distrusts Obama.  She showed me a map of
Chiang Mai, indicating the sights, the markets, the travel agency
where I could find a plane ticket to Myanmar. In the spare room for
couchsurfers were travel brochures and a glossy local expat monthly
with an article about couchsurfing quoting Lucy. There was also an
invitation to help oneself to free books left behind. I took Kurt
Vonnegut's Hocus Pocus, an absorbing, offbeat read. I later bequeathed
it to the guest house in Yangon and picked up Water for Elephants.

It's never easy to leave the security of a couch for the unknown, but
I headed into the hot day, bought four little bananas from a stall on
the alley leading to the main drag, with Chiang Mai University, and 
eventually leading to the historic center. I hailed a small taxi truck 
where passengers sit in the back, getting on and off whenever
they need to. Schoolgirls in the back helped me decide where to disembark:
by the statues of three emperors. Lucy's travel agent, All Seasons,
was kitty-corner from the police department but they were only half
open and directed me to another branch a ten minute walk just past the
city gates. 

 It's always challenging to walk down excavated sidewalks and cross streets clogged with motorcycles and vehicles. Traffic is a universal dilemma.

I'd heard that Bagan Air flew from Chiang Mai to Yangon (Burma) twice a week,
but it was much dearer than Asia Air. So I'd have to return to Bangkok
to fly to Myanmar.

The girl could've booked the ticket for me for 200 baht but I saw she had Internet computers in the office for hire so I did it myself at a tenth the price.

Was that why the 350 baht bus tickets back to Bangkok for the day I needed were sold out? She told me I could go to the bus station out of town where numerous companies made the run. But none of the vehicles that stopped for me wanted to go there for the sum she quoted. I was getting nowhere fast. I paused at a few travel agencies advertising buses to Bangkok but they were a lot more than 350 baht, and left you at the notorious party street. I was afraid of buses being sold out and being unable to get to the flight I'd just paid for to Myanmar!

I found an Internet cafe where the clerk assured me I could find a ride to 
the bus station but wouldn't do it for me.

I stopped in a 7-11 for whole wheat bread, a half dozen eggs, watabi flavored dried peas and a 6pack of coconut yogurt to get change for the tuk-tuk driver. One finally agreed to take me for less than half what I'd paid in the morning from the train station.  Somehow the air-conditioned taxis of Bangkok charge a fraction of what they do in Chiang Mai. But the ride was a revelation, going past all the lit-up tourist 
traps of downtown.

I'd thought of asking the driver to wait for me to go back into town but he was soon gone. I stopped at several counters but nowhere did they have that 350 baht deal. I went across to an older bus station and found a 'government' bus for a couple of hundred baht more. It had air-conditioning and the seats reclined somewhat. It would be an all-night ordeal.

My next driver seemed pleased to take me back home for 60 baht but he
hadn't understood my destination. He stopped somewhere in the dark
night that made no sense, then picked up another passenger and she too
looked at my writing from the morning, Wat U Mong. He stopped again
seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I didn't have Lucy's phone number
with me. I was in despair and the motor was running. He turned around
and found about 6 Chinese partygoers with drinks and suddenly
something looked familiar. I banged on his back window and climbed
out, thrust money through his window. I saw the 7-11 up a slope
I'd noticed in the morning. I followed my nose and found the banana
seller's stall. Lucy's street! It was a miracle. I later realized he'd
taken me to the right place, the cul-de-sac where Lucy had met the
morning taxi and led us to her house. She  had retired for the night.

I took a shower, squeegeed the walls and looked at Kurt Vonnegut's
prose, secure in my couch!

Lucy gives her surfers breakfast. She toasted the bread, hardboiled
six of the eggs and made me coffee, which she no longer drinks, with a
French press. Her gym had gone bankrupt and she was shopping for
another one nearby where she could bring her personal trainer. She
hires local youth to clean her house. They have trouble adapting to
Western ways: being on time; using a vacuum cleaner rather than a
dusk-raising broom. I admired her garden in the back which was a 

rubbish strewn sandpit when she built her house. Now it was a garden
with a pond. She's trying to grow tomatoes.

