The five hour haircut, the tattooed eyebrows, the sickly Thai girl and the holy mountain with puke on it

A week ago, I was saying goodbye to Bangkok, to Thailand and Meaw for the yawing eternity of two and a half months, the memory of phantom fingers in my hand, her face still echoing somewhere behind my eyes and the scent of her hair still strong and heady in my nose. I was going home; to make - and bring back - money, to kill time until quieter times, to let her work as she so desperately needs to in order to support her family. She cried, I cried and oaths and promises to wait and return were made, and we parted ways for a little while.

It has been a very long week and a half. For over five years, I effectively withdrew from public viewing, shying away from the rest of the populace. Never in all that time did I feel as lonely as I have in this past week, eight thousand miles from Meaw. It is fair to say, I have been moping. Having said that, I had been moping for about ten years now, until I arrived in Thailand. And that was full-fledged, medically treated moping. This is just general pining. So, there's still hope of a smile on any given day.

Every day since I left Thailand, I have worked furiously to distract myself from that distance of time and space, doing anything that will occupy my time. I have a job interview later, for a full time (I think...) position in the Morrisons' warehouse. That should serve to keep my mind occupied....

....

....well, at least I'll be making some money. Once I get a weekday job sorted, I'll seek out a weekend one, I think. The more money I make here, the greater mine and Meaw's freedom will be in Chiang Mai next year. Besides, my savings could do with some serious resuscitation. I still don't quite fathom how I managed to burn through $@£! pounds in a month. One of life's little mysteries, I'm sure.

Anyway, you did not start reading this to hear me complain. You started because you wanted to read about sweaty hijinks and adventurous shenanigans of dubious sincerity. That and an innate human curiosity to see how things happened... and if anything was broken, bitten, squashed, squished, mashed, burned or bruised in the process.


(Picture 1 - Meaw at the salon. Who let those damn papparazzi in here?!)


Now, where were we...

The days that followed would prove to be something of a blur to me, with the memories awash in caffiene, alcohol and a certain kind of giddiness usually reserved for public school boys.

However, I remember one day in particular.

The day after.

It was a day a smile, to grin in the face of a woman who was quickly making my heart her own.

It was also the day that I tested the fortitude of my character and the virtue of my conscience.

It was the day I called Oh, back in Koh Samui to confess all.

Waking from a sleepless night in an awfully cramped bed - it reminded me more of a barracks billet, actually, with bizarre Statue of Liberty sheets - in an equally cramped cell of a room, Meaw and I met the day with kisses and no regrets. Well, actually, she felt she had sinned terribly and her deceased husband was scowling down at her. To spare the melodrama, though, I can report that I have since convinced her that any good husband - which he was by all accounts - would want his widow to be happy. And she is. But I digress. Where were we?

Ah yes, no regrets. After two cups of instant Nescafe and the coldest shower I have ever taken, we set off for the salon. You see, despite her poverty - I really should have taken a picture of her room... - Meaw has two 'great' vices. The first is shoes, and all I can say is thank goodness for cheap Thai knockoffs! The second is her hair.


This is fair enough, since she does indeed have particularly gorgeous hair which I am forever running my fingers through, like one of those implausibly handsome, improbably straight models in the Pantene adverts. Needless to say, I appreciate it even more now that I know what goes into making it so luxuriously silky, smooth and strokable. I did not ask if she was going to get it treated like Thai royalty out of habit or because she suddenly found herself intimately involved with someone for the first time in half a decade. I was merely pleased to spend time with her that morning, rather than saying goodbye to her at work, and whiling away the day alone until lunchtime or until she clocked off around Midnight.

(Picture 2 - Gap's House, where I spent about five nights; the upstairs restaurant in the courtyard. The word you're looking for is lush)

As we sauntered out of her residential compound, she informed me that her sister - read, friend - would be giving us a lift to the salon in a real live car! Huzzah! I wouldn't be zipping along aback her moped! Bliss!

Surprise, surprise, we were late arriving at the pickup and Naed - who I would grow to know much better as my time in Chiang Mai, and who I look forward to seeing again in January - had been waiting for some time. If Naed was annoyed with Meaw, I could not tell; since she had known Meaw for some time, I imagine she has run into my girl's rather blase attitude towards the passing of time. Well, when she's with me at least!

Only the patience of the French saved us from being marooned in Laos on the wrong side of the Mekong! Long story, I'll tell you later.

Right. Naed. A rather lovely 40-something divorcee to a predictably rich Japanese businessman, who had been overly generous in the settlement, giving his ex-wife a very fancy house just outside Chiang Mai (which I would later spend the day and evening at), a brand new Toyota (do Thai's drive any other kind of car?) and a pair of darling daughters, Mora and Nori. Again, more on those two little tykes later.

Naed also speaks about a dozen words of English. Thai? No probs. Japanese? Easy. Chinese? Sure thing. English? Not so much...

Nonetheless, through the ancient art of pointing and rudimentary sign language, Naed and I would grow to be good friends. Not just that but she would also only the second woman to cheauffeur me around aback her motorcycle (yes, she was rather mobile; she's an on-call masseuse). On the Superhighway, no less! ...without a helmet...sweet!

Anyway, Meaw, Naed and I arrived at the salon, some distance from Chiang Mai, for reasons that still escape me. There are plenty in the city walls but apparently this was the best one. More importantly, as far as I was concerned, it had a comfortable couch.

Now, at this point, I should not do Meaw a diservice. She did ask me emphatically if I really wanted to go with her to the salon. Naturally, recently smitten, I said 'Of course!' After saying it, though, some kind of Spidey-Sense began to tingle inside my skull and I asked "How long will we be there?"

(Picture 3 - More of Gap's House, in the centre of Chiang Mai', believe it or not)

"Only a couple of hours, darling"

I was placated, and I shushed the tinkling little bells inside my head, disregarding them as a simple side effect of a sleepless night.

We arrived at the salon. Meaw sat down with a magazine. Naed and I sat on the couch, and gestured at the cushions. Sleep, you say? You folks working here won't mind a great big farang snoozing on their couch? Naed simply smiled and Meaw encouraged me to get some shut-eye. So I did...

..."get me some coffee, darling?"

Opening my eyes, after all of five minutes asleep, I looked up to see a beaming Meaw, looking ever so cutesy as she swung back and forth in her chair.

"But of course, my dear Meaw!"

Stumbling outside, I followed my nose to the coffee shop next door, complete with fresh coffee beans in big jars set before the coffee machine. Fresh coffee, no less. Not that I drank the vile stuff at that point (though this would change before I left back for England), but I digress. As I pointed with practiced ease at the most impressive sounding beans, and the barista got to grinding, Naed appeared beside me, smiling as only Thais seem able to.


"You want, too?" I asked, reaching for my wallet as I pointed at the jars of java.

She shook her head, still grinning. "You like?"

It was a simple enough question that could have been directed at just about anything inside a thirty mile radius... but if I knew by now the minds of Thai women (well, a little and not much of it useful) then I knew to whom she was referring.

