Vang Vieng bro

You might not have heard of this place. Vang Vieng. Relatively unknown to the world of back home, yet infamous amongst backpacker circles. My first glimpse of it was through the display of a digital camera. The annoying Swedish girl who invaded our conversation in the Cameron Highlands showed me a video of her and a friend, very drunk, being swung about in the scoop of a digger. Stories involved concussions, alcohol poisoning and even a few deaths. See, it's a place where dangerous activities and heavy imbibing mix, and establishes itself as an enclave of sin and indulgence in an otherwise level-headed country. The slow boat was the opening act. This was the main event.

To get there, I took a public bus that whirled across and around mountaintops on a road that was built in any way that could get it through the impossible terrain of northern Laos. Aside from a mild bout of motion sickness, the views were spectacular. We were so high up that I couldn't even see the valleys in between the mountains we skirted around. It was a trip along mountain ridges with a constant clear view for miles; like road tripping Valhalla.

The inside the bus was a thing of non-beauty. Loud Lao pop played at a very high volume. What's worse was that it was the instrumental karaoke versions of the songs. Thankfully, after a few bumpy roads, the VCD player shit the bed leaving on silence behind.

It was night when we rolled into Vang Vieng. There was only one small breakdown. I disembarked without a clue where I was. It was night and, if this was Vang Vieng, there should be falang stumbling about bringing shame to their home nations somewhere. I saw no one. One guesthouse I tried spoke no English. Was I in Vang Vieng? A large black space separated two roads. I assumed it was the river. I walked around it and started seeing English signs. Next came the brash music. Finally the beer beaters and ruddy faces. I had arrived. I found a guesthouse quite easily and went to sleep.

I woke up early to seize the day. My room was a fantastic place to wash the trail off. Hot shower, fresh towels, double bed, soap, flush toilet. The kind of place to do a full body overhaul, and it's a wonder what that can do for you motivation. My clean laundry was still a respectable 80%. I threw on my favorite shirt and did a walk around looking for breakfast.

The town was dead at 11am. It was your usual tourist ghetto mess minus the tourists. T-shirt stores, tattoo parlors, Internet cafes, overpriced restaurants selling banana pancakes. Tourist information centers advertised a wealth of activities from cave exploring to kayaking to elephant rides. I had heard that the big draw for Vang Vieng was the tubing. Basically, you rent an inner tube, they drive you 4km up the river and you float down, checking out a myriad of attractions along the way. I was in town to do this. I followed the cardinal gestures of a few locals and tracked town the tubing hut. There were a few early-bird tourists there. One I recognized as the loud, older Aussie from the slow boat. I paid for my tube and a dry bag, they wrote a number on my hand then tossed me into a songthaew to be whisked upriver with the others.

It was noon. At the start of the tubing course, dozens of bars were set up along the river. Blink 182 blared from one bar offering "cheap buckets". Another had a frighteningly high rope swing that flung anyone brave enough to try directly into the river. An enthusiastic Lao gestured wildly in front of each establishment. The place was deserted unfortunately. In fact, there were a few local kids taking advantage of the tourist lull to swim about in the river. The big Aussie lurched in and crashed their party quite nicely. Myself and the others joined him.

The current was slow. As we gradually made our way past the bars, the owners threw empty bottles on strings towards us, trying to pull us in. Every hundred feet or so, a bar would do this. One sign advertised "mud volleyball". The river was slow, and the crowds small so the touts spent a good long while trying to fish (quite literally) for my business. Whiskey buckets. My god, if I ever crave one of those before noon in the hot sun, someone please punch me in the liver.

The river picked up every once and a while and zipped along a shallow corridor. Dudes ahead would shout "bums up!"so we wouldn't scrape our asses across the jagged rocks below. Sometimes, huge rocks would jut out and I'd just bounce in between them like a pinball. A group of us stopped at one bar that was inexplicably blasting Fleetwood Mac. A myna bird spoke Lao to me.

Back in the river, motorboats with old British tourists aboard zipped by. A few kids swam up and tried to board my tube every so often. The next bar we stopped at was called "Last Bar". It was being manned by an old Lao lady with all but one tooth who didn't seem to mind the loud French electro music being blasted from the speakers behind her. Any time someone ordered a beer, should would press the cold can against their back for a kick. The group was about 75% Aussie, so the conversation was dominated by talk of Aussie rock bands, Aborigines, pet wallabies, local teams, local beers etc... The big Aussie man was one hell of a conversational force to be reckoned with. He'd been on holiday with his wife for the past 7 months and was just bursting with stories of his travels. I looked at my invisible watch.

The tubes had to be back at 6. It was 4:30 and we had no idea how much further we had to go. I paddled ahead of the group. Tuk tuk drivers now lined the river banks hoping to profit off of the 6pm curfew and subsequent late charge. The others gave in. I paid for my tube ride and was going to get it, so I soldiered on. I passed fishermen casting nets, children jumping off of bridges and locals bathing. Things got a lot more rustic at this stretch of river. "Last Bar" really was the last bar. The current picked up again and I shot past a "2km to town" sign. Some tuk tuk driver kept hollering at me from the shore every 100 meters. I was clearly his last chance for a fare. I wasn't giving up.

A "tubing ends here" sign asserted itself as I approached town. 5:40 was the time. My biceps hurt from paddling. I gave my tube back, collected my deposit and hit the showers to wash all of the river funk off of me.

I had some second-rate pad Thai for dinner and milled about. Finally, the town started to show signs of life, albeit the kind that looked like they had just woken up. Bars showing episodes of Family Guy and Friends were packed with people who looked like they had just sampled the "happy menu". I guess vacation to them means doing what you do back home, just in another place.

At night the streets really lit up. Khao San Town was what this place should've been called. A lot of very young people too. One girl was celebrating her 18th birthday. 18! I felt old amongst this loud, boisterous crowd. A couple of guys from the slow boat recognized me and gave me the requisite salutations. I was hoping to track down some of the guys I hung with in Luang Prabang and got directed to "Bucket Bar". Sweet lord, I thought. As I crossed a wooden footbridge to get there, I could hear three separate bars, all within an earshot of one another, playing "Don't Look Back in Anger" by Oasis. There's something about Brits when they hear that song, it makes them get all bro-ey and throw arms round one another and sing. Can't think of a Canadian equivalent.

The staff at Bucket Bar was all white partyboys. People who, evidently, "lived to party", or vice versa maybe? They doled out the $1 whiskey buckets with maximum force. I found my tube mates perched around a table and settled in with them. I embellished how awesome the river got after they had gotten out. The crowd began to swell as the music shifted towards a more steady pulse. Elevated platforms became dance floors. Everyone was so shockingly young. My older tubing contingent seemed content just shooting the breeze while the young kids shambled about the dancefloor.

I wanted to have fun. I bought a whiskey bucket, and tried, but for some reason, thoughts kept smacking the back of my mind telling me that I just didn't belong. So much young stupidity that I could just not join in good conscience, nor would it have me. Bespectacled, receding hairline, dress shirt, bad posture. I missed my friends in Korea and Canada. It was never a fun night without them. My mood quickly shifted to wistfulness and longing. Nobody appeared to be as alone as I was that night.

I dodged the gauntlet of prostitutes on the way out. They seem to relentlessly target guys leaving clubs alone. I bought a cheap sandwich and gnawed on it back in my hotel room, deciding on my plan of action for tomorrow. I was going to leave. Yeah, there was lots of fun stuff to do during the day, but I couldn't stand being in a place like this by myself, especially at night time. I packed up before I went to sleep so I could leave as early as possible.

