2/27-3/1 -- G'Bye, Pai

As we're beginning to understand, expectations are for suckers. Or, as Willow likes to put it, "the best way to make the Goddess laugh is to tell Her your plans." Our week in Pai was nearly a complete departure from what we'd anticipated, and it was better for it.

Our interactions with Willow and Buti after Day One were limited to brief exchanges every couple of days when we stopped by Buti's store to grab something from our bags (stored there) and to charge the batteries to our trusty Steri-Pen, an item of much fascination for Seb and others who depend on store-bought water for drinking and cooking rather than the Pai River.

The farm is basically an oversized garden at this time of the year, so beyond pulling some weeds and chopping some firewood there wasn't much to do. (By all accounts there are literally thousands of coffee and banana trees, as well as pineapples, passion fruit, and a host of other edibles; the dry season just isn't as verdant.) One day we visited a small waterfall and played cards with an impish, outgoing Australian named Shane; another day we paid $3 to spash around in a health resort's hot-spring pool. Some days we played Scrabble in town (Aud's streak as of 2/27 was 10-0*), and other days we did chores and read**.

The Aussies turned out to be great co-visitors, and we passed a lot of time talking and feeding hardened wax from spent candles like fodder to burning ones, fending off the boredom of dark nights. While we were initially put off by the prospect of fending for ourselves food-wise (Chabaa spoiled us, and these WWOOF opportunities are, in part, meant as a way to extend our finances through the trip), we both had a blast learning to replicate Thai cooking over a wood fire. Tentative fried rice evolved into stir fries that grew bolder each night as we experimented with turmeric, ginger, and the essential-but-finicky fish sauce. We even made some scrumptious desserts with banana flower (only I could stomach the texture) and pumpkin (damn, girl). The watershed moment came when Seb had some Thai friends over one night when we were finishing a stir fry. Aud and I served ourselves, and invited others to try some. The two Thai women had heaping plates and exclaimed "arroy mah!" ('Delicious!'); Audrey blushed a little bit. We had mixed (but mostly positive)feelings about the unavailability of second helpings.

[Oh, and remember that post in which I explained how motorcycles are off-limits in my family? Well...I kinda poked that one in the eyes by driving one around Pai for a week. It was the best way to get from town to the farm 8 km away, and it was way to much fun. This could become a problem when I get back stateside...]

On Saturday we got on a bus to Chiang Mai. Pai is quite high up, maybe at an altitude comparable to Reno's. Highway 107 from Chiang Mai is mostly a slow, spiraling climb up toward Pai at the summit. (Imagine the road up to Mount Rose, but 150 miles long, and surrounded by dense, verdant jungle.) The top of the hill, where Pai sits, is more akin to Vacaville's rolling hills fused with Western Massachusetts' dense, twiggy forest of decidiuous trees. The ride up was as slow and soothing as the ride was speedy and gut-wrenching going down. Neither of us is especially prone to car sickness, but we both had to do some yoga breathing and stare out the window part of the time. I regained my stomach when we stopped halfway down the mountain and Aud and I shared some bland noodle soup and rice. But then I nearly lost it again talking to Will.

Will was a guy I'd "your-team"-ed to Audrey back at the Pai bus station because his copper non-butt was hanging substantially and grotesquely out of his pants. He was silent with a row to himself on the bus, but once he decided to cross the aisle and strike up a conversation there was no stopping him. It soon became clear that Will was a special person, perhaps the dimmest conversationalist I've ever met. A sample exchange:

WILL: What state are you guys from?
[We reply. Time passes in silence. Will turns around again...]
WILL: Guns N' Roses just came out with a new album.
KYLE: "Chinese Democracy?"
WILL: Yeah... ... ... I like two songs on it.
KYLE: [expectant pause]
WILL: One is called "Prostitute"...
[Time passes. More time passes...]
WILL: When's your birthday, Kyle?
KYLE: February 8.
[Time passes.]
WILL: Bob Marley's birthday is February 6.

And so on, and so on. We learned that Will is 38 years old and had a son at age 20; his son is now 16 (we don't follow the math on that, either). He dislikes AC/DC but likes GNR because "they have talent." He left one Thai woman he was dating for another because the latter "was prettier...maybe that was a bad choice." Also, he was hit in the stomach in the 4th Grade. It hurt.