"Meaw? Oh, yes, very much so! I'd have left Chiang Mai long behind by now, if I didn't. She drives me crazy. In a good way!"


Naed simply continued to smile, her eyes a little blank in that classic 'Huh?' expression that Thais - and, indeed, Meaw - get when I speak much too quickly and in much too much detail.

"Um...yes!" I said again, somewhat sheepishly.

"Good!" Naed exclaimed, her grin growing even wider "Good! Come!"


Grabbing the fresh coffee and quickly reassuring the shop owner that I was not making a run for it with his cup and saucer, I headed dutifully back toward the salon, before laying down the coffee beside my queen.

(Picture 4 - A door to a room in Gap's House. Not unlike my room)

"There ya go, boss" I declared with a quick dipping bow, which earned me a smile and a slap across the backside that almost certainly constitutes sexual harassment. It was worth the thirty baht.

"My sister is going to the market. You want to go with her? I'll be here a couple of hours, darling" At this point, we had been at the salon an hour already but I was still unphased at this point.

"Sure" I said.

And then, Jamie turned to his blog readers and asked "Why am I telling you in excruciating detail about my day at the salon...where nothing happened?!

Ok, I'll skip forward five hours. Naed and I went to the supermarket. I pointed, she pointed, much foods were bought! Huzzah!

I went back to the salon. I slept on the couch for four hours! Meaw didn't eat any of the foods I bought back! I did! Huzzah!

Then Meaw had eyebrows tattooed, scalped and injected with some kind of brown or black ink. It made her cry. I held her hand. Her eyebrows just would not stop bleeding! Not-so-huzzah!

Sure did give her purdy eyebrows, though!

Next, with Naed still acting as faithful chaeffeur, we left the salon at last and headed for a sacred mountain, with an even more sacred temple atop it. Unfortunately, my camera battery was well and truly dry at this point. Worse, it was raining up the mountain. Even worse, Meaw, having forgotten her travel sickness pills for the swerving, curving and unbelievably slow trip up the sacred mountain - as well as the fact that she had not eaten properly all day - was being hit by wave after wave of nausea.

After circling the temple's impressive gold chedi three times - as ritual dictates - in the drizzles, carrying two flowers, a trio of joss sticks and a yellow candle, I half-carried, half walked Meaw back down the mountaintop, toward the carpark. We were wet, she was miserable and I was feeling decidedly useless. With regular stops for her to gulp down some fresh air, we eventually made it back to the temple's massive carpark, the rain really starting to come down and Naed nowhere in sight.

At this point Meaw dropped to her knees at the roadside, overcome by hunger, nausea and perhaps the first symptoms of the love bug. Actually, it could well have just been a fever!

(Picture 5 - A chedi, not unlike the one we saw on the wet, sacred mountain. Except that one had more gold paint. Much more! Also, it wasn't sunny. So, you could say, this chedi is nothing like that chedi. Yes, you might just say that!)

Naed eventually appeared once more, sporting a baseball cap from the temple gift shop. Apparently Thais find motion sickness to be rather amusing, since she gave a good-natured chuckle at the green tinge to Meaw's face.

And so we made our way back down the mountain, to Chiang Mai, which was nestled at it's base.

Left -swing-right. Right-swing-left. Back and forth, back and forth.

The road was nothing but hairpins, all the way down for about five miles. It was enough to make anyone sea-sick, air-sick and most assuredly car-sick. Even I was feeling queasy at the half way point. It is truly testament to Meaw's strength - or perhaps her pride - that she held on so long.

However, one moment her head was nestled in my lap, with me uselessly stroking her hair and rubbing her belly and the next she was babbling in Thai to Naed, the car ground to a halt and my poorly poppit was jumping out the door, onto the roadside.

In true gentlemanly fashion, I followed quickly with water and tissues, into the worsening tropical rains, hearing above it all, the unmistakable sound of a pretty girl retching her guts up. In a spray of bile and stomach juices - there wasn't much else, since she hadn't eaten anything all day - this sacred Buddhist mountain seemed suddenly a little less sacred.

At least Meaw felt a bit better after that, though, and it gave her enough respite to make it the rest of the way down the mountain. Naed dropped us off at my guesthouse, just as the heavens opened the pressure valve to full, and my first taste of a monsoon deluge fell upon my head, just as I was getting out of the car. To make matters worse, the mechanics of Naed's umbrella were beyond me, and I managed to turn the bloody thing inside out, much to Meaw's amusement and my chagrin. I bundled Meaw up in my waterproof, said goodbye to Naed and stumbled down the street, still trying to get the infernal contraption to open properly, despite the fact that I no longer possessed a dry nook, cranny or crevice on my entire body.

As luck would have it, a passing German farang - a mechanical engineer, no less! - offered us some help, worked some Bosch magic on the umbrella, and Hey preseto, Fritz's your uncle, the umbrella was in full working order again!

I offered my reluctant thanks, more than a little ashamed to appear the bumbling fool in front of my woman, not least because our predicament had been solved by a dastardly Hun!

This was quickly forgotten, though, as Meaw suddenly looked none-too-good once again and, with some subterfuge on my part, I bundled her into my guest house room, at Gap's Guesthouse; a rather luxurious locale, that was not only cheap but also verdantly jungle-like, ever-so-cool and spaciously roomy. Were it not for the surly old caretaker who would lock me out at night and later think Meaw a prostitute, it would have been idyllic!

But I digress on stories not yet told!

Meaw was well and truly poorly at this point. Exhausted from lack of sleep (my fault) and food (her fault!), weakened by her motion sickness (genetics fault) and shivering from the damp weather (Buddha's fault), it was all she could muster to shake off her clothes, wrap a towel about herself in true Meaw trademark modesty and crawl into my bed.

I left once she was settled, to seek out nausea medicine, but not before loading her with pills, painkillers, placeboes and yet more pills from my own special stash of superior farang medicines, poultices and potions, prepared some weeks before by my very own apothecary, my Mum.

Returning to the room, I found Meaw deep in sleep, muttering quietly and, thankfully, no longer sweating and shivering. I took a shower, seated myself in a chair beside the sleeping beauty and waited.

Several hours later, a soft yet calloused hand woke me from my slumbering slouch.

"Darling...what time?" a voice croaked in the darkness.

(Picture 6 - Meaw, the morning after, fully recovered. That monkey now watches over her, whilst she sleeps, and watches her room whilst she works. Good monkey. Don't be getting any ideas, though, chimp!)

Bleary-eyed, I peered through the gloom to see her face looking up at me. There was a vibrancy back in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled once more. The sickness had passed. "I've no idea" I replied, eyeing the orange glow of the guesthouse's courtyard lights through the mosquito nets. "About 7 or 8. How are you feeling? Hungry?"

"Mmm, sleepy" she replied, taking me by the wrist and dragging me under the bed covers.

It was one of the few nights where the two of us would sleep straight through until dawn.

It had truly been an exhausting day at the salon.

I believe all this took place on about the 6th or 7th of October, by the way. More on Naed, Meaw's motion sickness and the mean old groundskeeper in later blogs, folks.

