To the edge of the World and back PART 1

(Picture 1 - Destination Laos)

Meaw and I were entwined and enraptured by one another, well and truly now, as the month of October sped along beside us.

I was still in residence at the prolifically botanical Gap's House but I was rarely using the place to sleep, anymore. Instead, I shunned my spacious and air-conditioned room, with it double bed, hot water shower, flush toilet and cat-swinging accomodating openness for Meaw's room.

Anyone who has watched Oz or Prisoner Cell Block H or even The Shawshank Redemption can quickly garner my meaning when I say convicts have better living arrangements than Meaw. Exaggeration? Not by much!

My room here in Blighty is certainly bigger than her room (which includes a shower room - no warm water - with a squat toilet). It has been her home for about three years now and she even misses it when away from it; I suppose there's no place like home. Frankly, I was glad when we moved to a new room in later days, so that I could spare the two of us anymore cold showers, sweltering nights and "EH AWWWWWW!!" - ing giant geckoes outside the window at 4am. I realise a fellow's got to get his game on, see if there be any girly girls on the lookout for a scaly young stud with the biggest tail in the Hood...but must you do it at such an unholy hour, sir!?

But I digress on a gecko that shall one day find himself looking down the barrel of my camera lens.

Where was I?

Ah, Meaw's room! Yes! Very small! We would not be staying in it for much longer, though.

With some convincing on my part, Meaw agreed to take some time off work - a whole three days, no less! - and we were going to....

....well, we hadn't got that far yet.

I should point out that my Oriental darling was so reluctant to take time off, simply because she had only been working at Lucky's Massage - named after it's lolita-like matron, by her creepy middle-age Afrikaans boyfriend, no doubt - for only a little longer than she had known me. She was rather worried about losing her job, you see. I concede that it doesn't look good for the new girl to take a week off after only working for a fortnight. Still, I wanted more Meaw-time, dammit!

Anyway, we had the time. Now we needed a destination. Meaw knew that Laos had been on my original - and I use the term very loosely - itinery. She wasn't quite sure why I wanted to go to Laos, and neither was I, to be honest. I'd simply heard great things about the rustic and secluded place, from other travellers. Meaw herself had never been and quickly caught my contagious enthusiasm for the place, as she poured over the pictures in my guide book and listened to me babble animatedly about my desire to find a place beyond the reach of so-called civilisation.

(Picture 2 - A bit of Gap's House guesthouse)

So, in the time it takes for her big - and I mean big - kettle to boil some water up for the first cup of the day, which happens to be a bloody long time, we decided to go to Laos.

That's a silent S at the end of 'Laos', by the way, for the ignorant and the indifferent amongst you. Just so you know.

Truth be told, I had only the vaguest idea of where Laos was, in relation to Chiang Mai and I imagine Meaw was not much better off. She did know that we could get there from the bus station, though, so that seemed like a good start.

So, off we went!....

...except, my bags were not in Meaw's room. They were back at Gap's House. So, planning on a short detour, we headed there first, aback her trusty motorcycle.

We had risen early - once in a blue moon event, even when she had to work. Lazy girl! - that day, determined to be well on the way to Laos by mid-morning. By the time we arrived at Gap's House, it was about seven thirty, some time before the manager would arrive with his adorable duo of dogs, One and That Hairy One, and it was to be my great nemesis who greeted Meaw and I at the padlocked gate to the courtyard.

The Caretaker! If my chest had been a cannon, I would have shot my heart upon him!

Well, now that I've got the theatrics out of the way, I will say that mean old bugger was certainly a character. It was he who poured the gallons of water upon the lush and verdant greenery of the guest house, irregardless of guests getting soaked, it was he who swept the paths and spied through the windows at Meaw and I canoodling and it was he who, smoking quietly in the dark, waited as gate-keeper for late stragglers to arrive back at the guest house in the wee hours of the morning.

