Bye

See you later mystery internet friends. Give me a shout if you still want to hang out.

No News to News You With

lol Cute Puppy!

Mr. Butterfly

He looked up at me from the street by the bus station as I was walking back to my hostel. I had just spent the afternoon at COPE, an exhibition which gave me a whole new perspective on the strength of Laos people, just in the fact that they can still smile when their kids are getting blown up by unexploded cluster bombs in the jungle. Much more on COPE soon. http://www.copelaos.org/

He had an elegant grey moustache that ended in waxed curls at the ends. He smiled at me with one tooth and “Hey! You want drink with us?” “Wow, thank you very much,” I said, sitting down at the table on a low stool, feeling a little out of place in my frilly floral dress and polka dot sun hat. A man with a large square face offered me a large chunk of red-purple meat-looking matter on a toothpick. I smiled politely and ate it, and the whole table laughed at me. It was very soft and tasted like pennies.

They were all motorcycle taxi and tuk-tuk drivers. Butterfly spoke the best English. A man who communicated only with sweeping hand gestures since losing his voice gave me a small taste of Lao Lao to wash down the taste of whatever I'd just eaten. Lao Lao is fluorescent and delicious. The men took shots in turn, round and round the table. Five glasses later and we were all in fits of laughter. We ordered another bottle, and 5000 kip (20 baht, or 50p, or 75 cents) got us a glass Fanta bottle filled to the top, funnelled from a big jug by a tired-looking old woman. Clearly we were celebrating something.

Another plate of food arrived, though it was getting difficult to see in the dusk under the streetlamp. I could make out the glistening blue-grey tubes of pig intestine, which I had tried with Zippy in Chang Kong just after Christmas. Resiliently rubbery, fatty, pork flavour. Among the other shapes on the plate were generous slices of blood sausage, and more of the quivering red-purple block. Chilli sauce on the side.

A few people left, and the man with no voice was making gestures of “you” “me” “heart” “together” “good” so I decided to leave them to the rest of their evening. Butterfly gave me his contact number and he said he would take me out the next day.

We drove down to That Dam and had a big Beer Lao next to a blackened stupa that is said to house a demon who was captured and imprisoned 1000 years ago. Seems a little irrisponsible to keep a demon locked in the middle of the capital city, but it looks pretty secure.

Butterfly, or Papillon, or two other names he used to have, was a business man in Paris. He met a woman and they had a kid, but he came back to Laos after he was born. He is estranged from his family in Laos, vaguely referring to mental health problems, and now he sleeps behind the motorbike shop. He has a dragon tattoo winding up each arm, the heads meeting at his collarbone. He has them for protection. 

“Are you Buddhist?” I ask, having seen the stone serpents guarding the stairway entrance to temples.

“Yes I am Buddhist.”

“So what temple do you go to?”

He pauses only for a moment. “I don't go to temple, I never go there. I live every day Buddhism, in my heart I am clear, I don't go this way or that way, I stay direct.”

We get into discussion about staying happy, about cultures that smile verses cultures that don't take time to see what is around them. I approach the subject of the Secret War, and things get political. FACT: Laos people aren't that keen on American people.

A man from the table behind me gets up and Butterfly talks to him in French. The man is in his 60's, a German American, and he lost his right leg when he stepped on a landmine whilst on holiday in Cambodia in 2002. “My leg is robotic,” he says, proudly. “it mimics the rhythm of the other leg.” He rolls up his trouser sleeve to show us his badass prosthetic, and past the knee he's put on a nylon sleeve tattoo.

Everyone has their story.

Bus Station Baguettes and Steamed Fish Eyes

Delight delight delight.
That's right, I've come back to Laos. Third time, sure is fine.
What have I done so far? Well. After a very very long journey from Chiang Mai, resplendent with frequent sudden stops for a poor British boy to be sick on the verge, I eat a delicious plate of raw spring roll. Then I nap like it's my job.
Later, I meet Mr. Bair out front of Mixay Temple and we ride around on his motorbike for a bit. I did wear a helmet, thank you. We zoom past crowded street stalls, steaming pots and clattering plates. We zoom past fashion outlets, some of which are actually not hideous, and I am confused why all the girls still wear their traditional embroidered knee-length skirts rather than these trendy trendy things.
Then the moon comes out from behind the buildings. Huge and orange, reflected over the stinking canal, beautiful.
We go to his sister in law's house and hang out there for a bit. She is very cool and she has a happy face. She is a young librarian with two boys, one is four and very naughty, and the other is almost one. The four-year-old and I play his version of hide and seek which means I count to ten while he hides around the corner, I find him immediataly and he then runs around the house cackling. Three families live in the one house, and the living room we sit in is covered in anime posters and drawings of fashionable blonde princesses. You can tell that kids rule this room!
Bair and I zoom off again and park outside a restaurant. We sit next to a noisy fountain and order the fish. It is epic. Caught fresh from the river, steamed with ginger, spring onion and mushroom, it is perhaps the best fish I've ever paid for. Bair's friend Air comes by and orders beer. He reaches over with a spoon, scoops out the fish eye, and politely offers it to me. Okay, this is a year of saying "yes".  It is very soft except for a ring of cartiledge that breaks up easily. It tastes like fish oil. It could have been worse. I am convinced I have been imbibed with its power and I can probably see underwater now.