Until then, au revoir!

- Jamie

P.S Sorry about the lack of pictures.

P.P.S In the name of honesty, I shall write this in the order in which it occurs to me. I just realised I have completely forgotten to mention my confession to Oh. It took place at the salon. In the salon's cubicle toilet, to be precise. However, I shall give it it's own blog, to be fair to the memory of what Oh once thought she had with me, and with which I betrayed her. So, look forward to that next time, folks!

The surprisingly unenviable position of a rather fickle-minded fellow

So, in the here and now, I am back in merry (read, cold and dreary) old Blighty, after travelling for three days on five hours of sleep, over eight thousand miles across continents, across deserts and oceans and mountains, with each moment, minute, step taking me further and further away from my darling Meaw. I got home on Tuesday night at Midnight. I left Chiang Mai on Sunday afternoon.

(Picture 1 - Meaw tries to make sense of what I just said to her)

I am glad to see the family again and I really did need to return to Britain, for a couple of months (for reasons that will be explained in later blogs)... but aside from necessities and niceties, I am not glad to be back in England. Only my remaining shreds of rational thoughts and the sage and steady advice of my Mum and Dad - ok, can I get a rent reduction now that you made me say that? - are stopping me from jumping back on a plane headed Chiang Mai way.

To make matters worse, Meaw is having trouble contacting me since I returned*, due to her limited understanding of emailing and the internet (she's in the process of being taught...) and I cannot reach her in any way besides the internet. Our mobiles are too far from each other. I may have given her the wrong number for my home phone (though I have given it - the definite correct one this time - again in email).

I am stressed. I am exhausted. I am jet-lagged. I am lonely. I have a pounding headache and persistent loss of equilibrium, caused - I hope - by the aforementioned jet-lagged or possibly my medication. And I also have to find a job as soon as possible to make as much money as possible in the next two and a half months (once again, for reasons to be stated later).

So, to cheer myself up - or possibly make me even more frantic and antsy - I choose to relive the past month, sharing with you the trials, tribulations and triumphs that led me to drop off the blog map and find bliss in the arms of a girl named Meaw.

(Picture 2 - Meaw eats probably the slimiest, grossest fruit in existence; it was like peeling eyeballs. Needless to say, I did not like them!)

As has been mentioned before, I had planned on staying in Chiang Mai only for a few days, to say that I had visited the city that gets such rave reviews from other backpackers (though I was hardly a backpacker now.. but also something not quite a tourist too) before zipping back down to Koh Samui and Oh.

Yet as each day passed, so Meaw and I became increasingly close.Chat. Chat. Chat. Chat. That is what Meaw and I tend to do most (or, at least, that is what we do most, in a blog suitable for my family members to read). Her idiosyncratic and wholly endearing English - which she is still working hard to be fluent in; Oh is more proficient in the language - tells a rich and meandering tale of a woman, separated from her son by distance and her husband by death, alone in the city of Chiang Mai, hundreds of miles from home. She is a poor country girl, who hates her dark skin - which I and any sane man would agree is gorgeous - and wishes she were fat. She says to be fat would be beautiful and perfect for her. If that's what makes her happy, then who am I to stand in her way? Oh, an she wants an ancient husband of sixty years. Well, actually, she doesn't say that anymore.

She spends much of her meagre amounts of spare time at temple, praying for her family and friends. But who prays for Meaw? Who cares for Meaw? She says she is not lonely and she can take care of herself. And she does. But I did not think she was truly happy. I have scarcely seen a more determined, strong and independant woman before and she is the equal or greater of most, if not all men. For all her svelte and slender size, she has a huge heart. And I think that is why I found myself falling truly, madly, deeply for her...despite the fact that my sweet Oh was waiting for me back on Koh Samui.

It was becoming obvious that something was developing between us yet neither of us could quite explain. Meaw had been living the chaste, hard-working life at the Pornping Tower Hotel - a respectable place, despite the name! - ever since she had come to Chiang Mai for work three years earlier. She had only changed jobs to a more freestyle, laidback massage shop a week before I met her. I had been thinking of only Oh on the journey North and in my few days in Chiang Mai, completely focussed on returning, lavishing her with promises of this fact.

Yet Meaw and I had gone out for noodles until 3am within an hour of meeting. Meaw never goes out to eat with customers. I don't get on the back of motorcycles with relative strangers, no matter how pretty, when there's someone out there, waiting patiently for me to return.

Yet we did.

I had been in Chiang Mai for four days, and Oh was repeatedly asking me when I would return. Four days, I had told her.

Four days were up....

(Picture 3 - Maybe I just said something witty? No, I just snapped her in her knickers.)

....and I found myself with an unexpected and rather agonizing decision to make.

Meaw or Oh?

Whilst the decision on the day of writing this is as clear and as bright as the surface of the Sun, back in those early days, a small lifetime ago, it was not so simple. Much as I would like to say my macho ego was stroked by the fact that I had two women on the go, I was instead reduced to anxious hand-wringing, sweeping waves of guilt and a general sense of being a lowly dog of a man. And not the good kind of dog but rather the type that chews the furniture, makes sweet doggie love to your neighbour's leg every morning as he dashes, futilely for his car and drags it'sbackside across the living room carpet. That's right; the bad kind of dog.

Truth be told, I was happy to find that my thoughts of infidelity made me feel wretched, if only to serve as proof that I still have an ounce of human conscience, a shred of decency in my drug-addled, internet-curdled mind. It did not stop me from pursuing Meaw, though.

So, on what may well have been - would most certainly not be, in fact - my penultimate night in Chiang Mai, I asked Meaw to help me with my decision. We found a dark corner of the massage parlour and wrapped a curtain about ourselves.

(Picture 4 - Meaw? Or Cousin It? Ididnotsaythat)

And I asked her,"Do you want me to stay?"

I knew the answer I wanted but I also knew the answer that the ever-so-virtuous Meaw would probably give...even if it was not what resided in that great heart of hers.

"You have a girlfriend in Koh Samui" she replied, refusing to look me in the eyes, as I stroked her cheek... an overly familiar move for a mere friend that she did not so much as flinch from.

"Yes..." I mumbled reluctantly "...but you know it's not that simple anymore. You know how I feel...about you"

My hands moved to her hips, moving beyond the platonic realm and into the unknown ethereal mists of fledgling intimacy. Meaw did not flinch but leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder as we knelt facing one another in the low light, amidst the quiet chatter of the parlour, the miasmic fog of incense and tiger balm and the heady sensations that one feels when standing on the brow of something wonderful.

"You should go back to your Koh Samui and forget all about me"

I heard her sniff and raised her face to mine, to see the telltale trails of tears on her cheeks.

"You know how I feel, Meaw" I repeated, through teeth clenched not in annoyance but rather to cap the frothing emotions behind my lips. "Say it. Tell me to stay."

As the seconds crawled by, I knew that I had already made my decision but I, ever the pessimist unless faced with overwhelming evidence to the contrary, needed to hear from Meaw that it was not a choice I would quickly curse.

