by Kyle James
“I made you some pasta!” she said, skipping into the kitchen. I knew I was in trouble when she was in a nurturing mood. Eventually she admitted she’d spent 150 dollars on clothes from that Spanish asshole Zara. Midway through her extensive explanation on why she needed all these rompers and already ripped overalls, I told her I just didn’t have the energy to care.
I couldn’t believe I had spent the only day we were in Athens in bed, but I didn’t have much of a choice. We did have a nice view of the Parthenon from our window. I just hoped this rest and relaxation was going to pay off in Thailand.
We watched the finale of Game of Thrones and called it a night in preparation for Bangkok.
9/2/15
Athens, Greece → Cairo, Egyp
When we awoke, and the reality that we would be flying from Europe to Africa to Asia today set in, we packed extra carefully. Our backpacks would be traveling through three continents, and I didn’t anticipate anyone giving a shit about them along the way. Once we had everything securely fastened, we set off into the streets of Athens and headed to the metro that would take us to the airport.
The airport was way east of the city, and as we traveled beyond the outskirts of Athens, I thought about the fact that we were leaving Europe today after three months. We might have only been here for ninety days, but we had adapted to many of the European ways of life. It was hard to believe it was over, and even harder to believe we’d made it. It seemed like just yesterday we had conquered our first metro and made it to Bastille in Paris. I can still feel the gratification and sense of accomplishment we’d felt after completing our first travel day. At the time, we didn’t know this was going to be one of the easiest ones of our trip. All we had to do was get from the airport to our Airbnb. There was no BlaBlaCar driver to rendezvous with in the middle of nowhere, no eight-hour bus ride full of bad smells (and little English), and certainly no ferries without air conditioning in the heat of Croatia.
We had visited world wonders like the Eiffel Tower and the Colosseum, immersed ourselves in historical triumphs and tragedies at the Berlin Wall and Auschwitz. We had indulged in hearty beer in Belgium and Tuscan wine in Italy; we’d fallen in love again in Prague and fought on kayaks in Croatia. We felt the lows of sickness in Athens and experienced the many highs of Amsterdam. Europe had been both a great challenge and even better victory for us as it changed our views on life and happiness. We’d done it; we had made it to Athens by September 2. So long, Europe; you’ve been fantastic.
9/3/15
Cairo, Egypt → Bangkok, Thailand
We landed, and a woman announced, “Welcome to Africa.” That was a first for me. We went through a variety of customs, and at almost every checkpoint, we had to pull out our passports and tickets. This was easily the most heightened security we had experienced yet. Even the waiting room for our flight had a security checkpoint. We entered the room and sat along the wall with the other three hundred passengers heading to Bangkok.
We were two out of four white folks on this plane. I’d never felt nervous or scared by this fact, but I could definitely feel many eyes on us, as if we were the minorities here—we were. Cairo is 90 percent Muslim, and I was sure most of the people in that room were Muslim as well. A sudden wave of embarrassment washed over me.
In our current political and global state, many Americans hate all Muslims for the violent acts of a small percentage. I couldn’t imagine how scary it must be to live in a place where you were blamed for the acts of others. I was so grateful these people weren’t treating us with animosity simply because we were Americans. Sadly, I couldn’t say they would receive the same respect if they were in the United States.
As soon as we took seats on the massive 777, an airline attendant handed us a bag containing eye masks, earphones, and tube socks. Who would wear all these things? The woman came back shortly after and asked if we wanted chicken or beef for dinner. We went with the chicken and steamed veggies, and it was actually really good. “This food isn’t bad, is it?” I asked Ash as I devoured the veggies. She didn’t answer, and when I looked up, I saw her bobbing her head to Taylor Swift in her earphones, eye mask on, her feet covered in the gratis socks. I guess I answered my own question.
I took a nap on Wednesday and woke up on Thursday.
“Finally,” Ash said, popping some EgyptAir snacks into her mouth.