And by stragglers, I mean me. Usually a little drunk, before Meaw taught me the errors of my merry and often melodious ways. Nonetheless, after being locked out by the old coot on more than one occasion, having lost track of time and gone to get some late supper with Meaw more often than not, I made my residence at her room more permanent. I would have checked out of Gap's House sooner and saved myself some cash but Meaw's place is simply too small for herself, meself and me bags. For our trip, now, though, it would do. We planned to get my bags, stash them in her room, pack some clothes into a couple of smaller ones, and head off for strange new lands!

Old Man Misery waddled up in his trademark grey shirt and shorts, mumbling to himself, whiskery chin on his chest as he searched for the right key amongst his impressive and wholly authentic ring of gaoler keys. With more grumbling, he opened the gate a smidgen, allowing me through. I flashed him a thankful grin, nodding my thanks and strutted off toward my room. With uncharacteristic forethought on my part, I had paid my room tab the night before, and kept my key, knowing Meaw and I would be leaving early, well before the manager and his ledger were open for business.

(Picture 3 - A bit of Meaw )

Turning to wrap my arm around my darling's slender shoulders, I found her still on the far side of the gate, talking animatedly with the old man.

"Meaw? Coming?" I asked.

"I can't. He won't let me in" she replied, frowning slightly, and rumaging about her bag for ID.

"Why?" Good humoured bemusement rather than annoyance began to creep into my voice, as I returned to the gate, to stand beside the old man, who cast me a surly glance, shaking his head at Meaw, and saying simply "No!".

The old man grumbled something in Thai, which Meaw translated for me.

"He says it not safe for you to have me in room. Not allowed." She handed the old man her ID, which he scutinised with squinted eyes, furrowed brows and pursed lips. " He think I'm lady bar"

My first reaction was to laugh out loud, much to the startlement of the Old Buzzard. That was, until I realised what Meaw was saying and what the old man's assumptions were.

A 'lady-bar' is what Meaw, in her idiosyncratic and ever-so-endearing English calls a bar girl. A bar girl is a Thai girl who spends her nights in bars, unsurprisingly, with the aim of buttering up the farang patrons, and - for a price - going back to the tourists' room for some carnal shenanigans. These girls make a profession out of this nightly activity, make a lot of money from it and are almost always outnumbering the patrons in the bars, especially in the bars just down the street from Meaw's massage shop.

One need only to walk past the bar front and they will call out to any appropriate farang man - such as myself - trying their darndest to intice one in. They are another sad aspect of Thai culture, spawned from tourist, rather than local, tastes. A great many of Meaw's friends have become 'lady-bars' to make ends meet, or simply out of greed. Her boss, Lucky - the walking doll, I mentioned earlier - was a bar girl when her boyfriend met her, and bought her a business all of herself, gee whizz!

It makes me shudder to think of Meaw being driven to such a change of profession. However, she has always been in dire straits, financially, well before I arrived but never lowered herself to doing such things for money. I'm sure the temptation was always there but at the end of the day, she says she could not live with herself, if she did such things, even if it were to feed and clothe her son. One more reason why I adore her so.

Anyway! At this point, my temper flared briefly, until the sheer obsurdity of the situation hit me.

"Oi! You cheeky old sod! She's not some hooker! That's my bloody girlfriend, you're talking about! I oughta' sock you one!" It might have had more effect if the old chap could understand more than a scattering of English. It might have carried some measure of menace, if I had not been stifling laughter and wholly-manly giggles as I went on my brief tirade.

At the end of the day, it was classic Thai calm that won through, as the old caretaker finished scrutinising Meaw's ID and, with great reluctance, let my girl through.

This was not the first time she had been to my guest house room, of course, but before now, there had been some sneakiness involved in smuggling her in, and facing a padlock, I was flummoxed. I had left my lockpicking tools in my other trousers. Naturally.

We made it to the room, picked up my bags, became somewhat distracted, sought out our clothes, and set off again. It was eight thirty but things were still proceeding according to plan.