Lucy urged me to find a clinic to get my next rabies shot. I walked up
her street, turned the corner, passed the banana seller and emerged
again on the main drag.  There were numerous food stalls catering to 
university students. I had a snack, bought some papaya and started 
asking where a clinic was. On and on I went, past a canal, past a pagoda
worth a look, a craft store outlet for hill tribe handicrafts, and a fruit stand 
for pineapple. My fan hat kept blowing off my head, and I discovered that
one of my Bangkok turquoise earrings was missing. I started retracing my 
steps in the dusty heat but it was hopeless. 

Finally I reached a hospital just outside the historic part. I went in a room
for treatment but the doctor looking at my paperwork noticed I was a
day early, according to the original Bangkok schedule. So I continued into 
the sightseeing center, joining others in doffing their shoes and touring 
and photographing temple complexes, trying not to stare at orange-clad 
bald monks.  Buddhas, drums, amd bells, altars and dragons, lifelike figures 
of dead monks and stone elephants.

The next day I boarded a tuktuk for the hospital but the driver didn't grasp 
where I needed to go, turning off into another part of the city. Eventually 
he delivered me, smiling, to the hospital, and I found an older British fellow 
being treated for wounds. Was he a drunk who'd fallen? I never found out. 
I joined a long line to pay my fee, entertained by electric keyboard and various
karaoke volunteers. Then I had to wait for the pharmacy to locate the rabies 
shot, which I took back to the treatment room. After a bandage change and 
a shot, I was off into the hot day again. 

I was again near the school and heard a band practicing. My happiest moments
in high school were in band. I stood outside the gate and cheered as they rehearsed a spirited YMCA. Other tourists joined the fun. So funny to hear familiar music on the other side of the world.

After two nights a Chinese couchsurfer and his mother were due so I
had to vacate the beautiful home with the big back yard. I put on the
TV briefly to hear that Obama had mentioned climate change in his
State of the Union message. I packed and departed, leaving the key
under the mat; Lucy was gym-shopping; then at the banana stall I
realized I'd left the boiled eggs behind in her fridge and so I had to drag
my suitcase back for them. 

Map in hand, I hailed a tuktuk. He turned at the moat surrounding the 
old town and after a couple of corners, I decided to bail out, in case
he headed away from the old town, and then I accosted tourists, asking
after cheap guest houses. Temples demanded to be photographed. The
place was crawling with guest houses but it took some time to ferret
them out. I passed a shoemaker stand on the sidewalk and turned back
to see if he could sew up my rolling suitcase. Where I'd strapped the broken
handle the stitching was pulling free. The airline in Indonesia insisted I get 
the suitcase plastic-wrapped or plastic-strapped. Just a few more weeks of 
service! He laid it down, opened it up, got out a needle with a hook and in 
ten minutes, for 20 cents, made an excellent strong repair. I was afraid 
without elastic thread it would break again, but so far, so great!

I kept accosting backpackers. Some guest houses were too high, another 
required a wait, finally I came upon Jay's Guest House (my father's
first name) and a surly woman advised me look at the dorm first. It
was up a flight, dark and dismal but had a fan and was dirt cheap without 
being especially dirty. Of course the shower was over the toilet. In Bangkok, 
hostels were 250 baht; here, 90! I settled in (no storage locker, just a door key) 
and plugged in my camera and Kindle for recharging, did a little eating and reading, 
then set off again.

I wanted to see elephants before leaving Thailand. At the travel agency there
was a brochure about an all-day mahout training course, feeding and washing 
them but it cost a hundred dollars. When I mentioned to the manager I was looking 
for an elephant tour, she handed me a booklet of various options. I chose a 1200 
baht all day safari tour with van pick-up, an hour's ride to an elephant park for a show, an oxcart ride, an elephant ride, a buffet lunch, a bamboo river raft cruise, an orchid farm and a discounted price of 900 baht if I didn't tell. 

I found a restaurant down the street and chatted with a young tourist about Burma. 
I was getting more and more nervous, hearing about high prices for hotel rooms, a
total lack of ATMs, US currency having to be in perfect condition, a police state...

before leaving Lucy's I'd been ironing my remaining greenbacks. I didn't have much

and someone said two weeks in Myanmar required $700!