Our heads rested against one another, our hands now entwined, gripping so tightly that our fingertips were the colour of bone and out joints ached in quiet agony.

Meaw's eyes were closed.

"Say it" I said quietly. It is a peculiar thing yet my heart was not pounding. It was steady and calm, quite contrary to what the poets and authors of great repute and reknown would have you believe. Maybe it was the paroxetine. I don't think so; the fact is, I already knew the truth in her heart, just as she knew what choice I would make if she only spoke - 'most selfishly', as Meaw likes to say now - the truth.

She did not open her eyes. She did kiss me, once, twice, thrice on the lips until we were inseperable. In between gasping breaths, she said, at last, a single word.

"Stay!"

And so I did.

I knew there would be problems ahead. I knew there would be obstacles. I knew things would be far from perfect.


(Picture 5 - All gussied up for work, wearing a top that caused me to have a great many embarrassing moments whilst walking around the Chiang Mai streets with her. I am powerless before her)


But in that moment, I - we! - did not care. We would face the future, fight the future, together now.

That night, for the first time in four years, Meaw shared a bed with a man. For the first time in four years, Meaw was happy. This is what she told me.

"I tell you true" she whispered, ever so solemnly, in the early hours of the morning.

I told her, I had never been so happy. I told her true.

We slept, we loved, we smiled at one another that night, when I had made one of the most agonising and certainly the most important decision of my short life. We would continue to sleep and love and smile, and live the comfortable life in the great northern city of Chiang Mai, Thailand. There would be bumps, there would be more tears, there would be separation of body - though not heart - but we would endure.

Meaw and I were together.



*trouble has since been resolved! Huzzah! Chiang Mai isn't so very far away anymore!

Things to do in Chiang Mai...when you're smitten

I hadn't realised until my granddad pointed it out but I haven't actually updated this travel blog of mine since the fifth of October. A small eternity in the world of globe-trotting...

(Picture 1 - Meaw and experiencing the singular glee of riding an elephant across a raging river torrent...did I say glee? I meant quiet terror)

...but then again, I've not done much traveling, since rocking on up to the primo city of Lanna, Chiang Mai, once a country in it's own right before absorption into modern day Thailand.

Why? Huh! That's a story in itself. And, in the spirit of honesty, I'll blog it like a blog...er... rather than in email, because my foggies back home already know the jist, and it's just the rest of you lovelies, loners and undesirables who don't know what's going on. And may not even care! But I'm going to blog it anyway, for posterity's sake. (Picture 2 - A quick snap up the valley from the back of our own jumbo)

Thankfully, I've got some time to kill whilst my better half finishes work next door, kneading the kinks and knots from sweaty, hairy farangs' backs, legs and goodness knows what else! It's a fortunate thing I'm the understanding and supportive type, else a body might be prone to jealousy. Reports of myself glaring menacingly at passing potential customers who eye my sweetie with a lecherous eye are unfounded and probably exaggerated. Probably

But I'm getting well ahead of myself. When last most of you heard from out hero - that would be me - I had just arrived in Chiang Mai, having met a fine young lass here in Big CeeEmm, who I found charming, entertaining and more than a little pretty.

But what, I hear you ask, happened next? Weren't you supposed to be spending a few days in Chiang Mai, then returning to Koh Samui, to pick up the adorable Oh, before whisking her away to strange lands and stranger delights?

Er....well...that had been the plan, yes....

Needless to say, though, the plans of mice and men often go awry. Or something like that. I was too busy laughing at Steinbeck's hokum to remember the Burns quote in school.

So, here I am, still in Chiang Mai. I do actually plan to leave next week, not for Laos or Cambodia but rather the UK. Yet, once again, I get ahead of myself.

Now, you'll have to bear with me because the last two weeks have been something of euphoric and sleepless blur of wanton abandon, meaningful conversations and acts that are probably illegal in most civilised nations. And that was just at meal times!

When I left you, I was just back from taking Meaw out for the day, who at that point was a good friend who nonetheless filled me with feelings of glee, happiness and desire. At the time, I as merely greatful to have my mind taken off Oh, my island-dwelling poppit of the south.

(Picture 3 - An elephant brings the tools of his trade to the stage)

We spent the morning of the 5th of October riding elephants, as one does, after taking in an show that featured....elephants painting?! Yes, elephants painting an stacking logs and generally frolicking for a crowd of slack-jawed farangs, one rather terrified Meaw and myself, grinning both at her and the adorable hephalumps. The only thing separating the stage from the audience was a few solid logs...which would prove no obstacle to a rampaging grey menace. Thankfully, the beauties on show were interested only in reaching over the barrier for delicious treats of bananas and sugar cane.

(Picture 4 - An elephant...painting with a brush! Like a filthy farang tourist, I laughed with giddy and mildly retarded amazement. Oh, hypocrisy, thy name is Jamie!)

After this, with some persuasion by me, I managed to coax, cajole and push Meaw onto an elephant. Without further ado, we were off liketed mahout - were just happy to be rolling - and bumping and shuddering, where's the bloody suspension on this beast?! - through jungle, paddy and river, alike. Well, I and the elephant were. Meaw was filled with no small amount of fear, of the great beast beneath us, and the sight of it's inquisitive trunk reaching back toward us in hope of a banana or two was enough to send her squealing and hiding in the comforting depths of my armpit. I'd like to thank the FCUK corporation for their dedication to reducing and even eradicating human stink in even the most tropical and sweaty of climates.

(Picture 5 - This is actual a picture I took of the framed picture that Meaw bought that day. She looks great in it. The elephant looks great. Our man Mahout looks great. I look predictably terrible.)

Needless to say, with a generous tip, I had our man, Mahout (I forget his name, so Mahout will have to do), take plenty of pictures of us, as you can probably see if I've put the pictures up yet.
After being dropped off like lambs to the slaughter at an "authentic" hill tribe market, after an hour or so of leisurely and often painful riding, and after I had bought some trinkets for Oh, Meaw and I boarded an ox-drawn carriage that would have looked like some Britannian chariot were it not for the great frilly sun-umbrella atop it. I did learn from the ride back to the elephant camp that in order to drive cattle, all you really need is a long, pointy stick. This information will prove useful one day, mark my words!

(Picture 6 - An elephant roaring in rage! Oh no, our driver has run away! Save me, Jamie Meaw cries!..Ok, so the hephalump is actually just reaching back for the sugar cane in my lap but whatever, I'm a hero nonetheless, dammit!)

With Meaw grinning from ear to ear - this was her first day out in almost four years, since being reduced to a single mother, caring for not only her son but her poverty-stricken parents - and I in turn was beaming to have played some small part in that happiness, for truly her pleasure was something to behold and belove.

Oh! And went on a bamboo raft! I completely forgot about that.

(Pictures 7 and 8 - Chilling on the bamboo raft, poling down the river. Meaw had a go at it. I chickened out. The raft wasn't very stable, ok! I wasn't scared!)



















