Closing the Loop

We took a boat across the mighty Mekong. This was a significant journey, as it meant that we were returning to Thailand, where our Asian adventure had begun just 5 months before. We were finally reaching the end of our travels.

This couldn't have happened at a better time. I was running on fumes. There was nothing inspiring, nothing new under the sun for us to see. We had considered stepping across the Thai border to Myanmar, to just take a peek at another culture and to add another country to our list, but we were too exhausted to even bother.

Our bus ride from hell to the Thai border had taken eleven hours. Our next leg was to Chiang Mai, in Northern Thailand, another seven hours away. We were put in a minivan, where I tried to sleep the time away, but I couldn't shake my discomfort. My ankles swelled up like balloons, giving me much-dreaded "cankles." This should have been an indication that our bodies needed some serious rest and relaxation, but against our better judgement, what did we do? Sign up for a two-day trek into the hills.

The Last Great Adventure

Why did we do it? Why did we push ourselves this way? I suppose we were on automatic, and sensing adventure, we'd just sign up for whatever came our way. After all, we approached this trip like a job. It was our duty to experience as much as possible. Nobody said this would ever be easy.

Chiang Mai is the tourist capital of the north. Backpackers gather here to engage in all kinds of activities. Like good backpackers, we joined the fray. A hike into the hills, spending the night in a village with a family, not to mention a plethora of other activities—we'd be fools not to do this. Come on, one last adventure before heading back to the real world.

The groups for these hill trek tours were small. Chris and I were put with a young Italian couple, who fortunately, were very friendly. Sat on boards in the back of an open-air taxi, we were transported through the lush landscape.

Our first stop was the Karen village. Perhaps most people associate the Karen with colorful photos of women with large rings around their necks. This is somewhat true, as this tradition is still followed, but only by the subset group of Kayan. Though the majority of this tribe live in Myanmar, a good number of them have migrated to Northern Thailand, where they now make a profit off tourism. I was excited to be visiting this village, but that excitement soon turned to feelings of discomfort as we walked around. The women were on show, like animals in a zoo. Sat in booths, they had little interaction with us, weaving and displaying their crafts. Nothing about this experience seemed very authentic. We didn't have to ask to take photos, as it was expected of us. None of them made eye contact, they just went about their business while we snapped pictures. The photos were spectacular, don't get me wrong, it was just the lack of interaction which was unsettling. There was something unmistakably exploitive about it, and I felt apologetic as I focused my camera lens on each of their faces. There were only women in this "village." A number of them had the neck rings; the older they were, the more rings. I couldn't help but feel claustrophobic looking at these contraptions. I have a problem with tight collars; I can't image what it would feel like to have all that weight around my neck. At first glance, it appears that these rings cause the women to have long necks, but in actuality, the weight of these rings push down on their shoulders, deforming them. For this effect, the rings have to be put on when they're children, when their bones are still forming. There were young girls rambling about with stacks of rings. As they get older, no doubt more rings will be added, until they're old withered women with giraffe necks. It would be impossible to take these rings off at this point, as their necks would no longer be able to support their heads. They were thus prisoners to these contraptions. Yet another example of how women suffer for perceptions of beauty.

A happier experience came by way of the Snake Show. I'm one of those people who don't mind snakes. In fact, one of my favorite photos of myself is me posing with a python draped around my shoulders (this was way before Britney Spears; she must have copied me). I've knelt before cobras in the Jemaa el-Fnaa in Marrakesh; I'm totally okay with that kind of thing. So I didn't necessarily get the heebie jeebies from watching the Snake Show. It was more entertaining than anything, especially with the MC sounding like Leslie Chow from The Hangover movies, his voice villainous, yet when drawn out, it was oddly seductive. As guys dangled snakes at the audience, techno music would be playing, interspersed with the MC going, "Helllooooo, how you?..hehe... kiss snake..sexy sexy...nice kiss...hehe...wow, so crazy." The Snake Show—not quite ready for Vegas, but entertaining nonetheless.

After a few more stops, it was time to get serious. We were dropped off on a trail where we met our guide, a young guy named Wit. I don't know how witty he was, as he openly admitted he was suffering from a hangover. This was good, as I wasn't the one to be bringing up the rear for once.