The next morning I discovered that the "river"next to the bus stop was actually an abandoned air strip. I walked by the side of the road with my pack hoping to flag down a bus bound for Vientiane. An unfriendly British guy was there too. Should've played some Oasis for him, watch him friendly up right quick. The bus I snagged was a VIP. It was 9am and, as you can imagine, the town was dead; a perfect time to make an escape after not even 48 hours. A young man hopped out and loaded my pack into the cargo hold. Vientiane is the capital of Laos, all history and landmarks. I hoped it would welcome me. The VIP bus certainly did.

Bus ride to Vang Vieng.

Tubing.

Helping a brother out.

Dramatic cliffs overlooked the river.

A random temple. Lots of these in Asia.

Bridge.

Luang Prabang

Fresh of the boat, Andy and I made our way around town trying to find a cheap guesthouse. After a few minutes, it became apparent that the town was quite gentrified. The tip-off: old white women. Yep, you never ever see old white women in Southeast Asia unless the town has made it's way into the package tourism brochures. And for a town to get that kind of distinction, it has to have all kinds of fancy first-world amenities. Luang Prabang had it all. Patio restaurants with wine glasses turned upside down on the table, flower boxes adorning the window sills of guesthouses, uniform wooden signs with serif fonts above the doorway of each business. And old white women.

Unfortunately for us, this meant that almost everything was out of our price range. We hopped into a few guesthouses and they quoted us around $20 - $25 US a night. Far too much. A younger man noticed us and pointed us around the corner to a street lined with cheaper places to crash. The place we got was $4.50 a night, haggled down that extra 50 cents by yours truly. The rooms were stunning. Double beds, towels, bathroom, hot shower. The $25 places must have been palaces.

Andy and I set out to find dinner. A slew of posh restaurants beckoned, literally, with promises of good food and BeerLao. One place offered do-it-yourself Lao BBQ. The people in the picture looked like they were having a good time, so it won us over. I was eager to see how it stacked up against the world-famous Korean BBQ. A cauldron of burning charcoal was set in the middle of our table and a beveled metal bowl-ish thing was placed on top. Next came the ingredients. Veggies, broth and noodles, all mixed together and heated up. Meat was cooked on the raised portion in the center of the bowl, then mixed with the surrounding ingredients and scooped into our own personal bowls to be garnished with any of the many garnishings we saw fit. Sounds like work, but I hadn't cooked anything myself in months so I enjoyed it. It was quite delicious as well. First meal to get a full paragraph in my blog.

After the meal, we sought out our fellow slow-boaters. It wasn't very hard. It turns out the town has an 11:30 curfew and all of the foreigners who want to stay out later get funneled into this nightclub a short tuk-tuk ride away. Almost everyone from the slow boat was there. A terrible sound system blared American, Korean and Thai pop while young Laos walked around with the same look of discomfort one has at their first boy-girl birthday party. The beer was ind of expensive. I hung back and made small talk.

The house lights came on at 1am and we piled about 16 foreigners into a songthaew back up the peninsula. It was a very rowdy ride. A very rowdy first night in Luang Prabang.

The next morning, it was time for my new town walkaround. Luang Prabang was an easy one to get oriented in. The mighty Mekong borders it on the north while the smaller Nam Khon creeps along the south eventually merging with the Mekong, squeezing the bulk of the town into a narrow peninsula. I looked about. Colonial French architecture was the town's big thing, and coupled with the gentrification and the package tourists, you'd think the place was still colonized. I walked along the Mekong; every inch of it used by restaurants to give their diners a view with their meal. Every once and while a quaint antique store or craft shop poked out from between the other buildings. Art was for sale on the street. I looped around the tip of the peninsula and set up the central boulevard.

Alex pulled up beside me on a motorbike. He hadn't gone to bed since the night before and spent the day participating in a crop-blessing ceremony with a random Lao family; an experience he described as "full-on". Further up the boulevard, I bumped into Andy and Ebi, a girl he had met on the boat. They had rented bicycles and been touring the town as well. We all climbed Phu Si, a hill in the center of town, and watched the sunset over the Mekong.

That night I watched a hill-tribe fashion show at an expensive tourist restaurant. Waste of money. To make up for it, I went to bed early.

I woke at 10 to Andy rapping at my door. Like, knocking. Him and Ebi were off to Tat Kuang Si, a waterfall about 32km out of town. At that point, I had been having a pretty "meh" time in Luang Prabang. It was nice and all, but nothing really blew my skirt up. The waterfall was something else though. It fell in tiers, collecting in blue lagoons each step of the way down. Trees grew all around and sheltered the pools from the harsh sun. Further up, a huge drop into a massive blue basin. We trod carefully around and through the scenery. A lot of people from the slow-boat were there too. Closer to the bottom we found a swimming hole. Further down, another with a rope swing. We all dove in without hesitation. It was gorgeous. As Andy put it, "it looks like the kind of thing places like Disneyland try and recreate". The rope swing hung from a slippery tree branch that precariously hung over the water. Dangerous, yes, but the Lao guys took it to the next level, shimmying a good 10m up to the top of the branch then plunging off. Disneyland would not have allowed that.

The waterfall was an all-day affair. Swimming, climbing steps and swinging on ropes spanked the energy right out of me. In the evening, Andy, Ebi, a slow boater named Brad and I all had drinks on a rickety wooden bridge that crossed the Nam Khon. To hell with the 11:30 curfew. The town was silent and that's how we wanted it. It was to be my last night in Luang Prabang. Next stop was Vang Vieng, a rollicking frat party, so I savored every moment of relaxation I could squeeze from that night. Then I bid my friends a final farewell and went to sleep.

The morning came up quick, and I knew I had to make it to the bus station soon. A lot of buses head for Vang Vieng, but there was a lull between 11am and 2pm that I did not want to hit. However, there was a temple in town that I wanted to see. I got denied access to it previously because I was not wearing pants. Like, I was wearing shorts, not, yeah. But a lot of these places require you to wear pants as a sign of respect. Anyways, the temple was BORING with a capital 'ZZZZZZZZZ' and even worse, no tuk-tuk driver would quote me a reasonable price so I walked there AND it took so long that I got to the bus station right at the beginning of the lull. Blah! Oh temples! So ubiquitous in Southeast Asia and always so recommended! I keep telling myself that the next one will be my last.

So there I sat, slightly enraged, in the empty bus station. Luang Prabang was good. Not tremendous. Maybe if I did one of the expensive activities offered at the posh guesthouses, I might've had a ripping time, but money was starting to get a little tight. Plus, there was a wealth of things to be done further down the line. The Lao lady on the TV above me was forecasting the weather. It looked like clear skies ahead.

Quaint shop in central LP.

Rickety wooden bridge spanning the Nam Khon.

Colonialism? Gentrification? New money?

Sunset from atop Phu Si.

Tat Kuang Si.

Yeah! Check out that form!

Slow boat down the Mekong

It was wonderful being able to shower and change my clothes. I even shaved despite not having a mirror. Two and a half days in the jungle getting scuffed and scraggly. I wanted to be spotless. You never half clean your bedroom when it's messy. I emerged a new man.

