Northern Thailand, Northern Laos, and Several Kinds of Love

Northern Thailand was a dream-- it really was.  Or at least it felt that way.  I can't say I really saw that much of the place other than Chiang Mai and, more realistically, the nearby rock climbing location.  Still, it was enough to fall in love with the place.  As with all of Thailand, there's the delicious food, the cheap accommodations, and the aggressive and scamming tuk-tuk drivers-- those things are the foundation of the Thai experience.  In Chiang Mai there was added to this a cool, comfortable climate; lush, beautiful forests; and one of the most enticing limestone cliffs in the world, Crazy Horse Buttress.

I spent most of my time in Chiang Mai at that buttress, climbing with a 60-something Brit, an American that was a journalist in Yemen for three years, a guy that owns a seasonal Christmas-decorating business, and several other odd, unexpected characters.  Each day was a joy: trying new routes, watching others climb, and just sitting and swapping stories.  I remember the rain coming down hard on my second and third days, dripping and dropping just out of reach of us as we stood beneath the overhanging cliff faces.  Then, as the winds would change, we'd be forced to abandon water-logged routes and move our gear a little bit closer.  By the end of the day, we'd be huddled in a small cave at the base of the cliff, taking turns on climbs and just hanging out.

And then there was the motorbike.  Crazy Horse Buttress is an hour away from Chiang Mai and, with no cheap public transport available, the only real option I had was to rent a motorbike and brave the Thai traffic. What a rush that was!  From my initial trepidation, cautiously hanging to the side of the road and trying to mimic the actions of the local motorbikers, eventually I found myself comfortable and free.  It was a special thrill each morning and night, driving on the shoulder as traffic whizzed around me, checking my mirrors and hitting the accelerator to whiz around slow vehicles, and just dancing this foreign dance of tuk-tuks, motorbikes, and cars, all honking and whirring and swirling around.

Yeah, Chiang Mai really was a dream.  But eventually-- somewhat sadly-- it became time to move on.  It was the expiration on my visa that forced that decision, and soon I found myself on the Thai-Lao border, preparing for a two-day slow-boat ride down the Mekong River.  That was a beautiful experience, to just sit and watch for two days the passing mountains and churning waters of this oh-so-rural place.  If nothing else, those two long days drove home just how utterly empty of people this place is.  Laos is a country of mountains, rivers, and clouds; towns are a peripheral idea.

People say that Laos is a place for travelers to "relax."  After a little more than a week here I've finally understood what that means.  It means that there's nothing to do here.  There aren't really many temples.  There's not a lot of great food.  The trekking opportunities are limited and other excursions are relatively non-existent.  Heck, there almost aren't even towns to really visit; the capital city of Laos, Vientiane, only has about 200,000 people and that's the largest town in the country.

Still, Laos has been one of the most memorable places I've been, and that owes itself to the people I've been traveling with.  I met five Israelis and a Brit while on the slow-boat and have been with them ever since.  They're so different from me that I knew I wanted to see the world they lived in.  They're wild and unpredictable.  They drink and chase girls.  They say ridiculous and absurd things you'd never in your life think to say.  It's been an incredible experience just to see how these more party-hearty travelers go through their day and, moreover, to really get to know them through and through.  And I feel I have.  Each one is so different and memorable from the next, and after more than a week together they've really begun to feel like brothers in some strange sense.

And so that's the present moment.  Soon things will have to change; a group of seven can't be sustained through too many jumps and travels.  These days have been good and will be cherished in my memory, but in the end, it's time to leave.  I guess, in some sense, it's always is.