And this morning, rising quietly from my rooftop dorm with three snoozing shapes in the beds around me, I leave the Mixay Guesthouse (200 baht for a dorm, o yea).
Then I get the best fruit shake in town from a little place (just this little place I know) that is on the right as you come out of the road that leads away from the big square with the fountain if you're walking away from the river. Seriously, the best.
Then I bargain like a badass with a nice tuk tuk man who drives me to a place, where I do what I need to do. 'Nuff said.

Now, what to do with my limited funds? Visit a temple I say, read my book for the day, drink tea. Whilst being badass, obv.

Happy Winter Holiday!

A refreshing 23 degrees Celsius on Christmas day in Chiang Mai, the first hot Christmas I've ever had. Very peculiar, agreed Zippy and Heather, Canadian comrades teaching in Vietnam and Hong Kong respectively. It's like Christmas already happened and we weren't there for it.

Nevertheless, we dutifully opened presents under palm trees over plates of eggs and pancakes from Bake&Bite, exchanging handmade crafts from not so far-flung exotic locations.

We took a clattering song taew to Wat Umong, wandered through the temple tunnels and overgrown paths scratched up by chickens and dogs, hoping to spot any escapee antelopes who had broken free from the old zoo on the grounds. Instead we found ourselves in the monk pad where they do their laundry and sleep. Whoops. We walked to the pond and bought pellets for the catfish. Man those things are ugly. As they swarmed around the food in a writhing gaping-mouthed mass, Zippy said, "It's like when someone has a really gross scab and you keep looking at it over and over." Some of them were huge. The picture doesn't quite capture the alien gullet maw of the giant catfish mob.

Gives me the Freudian creeps. Am I right, ladies, am I right?

So we washed our hands and went to the market to buy fruit and nuts in exciting colours for the party flapjacks. Here is the recipe for forgieners who don't what a flapjack really is.

Recipe for Party Flapjacks

200g butter
200g demerera sugar
200g honey
400g oats
pinches of any or more of the following spices:
nutmeg
cinammon
star anise
cloves
handfuls of any or more of the following treats:
chocolate chunks
raisins
chopped mango/ pineapple/ cherries/ almonds/ fresh ginger
multicolour sprinkles (that's the party bit)
M&Ms

Heat oven to 180 C
grease up a pan, make that thing slick so nothing sticks
put the butter, sugar and honey in a medium or large saucepan on medium heat (I have only one smallish-medium sized saucepan which made this whole thing a rather careful procedure) and stir till the butter melts and the sugar dissolves. Then get it off the heat.
Whack the oats into the pan.
Hassle the spices o'er top.
Impose the treats.
Stir everything up so it's good and wet, but holding it pretty much together, not falling apart like a sissy.
Press the sticky mix into the pan and put it into the middle of the oven. Cook it for 15-20 minutes. The edges will be crispy and your kitchen will smell like hot sugar (unless you have a sinus infection and you will be making this recipe for your friends only since you won't be able to smell or taste a thing)

When it looks done, take it out of the oven. Divide it into squares or any shape you want. Eat any bits that don't fit on your serving platter. Then it's up to you to party.

a roi maak maak.

So we took this winner of a dish to Small House and had an actually good time with excellent chefs and budding professional line dancers. We wore our matching Christmas sweaters, fluffy and bedazzled. Ukuleles were played, turkey was digested next to the butternut squash dissolving in our stomachs.

Later, we song taewed merrily to the 24 hour coin-operated laundry and computer shop, where I called the Showers's, Zippy called the Doiron's, and Heather snoozed on a plastic chair. And who should flicker onto my screen but father Showers, decked out splendidly, if a little snugly, in a glittery google-eyed cartoon robot t-shirt with the word FRENZY! on it. "I'm thrilled with my present, thank you so much! I've been wearing it all day." How did I know my dad and my 12-year old brother had so much in common? Note to self, put names on presents when you wrap them in the same paper and ship them to different countries.
Enjoy your brown cushion cover, Michael.

Then we tra-la-lah'd home, and I listened to Lucy Day on the Myspace to send me off to sleep.

Happy Festive Time.

Early Mornings

I mean 5 or 6 AM mornings. The ones where it's not raining and there thickness of night sticks in the air. This is my Chiang Mai, when the women light the coals for the day's lunch and the market vendors are hauling their melons out of pickup trucks. This is the time of homeless people moving between sheets of canvas and  corrugated iron, looking out into the dark street, waiting. The roads are quiet, the dawn is cool over the water, and breakfast of Chinese donuts with hot soy milk was never more appropriate.

 

What I Am DOING

Hello.
Life continues as a daily routined life does. I have recieved some terrific post, I have tried to teach 13-year olds about "the Drum 'n' Bass", I have started rehearsing the Teapot Song with a gang of second-graders, and last night I ate a massive plate of lasagna. It was delicious.