That night, all eight of us met for drinks and merriment. We unsurprisingly reminisced about the Gibbon Experience and all the joys and pratfalls (and trap door falls) that came along with it. The BeerLao flowed and the party moved around settling on the balcony of Alex's hotel. Some called it a night early. Andy and I took off at around 1 and found ourselves shut into the hotel by a door with a surprising amount of locks. Upon unfastening a series of clasps and sliding locks, we opened the door and realized we were still on the second floor. It was the balcony. This was an indicator that calling it a night at that time was a good idea.

The next morning Adam woke up very early. We were once again separating. He was heading north to do some hiking with April and Joanne while I was heading south down the Mekong on the slow boat to Luang Prabang. I bid him a groggy adieu.

At 8am, as I was changing, Alex barged into the room with my wake-up call. I figured I must have told him where I was staying last night and tasked him to do this. To be honest, I'm impressed I had the foresight. He was all grins and energy as usual.

I threw down breakfast at a restaurant and had the owner make me a sandwich for lunch on the boat. Andy was suspiciously late, so I found his room and barged in to deliver a wake-up call. We both loaded into a songthaew bound for the pier where the boat was lying in wait. It was a long narrow vessel; covered thankfully, and painted an ugly shade of green. Inside, benches, ripped straight out of Sunday school were placed, one on each side, facing forward in a row with very little space in between. The plank you sat your ass on was too short. You perched rather than sat. My knees knocked the bench in front of me. These seats sucked.

It was 9 and the boat was still pretty empty. Maria and Jean-Marie were on board, opting for the nicer seats in the back. I avoided these as they were next to the noisy engine. Soon, about 30 more people piled in and filled up the remaining seats. The crowd was about 90% foreigners, all fresh from Thailand and looking to get rowdy. The brouhaha crescendoed as everyone got comfortable with one another. Soon the engine roared and the boat took off.

The ride would be two days long, broken up by an overnight stay in Pak Beng. I had my lunch, my journal and my book. If those couldn't keep me occupied, I had a handful of colourful personalities to entertain me.

Five minutes after leaving the pier, people were already fed up with the seats and started piling them in a big heap, opting to sit on the floor instead. A Lao guy swung out the window and onto the roof so people could pass their benches up. Andy and I diligently stuck with our benches for the time being. Before we knew it, the BeerLao came out and the volume increased exponentially. Stories about someone's buddy who was so off their ass on such and such that they did this and that. You know the kinds of stories. Entertaining but not sustaining. The kind people who had just broken free of their parents' influence like to tell. Weed smoke floated around the boat. Someone had ipod speakers and started blasting progressive house. It was a party boat and it hadn't even hit noon.

I met some nice people on that boat. A guy from Luxembourg looking to teach in Korea, a Scotsman with a Canadian girlfriend, a Canadian with an odd name (Cleal). Alex was in his element. His characteristic cries of "R-r-r-r-ripa!"and "Brother man!", all delivered with a thick Aussie accent, rang out every so often. One guy threw a hammock up. In the front, the few Lao people on board were still seated, with discipline, on their wooden benches. Andy and I had given up and thrown them aside by then. So much better.

Outside, the scenery slowly passed by. Jagged rocks shot out of the water close to the shore while rolling hills flanked both sides of the river. We would pass fishermen in longboats wearing the classic rice farmer hats. Kids swimming would enthusiastically wave to us. Sometimes we'd pass dead, bloated animal carcasses. The water was brown.

The sun started going down at 5 and the party had reached fever pitch. A lively game of cards to my left, and a large, bellowing Aussie to my right. So many flesh wounds in sight. The young and unhinged. The young and reckless.

The boat pulled into Pak Beng at 6. The touts were waiting on the shore like alley cats at the back door of a restaurant. Kids jumped on board and began hauling backpacks onto the shore, a favor that would inevitably demand payment. I grabbed my pack and walked up the rocks. Two touts were set on me and started a bidding war for my business. One was a young woman with grace and poise, the other a brash, confident man. Grace and poise won me over, not to mention a great price and a free shot of Lao whiskey. I got Andy in on my super deal.

We were the only ones staying in the guesthouse. It was run by the woman and her sister and they seemed thrilled to have gotten our business. The beds were firm and the whiskey strong. Like drinking a wino's stomach acid. We planned a wake up call for 8, then set out to find the others.

Pak Beng is probably on very few maps. It's literally a road that leads down to the pier, lined with restaurants and guesthouses. It's no doubt the slow boat that sustains this place. I almost wondered what came first. Young mothers with babies leaned out of windows. Dogs and cats wandered the streets aimlessly. I saw Foibles zip by on a tuk-tuk. The whole town is at most 200 meters long, easily walkable, so she was getting taken for a ride in every sense of the phrase.

Alex and the others were at one place eating, drinking and being merry so we joined them. I met even more people. Laos seemed to be the place for that. More people we knew showed up and we started pushing tables together. Before long, it was a veritable banquet. Jean-Marie stopped by and honked out something fierce on his harmonica. Some bloke had a guitar. Close to midnight, all of the power in the town went out. Our server lit candles and we kept on.

Back at the guesthouse, I made my way around the empty wooden halls with a flashlight. Everything was deathly silent, like the part in the horror movie right before the really scary thing happens. The power resumed shortly afterwards so I was able to enjoy the fan as I slept.

Next morning I awoke before my scheduled wake-up call. In fact, my wake-up call walked into my room just as I was changing. Two mornings in a row now. It was back on the boat. This was actually a different boat, one that was thankfully a lot wider. Excellent, as this was the longer stretch of the trip. Luang Prabang was still a good ten hours away, but at least it would be a comfortable ride. Without any second thought, the benches were once again thrown onto the roof. A rowdy group of Canadians showed up with a newly purchased bottle of Lao Lao whiskey. Andy asked if I thought they would bust into it before noon. I reckoned it would be done by noon.

I spent most of the ride reading. My book, South of the Border, West of the Sun, by Haruki Murakami; a story of unfateful love in a cool climate. Beautifully melancholic, I would fall into the pages, rapt in the narrative until a bong hit would waft by my face to remind me of the crassness I was surrounded by. It was noon and the whiskey was all gone.

Old Man Mekong maintained his steady flow. Men in longboats plied fish from his depths. A boat lay wrecked on his shore. Ambling a pathway through Indochina, he left both bounty and ruin in his wake. His hand gentle, yet just.

I had finished my book and was whiling away the hours making polite conversation and reading excerpts from Andy's Charles Bukowski novel. The setting sun dramatically shifted from stern to bow. We had just passed the fishhook that swung the river into Luang Prabang. Home stretch. Soon the town emerged. A cluster of longboats clung to the shore and hints of civilization peeked through the trees atop the hill. Feelings of excitement were temporarily suspended by a huge, bloated cow carcass that floated beside the boat and stunk up something fierce. Sounds of disgust made the way down the boat along with the smell. On the shore, the touts set to work on us.

Passing up the chairs.

Party on the boat brooooo!

Classic Mekong.

The Gibbon Experience

So the reason I was in such a rush to get into Laos was because I had to confirm my reservation with the Gibbon Experience. Yeah, for the first time in the entire trip, Adam and I had made a reservation. This was absolutely important though because spots on the Gibbon Experience were very limited and we absolutely needed to get in. Making it to Huay Xai in Laos on the 6th was imperative, and thankfully I had just made it.

