This bus ride was an interesting one. Taking one vehicle from our hotel in Siem Reap, Cambodia we arrive at the border and cross on foot. After getting our visas stamped we walk into the no-man’s land between Cambodia and Thailand. The bus attendant says we have to wait for 30 minutes before we are allowed to finish the crossing. Why? We have no idea but oblige.

Soon we are ushered across, quickly get all the paperwork done and given the Thailand special, a “colored sticker” affixed to our chests letting the bus companies know who belongs to whom. Soon the red sticker group, us, is walked down the street to a non-shady area to wait for some mini-vans. After about 15 sweaty minutes, we all cram into the vans, are driven to an area to wait for a bus. Here we are given new yellow stickers and told to hold tight. Another 30 minutes goes by and the mother of all songthaews arrives. Seriously, the thing is huge and on we go. We ride, bumping along for about 25 minutes until we are dropped off, yet again. This time we stop at a hotel, are told to wait in the lobby, and (of course) given new stickers. At this rate we should arrive in Bangkok some time next week!

Finally, the actual bus to Bangkok shows up, and it was so worth the wait. I am completely overcome with joy when I see that we will be boarding the “Little Mermaid” bus. Ariel, Flounder, and a bunch of other sea creatures are spray-painted on, decorating the outside, and inspiring Scotty and I into a spirited rendition of “Under the Sea!” (I wish Emery was here, she would have surely known all the words and not have had to make some up like we did.)

Once in Bangkok we head straight for the “Prasuri Guesthouse.” Though we did not stay there the last time we were in town, the place was always full, we did scope it out and knew that it was cheap and decently clean. An English girl we met on the bus called ahead and secured rooms for us. We were worried that they would be full again and were happy when they had availability; we soon found out why!

It is Thai New Year, or Songkran festival (a three-day event) and the water fight antics are in full swing. Though it is already late, most of the water is flung during the hotter day-time hours, we decide to avoid Khoa San Road where we are likely to get doused. Not so much fun when you are carrying everything you own in a water-permeable pack on your back. We take Thanon Ratchadamnoen Klang, the wide east-west boulevard towards the Democracy Monument.

The usually busy street is bustling, but not with cars. The Democracy Monument has been overtaken by the protesting Red Shirts. The street is completely blocked off to any traffic and people are camped out everywhere. I see a man squatting in plain view on the sidewalk and am sad that I have not worn my close-toed shoes. Loud speakers blare on-going Thai tirades, and though we cannot see the speaker or understand the words, the emotion in the voice is unmistakable: anger, outrage, and a call to activism.

We turn the corner onto the street that will lead us to Prasuri and are greeted by 3 dismantled tanks in the street! The scene is unsettling. (We will later learn that the day before our arrival, protesters got into a armed conflict with military police leading to 21 deaths.) There was graffiti on walls, broken glass, remnants of torched vehicles, posters, and photos of the those recently killed or maimed in the conflict on display. One man was having a go at the tank with a large piece of wood. I was surprised how much damage had been done to the tanks at the protesters hands.

We take a right, literally, a block from where the protester area stops. Regardless of the calamity outside, we register for a room. No sooner do we drop our bags that Scotty wants to go outside for a look around. I reluctantly agree, but once we hit street level, I quickly change my mind and head back. I make him promise to be back by a specified time, lest I freak out from worry. I want to see what is happening too, but would rather have a look in the light of day and not in the shadows of night.

When he gets back, he assures me that everything is fine. An enthusiastic male Red Shirt even took him around encouraging him to snap photos of the proceedings. Though the man did not speak any English, Scotty got the impression that he was happy to have tourists present; an international audience to acknowledge their cause.

The next day we decide to bypass the protest and head to a demonstration of another kind, water festival madness. Songkran is traditionally a time for cleansing and renewal. The throwing of water was originally a way for people to pay respect. After pouring water over the Buddhas for cleansing, they would capture the water and use this “blessed” water to give good fortune to elders and family by gently pouring it on their shoulder. Now young people celebrate by dousing each other and strangers.

Things start out mildly with thin streams of water from water guns. But this does not last long. Soon we are completely doused, water flying around from all directions, speakers blaring upbeat dance music, and people squealing with delight. So you figure that once your body reaches 100% saturation then that is it right. All that is left is to stroll and enjoy. But that is not the end of it at all. Completely soaked or not, nothing can quite prepare you for a bucket of ice-cold water down the back. Even when you learn to recognize which people have access to the really cold stuff, even when you anticipate the icy liquid hitting you, the reaction is the same: stunning! Like someone knocking the wind out of you, but less painful I would guess.

The Thais add another element to the water festival by incorporating talcum powder or chalk into the celebration. Originally monks used chalk to mark blessings, but the Khao San revelers have adopted their own methods. People make a sludge-like substance out of chalk pellets and smear the stuff all over any and every one in the vicinity. Some of those celebrating gently wipe a slimy palm of chalk across your face and wish you a happy new year, while some mischievously pour cups-full right over the top of your head. The worst is the particularly naughty bunch of folks who use prickly heat powder instead of regular talcum powder or chalk. For those who haven’t used prickly heat before, it is like Tiger Balm or IcyHot but in powder form; it burns!