Only one other person was in the dorm that night. I woke early and 
paid 15 baht for instant coffee with my hardboiled eggs and bread. I
stuck my luggage in storage ready to get the bus that night. The tour van
was due from 8 to 8:30 and I got quite worried as the minutes ticked
by but finally a tall friendly stocky Thai appeared and I mounted the van. 
We stopped at several fine hotels for more customers, all Chinese. The
guide discussed a tiger photographing opportunity at the end of the
day, about $15 to enter and pet tigers, a high price for a few minutes but
they eat a lot of chicken. They are sleepy in the daytime. The cubs were 
higher priced than the big ones. I wanted in!

At the elephant sanctuary an hour away were many women selling sugar 
cane and bananas to feed the elephants. We gathered in bleachers
before a field on a river for the show. The announcer kept asking
people in the front to take their seats so others could see. The
elephants with their trainers were introduced, name, age and sex.

They paraded in a circle holding tails in trunks. They played soccer, kicking the ball. They danced to music. They painted portraits: one of bird; one of a tree; one of an elephant. It took months of training and the sale of the pictures benefits the elephant hospital. I thought they only did abstract painting!

We next headed for the oxcart ride behind two Brahmin bulls 
continually whipped and yelled at by the driver who took pictures of
us with our cameras, appearing to drive the cart. I think he expected a
tip. I gave the oxen a few of the bananas I'd bought. Then we were
left at a platform awaiting our elephant ride. No one paired up with
me so I was alone behind the driver, who was sitting on the elephant's
head. The elephant slowly lumbered down into the river. I gave it more
bananas, and the driver a tip at the end.

Lunch was a huge buffet of soup, fruit, rice, salad, curried meat, 
breaded fried bananas, coffee or tea on a large scale. There was a
gallery of paintings, of elephant-painted fabrics made into clothes,
bags, etc. I spied a conical palm leaf hat I had to have for 100 baht.
I'd been lusting for one since Indonesia. Now I was ready to work in
the rice paddy. The Chinese were very friendly and amused. Then we
were herded onto bamboo rafts for a peaceful seated cruise down the
river. I had no more small change for the two boatmen but the Chinese
took care of them.

Next, the tigers. I later realized I could have watched from outside 
and saved some money, but I used my card and was allowed in the cage
with the beasts, drowsing in the midday heat. My backpack with
luncheon chicken scraps for stray cats did not go with me. I had to sit 
behind them where they lay and stroke their tummies as the keeper took 
photos with my camera. It was very brief and the fur was not soft at all. I 
walked around and saw the popular cubs cavorting and a solitary lion sitting 
on a table in his cage. What a profile!

Our last stop was the orchid farm, with row upon row of hanging  flowers; also an antique car collection and restaurant. We rode back the hour to town, arriving as promised by 4:30 and I set off to find an ATM. It didn't work! Was it the plane ticket I'd bought the day before?

My USAirways Mastercard had not cooperated in the purchase, a later email announced suspected fraud activity. My OU credit union debit card had worked for the flight but no more! Call your bank, the ATM told me. Back at the hostel an obliging Italian let me use his laptop to Skype a call to the bank, but of course it was 6:30 in the morning in the US so that didn't work.

People were waiting for pick-ups by the cheap bus to Bangkok. The manager could have sold me the cheap bus ticket to Bangkok but I'd already bought mine out of fear.

I had to find a tuktuk willing to take me out to the bus station for my 
overnight ride. French tourists helped me flag one down.

It was a double decker bus with a toilet, a free bottle of water, a 
paper coffee cup, instant coffee, a sweet roll and a blanket. I sat
with a Thai man but couldn't get the reading light to work. The hours
passed and suddenly we were somewhere at some terrible huge bus
station in Bangkok.

I found a motorcycle taxi to the nearest subway and headed back for my old hostel where I'd been bitten. They let me store my luggage and get online, but the dog-owner didn't want to pay for any more rabies treatment. I emailed the fellow who wanted to start his own guest house in Myanmar; he said he would reserve a dorm
bed at Okinawa guest house, where he was, $9 a night. One of my fears, of only finding $45 plus accommodations, was set to rest.

Last minute luck: the hostel staff asked me which airport I was leaving from. 
I'd been advised earlier which subway stop to use: wrong airport! 
I left again for the Queen Sikirit station, rode to the end of the line, and then 
found the local bus that went all the way to the right airport. It looked like I 
was going to make it!