Laos immigration took a little longer than I was used to. I had to present a photo and pay a hefty fee for the visa stamp. I knew that Adam had already arrived because the border guards were using his photo as an example of what an acceptable photo should look like. Adam is quite exemplary, and the Lao people evidently agreed. I paid my hefty fee and cruised on in.

I bumped into Adam at an Internet cafe. He had already booked a room and confirmed his Gibbon Experience, I had to do the same. Easy process thankfully. I let out a hard exhale knowing that my long day of transpo on a deadline had come to an end. Tomorrow we had to wake up at 8, so we had a beer by the Mekong and called it a night early.

So you're probably wondering what the Gibbon Experience is. Well, every day, a group of 16 people, with guides, heads out into the Bokeo Nature Reserve and spends two nights in a treehouse. Zip-lining, swimming in waterfalls and lots of hiking are all part of the experience. I had seen videos of how crazy the zip-lining was, so Adam and I both agreed to sign up without hesitation.

Next morning, we brought all of our stuff to the GE office to be stored while we were on the trek. I packed light primarily due to my lack of a bigger backpack. As we waited, a litter of orange baby kittens climbed and fumbled around our gear. Waiting gave us a chance to get acquainted with our travel companions. Andy, Alex, Maria, Joanne, April and Jean-Marie; an American, an Aussie, A swede, an Irishwoman, another American and a Frenchman. Finally our ride showed up. A songthaew/4-door pickup truck hybrid. We were told the ride was 3 hours, and there was no roof in the back, so I wisely opted for a spot inside the vehicle to spare my tender flesh from the sun.

Halfway through, the ride got rugged. We drove through a river and onto dirt roads that wound up and down hills passing thatch huts and pastoral villages. Branches whipped at the poor saps sitting in the back. Laos was already very different from Thailand. No 7-elevens in sight. A good while later, we reached a large village seemingly in the middle of nowhere. As we got off, a group of 16 got on, worn and haggard after already finishing their experience. Pigs, cows and chickens freely roamed the village and a huge flock of turkeys warbled from beneath the hut we waited in. Eight more people arrived and waited with us forming our group of 16. Then the Lao guides showed up and had us split into two groups. We all decided to stick with the original eight we rode up with and took off into the brush.

It was a 3 hour hike ahead of us, one which wound up and down mountains and across rivers. Not too difficult, but make no mistake, it was dripping sweaty hot and I was tearing through my water supply. Our group was a mix of the eager, the reserved, the stoic and the calamitous. One girl was having exceptional trouble with the trek and continuously fell behind while two of the guys ran ahead of the pack until we met up with them again at the next fork in the road. About halfway there, our guide magically produced the most delicious sandwiches for us from out of his pack.

We ascended a hill and arrived at a cabin where we were handed our zip-line harnesses. These were not optional, as it was absolutely necessary to zip-line if you hoped to progress. About 200 meters further we encountered our first rail. Not terribly long, but it served as an excellent introduction to zip-lining. I went first without hesitation or braking, crashing into the tree at the other end like George of the Jungle. Nothing too bad. Adam followed, then the rest. I did another and sat in wait while the others finished the first. I could hear the calamitous girl warbling and having a hard time. Apparently she got freaked out and hit the break halfway down the line, leaving her dangling in the middle. The guide had to zip down and boot her the rest of the way across. When everyone got in, we resumed the trek.

After a few more zips, we came to the line that led to our treehouse. We couldn't see where it ended, but it looked very long. I hopped on and started zipping. I passed through treetops to a clearing and saw the treehouse standing about 100 meters up overlooking the scenery. It was unreal. Check the video. The rail lead directly to a small plank below the house to land on. I unhooked and entered via a trap door.

The others made their way in one by one while I walked around the treehouse. It was a marvel. Two stories high with running water and electricity, it was hard to believe we were in the middle of a jungle let alone way up in a tree. What a surprise! When everyone was in, we settled down for a snack. Lychees, rambutans and hot coffee were perfect. A few of us took to the zip-lines before supper.

Supper came zip-lining to us in the arms of a Lao girl who inhabited a hut nearby. She dropped off our meal and departed with nary a word. A hot, delicious meal was the cherry on the cake. Here we were, perched in a treehouse with a beautiful 360 degree vista all around, and our meals came zipping in, hot and right when we needed them. The Gibbon Experience had already earned it's money as far as I was concerned.

The sun went down and bizarre sounds came from the jungle canopy around us. The night creatures were out. Adam led the group in a game of "Mafia" which absolutely everyone seemed to enjoy, including Jean-Marie, the stoic Frenchman. Lightning began to flash on the horizon. Our bunks were no more than mattresses on the floor with thick mosquito nets that looked like blankets draped overtop. The whole setup resembled the kind of fort you'd make as a kid. Sleeping in a fort, high in a treehouse; I think everyone's inner child was brimming with excitement.

At around 10 we heard a noise coming from the zipline. Someone was zip-lining in. It was one of our guides coming to collect us. Apparently there was a storm coming and we weren't safe in the treehouse, so we had to go hangout in a nearby hut until it passed. So we all harnessed up and one by one zipped out into the blackness. I can definitely say that zip-lining at night is way scarier than zip-lining during the day. I had a flashlight, but it didn't help much. The platform flew up out of nowhere. After all of the others landed safely, we walked up the trail to a small hut in a clearing. Inside were the three women responsible for cooking our meals. They largely ignored our presence while we twiddled our thumbs and played cards. the storm never came, so after about 40 minutes, our guide directed us back to the treehouse again. As I glided along towards the black space, a flash of lightning lit up the sky revealing the silhouette of the lone treehouse overlooking the void. It was so so awesome.

Sleep didn't come easy that night. I tossed and turned. At one point Adam woke in a panic, not knowing where he was. A few minutes later, I did the same.

At 5:30am, the wake up call rolled in with breakfast. Rice, vegetables, coffee and lychees. It was a crisp morning and a slight fog hung over the jungle canopy. I took a cold shower while enjoying the panorama. Today we were to head out on a trek to a different treehouse as well as a swimming hole. Before gearing up, I did a few recreational zips to catch the morning breeze. A great way to wake up.

It was a hot day and the trek had some rough patches. At one point, a huge thorn got lodged in my palm. Halfway through, our guide, always full of surprises, walked into the bush with a machete and emerged with hand fans that he had fashioned for us out of broad leaves. The calamitous girl, who I secretly nicknamed "Foibles", was having trouble as usual. Andy and Alex zoomed ahead of the pack. We all met up at a fork, then descended some steep steps to a waterfall.

It was absolutely gorgeous. This waterfall lay nestled in between steep mountainsides and formed a perfect basin for swimming. Everyone dove in without hesitation. I climbed the rocks up to the different stages of the waterfall, at one point resting in a small basin just underneath. The water fell on my shoulders, my first massage in Southeast Asia. Others played with the large bamboo logs floating in the water. A couple of us climbed onto a large rock and leapt off into the water.Absolutely no one else was around, nor was there anything else to even suggest that this waterfall was anywhere close to civilization. A hidden swimming hole. Absolutely beautiful.

When we all got dried off, we ate lunch and our guide took us along a few more ziplines and into our second treehouse. Alex and I got there first, but the others were slow coming. I heard Foibles yelping in the distance. Soon the rest arrived. they had run into a giant snake curled up on a log. Adam got some pretty good pictures that I'm sure he'll put up on his blog soon.