...and then the nausea hit.

Whilst she did not turn green, as we made our way back to her room, Meaw did look decidedly ill, as we packed our traveling clothes, consumables and comforters. A combination of nerves, bad papaya salad (oh, bloody hell, I'll tell you about her love of that heinously spicy stuff in a later blog) and still vivid thoughts of our last expedition together, sent Meaw running for the toilet and had her quiet and decidedly queasy as we reached the bus station.

(Picture 4 - Chiang Saen, and beyond! )

To make matters worse, the place was packed solid. Not liking my chances of looking like a monk, we passed their reserved and spacious seats - lucky monks! - and squeezed in amongst the rabble.

Thais. Farang. Everybody, no matter creed, colour or wealth, used the bus, it seemed. In between deep breaths, Meaw pointed me in the direction of the right desk, to buy our tickets. Apparently, we were destined for a place called Chiang Saen, up North. That sounded about right to my vague recollection of a south-east Asian map. Chiang Mai was north. Somewhere more northerly, should be Laos. Great. Sorted. Gimme ticket!

Queuing up, and casting worried glances back at a hunched and thoroughly sorry-looking poppit fighting against the urge to upchuck her morning coffee, I shuffled ever forward. Beside me, an Australian with the biggest calf muscles I've ever seen asked me if I spoke English. I replied, I had been known to speak it from time to time, with classic British wit. He seemed more relieved than amused, carrying the look of a stranger in a strange land as if it were a kabuki mask. He asked if this was the queue for the bus to Chiang Rai. I told him I had not the slightest clue, helpful as ever. Probably, though, I assured him. Not quite convinced, he thanked me anyway.

As I reached the desk, wondering what to say, an arm slid around my waist, and Meaw was beside me, speaking in Thai through gritted teeth to the ticket seller.

A moment and a thousand baht - bargain! - later, we had our tickets...except they did not leave until lunchtime.

With a collective groan, seeing the clock on the wall strike 9am, we decided to head back to Meaw's room. It would get us somewhere quiet and maybe Meaw could sleep off her sickiness. Truth be told, at this point, I wondering if we should be travelling at all. She obviously was not up to what would turn out to be a six hour bus journey.

I told her as much as she was flaked out on her bed, with me beside rubbing her belly. Always the stalwart trooper, though, she declared that we would be going to Laos. Despite much protesting that I would be just as happy to spend the three days off in Chiang Mai with her, Meaw used some of her imfamous stubborness and, even in her unfortunate state, managed to wear me down.

We were going to Chiang Saen, dammit! Even if the inside walls of the bus ended up sprayed liberally with Nescafe-flavoured vomit!

After an hour's snoozing, we headed back once more to the bus station, boarded our coach - a plush and luxurious steed, to our relief - and set off for Chiang Saen, and beyond!

What followed was a seemingly never-ending slog up and down mountainsides, occasional stops for roadside snacks of candied tamarinds (just like dates, huge stones and delicious!) and cookie biscuits - "You eat so many, why you not fat, Jamie?" Meaw would ask whenever I opened yet another bag - and a lot of sleeping.

My sweetie spent most of the time asleep, seeking escape from the roiling in her tummy and the pounding in her head. I spent most of the journey awake, feeling somewhat guilty for being the one to suggest this long journey to a girl I knew to suffer considerably from motion sickness. True she had pills for it but still...

(Picture 5 - The mighty Mekong river, as seen in every single VietNam movie ever made)

It was early evening when we reached the little town of Chiang Saen and, despite the trials - for Meaw, at least - of the journey, we both quickly realised that we had come to the right place. It was, to put it succintly, idyllic.

(Picture 6 - Our guest house in Chiang Saen...I think it was called Gyp's Guesthouse...)

Next time, Chiang Saen in detail! And the Golden Triangle! And, of course, Laos! Sort of!!

- Jamie