By now it has become clear that my general sense of space and time is missing a few nuts and bolts here and there. About a third of the way to Mae Sariang, the first stop of my five day road trip through Northen Thailand, I realize that daylight is fading fast. The combination of dwindling light and the fact that my surroundings are so unfalteringly gorgeous (so much so that I can't help but stop and soak it in every five minutes) leaves me surrounded in darkness before too long. The kind of thick, blanketing darkness that multiplies the stars a thousand times from what I'm used to seeing in San Francisco. Dat jungle darkness.
As I transition out of the forest carpeted mountain slopes and into the terraced rice paddy hills the dusk unveils rings and patches of blazing orange fire in the distance, where farmers have ignited the earth to clear their fields of dead crops. It's hypnotizing, watching the rings creep ever so slowly outwards as they consume the ground beneath them and leave only ash. I try my best not to take my eyes off of the winding road too often in the fleeting light, but again - this place is all nature porn, all the time. Before I know it all that lies between me and pitch black darkness is my little headlight, fighting to push back the darkness just a few meters in front of me.
Every once in a while I approach a sharp curve on the road and a car comes careening towards me out of nowhere. The drivers along this road seem to enjoy taking a wide berth when coming around curves. This adds a wonderful sense of suspense and adrenaline to the night driving equation, keeps me on my tippy toes.
I finally burst out onto wider main road, Highway 108, but I still have a long ways to go. It feels like I've been driving in the night much longer than I actually have, and it's beginning to grow noticeably chilly. I start to feel sort of anxious. Will I have to pull over and camp out between the banana trees, with plump jungle insects cuddling up beside me to feast on my flesh? No way José! I press onward.
The one thing that really kept me going that night, and for any other anxious moments on the road for that matter, was this incidental bit of warm homey comfort that my bike provided. You see, when I squeezed the right break handle it made a sound just like the ribbitting of frogs in the pond outside of my old backyard in Colorado where I grew up. In addition to that, whenever I accelerated my front wheel would chirp exactly like the chorus of crickets I used to fall asleep to every night of every summer back home. This curious little slice of aural comfort kept my spirits warm throughout my time on the road. Ribbit ribbit, chirp-a-durp!
I stop into a tiny village to fill both my tank and stomach and end up eating some kind of alien fruit that looks like enormous corn kernels and tastes like papaya and lettuce combined - overall a pretty good time. Back on the road, I wonder if I'll just end up driving and driving all through the night. I start to speed faster and faster, the adrenaline fueling itself. My lips and cheeks flap wildly in the wind.
Finally I approach the outskirts of Mae Sariang and begin scanning my surroundings for a place to rest my weary bones. Approaching on my left is a little bar or something similar, alive with lights and music. Karaoke, to be specific. I would have rolled right past, but a strip of numbered doors beside it lure me in. Though the rooms aren't the cheapest I've found so far, the people running the place are warm and friendly, and I'm exhausted.
I toss my gear onto the mattress. Your basic setup: bed, bathroom and shower (plus mini TV!). The showers in Thailand aren't really separated from the rest of the bathroom. A shower head is stuck on the wall next to the toilet, and the water drains out from a hole in a corner of the room. K.I.S.S.: Keep it simple, stupid! On top of the beddings I snatch up what I assume is a piece of wrapped Thai candy. I tear open the wrapper and nearly take a bite before I realize it's little bar of soup. I chuckle at myself in my state of delirium.
The corny yet foreign sound of Thai karaoke coaxes me out to grab a beer and see it for myself. In the bar I'm met with flashing colored lights and a stage. An entire family of ten or so that own and operate the place take turns howling out their favorite Thai jams. We are the only people in the whole joint, and I sit at table across theirs. I am a spectator on my own little table island. I watch the spectacle unfold.
A cute and giggly Thai girl stumbles over a chair as she approaches me, wine glass in hand. The family watches on and laughs in an attempt to ease the embarrassment. She sits across from me and earnestly poses a couple questions in English, "Where you from?" "Where you going?" Conversation is limited but enjoyable all the same. She giggles and gives me her email address. I am some kind of rare specimen in these less frequented parts of the country. It keeps things feeling authentic and interesting.
I wander outside and an older man puffing on a cigarette, perhaps the father of the girl inside, greets me in Thai. I reply in mangled Thai and he says a mouthful the meaning of which I'll never know. Back in my room I collapse into my bed. The sweet lullaby of drunken Thai karaoke lulls me into a deep sleep.
Note the petite Christmas tree on stage. Thai Karaoke is basically Christmas, but gifts are replaced with alcoholic beverages, and instead of Deck the Halls they sing Chan Rak Thur
No comments :
Post a Comment