The second treehouse was a bit smaller than the first., but no less impressive. the bathroom was below, next to the zip-line landing and there was no second story. Also, an animal had chewed the water pipe, so there was no running water. Our guide zip-lined in about 12 bottles for us. I, as well as everyone else, was completely exhausted by this point, so i laid down for a nap in the afternoon heat.

I awoke to a near empty treehouse. The others had gone down to the river, so I harnessed up to join them. I zipped along four or five lines in search of them. At one point, I glided over the river and could see Alex swimming below. I went across valleys and over mountaintops. One rail was 500 meters long! Soon, I found the path that led down to the river. On my way down, I ran into the guides walking back up with armfuls of fish to cook for breakfast the next morning. I jumped into the water and joined the others.

Back in the treehouse, dinner was waiting for us. We had seen the lady with the food zip by above us while we were swimming. Sticky rice and vegetables. Coffee with condensed milk. Adam found a fat leech stuck on his foot a little too late so when he ripped it off, he started bleeding heavily. He covered the wound with one of his gloves. OJ Simpson jokes ensued.

After the sun set, we lit candles. I guess an animal chewed the power cables as well. It was a quieter scene around the table. We watched as bugs one by one flew into the candles, drawn by the light, but killed by the heat. One moth was so huge, it snuffed out both candles, then flew off and got stuck in between April's glasses and her eye, fluttering about. At one point, Alex shone a flashlight on the roof and we could see several very large spiders scurrying about. Actually, very large spiders don't scurry, they lumber, and these guys were lumbering. Big, disgusting monsters. I can't even imagine having one fall on my face at night.

GAAAHHHHHH!

Before bed, Jean-Marie used the john and left the trap door open. It was pitch black, and of course yours truly took a dive straight down. Adam got front row seats to that spectacle. A little bruising here and there, but it became funny quite quickly.

It was shortly after that the storm started. This time it was real and there was nowhere to go, so we had to stay in the treehouse. And what a storm it was. Lightning flashed so often, we didn't even need to use our flashlights. the wind picked up and we felt the treehouse sway. In the distance, we heard trees succumb to the gale and fall with loud crashes. The rain came in sheets, at times blowing horizontally straight through the treehouse. A loud thunder crash sounded as if it were only meters away. Adam and I pulled up chairs and watched the madness from our perch. Foibles was absolutely losing it. Alex wasn't helping at all with his "if we die, we die" pep talk. She would constantly skit in and out of the other girls' tent to be consoled. Jean-Marie, who drew the short straw and had to share a bunk with her, was getting pretty fed up with the whole thing. Listening to him vent his frustration at her in his broken English was pure comedy. The whole debacle was pretty thrilling, and the storm let up soon enough so we could all get some sleep

We could smell the dampness in the morning. I had an excellent sleep despite a small bout of sleepwalking. Kind of a dangerous place to sleepwalk come to think of it. Breakfast was being served by the waterfall, and afterwards, we would trek back to the village, so we packed everything up and bid the treehouse farewell.

Overnight, the water had turned brown, and our guides advised against swimming in it. We ate fish and collected a fresh supply of water before beginning our three hour trek back.

Because it had rained, the leeches were out in full force. now these weren't the kind of leeches you find in North America that only get you when you're in the water. These guys crawled along the ground, like inchworms, and up your shoes onto your legs. Sometimes they even jump off of leaves to get at you. I wore long pants in preparation for this, but even then, I was continuously pulling leeches off. It was shocking how tenacious and unyeilding they were. We had to constantly be checking. Somehow, Jean-Marie got one one his johnson, which he nonchalantly flicked off. The jokes that followed helped pass the time considerably.

The trail was a little more rugged and had us crossing ditches and rivers. One river crossing had us taking our shoes of and crossing water up to our thighs. That's how we were able to see how many leeches had made it into our shoes too. I had at least six. Foibles had a tough time crossing one ditch. She slid down an inclined log bridge, but didn't let go of the tree branch she was holding onto so she ratcheted around, off the bridge and dangled above the ditch, warbling like a mad hen. It was quite entertaining until I realized that, being the nearest, I should probably help her out. She crossed fine after that.

The trail flattened out and we came across numerous huts and more perilous river crossings. The hardest one we did had only two small logs that crossed a strong flowing current. Stepping on the logs bent them downwards allowing the water to rush overtop. there was a flimsy log that would act as a rail, but it couldn't take any weight whatsoever. "Foibles is going in the drink for sure" we all thought. Alex even had his camera out and was filming in preparation. Surprisingly, she made it across. We all did actually, which is good because falling in would have meant a brisk ride downstream in filthy filthy water.

We knew we were close when we began seeing village kids out in the fields doing their chores. A few minutes later, we arrived at the village. A sturdy wooden bridge was all that was left to cross. After I crossed I heard a loud splash. Foibles landed in the drink.

We rode a songthaew back just as we came, over hills and through valleys. The river we drove through originally was much deeper this time. I looked like a homeless man riding in the back of that songthaew. I had only worn one shirt the entire time and salt lines measured the distance down my shirt my sweat had saturated during each hike. I had a ratty beard and a huge bruise on my thigh. I couldn't wait to get back to civilization.

The Gibbon Experience was over and it was, hands down, the highlight of the trip so far. So much fun, and even the hard times were good times. Great group of people too. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Mischievous kitten in Huay Xai.

Bucolic village just outside of the trail.

Our treehouse, photo taken mid-zip!

Commons area of our first treehouse.

Secret swimming hole in the waterfall.

Andy at the sketchy river crossing.

Chiang Rai, Chiang Saen, Chiang Khong

Thailand was 95% done. I was skirting about the upper reaches at this point making my way towards the border with Laos. There was little to see along the way. I was hoping to dip into the Golden Triangle for a bit if I found the time, but otherwise head to Chiang Khong, the border town with Laos.

First, I had to board a bus to Chiang Rai, a town I had no desire to stop and smell the roses is. Think the Cornwall Ontario of Thailand. I only needed to be there to connect with the local buses in the northernmost provinces. The bus was your standard Thai bus complete with an old ball mitt of a woman chewing something while literally screaming into a phone. Again, my missing ipod came to mind.

In Chiang Rai, I beelined it for the local bus station and waited for the bus to Chiang Saen to roll in. Chiang Saen was the jump off point to the Golden Triangle so I figured I'd roll through. The bus was actually a school bus complete with those maddening windows that always jammed. It also stopped every so often to drop people off by the side of the road. When it finally rolled into town, I was the only one left. I found this a little odd, but disembarked nonetheless.

Getting dropped off in a BF Nowhere town at night can be a little nerve-racking. It seemed like a ghost town, save for the glowing beacon that was the 7-eleven sign. I lumbered over to find carts with women selling fruit and meat dishes just out front. A small glimmer of activity. No one was jumping out at me trying to get me to stay at their hotel this time, so I had to find a place on my own. Thankfully "hotel" is a universal word and the Thai ladies, in typical Thai fashion, gestured up the road. I walked until the road ended at a huge river, the Mekong. Maybe you've heard of it. It hardly seemed to move. Just a long black strip cutting between orbs of light. Quite sedate. On the other side, Laos. My route for the next month would follow this river right down to it's mouth, so I didn't spend too much time in awe of it's presence.

Slugging up the road that ran along the river, I spotted some English signs. before long, I was in a guesthouse lobby. The lady in charge seemed horribly inconvenienced by my presence. Her grotesquely fat dog loved me though. As I walked to the room, I passed a whole slew of noisy-looking construction tools which had been left out for the night. A foreboding sign for sure. My room was actually a double room, but since no one else was staying there that night, I got it all to myself.