Later, after snagging another lift from Meaw's friend - or brother, as she calls her male friends. Guess what she calls her female aquaintances? - we cruised over to the next tourist trap; the snake farm! If you want snakes, ohhh, fuggetaboutit

(Picture 9 - A couple of king cobras poised to strike)

Or rather, lethargic, broken and probably dead snakes. There were hundreds of serpents at the place and most, sadly were in various states of dying and death. Only a few of the reptiles still showed signs of spirit. One of which was a rather large Burmese python which, were it not for some chicken wire, would have had me by the throat, when it lunged at me, as I leaned in for a closer look....and then leaned in once more...


(Picture 10 - The snake handler about to give a cobra a nice big kiss...yes, really)

Whilst peering into a pit of vipers that writhed most convincingly in the hot afternoon sun, Meaw and I heard the most terrifying sound a person can hear, when strolling around a snake farm. In my ear, I heard a hiisssssssss, so close I could feel the hot breath of wickedness on the back of my neck.

Meaw screamed. I shrieked. The snake-handler who had crept up behind us laughed, as only a Thai can, quickly followed by good-humoured Meaw and myself - now in need of new underwear. THe show was about to begin, he informed us.

What show? we asked.

The snake show, of course.

bobbing and playing with cobras - of the royal variety - swimming with pythons, clapping snakes to sleep and throwing the dreaded "jumping snake" - see, bit of rope - into the audience.

(Picture 11 - A particularly vicious looking tree snake! It's not poisonous, though)

All to the dubiously enthusiastic but nonetheless entertaining commentary of one of theWhat followed was a ten minute performance straight out of the Carny Book of Olde Timey Entertainments and Oddities. Snake handlers kissing cobras, twirling cobras, dancing and feather-haired announcer; "pow! Watch out snakeman! Oh very dangerous! OH kiss the snake, fall in love snakeman! WOW! Watch out snakeman! Etc! Etc!" and so on. I even got to pet the cobra, if only to impress Meaw with my bravery, quite safe in the belief that these serpents had long since had their fangs removed...

In order to prove their prowess, the snake handlers then milked the venom from the cobra, and I watched with some disquiet as the creature's teeth bit into the gauze of a jar, and milky liquid ran into the glass container. I'm sure it was just saliva, though...I'm sure the cobra's venom sac had long since been removed....probably...






Our final stop of the day - and with a sleepy Meaw seeking respite from the heat and tiring exploits of the day, in the comfort of my lap - was the monkey training school. It's the premier station of learning for our simian cousins wishing to enter the field of Law.

(Picture 12 and 13 - A monkey giving me the finger with one hand and waving to Meaw with the other. The same monkey about to make the three-pointer. The handler threw the ball to the monkey a bit hard after this, much to the monkey's annoyance, who promptly slammed it back in the face of the handler rather than going for the net. Epic.)


However, most of the students are trained for the fair more interesting field of coconut harvesting. I'm sure you'll remember - though probably not - my sighting on Koh Samui of an ape riding the back of a truck full of coconuts. Well, here was the place where Chiang Mai schooled it's own crop of farmers. I forget their names but I'm sure you can see from the pictures that the little poppits were adorable, like clapping seals or clicking dolphins. Yes, they were showmen, these monkies, almost certainly bored and driven insane by captivity...but they sure were funny, I'm ashamed to say.

(Picture 14 - A monkey riding a tricycle, whilst carrying a parasol. Naturally. The tourists lapped it up. I merely sat there fuming at the travesty against Mother Earth's treasured children. The slack-jawed grin on my face was merely for show. Honest)

At least I fed them some juicy tomatoes and carrots. I also discovered the Thai announcer had gone to school in none other than Cardiff University. That certainly blind sided me, though I had little time to chat, since Meaw's and my own bellies were growling at this point, having skipped the exorbitantly priced lunch buffet at the elephant camp (can you tell I was paying?). The pictures tell more than I could ever write, really, so I'll let them do the talking. As it stands, I need to be going, to pick up Meaw from work.

As I said, theres a lot to tell that has happened during my blogtastic hiatus. But it will have to wait for another day.

(Picture 15- Meaw and I getting our picture taken )

Goodnight all,

Jamie

x

It's not all grim up North (in Thailand, at least!)

Ah, Chiang Mai, City of Lights and Love...wait, no, that's not right. It's close enough, though. I will never forget Chiang Mai for all it has put me through, introduced me to and turned me into. It has forced me to face myself, to make hard choices, to judge myself.

Chiang Mai.

"It was the best of times, it was the worse of times."

Day 1.


****




So. Chiang Mai. First city of the northern provinces and once capital of the Lanna kingdom in times of antiquity.

The journey northwards was predictably tedious, by way of ferry, coach and two mercifully short stratospheric jumps by way of flying machines. I generally slept with my eyes open the whole time, drifting off into space and by strokes of luck shuffled about and aboard various mechanical moving contraptions at the allocated time.

The fact of the matter was, I missed Koh Samui. I was glad to see the back of the package holiday makers and all they bring or encourage to grow upon the pretty little isle but I was sorry to say goodbye to the people I had met there. Especially Oh.

Oh.

It took force of will and the physical laws of perpetual motion to keep me on the path to Chiang Mai, leaving her behind. We had known each other only a short time but there was an undeniable connection between us, made most evident by her pleas for me to stay and the cardiac arrest-like pain in my chest that swelled whenever I took one more step further away from her. I left because I needed to keep moving, to keep traveling before Koh Samui and it's bloated farang-oriented prices turned my bank account into an antedeluvian mummy.

But I also ran because I was more than a little anxious about the implications of my affections for Oh. Where would they lead? What would I do? What acts of insanity would I perform with, or indeed, for her? So, with a goodbye and a promise to return - which I intended to keep, and still do - soon, I walked away, with a heavy heart and a rather light wallet (scrounging up enough money for a taxi to the ferry provoked a little anxiety, as much as is medically possible for me, anyway).

And so, with the constant urge to run back to Samui traveling with me all the way, I arrived in Chiang Mai at about eleven o' clock at night. In my adled and emotional state, I had neglected to plan so far ahead as to book a room in Chiang Mai. Thankfully, I grabbed the nearest taxi driver outside the airport terminal, and instructed him to take me to the first dive in town that had clean beds and free rooms. After some searching and false starts, we eventually came to the concrete monolith of the Rux-Thai hotel and, after fumbling with my wallet for passport and cash, I stumbled up the stairs behind a limping and overburdened - with my big backpack - bellboy. Eight flights of stairs later, I arrived, tipped and crashed out on the bed with cliched enthusiasm. From what I had briefly seen, the room was spacious and comfortable in a bland kind of way. It had a bed, most importantly. It would do.

I was woken about 7AM by the sound of pattering feet, like buffalo fleeing savage Indians on the great plains. It was, of course, a mob of farangs, off on some day trip, chattering and stomping past my door with all the subtlety I have come to expect from my fellow foreigners.