The hike was pretty heavy-duty—uphill for four hours. Chris and I, no strangers to sweat, were perspiring on a whole new level. Every inch of fabric clung to my body as if a tidal wave had just washed over me. Chris actually took a picture of my face, the hue of red found on my skin was that impressive. It wasn't just the heat, it was the humidity which was forcing drops of sweat out of every pore. It was like hiking uphill in a steam bath. My goodness, I couldn't wait to reach the village.

We reached a refreshment stand near the summit of our trek. 7-11 was scrawled in marker across a styrofoam cooler. And yes, it was as good as a 7-Eleven as it served ice cold cans of soda and beer. We were relieved to see the prices were decent and downed drinks in an effort to put moisture back into our bodies. From that stand, the village wasn't far. The hard part was over.

The village was authentic and basic; no electricity, wooden huts on stilts, children and farm animals milling about. Our sleeping accommodations were located in a wooden hut, and consisted of mats and blankets on a wooden floor with mosquito nets draped around. We were sharing this space with the Italians. This was so rustic; I was fearing the bathrooms. Fortunately the facilities were modern, with flush toilets, so at least I got to cross that off my worry list. What was fervently put on my worry list were the spiders which inhabited the wooden bathroom stalls. They were furry and about the size of my hand. I asked the guide about them. Though Wit had limited English, he took a look at one of the spiders I pointed out, and he went after it with a stick and told me "Bad, bad." So great, venomous spiders in the bathroom. Perfect.

We showered in makeshift bamboo stalls. I've enjoyed better showers, but this was adequate to wash off the sweat and leave us feeling somewhat refreshed. There was no entertainment in the village, so we were left to sit on a deck to watch the children. One of the kids had a pet beetle which he kept on a string leash. There were also balloons to bat around, so we did this with the children until it was time to eat. Wit had prepared for us a simple meal of curry and rice, which we ate while sitting in a circle on the deck. It was all so simple and perfect, especially as the sun went down and Guilio, the Italian, strummed for us a song on a guitar that had been procured from somewhere in the village. A fire burned in the middle of our circle, and it felt very camp-like. The stars came out over the balcony of trees, and the insects began their mating song. Yes, it was all starting to look so romantic.

Then it was time for bed. Though sleeping on mats sounds pretty harsh, it wasn't too bad and I thought with my dire exhaustion, I'd be asleep in no time. Well, once again, my body decided to fuck me over, denying me the sleep I so badly needed. Chris was snoring beside me; he evidently had no trouble catching some Zzzz's, though I was embarrassed about his snoring with the Italian couple just a mosquito net away. So what do I do when I can't sleep? I pee. Repeatedly. The first time was horrid enough, as I had to leave the hut and descend some stairs to get bathroom stalls; not the easiest of journeys. Then I had to pee in a stall that was harboring venomous spiders. I made the trip as quickly as I could. Nestled into my spot beside Chris, I thought that wouldn't be any further hindrances to sleep. But I couldn't get the thought of those spiders out of my head. There were huge gaps in the bamboo boards of our hut. There was absolutely nothing that could keep the spiders out of our blankets. My skin crawled through the night, and of course, that fear only perpetuated my need to go visit the bathroom where those spiders were most definitely waiting for me. This psychological game of spiders put me in a strange frame of mind. I got up to go to the bathroom again, and as I was sitting there, sweeping my flashlight around the edges of the stall, the beam swept across a questionable figure that was incongruous to the boards. There were telltale legs, and bubbly eyes, and mandibles. One of those bloody spiders was behind the door handle. The fucking door handle! This is seriously the stuff of nightmares for me. I remember working in the cornfields as a teenager and being locked in the outhouse with its resident wolf spider (a game that the boys loved to play). I had freaked out then; I was desperately trying not to freak out in this village in the middle of the night. I calmly unlocked the door with my foot and edged it open. And then I booked it up to the hut. I knew I wouldn't be sleeping after that, so I hung out on the deck, watching the clouds move past the full moon. The sky was quilty with poofy clouds; very beautiful. I had to ask myself how the hell I had ended up here. I mean really—how the hell did I end up at this spot in Northern Thailand? This wasn't a bad "How did I get here" moment, but rather a philosophical one. Who am I? What is my place in this universe? Is there some meaning to all of this? Despite all the spider-madness, thoughts were running deep that night.