Dinner was spicy green curry. I grabbed a bottle of milk from the 7-eleven. It's been over a month since I've drank milk. Back at the hotel, a mommy cat hissed at me. A few drops of milk won her over though. Cats love me. I left specific instructions with my harpy of a desk lady to wake me up at 8am. She said that I would naturally wake up because of the roosters. I assured her that I would not. She let out that half sigh half moan sound that only lazy people make when they're asked to do something. She would make me up at 9am. Fine.

At 11am I spring out of bed. Roosters were hollering outside of my window and power tools were screaming a few meters away. My body held onto sleep like a pitbull and none of these noises were able to rouse me. I threw everything together in a huff and stormed to the front desk. "Wake up call?" I asked. "Oh, I give you call, but you sleeping and no hear". Digest that one for a bit. She didn't wake me up because I didn't wake up when she tried to wake me up. I can't even think of a metaphor that illustrates the monkeyshit lack of logic in that statement. Then, of all things, she tried to bill me for checking out after checkout time! The crazy eyes came out. I did not pay her. In fact, I left trying my best not to kick a hole in her fence on the way out.

Old Man Mekong was fully visible in the 11am sunlight. A little brown and sludgy. It's no doubt it's length, and only it's length, that brings it such fame. The town was only slightly less sleepy than the night before. Because I woke up so late, I would have to forego my trip to the Golden Triangle. If you were wondering, the Golden Triangle is the area where the borders of Thailand, Laos and Myanmar converge. More importantly, it's known for it's long history of opium production. Now, through government crop substitution programs, it has shed most of it's notoriety, but there's no shortage of museums and artifacts recalling it's sordid heyday. Anyways, I didn't go there, so I'm not sure why I bothered writing all of that. Instead, I ambled to the local bus stop to catch a ride to Chiang Khong.

Locals waited in stasis at the stop. A songthaew was there, but the way it works in a lot of small towns is that they leave only if enough people get on board. The driver was unsatisfied with the amount of people waiting so it would be a bit longer. I took the time to photograph a group of men loading up a boat bound for China. While waiting, a Thai lady was teaching her young daughter to say "hello farang" to me. "Farang" means "foreigner" in Thai, and I found it funny that saying "hello foreigner" to white people is a habit that Thai people want to pass on to their children. Soon, a kid with a bunch of boxes arrived and the driver decided he was ready to go, so he loaded us all into the back.

Like before, this bus wound through the mountains, depositing people along the way until it was just me left when it trickled into town. Also, this town was NOT Chiang Khong. To this day, I still have no idea what town it was I rolled into that day. And it was EMPTY. Like, completely. I got off at a large bus stop with rows of bamboo benches, all empty. A songthaew was perched, waiting for the seats to fill up. No one was around and it looked unlikely that I would get out anytime soon. I sighed and leaned back on a bench watching some roosters peck about at my feet. Two hours passed and I maybe saw two people pass by. I was getting restless, as I knew that the Laos border closed, but I had no idea when. Finally the driver walked up and offered to drive only me to Chiang Khong for a hefty sum. I had no choice and agreed to pay him. As we drove off, I half expected him to whistle and the entire town to emerge from hiding, all in on his elaborate scam to rob me of 400 baht.

The road bounced up and down along the Mekong. An old lady emerged from the woods and jumped on about halfway. In Chaing Khong the sun was beginning to set. I hit a bank machine so I could pay the man, then flew down to the immigration booth at the pier. I couldn't tell you a thing about Chiang Khong. I was in a hurry and flew through the departure process like I was asking for the bathroom key in an emergency. A boat sat in wait at the bottom of the hill on the river bank and I was the customer that upped the passenger count high enough to get the trip started. The border was still open it seemed.

I lifted my pack off of the boat and onto new soil. Thailand was 100% finished. A whole month it took to go from tow to top, seeing a wealth of attractions along the way. I still feel like I didn't see everything, but considering the scope of the entire trip, I'm quite glad to have scoured the place as thoroughly as I had. Now Laos had begun. New currency. No doubt new experiences.

Almost Jon, almost.

Loading up a boat bound for China, Chiang Saen.

Chiang Mai - The walled city

Chiang Mai is a good 10 hours north of Bangkok, which is why I opted for a sleeper. Brilliant idea. Knock out transportation and accommodation at the same time, plus save a day. My bunk was comfortable too. Actually being horizontal helps tremendously when you're trying to sleep in transit. I was occasionally woken by a loud group of British travelers having a powwow right next to my bunk.

The whole ride actually took 12 hours, and that was coming from Ayutthaya which is already an hour and a half north of Bangkok. I awoke at around 8am to a man's face. He was walking around snapping the bunks back up into the ceiling and mine was the last one left. Of course. I groaned and slid down the ladder into the aisle. Within 10 seconds, the man had converted the two bunks into two booths with a table. I took a seat and watched as we slid through mountains and into Chiang Mai station.

Accommodation is always easy to find. Most of the time it finds you. In this instance, it was a young Thai girl offering a free ride into town if I checked out her guesthouse. It was a decent place, so I got settled rather quickly.

Chiang Mai is a very common stop on the backpacker trail and it's hard to succinctly describe what makes the place so alluring. The old city in the center if the town is surrounded by a brick wall and a moat providing excellent orientation for a newcomer like me. It sits nestled in the mountains and enjoys a slightly cooler climate than the south. This means that vegetables like broccoli, cauliflower and squash can occasionally find their way into your meal. Many also use Chiang Mai as a base camp for the area's numerous trekking opportunities. So far, for me it was just another big city. So like I do every time I land in a big city, I took some time to walk around and get my bearings.

I walked everywhere within the old city. I passed men swimming in the moat, clearly ignoring the signs telling them not to. I passed many temples, occasionally stopping to admire the architecture. Cars endlessly swirled the one-way streets surrounding the moat, never stopping for a traffic light or even a pedestrian. The backpacker scene was alive and well with guesthouses. bars, restaurants, tour companies and bookstores lining the "soi" in between main arteries. I popped into a bookstore and bought a book to stave off the boredom that resulted from losing my ipod. It was a leisurely walk, one which accomplished little, but soothed my weary head. Back at the hotel, I took a nap.

In the evening, I stopped for dinner at a restaurant that looked like it could use my business. Mango Restaurant. It was a lonely looking place, dressed nicely, but with no one to impress. The owner leaned on the counter. her look could have been either boredom or disappointment. She lit up when I came in. I ate and we chatted for a bit, clearly enjoying each other's company in what was otherwise complete solitude. It would turn out to be the only meaningful interaction of the evening. I combed a street of bars hoping to find something I fancied, but nothing materialized. Can't party every night.

Day 2 started late. I read and wrote until way past noon and then decided to seek out some brilliant photo ops. I had heard about a craft village just east of town that specialized in making beautiful paper umbrellas. Perfect. I set my camera to the "vivid" setting and head out. I butted heads with a few drivers and went to a few wrong stations before I found a ride out to the town of Bo Sang. Unfortunately it was a dull, gray late afternoon, and any kind of activity was rather subdued. I walked up and down the sad sack street; hardly the vibrant cultural experience I was expecting. I spent less than an hour there and took only four pictures. Low season.