My sleep pattern interrupted irrevocably and a taste of white man blood on my tongue, I readied for the day in the - WARM! Huzzah!- shower, clothed myself with as much enthusiasm as I could must, in one of Max - of Samui - the tailor's fine shirts, and headed downstairs, tipping a nod and a smile at the pretty receptionist. She smiled back with bland enthusiasm, and thus I knew that the Rux Thai was definitely not for me. I would be moving. Soon.

The primeval in me urged me out into the already hot streets - Chiang Mai is cooler, my arse, Goh! - in a hunt for food. After some searching (as much of the city had not awoken yet, obviously lacking farang alarm clocks) I found a place who were kind enough to slaughter my prey and suitably garnish it for me. I forget what I had for breakfast that day. I think it was fried prawns and egg fried rice. I suppose I should have looked for the breakfast section of the menu. It was good though, regardless of the hour.

A morning of lazy exploration on foot around the Old City - like Bangkok's Khao San area, only slightly less garish and gaudy and intoxicating...but not by much - I had a fine pita bread sandwich in a hole-in-the-wall cafe on a street I have failed to find again, before heading in the direction of the post office. I hoped. I had gifts and garbage and excess baggage in dire need of shipping back to the Old Folks Home.

I never got there, as I was accosted most politely by a tuk-tuk driver. A woman tuk-tukker, no less! Have you ever heard of such a rambunctious and outrageous thing before? Of course not. Introducing herself as Grandma Thip (as in tip) she offered to show me about the city. By the way, that's Grandma Thip in the picture with the tuk tuk. Not Oh, or Meaw. Meaw's the one with the basket of birds and the wrinkles, below!

(Grandma Thip with her tuk-tuk, Herbie (no, not really; no idea it's name) )

Every backpacker knows - or should know - there is more than meets the eye, to such offers, even those made by wise-cracking old madams like Thip. They show you the sights, guide you around some wats if they're really good - which Thip was - and then show the delights of Eastern handicrafts. Paperworking, such as fans and umbrellas. Silk weaving. And, of course, a visit to a jewelry store where their dubiously genuine products are set at prices well in the range of even the poorest farang.

(The steps to the temple somethingsomething in Chiang Mai. It was the original home to the hallowed jade Buddha I talked about in an earlier blog until the king of Siam took it south to the capital, according to Thip)

I knew Thip would do this, and she did but I went along anyway because she spoke conversational English, had a razor sharp wit and had the Union Jack on her T-shirt. So what if she tried to pass me around some locals stores like prison cigarrettes? No one was going to force me to buy anything and considering what tuk-tukkers make, her enthusiasm to pawn me off was understandable. She made me laugh along the way with her anecdotes and insights and that was worth the entrance fee alone.

Thip, once married to a Dane and living in Denmark, is a short pug of a woman - in the nicest way possible - with short spiky hair you might see in an eighties music video by Blondie. A chain-smoking, hard-drinking - but not Chang, apparently! - and hard gambling grandma of some fifty sons, Thip knew everybody and knew everything in Chiang Mai and beyond.

(A woman who sold me good fortune in a basket of fluttering little birds. I did the same again today at a temple, with Meaw)

I had a thoroughly enjoyable first day in Chiang Mai because of her and she allowed me to draw my thoughts away from Oh for a little while. Assuming she got some small commision, I even bought a cheap pendant and ankle bracelet for Oh, a painted fan for Ma back home - or, if grovelling is needed in future, for Oh - and some other things that escape me at the moment. Trinkets. Tourist crap. The works. Getting it all for about fifteen quid - and a hefty four pound thank you for a gobsmacked Thip - seemed like a fine exchange for an afternoon of idle wandering in the smog-choked back of a speeding, grinding, grumbling tuk-tuk around the mind-boggling streets of Chiang Mai.

By the way, I set free a wicker basket of birds for the family. Apparently, it should bring you all good luck. So, when you all win the lottery, you'll know why and I expect to be duly compensated, or at the very least reimbursed the hundred baht it cost to free the poor avian captives.

Saying fair well to Thip - but not before she hawked me off on her tailor brother - I made for my concrete cell in the Rux-Thai, stripping down, showering off the sweat and grime of the city - cleaner than BK, mind you - and promptly losing consciousness on the bed, nude for all the geckos to see.

Waking about 6pm, I followed my stomach in search of food - but not before remembering to put some clothes on, thankfully for all concerned. For the life of me, I cannot remember where I ate but, like all Thai food, I'm sure it was very good. My thirst for drink needed sating next, so I wandered about, gently pushing away the pawing bar girls as I searched for an upstanding establishment befitting an English gentleman looking to get royally pissed, or at the very least, quietly inebriated.

Just when I was beginning to give up hope, I spotted a restaurant named the Olde Bell. Out front a strikingly beautiful and elegant Thai woman - who's name I would know as Koi, as she proved to be my sympathetic ear in the evenings to come - beckoned me in. Growing thirstier by the minute, I conceded defeat and walked through the door....

...into the middle of a very English pub with a very English pub quiz going on, complete with Northern quiz master and grey-haired players sat about the tables. Assuming I had stumbled through an rift in the space time continuum, fixed between Chiang Mai, Thailand and Attleborough, Norfolk, I turned about, half expecting to see sunshine pouring through the door behind me.

But no, it was still dark, and Koi was still standing there, grinning and ushering me inside. Remarkable.

More remarkable than that, though, is that they had Chang beer on tap, levied up in good, honest pint glasses. Two of these, and a lightweight such as myself will be appropriately blasted, wasted and otherwise intoxicated, especially on all my medication. Thankfully, I know when to stop...except when troubled by that most alluring and exasperating of creatures, the Thai female. Needless to say, last night I passed out in front of Meaw's place, whilst she flannelled my neck - when she wasn't glaring disapprovingly at me - and the aging beauty who persists in giving me free hand massages worked her magic on my sleeping limbs. I think. It's all rather blurred, and certainly a tale for another time.

Where was I? Oh, yes, and English pub in Chiang Mai. After downing my pint and agreeing that that was more than enough, I wandered back down the road, intent on going home. Fortunately, I did not for this is when I met the wonderful Meaw, a particularly adept masseuse, an prolific talker of all things under the Sun in her peculiar and endearing English, and now a good friend. Assuming she has not disowned me after last night, but I digress.

(The pictures here abouts are of the massage parlour gals. Well, the older ones. Unsurprisingly, the younger ones are in high demand. Filthy farangs. Oh, and Meaw is outside because I scare off any creeps coming to her for massage. I am now banned from sitting out front, by her, unless it feeding time. She has to make a living, after all and only a few of the male customers are lecherous. But I digress! The one with my glasses is a masseuse and master herbalist. She makes the stuff for the herbal massages. I bought some from her, for Oh. The aging beauty with the rose behind her ear is a real minx called Peah, who gives me freebies and acts as my chaperone home, when I'm drunk and depressed with the women in my life. She's also constantly trying to seduce me and offering me an oil massage. I imagine she's even better at it than Meaw and Oh combined, thanks to her experience. I may take her up on the offer before I leave. She's the tiny Thai woman protecting a big farang from the mean midnight streets of Chiang Mai. Bizarre! The sad looking lady in grey is ladyboy I believe, or a very butch woman. She's very nice but terribly unsure of herself. Meaw is the one stuffing her face with honey roasted peanuts. More on her in later blogs. )

After an oil massage that reminded me painfully of Oh back on Ko Samui, and with much banter and only mildly flirtatious talk, we finished up, closed shop - it was about 12.30AM at this point, and headed out to get some supper together. This involved hair-raising ride on the back of Meaw's motorcycle for me, knuckles as white as my porcelain backside, as Meaw pointed out.