I was just happy my ears weren’t clogged and I could sleep. I felt like I was finally coming out of the sickness that had been bringing me down for a week now. We were only two hours from Bangkok, so I must have been asleep for six hours.
Two hours later we landed in Bangkok. As soon as we stepped off the plane, the humid jungle air filled my lungs. I could taste that we weren’t in Europe anymore.
I was still trying to wake up from my sleep, and rubbed my eyes at the bright lights of the terminal. As soon as my vision reappeared, I saw that inside the door there were five Thai women screaming at us. “Transfers here!” screamed one while another stepped up to out-shout her. “Immigration, this way!” she yelled, using her hands like the orange neon bars that led planes into the terminal. Why don’t you guys just use signs like the rest of the world? This was a bit ambitious for 6:00 a.m.
Our taxi sped out of the airport, passing Buddhist temples and a Bangkok Bank billboard the size of a football field. We got an Airbnb two miles from the airport because we were leaving to fly to Chiang Mai in the morning and didn’t want to go all the way to the city for only twelve hours. Our Airbnb was located in a pretty run-down area, but we were exhausted and decided to wait to experience Bangkok when we came back at the end of the month.
The ride cost us only three dollars, and being a taxi, this was probably a rip-off. Three-dollar rip-offs were the best kind. An eighteen-year-old kid in front of the Airbnb greeted us with a wai (when someone puts their hands together like they are praying and bows) and said, “Sawadee kap.” We had read about this greeting but completely froze when the time came to say it back. The kid took our bags and led us up to our room. On the way out, he once again gave us a wai. This time we both gave a wai.
We had finally made it. We were showered and lying in our king-sized bed, ready to eat and then go to bed for the night. Part of me never really imagined us making it to Thailand. It was so far down the list of places we had to book accommodations for that it was such an afterthought. We both took naps until 7:00 p.m. and woke up only to order food. The jet lag was real. When we looked at the room service menu and saw that every bowl of food was a dollar fifty, we ordered five plates. We tried a little bit of everything, from pad Thai to spicy shrimp, and set the plates outside our room to call it a night.
9/4/15
Bangkok, Thailand → Chiang Mai, Thailand
I woke up in the middle of the night and had to sprint to the bathroom with only seconds before a massive blowout. Apparently, my stomach was having trouble acclimating to the Thai food. Let’s be honest: we all knew this was coming. I just didn’t think it would be so soon after our first meal.
By the time Ash woke up for good, my condition had worsened. Ash yelled into the bathroom, “Kyle, don’t use the water to brush your teeth! You could get sick. Turn the faucet off.”
I yelled back to her, “I am not brushing my teeth, and the faucet is not on!” (Not my proudest moment, but it gives you perspective on what real diarrhea sounds like.) I had to mentally prepare myself for another travel day, but this time with bubble guts.
The security line at the airport was short. I tried to refrain from being a wide-eyed, bearded American covered in sweat, but there wasn’t much I could do. I almost had to leave my belongings behind as they came out at a snail’s speed. I threw my shoes on untied and ran off, my belt in hand. (I didn’t need a belt where I was going.)
I spent the entire hour-long trip with my head in my hands. When we landed, we rushed off the plane to get to our next checkpoint. The Chiang Mai terminal reminded me of Santorini in its size and casualness. It also loo
ked like a high school cafeteria. We had been corresponding with our Airbnb host, Richard, who was waiting for us outside of the room with the single baggage claim belt. He held up a sign that read KYLE JAMES.
Richard was cooler than the other side of the pillow. He was a savvy man in his sixties who was originally from Boston, but he’d left the US to work in the French film industry when he was twenty-one. He’d moved to Chiang Mai ten years ago to acquire and rent out real estate.
He gave the taxi driver directions to his house and sped off in front of us on his motorcycle. Our taxi drove us the four miles through the lush jungle setting of Chiang Mai, the second biggest city in Thailand after Bangkok. The city center is a perfect one-by-one-mile square of roads. There is a moat around the square, and bridges connected the outskirts of Chiang Mai.