I took to the Internet to lament my traveler's block.Last night was a bust. Today was a bust. What was so good about Chiang Mai? Some fellows traveler's responded almost instantly. That night, I made it a point to check out the "Roots Rock Reggae" bar, which was supposed to be good. And it was. I could hear the live music from down the street. I peeked in and the place was jumping off. Mostly backpackers, but when you have tons of people singing and dancing to an upbeat house band, it's impossible not to dive in. The aforementioned house band seemed groomed for good times. A short, peppy Thai girl with a mess of dreadlocks tightly bundled on top of her head bopped around with a mic while the band backed her up with upbeat ska melodies and Latin rhythms. On stage right, an old leathery black man stood stoically anytime he wasn't tearing it up on the sax. Clearly talented musicians, a refreshing change from some of the pseudo Jack Johnson pablum that echoed from Khao San Road. I stood and watched both the band and the swarm of backpackers flail about in drunken bliss. After they finished, I hopped next door to check out another band; a bunch of shirtless Thai guys playing Kings of Leon covers. All the girls loved the band and all the guys loved the girls. I was making friends by then.

Day 3 was get stuff done day. I had to get my photo taken, mail some documents, sort out my insurance claim ad obtain a translation of the police report. No more screwing the dog. I handled it all before 4pm. I had been screaming about town all day and was exhausted, but managed to pull it together enough to catch a songthaew up to the top of a mountain to check out Doi Suthep, a temple which overlooked the city. The road wound like a digestive tract up the mountain providing no shortage of stunning vistas. My riding companions were two poorly groomed Swiss guys, an uptight Chinese girl, and tow Thai guys who appeared to be a couple. The Chinese girl seemed really panicked and was stressing about this and that. The Swiss and Thai dudes were indifferent. She had frizzy hair and wore a dire expression. Up at the top, she unsuccessfully tried to unite the group in demanding a cheaper fare from the driver.

The temple was very still and quiet despite the crowds. The view was nice too. practicing Buddhists circled a huge stupa holding candles while others offered prayers. Rows of giant bells circled the outer temple grounds much to the delight of the children. The Chinese girl ran up and showed me a paper fortune she had just received. It said, in essence, "loosen up". This of course concerned her gravely.

On the ride down, the Swiss guys listened to her intensely personal lamentations on being 29 and unmarried. I really was hoping she would say something cheerful or uplifting. Or talk about how much she was enjoying her vacation. It was a shame.

In the evening, I ran into Adam at Roots Rock Reggae. He, in turn, had run into Melanie and her friend whose name I forgot, two girls we met in the Perhentian Islands. It had been over a month so we swapped stories. it was a different house band this night, but they got people moving just the same. A pale Thai man belted it out like I never would expect a pale Thai man could. More drinking and dancing and merriment. More friends. A complete 180 from when I first arrived in Chiang Mai. The city was sinking into me.

I planned on leaving, but stayed a fourth day at the insistence of the owner of Mango Restaurant. She even had a cheap room available upstairs that I could stay in. My attempts at being a good tourist had mostly failed my entire time in Chiang Mai, so I took a personal day. I rented a motorbike and rode about 10km north of town to Huay Tung Thao, a quiet lake at the foot of the mountain range. there, I spent the whole day reading and writing. The sun was punishing, but I took shelter in a grass hut by the shore. The scenery reminded me of Canada, a place I hadn't been for over a year. I finished my book, far too quickly, and as the sun was setting behind the mountain, I hopped on my bike and rode back into town.

As an aside, I came across the longest traffic light of my life in Chaing Mai. It was, no joke, over 5 minutes of waiting. People turned their engines off. Unfortunately, I was stopped behind a songthaew, and those things have never even heard of an emissions test. I choked on thick smoke for all 5 minutes.

I ate Western food for dinner. Comfort food to compliment my comfort day. My last night was spent at the bar with Adam and a group of friends he had met at his guesthouse. The old band was back playing for a new crowd. A constant rotation of new, young energy every night. My energy waned, but I made the most of my last night in Chiang Mai.

In the morning, I bid my landlady farewell and made tracks for the bus station. Adam and I would meet again in Laos.

The wall.

Umbrellas in Bo Sang.

Making the umbrellas in Bo Sang.

Photogenic cat at Doi Suthep.

Bells like this circled the temple grounds at Doi Suthep.

Chiang Mai from on high, Doi Suthep.

The faithful circling the stupa, Doi Suthep.

A lovely day at the lake, Huay Tung Thao.

Recreational fishing at Huay Tung Thao.

Ayutthaya in 24 hours

The third class train rolled into Ayutthaya Station. If this was third class, the Yogyakarta to Jakarta train was like, 9th class by comparison. I wasn't sure if I was at Ayutthaya actually, but the stub puncher said I should get off. My train car was in the rear, far from the platform, so I hopped off and into a ditch. God forbid it was the wrong station, I thought. I would literally be in a ditch somewhere.

As I stated before, Ayutthaya is the old capital of Thailand. Encircled entirely by rivers, it made for an excellent location. it eventually got taken over and sacked by Burmese invaders so they made Bangkok the new capital. It was either Burmese invaders or dirty, lecherous backpackers, I'm not sure. But anyways, what remains of the city is a ton of ruins and a downright ridiculous amount of temples. I chose to spend a day doing some hardcore temple hopping.

It was about 9pm when my train arrived so my touring would have to wait until morning. My main objective was to find a meal and a bed. Somebody hollered at me as I walked past. It was a hotel owner offering a room for 100 baht, an excellent deal. See, I don't mind the touts if they actually have a good deal for you. The man's name was Toi, and he was of a very particular character. Upon sitting down with a menu, he handed me a piece of paper. "Write 8 countries that begin and end with the letter A, then 2 countries that begin and end with the same letter, but not A". Hot damn! Toi was a crazy geography nerd and he had no idea what kind of Pandora's Box he had just opened. Within three minutes, I had written down Australia, Austria, Argentina, Albania, Andorra, Armenia, Angola, Czech Republic and Seychelles. From that point on, it was a hurdle of trivia questions culminating in what would be his final test. He handed me one of those wire puzzles where you had to separate the pieces. He showed me a chart he had on the wall of different countries, with stars showing how many people from each country had completed the puzzle. I knew I had to throw a star up there for Canada so I set about trying to figure it out. Took me about 15 minutes, but I earned my star on Toi's chart.

In the morning, I made it a point to wake up at a time that didn't make me vulgarly lazy. 10am was that time. Toi lenbt me a motorbike and I made my way across the bridge and into the old city. The distance between temples was nothing severe, but there were so many, so having a motorbike would prove invaluable in seeing as many as I could.

It was a very sunny and very hot day. Already I was wearing a glossy sheen and I hadn't even walked 50 meters. A lot of these temples were actually temple ruins. Vast expanses of half-formed structures, collapsed walls and strewn red bricks. No shelter from the sun. At times I was completely alone. At times it felt like a graveyard. Trees sprouted around long fallen structures, in one instance, partly enveloping a Buddha's head. Elsewhere, mock Buddhas were constructed, more closely resembling golems than dieties. Occasionally, a grand spire (called a stupa) jut out from the center of the ruins and required exploration. From the top, you could not only see the reach of the temple grounds, but other stupas which dominated the horizon from other parts of the city.

Some temples were still very much active. Massive golden Buddhas in carefully chosen positions, unmistakably the centerpiece for each area of worship. Practitioners held joss sticks and gave their prayers. Photographs were permitted and evidently so was selling souvenirs inside of the temple. For some reason, that scene from Jesus Christ Superstar where Jesus comes into the temple and starts trashing all of the merchants' shops kept coming to mind.

