Nan

We left Zine’s house around 4:00 p.m., took the train to Jatujak and then took bus A1; this was before the train went all the way to the airport. Don Muang has gotten much better over the years. They have many more restaurants and even a food court. Mind you this is still an airport and the food court dishes that should cost 40 baht cost 120. If you arrive early enough you can go to the staff food court but it’s a trek and we didn’t have time owing to an experiment we conducted to establish if we could check-in to a domestic flight in the international terminal.

Nan is so tiny an airport they have no gangways. Passengers are made to deplane on the tarmac and walk to the terminal. Being dark when we arrived, the airport sign was lit so I was made to take selfies. After finishing that most unpleasant of tasks, we found the “bus” stop where we were told a red pickup would be along after a while to fetch us.

We checked into a hotel called the Nan Lanna. It was mostly quiet and pleasant. The pillows were overstuffed and made my neck hurt but otherwise we had a fine night’s sleep. The following morning we walked to the market as Nan Lanna doesn’t have breakfast. We found a coffee cart next to a place cooking fried eggs and Vietnamese style sandwiches.

Zine decided to book us in a new hotel every night we are in the city. After leaving Nan Lanna we walked to the new place, Khum Muang Min. Sometimes you can tell all you need to tell about a hotel by looking around for five minutes. Sometimes it’s better to stay. It took all of 30 seconds to know we’d made a mistake. Photos on the internet are tricky. They make it look nice no matter the reality. And you don’t know how the staff will behave. And you can’t smell the place. Most of Khum Muang Min’s rooms overlook a very tall prison wall. There is a large balcony that is completely useless; no chairs and dirty. If you are staying on a weekend the traffic is rerouted from the walking street market to the road where your balcony faces. What yesterday was a little used back street becomes a main thoroughfare. Guess which night we stayed?

The walking street market here was much better than its cousin in Chiang Mai. Also, there were very few foreign tourists by comparison — and none of those obnoxious people who call themselves “digital nomads.” There was more variety of food and also places to sit.

I like craftsmanship. I like to see people spend years becoming good at something and offering artifacts of that craft to the marketplace. Most of the time, especially in America, these artifacts are over priced. In the walking street market I found a leather worker. Zine wanted a new lanyard for her guide card. I was initially drawn to the belts but after seeing the wallets I remembered that I wanted a new one. I got mine about 20 years before and while the outside is leather, the lining is some kind of fabric and has been ripped for years. It’s not overly problematic, but is annoying at times. There’s also the issue that mine is a tri-fold and makes money hard to handle after it takes that shape. This guy’s wallets were bi-folds. I decided to buy one. 400 Thai baht. My guess is, I’ll never need to buy another one.

We rented a motorbike the night before so we could ride to a temple on the hill. We wanted to get there for sunrise and we almost missed it. I had neglected to look at the map the night before and, of course, the internet was out in the morning. Thank God for paper maps. There are many reasons I don’t carry a phone, but this was a classic reminder of why. Paper maps don’t stop working, they don’t run out of batteries, they don’t go out of service range. We finally found our way and due to some cloud cover we did see the sun rise, peaking through the clouds.

After that, we drove back to the hotel for breakfast. There was rice soup, fried eggs that were made in mass and left to sit, and drip coffee — which is very rare in Thailand. The only real problem was, there was no cream, only sweetened, condensed milk.

After breakfast the internet was back up so we did some planning about the next few days in the mountains. We figured it’s best to write on paper the wheres and whats as it is very likely we’ll lose internet service the further we go afield. After that we rode the motorbike around seeing the sites.

One of the things I wanted to do on this trip was find a coffee shop overlooking the river. We found one which had a couple large canopy trees shading the place. I remember thinking some time before that I don’t have a happy place. Sitting at this shop I thought, I do have a happy place, it’s sitting by a river with a coffee and a croissant.

We left there and happened on a restaurant that had been recommended by an old lady at the market. We helped her pick up some fruit she spilled, which meant Zine had a half hour conversation. The old lady was nice and made a few recommendations. This restaurant being one of them. The recommendation was sound.

We went to a temple famous for people born in the rabbit year. On the way we saw some nice rice fields and got some good photos. The temple itself was underwhelming. I’m basically of the opinion that, if you’ve seen one temple, you’ve seen them all.

We went to the same walking street market for dinner, though we weren’t hungry having eaten lunch about 3:00 p.m. We had smoothies, walked around a bit, and made our way back to the hotel.

The following day we were going into the mountains. The hotel owner gave us a ride to the bus station. It was the slowest bus trip I’ve ever taken. If we’ve never talked about my misgivings for Thailand automotive travel, you’ll be forgiven for assuming that I wanted him to go faster. I thought it was great, just unusual. We pulled out of the bus stop and six miles later finally hit second gear. It didn’t last long and the old fellow was back to first. I guess such speeds don’t agree with him — I understand completely. Miles out of the city, on the open highway we finally made it to something approximating 40 MPH, maybe 45. The only vehicle we passed in our hour and a half journey was a standard sized pickup truck hauling four cows in the bed. A scene less surprising in Thailand than a bus going 40 on the highway.

We were finally deposited road-side in a town called Pua. Too far to walk with heavy bags, we were taken to the hotel on the back of motorbikes. I’m hesitant to tell you the name of the hotel for fear that you might look it up. It’s the type of place that needs starving of oxygen. There were two receptionists. Neither got up when we walked to the desk. One of them was talking about me to the other, assuming I didn’t understand them and that Zine was far enough away not to hear. I stood there waiting to be acknowledged. I moved closer to the desk. I smiled, hoping a friendly gesture would get them to say something. Still nothing. Finally Zine said to me “tell them your name,” and that got them to speak. Past this, they weren’t necessarily rude — I’d call it indifferent. It seemed like they’d rather we weren’t there, but since we were, they’d make a minimal effort so we’d go away.

Once in the room we were immediately disappointed. It looked like a jail cell with a glass front instead of bars. Concrete floors, concrete walls, concrete ceiling. This place exists as a means of showcasing the owner’s cocoa farm. Zine wanted to tour the farm, at least until we went back to the front-desk to ask about dinner. This hotel doesn’t have a restaurant so we asked where we could eat. Everything they recommended was too far to walk. When Zine asked if anything was closer, the guy said something to the effect of “our guests have cars.” From where I stood he was saying we were too poor to stay at their hotel. We decided we’d walk over to the bus station to inquire about a ride the next day further into the mountains. On the walk Zine said she no longer wanted to survey the farm, that we should just leave earlier the following day. So we did.

Our ride into the mountains involved me white-knuckling the handrail for an hour and a half. We went over a 1,700 meter pass (5,626 feet) and arrived in a village that couldn’t have been more than a couple hundred people. The main tourist draw is a salt pit. I’m not sure how long this place has been on the map, but the main accommodation is tents. Not dome style backpacking tents, but the larger ones you see in movies involving desert caravans. Before you get the wrong impression, let me dissuade you of any romantic notions, this was still a tent. The thing is, I didn’t realize how luxurious this place was until we moved the next day down the road to another place with tents.

Every time we check in to a new hotel, no matter where we are in the world, Zine will ask how I like it. Usually I’ll say something to the effect of “I’ve stayed in worse places.” I couldn’t say that about this place. I can’t remember staying in a worse place than this, ever. I would describe it for you, but I don’t want to remember it in detail. When I tell people in the States I used to run a tour company and that I traveled to Asia to scout new places, they always say something about how great it sounds. I don’t tell them this story.

The following morning, after the worst bathroom experience of my life, we were in the back of another pickup, white-knuckling it down the mountain.