We walked cautiously through the gate, unsure what to expect. We followed Richard inside. We both dropped our bags and jaws at the same time. We had walked into a crazy, modern, funky house that looked like a rich person on LSD had furnished it. There were huge angel statues with various scarves draped on them and six-foot film production lights in corners.
We chatted with Richard about life for a while before he left. Once we were settled and unpacked, we did what everyone should do immediately when they get to Thailand: we headed to a massage parlor.
As we walked to one of the main strips, we passed schools with children playing outside. There seemed to be a large Buddhist temple every few blocks. We peered into one of the temples from the road and saw people kneeling and praying.
Even from afar I could tell that these people took their religion very seriously. Many people in the US go to church simply for the community and social aspect, myself included. It was more of a routine than a true burning passion and desire. From the looks of these people praying, I couldn’t imagine that was the case in Thailand.
On the walk to the massage parlor, Ash was so excited about getting pampered, she decided we needed to get pedicures before anyone massaged our feet, which we’d beaten up for the last three months. I had never had a massage or a pedicure, so I didn’t care what the order of operations was. We picked a place that looked nice, and the women gave us a wai and led us to big comfy chairs. Ash ordered some special procedure for us, and they really brought out the power tools for this one.
Ash had a petite woman who couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. My woman came out and was a much bigger lady, a huge grin on her face. They had to find someone strong for these feet. She cracked her knuckles, assessed my feet, and prepared to go to work.
She soaked my feet in warm water and rubbed off all the dirt. I felt bad for this poor woman. These feet had seen more mileage than most twenty-six-year-olds’, and they’d never received any treatment other than soap in a shower. She continued to survey them. When we stood up and walked to the register to pay an hour later, the woman told us it was four hundred baht total (ten dollars). It took all my power not to blurt out, “Shut the fuck up.”
We walked home on our new feet to get ready for our trip to the famous Chiang Mai night bazaar. Richard had told us it was the Chiang Mai version of Times Square. We hailed a red pickup truck and bartered with the man on price. Richard also told us that the drivers would spot tourists and try to charge forty or sixty baht per person, knowing that tourists wouldn’t be aware of the local prices. He said the locals only pay twenty baht, and that if you proposed that price first, the driver would usually agree. If not, simply wait for the next one.
The first truck agreed to twenty baht each, and drove through the square of the city, crossing the bridge to the outskirts, where the Chiang Mai night bazaar lived. It was a half-mile stretch of street markets and hustling vendors. There were trinkets, bootleg watches and purses, and clothes and accessories. There were indeed large billboards lit up with ads for McDonald’s and other large American chains. It had the rush and energy of Times Square but lacked the money and Starbucks.
We walked down the strip as night fell, but the temperature did not. We were dripping sweat, but it didn’t matter; walking through an Asian street market like this was exactly what we had envisioned. Ash and I bartered with almost every vendor just to see what we could get. We would haggle back and forth between a dollar and fifty cents, and no matter where we landed, it was absurdly cheap. By the time we had finished walking up and down each side of the street, we had probably spent ten to fifteen dollars and accumulated pillow covers, hanging ornaments, fake Ray-Bans, bracelets, and a purse.
It was now 11:30 p.m., and between my sickness episode this morning and traveling, we were pretty exhausted. As we walked home, bats flew all around our heads and roaches covered the roads. It looked like the asphalt was moving. We ducked and jumped to avoid the respective pests all the way home. We had only been here for one day, but I could tell it was going to be quite different from our time in Europe. I was ready for the change of scenery.
9/5/15
Chiang Mai, Thailand
There is always that one sleep that completely kills a sickness. I had both the few remaining symptoms from my sinus infection and the twenty-four hours of explosive diarrhea kicked out of my system in the same night. I was feeling better, finally.
After a little research, we decided on getting breakfast at Simple Thai Cafe—the name left nothing to wonder. The café was built with bamboo and had a hipster/Seattle vibe inside. We ordered two iced lattes to combat the humidity, an appetizer, and two cashew nut chicken dishes. Our meal came out to be ten dollars.