The rides between temples were at times attractions in themself. beautiful parks with lakes, lovely foliage. I wondered how many Thais came here when they retired.

After seeing a massive reclining Buddha, I decided to call it a day. I saw a total of nine temples and was cooking like a Christmas goose in the afternoon heat, so I made my way to the market where I ate my cheapest meal in Thailand. A bowl of soup with noodles, chicken and vegetables for 16 baht (48 cents). Delicious savings.

I returned the bike after spending about an hour trying to find the bus station in hopes of buying a cheap ticket for later. As an aside, maybe it's the language barrier, but it seems like any time you ask a Thai person where something is, they just gesture in a cardinal direction. Train station? That way. Gas station? That way. Australia? That way. Sometimes you get the broad gesture that sweeps from east to west. Anyways, I learned from many people that the bus station was "that way". I just kept going and asking people until I found it. It was very very far away.

Later on at the guesthouse, there was an older Aussie guy sitting by himself drinking Chang after Chang, tolerating the obnoxious reggaeton music Toi was blaring. I struck up a conversation with him and it was utterly painful. This guy never married and never had a career and seemed pretty content with it. It was odd though because he didn't act like a grown up man at all, or anyone who's ever had any kind of responsibility. Something about old dudes, you kind of expect them to be wise and authoritative. This guy was insecure, naive and all around hard to respect. For all those guys who say "never get married" or "don't get stuck in a 9-5", this guy was the living, breathing argument against those assertions. The least he could have done was turn to Toi and say "Can you turn that shit off?" like a proper old man.

That night I watched a group of four guys from England all try and fail at the wire puzzle. I had decided to take the sleeper train up to Chiang Mai. It was more expensive, but I had yet to experience one, so I booked the last available bunk. At around 9pm I boarded. I had been at the exact same spot 24 hours ago, arriving in Ayutthaya. One solid day of good, wholesome tourism. I felt quite pleased with myself. Chiang Mai, it turned out, would be the complete opposite.

Toi's test and progress chart.

Wat Phra Mahathat.

Enveloped Buddha, Wat Phra Mahathat.

Wat Phra Si Sanphet.

Golem Buddhas, Wat Phra Si Sanphet (maybe).

Reclining Buddha.

Wat Not Sure.

Bangkok, part 2.

It was a hot, cramped minibus ride back to Bangkok. When are minibuses ever NOT hot and cramped? This one took us right back to Khao San Road. Right back into the fray. Nothing was different. "Hello sir, suit?" or "Tuk-tuk, anywhere 5 baht." or "You need ID card? Diploma?". Yeah, there were dudes selling fake diplomas there. Among the universities represented: McGill and U of T. This is probably why there's so many dumb and seemingly uneducated people teaching in Korea. They all got their "degrees" from U of Khao San.

I checked back into the same guesthouse and bumped into Adam skulking around in the halls. He had a good run by himself. A party in Koh Pha Ngan, a hike in Khao Sok National Park and of course, the visa run to Myanmar.

Before we parted ways, Sophia and I made plans to meet up later. I told her about the rooftop bar I had discovered and she seemed keen to check it out. It would be a whole group of us, and as it was the last night of Sophia's vacation, there was a lot of expectation riding on the night. We were flung around the various adult beverage dispensaries of Khao San Road. A basement nightclub with a daft circular pool table. A British pub with an ill-conceived dancefloor.My favorite was the Dr. Fish Spa, where you could dip your feet in a shallow pool of fish and have them eat all of the dead skin off. At first, terrifying, but after about 20 minutes, only mildly disturbing. Such a bizarre feeling. Like mild electrocution, but distinctly organic. Unmistakably it was creatures that were causing this sensation, even if you tried to pretend otherwise. The last place we ended up in was one of those classy "cheap, very very strong" cocktail joints before Adam and I called it a night.

When I got back home, I made a discovery that can account for all of the venom and vitriol I've had for Khao San Road in all of my entries up until this point. I had apparently improperly locked my room, and in the five hours I had been gone, someone seized the opportunity to enter my room and take my ipod and my Rollei camera. I was livid when I discovered this. Naturally, everyone else in the guesthouse was clueless as to what had happened. I felt so stupid and angry, a feeling which lingered for the duration of my time in Bangkok. My ipod was my all-purpose device. My Internet, my Skype, my photos of friends and family, my music, my alarm clock, my currency converter, my dictionary/thesaurus for all of these long-winded entries, my sanity retainer for those long hours in transit. My Rollei had about 20 exposures in it that I had yet to develop from Myanmar, Kanchanaburi and the Red Shirt rally. Also, not a terribly easy camera to replace. no doubt it was one of the many unscrupulous guests staying at that flophouse who helped themself to my possessions. Thais may rip you off, but they never outright rob you. I wanted to burn Khao San Road to the ground with napalm.

Early the next morning, at 6am, I went to the police station to report my loss. no one there spoke English (an oddity considering it was the Khao San Road Police Department and considering the fact that every other Thai has at least some rudimentary skills), but they were quite helpful regardless. They wrote me a police report in Thai which I would attempt to use while claiming the ipod on my insurance. I went back to bed again until noon.

Adam, perhaps in an attempt to pull me out of my rut, invited me out to MBK and a movie. Doing something different took my mind off of the loss for a bit. We had to cross through the Red Shirt area first, but everyone seemed to be gone. I guess they took their show on the road. We then wandered the dense corridors of the men's fashion department of MBK before checking out Clash of the Titans at the upstairs cinema. However, before Liam Neeson could release any Krakkens, we were made to stand for the Thai national anthem. Man what a bad movie that ended up being. I always feel ashamed after watching a bad Hollywood movie in Asia, like I want to get up during the credit roll and apologize for my culture's insipidness. It was a low-key evening on Khao San Road, but only for us of course.

The next day I decided to leave this wretched expanse. It seemed insane to have gone back after Kanchanaburi. I had nothing more I wanted to do in Bangkok. I had in fact, just been there just nine months prior on a four day whirlwind tour. I had already seen the grand Palace, Wat Pho, Wat Arun, Thai boxing and a slew of other attractions. And with the protests, the whole city had ground to a halt making everything inconvenient and frustrating. I decided I would leave in the evening and maybe get a nice day out of Bangkok. I went to Lumphini Park, but it had been fashioned in to some sort of Red Shirt citadel, with bamboo, tires and red flags fencing off the perimeter. Nearby, in the neighbourhood of Silom, police and military were out in droves brandishing shotguns and assault rifles. The subway was shut down and banks were barracaded with razor wire. I had stayed in this area last time I was in Bangkok and as you can imagine, it was 100% different. Nothing to do really but take pictures.

That evening I made my way to the train station for my trek up north. I had planned to stay in Bangkok for 8 days, but I honestly couldn't stand another minute. Adam remained behind because he still had some stuff he wanted to do. I bought a ticket to Ayutthaya, the old old capital just an hour and a half north of the city. Apparently it's all temples and really really quiet. I brushed off my final tout in bangkok and couldn't wait to get there.

Adam challenges you to a game of "Pool Except Dumb".

Dr. Fish Spa.

Adam photobombing on Khao San Road.

Red Shirt citadel in Lumphini Park.

Martial law in Silom.

Police, Silom.

Military, Silom.