Our stay in Thailand is brief but packed with exciting imagery. The water festival was fun for a day and the protests outside our door do not make for the most relaxing environment. I am not sad when our brief stay in Bangkok is over and we head out, in the still dark morning hours, to catch a plane to Myanmar.

North, north and further north. Hopping another bus we find ourselves finally in Chaing Mai, touted as the culture capital of Northern Thailand. This place has it all: hand-crafts, jewelery, tons of religious sites, classes on yoga, language, cooking, and meditation (among others), shopping, traffic, art, night markets and, of course, bowling.

The city is surprisingly modern and we have to navigate busy streets as we stroll around from wat to wat which are as abundant here as are the 7-11’s. We spend our days walking, necks craned, looking up, amid the wondrous ancient temples as well as the bars, banks, and bookstores. At night we walk watching for wonders of a different sort: the ladyboys, and they are everywhere. The evening brings out those who prowl for business in the dark and, among the 1 million or so visitors Chaing Mai sees each year, there is plenty of willing prey.

One evening we stumble upon a bar complex that is situated around a boxing ring where foreigners can try their skills against a real Muay Thai fighter, a brutal form of martial art from Thailand. We aren’t sure whether the foreigners have paid to get into the ring or if they are students getting a chance to try their newly acquired skills on a big stage. Either way, it is obvious that the Muay Thai fighter, the same guy fighting each new subsequent foreigner, is taking it easy on the other contenders. And I am glad for that. I do not really want to see any bloodshed anyhow.

Another evening we see what appears to be a large bowling pin attached to the side of a building. We think– that’s a strange chedi! Like a homing device we are lured in, playing three games of 10 pin. In the second round, Scotty wins by 2 points (the first time he has ever beat me at the lanes! A sad day indeed, the end of an era.)

The highlights of our time in Chaing Mai came when we decided to rent a motorbike. First, we rode out of town, down a busy highway lined with gruesome photos of motorbike accident victims, to Tiger Kingdom. At first, Scotty was reluctant to go to this attraction despite his intense draw to and fascination with tigers since he was a wee boy. We were both worried that the tigers would be in chains, in small enclosures, drugged, or otherwise ill-treated. But upon arriving at the facility we felt immediately more at ease.

It is not cheap to pet a tiger. But then again, how many places exist in the world where you can do just that? Simple supply and demand; and we happily coughed up the cash to get into the cage. The first enclosure we enter had 3 juvenile tigers, about 6-9 months old. Nemo, was particularly frisky, and kept trying to use Scotty as a scratching post. Naughty kitty!!

In the second enclosure and find ourselves among 3 large 1-2 year old female tigers. The handler takes us over to pet the first of the females who is languidly laying, fully stretched out, looking quite comfortable. I am anything but comfortable as another seemingly unattended female who was, just a second ago, splashing around in a large pool, approaches us from behind. The handler notices my apprehension, perhaps the oh-shit! look on my face gave it away, and laughs. “Three tigers, three us, no problem” he says. Let’s hope so.

We had already received the full run down of do’s and don’ts in regards to tiger etiquette but I prompt more guidance as the joking handler notices my tiger petting technique. “No, no. More hard. She will think you are fly. Like this.” as he proceeds to not so delicately rub the tigers belly. Not wanting to get swatted by an enormous tiger paw, I ditch my feelings of trepidation and  obey, going into full Thai massage mode making sure to use lots of pressure and even strokes.

We see how important following instructions is first hand when a group of girls outside the enclosure decide to run after one another. A big no-no around big cats. All 3 of the tigers immediately snapped to attention; lowering their massive heads, raising their powerful shoulders, achieving full stock and attack mode in a fraction of a second.

The experience is incredible. We are both grinning from ear to ear and may as well have been floating on clouds the entire ride home.

Since the motorbike is due back by 1 pm, and we are notorious for sleeping late into the day, we deciding to fore go sleep and are out the door by 4:30 am to catch the sunrise at Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep, the most famous temple in the Chaing Mai area. This temple dates from 1383 and stands on a hill by the same name, Doi Suthep, north-west of the city. On a clear day, it is said to offer superb views.

Riding up this hill in the dark presents an interesting challenge. No, we didn’t blow a tire and yes, our headlights were fully functional. The problem was the cold. Not something we have encountered too much on this trip so far. Unlike times in the past when weather was an issue, we were expecting it and planned accordingly, layering everything in our backpacks to stay warm. This time, we were not expecting it.

The chill gave me enough confidence to not hold on for dear life at the back of the motorbike and instead cross my arms in front of my chest attempting to keep as much of my body shielded from the wind as possible. Scotty on the other hand, bore the brunt of the cold. Going numb, he thought the road was severely ill-constructed when really, it was just his own body shaking and shivering for most of the way up.