We spent the rest of the afternoon roaming the streets in the bottom-right quadrant of the city, popping in and out of stores. We had to be home around 5:00 p.m., as some of Ash’s friends from college who were teaching English in Chiang Mai were coming over to go out to dinner with us. After all, it was Saturday night.
We made it home and cleaned up the house for our guests. We haven’t done this in a while, I thought. Aarin, Becky, and Chelsea arrived on their mopeds at 6:30 p.m. They were all teachers at a primary school around the corner from us. Aarin and Becky had gone to App State with us, and Chelsea was a friend of theirs from the school who was also from the US. We drank tallboy Chang beers, the local Thai beer, and caught up on each other’s lives.
We ate dinner at a place they had nicknamed the Treehouse. The best part about Thailand so far wasn’t the cheap massages; it was the fact that you could buy handles of whiskey at a restaurant and order the mixers separately.
After dinner, we jumped on the backs of the girls’ mopeds and ventured to the northeast corner of the city and to the North Gate Jazz Co-Op. I didn’t really know what to expect from a jazz club in Chiang Mai. The venue looked like a living room, with couches and tables facing a stage area in the corner. There was a one-person bar where everyone seemed to be buying soft drinks and handles of SamgSom whiskey to mix at their tables.
During a break in the open mic sets, I went to the bathroom, and similar to most American dive bars, there was writing all over the stalls. However, unlike in American dive bars, all the writing and quotes were encouraging. There was not a single negative thing written on the stall walls. It was refreshing to see such positivity.
We finished up our last drinks. The bar closed at midnight, earlier than we would have thought. Someone had been shot in Chiang Mai last month, so the government was cracking down on bars’ hours. We took our fresh bottle of whiskey and headed to the girls’ favorite late-night food spot, Tacos Bell. No, there is no typo there.
Tacos Bell was a food stand on wheels that a man had been operating for years. There were three options: taco, burrito, or quesadilla. We each grabbed two items and chatted with some other drunken people who had walked over from the jazz club. We took our food to go and headed back to our house.
I had a moment when I woke up from how much I had had to drink, and realized I was sitting on the back of a moped, flying through Thailand with a fifth of liquor in one hand and a bag of tacos in the other. The vibe might have b
een different in Asia, but in the nighttime hours, all nightlife seemed similar.
We had a good ol’-fashioned after party at our house with only five people. We blasted music and played college-style drinking games, getting far drunker than we had anticipated, and laughing until we were crying. It was an incredible night, and Chiang Mai had already blown away our expectations. Although it was the farthest away we had traveled yet, Chiang Mai felt like home.
9/6/15
Chiang Mai, Thailand
Ash went to the Sunday market with the girls while I wrote in Simple Thai Cafe. It felt good for me to be working on this project. There were times when I still felt guilty for not working and advancing my career somehow, but it had made me start thinking about what my career really was. Since I left college, I’ve trained athletes in sports performance, planned corporate meetings all over the country, and fundraised for a nonprofit. I don’t have a career; I have experiences. I don’t think traveling the world and writing a book about this travel was necessarily a bad next step in life. This book was giving me a different kind of experience; it was giving me a sense of purpose.
Apparently, shopping was giving my girlfriend purpose. I returned to find Ash with a bed full of clothes, umbrellas, and blankets. “Ashhhhh …”
“Kyle, I don’t know what happened. One minute I was just perusing the vendors, and the next thing I know, I had bags full of stuff.” So what do you do when your girlfriend goes somewhere so cool that she blacks out and buys tons of things? You go check it out for yourself.
This Sunday market made the night bazaar look like a yard sale. It was only four blocks from our place, and hosted a long stretch of vendors selling their crafts. It was like Etsy had come to life. Unfortunately, we continued buying things because the value-to-price ratio was just too good. We bought gifts for people, a wedding present for my sister, and a few things for ourselves. The reality set in when we got home that we were leaving this house tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. and all the stuff we had just purchased had to come with us. What the hell were we thinking?