After many threats to drop me off amidst groups of loitering ladyboys, we stopped at a noodle stand and tucked in. Well, she did. I battled valiantly and lost all with chopsticks, tofu - I think... - strange floating grey stuff and, of course, noodles. Meaw was suitably amused by my chopstick skills, declaring that I was as proficient as a three year old. She then proceeded to talk my ear off about what it is to be Meaw. She talked of her life as a masseuse, after her husband died. She talked of her son, who lived far away with her parents, that he might have someone who can care for him, whilst she works to feed and clothe him. She talked of her faith, and nightly visits to a temple, where she prays and wishes good fortune upon her son and her parents. I asked her if she is happy - for there is undeniable sadness and seriousness in her eyes, which her constant laughter lacks - and she replied that she is happy if she can provide for her family. It is an answer I had heard before, from Oh. Happiness in the heart of Thais is very different from that in the heart of Westerners.

Nonetheless, I was determined to give Meaw a day to be happy. That, however, is another story.


(Said day on which she was made happy. I hope. I think. Tune in next time for the full update, fans! Fans? Hello?)


After finishing out supper - well, she did, I just ate the big lumpy bits and pushed the noodles around the bowl somewhat dejectedly - she took me back to my hotel, once more bombing along the early morning streets of Chiang Mai and once more hanging me out before the ladyboys and bar girls like a particularly tasty piece of white meat, before shooting off amidst a howl of laughter from her and sigh of relief from me.

Finding my hotel proved somewhat troublesome, as I had no real idea where it was besides a vague sixth sense that it was that way.

Half an hour later, with much backtracking, laughter and head scratching, I bid her farewell at my door and wished a safe journey back to her own room.

That's about it for day one in Chiang Mai. I'll write up day two - not much happened in daytime - and three maybe later today, or tomorrow.

I hope you're all doing well and are staying out of trouble.

Lots of love, as always,

Jamie

x

Oh, and for those of you desperate for closure, no I haven't gotten to the post office yet. Dun dun duuuuuunnnn. Anyone got their postcards yet?

Dr Strangelove: Or How I learned to Hate Fat Old White Men PART Blue

Ah, so here we have part deux - or blue as my inebriated self decided to call it earlier this morning for reasons beyond the comprehension of human minds - and so we come at last to the crux of my problem, my only problem, with Thailand. John C. Whitely. Johnny Foreigner. Farang. Westerners, just like me. It all sounds terribly elitist and self-loathing, so you'll have to bear with me, or perhaps not read it at all. At the end of the day, though, it's just my opinion and should be taken as a grain of salt from someone in-country, who may be a little too jaded to take things for what they are.

But it's definitely got the whole self-loathing part down to a T! I actually didn't take many pictures of Koh Samui - that are suitable for viewing by the elderly and young children, at least - so I'll just throw in pictures of the flowers from the butterfly garden. Perhaps it will help take the edge off the vitriolic hate that I have otherwise typed, no spewed, into the following email home. Bon sois!

****

Truth be told, Koh Samui was something of a blur to me.

Days spent in the bronzing (for myself, read; red coppering) heat, or more often than not, cafes and interweb hot spots, and scooting and put-put-putting around countryroads lined with jungle and forested hillsides and secluded beaches, all have a habit of blending into one.

Every morning I would wake up at seven or so, before the heat (and before Samui wakes up at about 10AM) and sit on the beach and watch the sun rise, reflecting on the previous day and thinking about the one to come.

Then, if I had not already passed out on the sand, I would crawl back to bed for a slumberous hour, until the kitchen and restaurant for the bungalows was open.

Taking my usual seat - but not before giving Rocky the wizened old Rottweiler a good scratch - with a view of the sea, I'd say hello to people coming in. The Thais would beam and ask me how I slept and such. The farangs would give me a begrudging smile and a hello (though to be fair, some were far friendlier than others) back.

Then Goh, the land lady's son - possibly - of maybe twenty two would sidle up in his baggy shorts and even baggier hockey jerseys and he would guess my breakfast choice (No.4, muselli with pineapple, tea and orange juice, every day, thank you very much) and we would chew the fat whilst the kitchen russelled up my hearty German cereal. Goh is the typical image of a tropical islander who's been seduced - almost - by Western civilisation without losing too much of his identity along the way, with his tribal tattoos, earings and short, blonde streaked black hair and pearly white teeth. Goh is, in short, good people.

At about the time he fetched my breakfast from the shelf in the kitchen, Herr Gruber would arrived on a scooter much too small for his hefty frame. A German expat, I believe he owns the bungalows, though you would not think it to look at him (the only reason I do, is because the menus are in English and GERMAN). Shorts like Goh, shirt like Goh, black and motiffed with Harley Davidson usually, and a tightly bound que (ponytail) falling to his broad, meaty shoulders. A gruff, heavily tattooed giant of a man (both width ways and length ways), I was fairly terrified of him at first appearance. He looked as if he ate the locals for breakfast.

He certainly spoke the language with growling vigour though it seems to be impossible to ruffle a Thai's feathers, and they did not seem to mind his barking orders. Nonetheless, he was a helpful chap, getting me both in possession of a scooter and a few tattoos without asking for so much as a finders fee.

Then of course, Deemeena - or something like that - would glide through the doors in her ubiquitous short short denims and green T-shirt. I've never seen such long legs on a Thai woman and likely never will again. She certainly woke me up in the morning. Alas, I did not pluck up the courage to take a snapshot of her - she was the type to tease and smile and skip away before one had gathered the breath to ask her anything - so you'll have to make do with Goh looking uncharacteristically serious, up there.

Then there was Molly, who I have already mentioned, and another woman who I mentioned seeing to my bike, and she was kind enough to notice I had a flat tire and changed my bike free of charge. Oh, and she saved me from monetary woes on the last day, by swapping dollars for baht. If she had not, I would not have had enough to taxi myself to the ferry, for the mainland, and thusly for the plane to Chiang Mai. Having said that, maybe it would have been better if she ahd not changed my money and forced me to stay....

Anyway, that is the family and friends of the Lamai Chale't bungalows, people who I miss a good deal and shall always remember. All this talk of koh Samui and the adorable like town of Lamai (theme bars and fat farangs not withstanding) must be making you wonder, why is this miserable bugger complaining about it then?

Why did he want so desperately to leave?

Well, it wasn't the island.

It wasn't the locals like Goh and Oh and Molly or even Herr Gruber.