Safely at the top, we were eventually rewarded as we climbed the dragon-lined staircase in solitude; we were the only farang (Thai for foreigner) around. After buying incense and flowers for a prayer offering, we wondered around a bit in the dark trying to ascertain the best viewing spot for sunrise. A helpful local, misinterpreting what we are seeking, ushers us into the main temple area and sets us to start the prayer ritual: walking 3 times clockwise around the central chedi before placing our prayer offering. Not wanting to insult him, we go through with the full procession, kneel and pray that we have not missed the sun’s arrival.

We make it out onto an east facing terrace to see the brightly glowing orange orb emerge through a thick layer of dense smog and cloud cover. Oh well. Some of the closer surroundings are visible and we can imagine that, indeed, on a clear day, the view must be pretty fantastic. The Wat itself makes up for the lackluster view and we are happy none the less.

Riding back down the hill is much more pleasant with the sun on our backs. We safely return the motorbike grateful for the mobility it provided, the experiences we gained, and another successful turn at navigating crazy Asian streets, road rules, and other drivers.

I’m pretty sure Scotty shed a tear when we left the beautiful beach in Southern Thailand. What he didn’t know was how many more, tears of happiness he would be shedding when he beheld the wonders of the Krabi area.

Arriving by bus, the place wasn’t much to look at at first. From the back seat of the saengthaew (pronounced: song-tao), a truck with benches lining both sides, we road for 30 bumpy minutes into Krabi Town, a nondescript area with shops, convenience stores and hotels. I’m not sure what tourist visiting Krabi Town do for fun, and was not interested in sticking around to find out. I wanted more beach, and refused to get out of the truck until water was visible.

As good luck would have it, at one of the stops made to pick up more customers, we ended up becoming fast friends with a great couple from Finland: Daniel and Nina, who had also just arrived in Krabi. We decided to team up in the quest for cheap digs and good times. As time passed, the landscape finally changed and we were back in business with sand, surf and looming limestone cliffs. Reaching the “backpacker” area the driver lets us know this was our exit and hurriedly gestured toward a road leading away from the shore. Guessing we were meant to walk in that direction, we head off.

Checking out a few rooms we end up at the affordable Laughing Gecko Bungalows. The owner is a sweet Canadian with a raspy voice and to-the-point attitude and her soft-spoken, thoughtful Thai husband. She shows us a “house” on the property with 2 rooms and a shared bathroom assuming that the four of us are good friends on holiday and not folks who just met on the ride over. A testament to our instant comfort with one another, I would venture to say. She also shows us some single room bungalows and not feeling compelled either way we leave the decision to a flip of a coin. Together, it is. And we move into our respective dilapidated rooms, with threadbare walls and an array of creepy crawlies.

Vowing to make the most of all the money we are saving through our room choice, the next morning we quickly spring for a boat ride over to the picturesque, white-sand West Railey. Though this beach is on the mainland, it feels like an island as it is only accessible by long tail boat. The Finns laugh as we disembark and I mimic-skate-ski over the beach. It’s great to be one that is so easily amused.

Though the beach is gorgeous, we have a very different agenda in mind. So we bee-line over to East Railey for some rock climbing. Now for those of you who do not climb, such as myself, you have to understand that Krabi is a dream destination for those who scale rocks worldwide. To the many climbing fanatics in Bend, I do not have to tell you how much Krabi has to offer in the way of difficulty and diversity of climbs over tall,  limestone faces. So, despite my fear of heights and distrust of a simple, and in my mind, flimsy looking equipment that is supposed to keep me from plummeting to my death, I decide to usurp my lack of desire to ever even try the sport and give it a go. An attempt is the least I can do for all of those who would love the chance to get here.

We are a bit of a motely crew: Scotty commenting how out of climbing shape he is, Daniel and Nina who are new to the sport and have only climbed indoors, and me, green as green could be. Rental gear in hand we head over to the 123 wall where many of the rock climbing classes are conduct as it promises some easy routes, rated 5’s in the French system. (By the way, I have no idea what the rating systems mean, but I did pick up some of the lingo. Sound official don’t I??) No one knows how to belay, except Scotty. No one has ever lead a route, except Scotty. He gives Daniel a quick belay lesson and off we go. We move slowly, which is just fine by me as I take in all that I can from the safety of the ground.

By the end of the day, we are all smiles, feeling proud as each of us has completed some personal success. Scotty lead every route confidently and made it look like it has been days not months since the last time he climbed. Daniel lead his first route ever, in style, as we cheered him on over the tricky parts. Nina and I tried really hard, gave it our best, looked fabulous, and eventually both made it to the top of the last route we attempted. This was a huge turn around for me. From disinterest and fear, to desire, determination to make it just a little bit farther each time, and growing confidence that I could make that next move if I was just willing to risk falling and try, my first day out was an emotionally and physically challenging. I ended up enjoying it much more that I could have ever imagined I would. Though I don’t anticipate a sudden devotion to rock climbing, I’m guessing that this won’t be the last time I ever pull on a harness.