The whole exchange reminded Audrey of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuFEssDBBQY

In Will's defense, he did have a sliver of the Shakespearian Fool to him. Amidst all his mindless babble and stilted conversation, he had one little nug of insight that I rather appreciated. He said that he eats a lot of fruit, and he always saves the seeds. That way, when he is 'out in nature' (like, for instance, at a guest house in Pai) he can plant the seeds in hopes of nurturing new trees and new life. Now, that's kind of a silly idea, but here's how he put it: "If everyone would do that...ya know...'create abundance,' then there'd be no shortage of anything."

[DISJOINTED BREAK]

OK, this is the last forseeable opportunity we'll have to tell this tale (from mid-February), and even though the transition is poor it is still workable. (Think, bus=>bus)

You recall what a chore it was to find transport from the Cambodian border to Siem Reap. On the way back, our only task was to decide which bus to take back to Bangkok: the $12/person bus, or the $11. Ah, what a dollar can do!

Everything seemed normal--a small bus arrived at our guest house at 7:30 AM. It was small and cramped, and people were sitting side-by-side with their luggage, so I was certain that this was a kind of shuttle to the larger, more comfortable bus. Nope--this is ElevenDollar Land. As we drove around Siem Reap, picking up other passengers, it became clear that this was THE bus. As another load of passengers climbed aboard, our luggage was wrested from us and crammed into the rear of the bus. Luggage began to fill the aisles in the rear, and already my knees were starting to ache from the pressure of the seat 12" ahead of me. Just when Aud and I were starting to curse our decision to go as cheap as possible, the other passengers' antics made it all worthwhile...

The bus began to fill up and when the last seat was filled, the large American man waiting to board blocked up the stairs. He was thick in a former-high-school-linebacker way, and he had the same caustic swagger. With his stylish Oakley sunglasses perched atop his spikes of gelled hair, he began explaining proudly that he had purchased TWO seats and was excited to claim both of them. He insisted that the driver empty the front seat of the luggage it had been storing so he would have his seatS. The driver, obviously stressed and getting sick of Two Seats' verbal abuse, hefted the luggage angrily into the aisle between me and an Irish woman who squawked as if he'd just called her an "old bag."

Two Seats began loudly bemoaning the conditions and, relishing the captive audience of sympathetic white folks, began making loud phone calls to some kind of business associate to complain. Even when it became apparent that half a dozen other passengers would have to take expensive taxis to Bangkok, Two Seats held fast to his rightful allocation of seatage. The frustration was contagious. An Eastern European couple in front of us began to voice variations of, "Zis is not OK!" Meanwhile, Two Seats turned up the rhetoric: "me no Asian, me no sit on floor." At this point the bus company brought in the enforcer, a diminutive Thai man in his mid-20s whose job was apparently to yell as much as possible.

TWO SEATS to ENFORCER: You need to get another bus!|
ENFORCER: You don't tell me what to do!
TS: Someone should be recording this customer service for YouTube...
EASTERN EURO WOMAN with camera phone in hand: Zis is going on the Internet! You vill be famous!
ENF to EEW: You shut up!
TS: You don't need to yell!
ENF, yelling: I'm not yelling!
[silence]
IRISH WOMAN: I'm terrified...How do we get off?!

As Audrey pointed out, no one felt a need to point out to the terrified, pink woman the obvious doors, windows, and emergency exits located over the wings.

We finally got moving again, and as we moved through town Two Seats got comfy on his bench and announced to any sympathetic white ears that were listening his theory: "This wouldn't be a problem if we were Asians...they'd just stack us up clear to the ceiling."

No one found his quip clever, so he shut up (for the most part). People calmed down as they realized that the bus wasn't as cramped as it had seemed, and we moved swiftly toward the border. The Eastern Europeans complained when we stopped for lunch halfway there ("Zis is unnecessary! We're late enuff!"), but they ended up being the last to re-board, having decided to make hot tea with their electric tea kettle for the second leg of the trip.

It's not that we were entirely comfortable, and we felt our own share of the frustration. But as with people who verbally assault ticketing agents at cheap airlines and who get froth-mouthed over bargain transportation in the States, I'm endlessly amazed by the indignation of white budget travelers.


*As of 3/8 the count is 12-2, my two victories coming when she was 1) jet-lagged and 2) a bit drunk, and when I played 1) QUIRK on a double-letter (Q) and a double-word score to begin the game, and 2) MESSIAH as a clutch [and probably invalid] bingo.

**(For those who are interested, I finished Numbers in the Bible...rather than plugging through more of the Old Testament [so much begatting!], I've changed gears, ignored chronology, and jumped ship to reading the Koran.)

<3
Kyle