It's was the tourists. The bloody tourists.

And worse than them, the tourists who came to koh Samui - or indeed Thailand in general -for one thing; bar girls.

First, the tourists. Well, I suppose they are doing what comes naturally to them, as they plod about in their shorts and stringy tops (you really notice the fat white girls when they're surrounded by the naturally svelte and petite Asians, even the chunky Thais! But enough shallowness) and logoed t-shirts and barely contained sense of contempt for the 'quaint' and 'rustic' locals and their habits and habitations secreted behind the gaudy bars and neon shop fronts and burger bars.

There are exceptions, of course, and these people probably would not even stand out to my eye if they - or indeed we - were in our natural habitat.

But here? Here - yes, even in Chiang Mai - you can pick out the laid-back farangs (like me, I say, with a bloated ego) and the uptight foreigners, with their busy schedule to cram in as much local 'culture' as they have time for before running back to wallowing in the sea or collapse in fleshy flabby heaps on a beach chair. I know I must sound horribly snobby and elitist here, to view these people - people just like me and you - with such disdain but, having never seen my own race held up against another, before, I have never really seen how anal, tightly-wound and downright rude Europeans and Americans can be, to the face of 'ignorant' locals.

Here's a tip, Johnny Foreigner, just because he looks Asian, has darker skin than you and speaks 'gobbldeegook', doesn't mean he's some alien or half-bred troglodyte.

And do you see that he's smiling and nodding and trying to understand your English?

No, no you don't because you're too busy demanding to know where your tour bus is, where your cappuccino is, where, where, where your sunshine is, and every other thing you have coming to you.

Muai Thai (thai kick boxing) is a national institution and a fairly brutal martial art....and yet I've never seen an angry Thai. Why is that?

Grandma Thip, Chiang Mai's finest tuk-tuk driver, was chatting to me yesterday and I asked her what she thought of Denmark when she was there, assuming she would find it much too cold.

She replied 'Oh, I don't mind the cold but I came home because the people there are so very serious all the time. They never smile with their face. I think perhaps it is because of the weather or perhaps because they are so pale' .

I laughed at her wisdom, apparently proving to be the exception to the rule.

And then there are the bar-girl catchers.

They come from all over the world, are identified by their sallow skin, guppy-faced frowns, unmissable rudeness (I tried to be pleasant to more than few despite my revulsion, and they flat out ignored me,all bar none) and a taste of young Thai girls.

Sure, the bar girls are there for the taking, offering themselves up, with their sharp wit, grasp of English and buttered beauty. But would they be there if there was no demand? Of course not. I don't think the Thai men use them (though in true Thai fashion, the bar girls are just another kind of worker, and recieve little to no disdain or social exclusion. That would be rude, in the Thai mindset).

Just white guys, who are so obnoxious or lazy or, sure, just shy, with a wad of baht in their pocket and a bad sunburn. And so they stomp up and down Lamai (and even here in Chiang Mai, I'm sorry to say), marked out as being accompanied by a bar-girl by the tight grip they have upon 'their' woman. Wrist, waist or gaze, it does not matter how they stake their claim but there is no denying that claims are made.

I was in a Swiss restaurant - run by a charming giant of a hawaian-shirt wearing Swiss German expat who ensured and asked that all his customers was enjoying themselves. The Thai curry I had was fantastic and, more importantly, did not not play the part of an unwanted enema the next day. A successful meal, indeed - the other day in Lamai.

Anyway, sat across from me, was an American; balding, late twenties and about a hundred pounds overweight by any standards. He had thick rimmed glasses, an IT T-shirt and probably khaki long shorts somewhere beneath the table.

He was eating battered prawns and french fries, to go with his frilly cocktail. Beside him was sat a Thai girl, about 23, dressed fancily and several orders of magnitude better than him, with a look on her face that was a mixture of sheer boredom and undeniable regret. She fiddled with her mobile, perhaps texting the various gods, to ask for them to get her out of that life...

...or perhaps I am being too judgemental. In fact, yes, much too judgemental.

But anyway! She would beam and smile and feed the American morsels of food from her small plate of rice and stir fried vegetables, whenever he stuttered something in her ear. She would giggle and laugh with him, and look the picture of contentment as he grinned cheekily back at her between gobfuls of seafood and pomme frites.

And when he, inevitably, returned to his platter, the girl would return to her reverie, looking for all the world like the loneliness person on Koh Samui.

All the while, I had to restrain myself from shattering the fat white man's face with my fist and to shake some sense into the girl. I sent the occasional look of contempt his way whilst waiting for my meal to go down, between gulps of Chang and rising bile and he might have caught one of two but chose to ignore them.

Truth be told, I could not face looking at the facade for most of my time in the otherwise chic and wholly pleasant establishment, instead staring up at the starry night or taking in the town, riding on by.

I shouldn't judge. I know this and yet I do it anyway. The bar girls are not slaves to anything but money. It is not illegal to wine and dine them, here or indeed, anywhere else I don't think.

There are certain things expected of them, come night end but, again, this is the bar-girls' choice. And Johnny Foreigner can certainly buy whatever he likes with his hard earned cash.
And yet...

I don't consider myself a prude by any stretch of the imagination and I am truly shocked that I am so irked by seeing these fat old white men walking around with their arm candy. For a while, I thought it was some kind of sick jealousy on my part.

Yet, I can go into any bar here with a veritable harem of bar girls and for a thousand baht, I can have their company for the evening in whatever fashion I wish, conservative or otherwise.

Yet, still they irk me.

When I met Oh and we became close, I began to worry that I was no different. She is not a bar girl, of course but I am a greasy white guy and she is a young (actually, she's 28 but whatever) Thai girl. Perhaps this fact makes me a total hypocrite. I did not go to Koh Samui - or indeed, Thailand - to pick up a girl but no one else who sees us together will know that. They will see us and think, there goes another bar girl and her John.

I don't particularly care that they think that but I do care that perhaps I am judging others too harshly, especially considering my own actions. I suppose I could be worse. Oh could be a 17 year old bar girl and I could be fifty-five, with a wife and an office job waiting in Manchester, thinning hair and a higher waist size than my age. I am not

Still, it does trouble me.

And that, boys and girls, is why I didn't like Koh Samui and that, boys and girls, is why I loved Koh Samui.

In next time's installment, Oh, saying goodbye to Koh Samui and the flight toward the North.

Hope you're all doing well, great, or even fantastic.

Take care, love you all,

Ranting in Chiang Mai,

Jamie

xxxxx

P.S Todays featured photographs (in email version only, blog readers, sorry) are Goh the go-to guy, my tattooist (Goh's best friend) and his wife and the best tuk-tukker in Chiang Mai, Grandma Thip (featuring tuk-tuk!).

Enjoy!

I'd like to add a post script here and say that, yes, the seedier side of Thailand that everyone hears about in the West does exist and knows it to be infamous for but this seedier side would not exist, if it were not for the tourists who come here, trawling for Asian tail. And so, at last, I am finished! Hurray for that, the crowd cried!