Having suffered another sleepless night, I was ready to crash. Thoughts of fluffy white duvets and sparkling clean bathrooms danced on the periphery of my mind. But comfort wasn't in the books for that day, for once the sun rose and breakfast was eaten, we were off on another hike. Thankfully, this hike was mostly downward, but it was still long and ambling. It was another sweat-fest. We came to a thunderous waterfall where we all took a dip in the cool, refreshing waters. I didn't want to change into my swim suit, so I went in fully clothed. The waterfall was quite powerful, with tons of water pouring down all around. I could only endure the fringes of the waterfall. After looking up and imagining a tree, or a log, come barreling over the edge, I booked it back to the safety of the rocks.

We finally made it back to transportation. The hiking portion of this tour was over. This came as a relief, but the activities kept coming. First we had an hour-long elephant ride. This was very different from our elephant encounter in Malaysia. In Malaysia, we were just giving bananas to banana-weary elephants, and pretty much observing. In Northern Thailand, you can be seated like royalty upon one of these gentle beasts. Chris and I sat astride one elephant, and the Italian couple were on another. A handler guided our elephants down a track. This was more exciting that it sounds, for the track was steep and narrow, and I could envision Dumbo taking a wrong step and tumbling down into the river (I guess having a horse collapse on me when I was child doesn't help visions like this). Thankfully Dumbo was used to the route and brought us safely to flat ground.

The next segment of this tour involved white water rafting. My psyche was incredibly fragile after my night with the spiders, plus fears of waterfalls and logs and tumbling elephants. If I was going to die on any of these activities, it would surely be on the whitewater rafting bit. But surprisingly, the rafting was the activity I enjoyed the most. All I needed was a rush of adrenaline to get my system revved. I couldn't stop whooping and hollering as we made our way through the rapids. This was the height of fun for me. I wanted it to go on longer, but downriver we transferred to bamboo rafts, which took a top-notch rafting experience down to zero. We floated on these bamboo rafts, our butts half-below water. It was more an experience of slow sinking than it was rafting. But this was our last activity, and we were on our way back to Chang Mai. We had done it. We had survived this last little adventure. And now... it was time to sleep.

Running on Empty

I slept for days. I was so lethargic, I could barely crawl out of bed and force myself down the road to get food. A corner was turned where I couldn't process any more travel. I wanted nothing more than a bed and the comforts of home. To imagine myself waking up in the morning and preparing a cup of tea was the height of comfort to me. To not have to get dressed and walk down an alley, dodging motorbikes and vendors, but rather to cross one's own living room, to one's kitchen, and put the kettle on, while wearing pj's and slippers—this was my new version of heaven.

We stayed in Chang Mai a few more nights. Nothing incredibly notable happened. The city itself is impressive, with its city walls and cool backpacker vibe. But I was done with all that. Slippers and a cup of tea—that was what was on my wish list.

There was one morning where we woke up early to catch the Presidential Debate. This was 2012 and it was Romney against Obama. I had missed Obama's first term in office; I didn't want to think I had missed the Obama boat all together, so I was keenly interested to see how this debate would go. We caught the debate on CNN, and were sorely disappointed with Obama's performance. He seemed to be half-asleep through the whole thing, whereas Romney spoke with passion and conviction. Come on, Obama—I advised him across the miles—you can't be resting on your laurels. You got to be fighting for your second term. I was worried what America might be by the time I returned. I had heard that Obama was falling out of favor due to his lack of initiative. Thankfully, that first debate was not indicative of the rest of his campaign, and he fought in the following elections.

Just a jaunt down Memory Lane here—that election in 2008. I was just finding my political footing in this world (having grown up politically neutral) and had caught Obama-fever. That was the first election I ever voted in. It was also the first election I followed with interest. I actually cried when the votes came in from the west coast, and it was blue across the board. What a moment of pride. The world celebrated as well; I remember Chris telling me about the reaction in London at the time. And now that Obama is ending his reign, I am happy that America gave him two terms. It may be too soon to tell just how he stands as president against all the rest, but I think history will judge him favorably.

Ending Things with a Roar

So, travel-weary as we were, we had one last activity up our sleeve. And this one would be worth dragging ourselves out of bed for. We were going to Tiger Kingdom.

Despite the extravagance of the price, our expectations were low. Yes, there would be tigers, that wasn't in question, but would we get to pet and interact with them? Though Tiger Kingdom says they don't drug their tigers, I still envisioned comatose, or at the very least, sleeping, tigers. Perhaps we could crouch next to them for a photo, but that might be the extent of it. With these low expectations in place, Tiger Kingdom was the stuff of magical dreams.

The tigers came in four sizes: smallest, small, medium, and big. We signed up for the smallest, small, and big. First up were the smallest. We were instructed on how to approach and handle these three-month old tiger cubs. We learned never approach a tiger from the front. This surprised me, as I'm used to animals that like to smell you before they accept your presence. Not so with tigers. They like a back approach. They also like their bellies rubbed, and their paws held. We were admitted into the cub pen, where cubs were running around and frolicking with one another. Right off, I could see that this was great stuff with lots of opportunities to interact with the animals. As rolly-polly as they were, we could lay across them and play with their paws. We had to keep clear of their faces, as they could tear us to pieces, even at that young age. They were about the size of a full-grown dog, and their paws were as big as our hands. As cute as they were, they were still dangerous beasts. We had to keep that in mind, even as they were flopping around us and stalking their litter mates. I couldn't believe that we were just sitting in a jumble of tiger cubs. It was just too unreal! I could not stop smiling or laughing.

We moved onto the bigger cats, and these were a bit different than the cubs. Since tigers sleep a lot, they lay around in the shade all day, which is what these particular cats were doing. The handler was more on guard here than the handler with the cubs. These were seriously big beasts. We did our usual thing, which was to lay against the tiger from the back, smiling for the camera as the pictures were snapped at a ferocious rate. My once-in-a-lifetime opportunity came when the handler told me to touch the tiger's balls. "Really?" I asked him. "Yes, yes," he assured me. "He likes it." So I touched the tiger's balls, and his tail swished and curled, as if saying "More please." It felt slightly wrong, but I can say that I've actually tickled a tiger's balls.

The big cats were effing huge, approaching the 18-month mark. Eighteen months is the cut-off, when the tigers become too unpredictable in their behavior to interact with tourists. After that they're sold to zoos or other facilities which handle big cats. This sounds horrible, I know, but at least these cats are cared for and safe from poachers.

I can't adequately express the exquisite beauty of these creatures. Being able to lay against them and inhale their scent and feel them breathe is almost a spiritual experience. We could hold their paws and tails, and pet and stroke them (just not their faces) and they accepted our presence. If I know cats, and I think I do, I know that they don't allow you to do anything to them that don't like. These cats seemed pretty content. We ate up so much digital space with our photos at Tiger Kingdom, but it still wasn't enough. Probably the highlight of my life right there.

Back at the Beginning

Even though the tiger experience had momentarily awakened us from our travel lethargy, the weariness was back as we headed back to Bangkok. We took a train, and I can honestly say that I don't remember anything from it. Like those big cats, I was sleeping like 18 hours a day.

Checking into our guesthouse on the outskirts of Khao San Road, I spent most of my time in the room. Chris ventured off a few times on his own to shop for souvenirs and to enjoy a few last cheap beers in the tropical heat, but the thrill had long worn out. Last minute shopping trips were for practical items. On one trip outside our hotel room, I decided to buy a pair of Diesel jeans, as I was more than ready to throw out my collection of backpacker garb. Buying a stylish pair of jeans in Bangkok is not a problem; buying jeans for a Western-size ass is the problem. The poor girl who waited on me in the store was like, "Biggest jeans we have" as I squeezed into a muffin-top-producing pair. I decided to get them anyway, just in the off chance I might lose weight. Which leads me to the subject of weight—why had I not lost weight? I mean, I know this blog makes it sound like we sat around and read and drank beer a lot, but traveling is exhausting business. We walked a lot. And I mean, a lot. Also the heat and humidity should have had an effect on us: loss of appetite, body looking to shed unwanted insulation. Not to mention all those stomach bugs. Why were we essentially the same weight we were when we had first touched down in Bangkok? It doesn't seem fair. At least I know that if five months through Southeast Asia won't help me to lose weight, then nothing will. I won't even try dieting and exercise.

And now, for the final tally of our epic six months of travel: nineteen countries, two major illnesses, one corneal ulcer, one volcano trek, two elephant encounters, one boat ride with dolphins, one cremation ceremony, one tiger ball-tickling, one night with spiders, countless gongs donged, many great meals, and a collection of photos and memories to see us through the rest of our lives.

Would I do it again? Hell yes!