I bought some teacher shoes, the only pair of sensible shoes in Chiang Mai for under 4000 baht. Oh they are brown.

I made scones for my friend's birthday.

I went to Pai for one night only.








I went on a house boat with a massive crowd of young expats. The view was very very very beautiful and dancing under a full moon next to mountains and water was pretty unforgettable.
However, I am determined to learn Thai, starting this week. I can't live in a country so so far away from all that I know and not live in the culture proper. Book clubs and wine tastings have their place, and I'm not sure that their place is in my life. And that's all there is to say about that right now.
Also, I'm aware that going out of town on a motorbike is the best way to see the country, but I am scared stiff of breaking myself, even if it's road rash. I've seen some nasty stuff. I may have to invest in a mega fast road bicycle with super hot panniers.
I miss my family, I miss my friends. But life is certainly fine.
La la. Any tips on how to make a papier mache turkey hat is appreciated, as I will be dressing as a roast dinner for the school Christmas parade next week.

Loving Laos

14 hours on a bus later, I am in Vienne Tian, Laos, snuggled up in the tourist area, munching Scandanavian shortbread after the best pastrami and mustard sandwich of recent years. I do love the colonies.

I drop off my bag at the Mixay Guesthouse, buy a floppy hat, and walk down the riverside. The two square miles that comprise the tourist area has a marked boundary of people not staring at you to people stopping in their tracks to see what you're doing outside your quarter. And the houses turn from brick and plaster behind metal gates to shacks made of corrugated iron and woven bamboo screens tied together with twine.

There are dogs, there are chickens. There are tall temples around dusty corners, and fishermen in long boats trying to find things to eat from the Mekong River. And everyone gets their own hammock.

A couple of hours in, I realise that I've stopped sweating, and dehydration is a pain to deal with. “Could I have some water, ka?” The young couple at the stall selling beer and fizzy drinks look blank. “Water?” I ask in a Canadian accent this time. “Nam plaow? Nam geaow?” I ask in badly pronounced Thai. The whole street is now involved in trying to understand what I want. A woman appears from her door with two bottles of water raised aloft, and invites me inside. It's a small acupuncture clinic with eight beds separated by screens. (Rachel please stop reading here) On one of the beds lies a 15-year-old girl who she is treating for a brain injury two months previously. She has ten needles in her face, under her ear, and a couple in each wrist. There are used needles on the tables. The doctor swiftly but deftly plucks out each needle, which is a little creepy to see. Then she takes me to her house on the river where I meet her son. We start talking, as you do, and he invites me to visit his friend's farm on a river north of the city. Meet you at the temple, tomorrow at 1PM.

We drive and drive, through the city, down a questionable reconstruction of Champs Elisee complete with its own Arc de Triumphe, out past the fruit stalls floor to ceiling with apples and tiny oranges, past the smoking barbeques grilling chicken feet and cat fish, and down the dusty red road. Everything is covered in red dust; the plants, the houses, the laundry hanging outside the houses. An hour and a sore pair of legs later, we are at the farm.

This is very exciting to me, because I have been looking to find someone who will tell me the names of trees. Here is mango, banana, starfruit, jackfruit, bamboo bamboo, and fish. Fish is not a tree. I befriended a cow.

We go across the river on a ferry made of wooden planks with a longtail motor driving it. We are dropped off in a tiny village, and in minutes the rumour has spread that there is a falang in town. Stepping around baby goats and little children, we walk through the dusty streets, saying hello to old women poking at weeds in their front yards, and to children hiding in trees. Some try out their English, “Oh! My gosh! Hello. I like you.” Everyone stares but they are all friendly.

Later, my guide takes me to his counsin's wedding, big honour. I sit with his family, we celebrate with many toasts to everybody's health, and I learn to line dance Laos style.

A fine day.

75 days later

It has been quite a while since I swallowed the lump in my throat as the plane landed on the hazy Bangkok runway, when I sweated at customs praying that they would not ask what my specific intentions were for visiting the country, that IT WOULDN'T BE TO WORK, WOULD IT?

My enthusiasm for noodles has not guttered, though I know what I like, and I know I don't like the thick gloopy ones that all stick together in a shiny brown "gravy" goo. I could eat noodles all day, even just one long noodle, a day-long noodle.

I'd say I've got more streetwise, as in I look where I'm going so I don't fall into huge holes or fight battles with cranky dogs. And I tend not to walk under electric cables.

I miss ale, but I have fresh coconut.

I miss pubs, but I have bamboo huts by the river.

I miss Norwich, Leeds, Brighton, Bristol, Stroud (for the autumn smells), London (ya cunt), I miss watching reruns of Mighty Boosh under a blanket with a mug of brown tea after a chilly walk through a muddy field. And by gum do I miss the mass unemployment, the seething hatred of the establishment, I miss the fight fight fight!

But I found a punk show, a tiny room full of Thai boys with 3-foot long mohawks and studs all over everything, jumping around like bingo balls in their DMs. I got some excellent bruises from dancing (shoving and getting shoved about), and I let out all that pent up energy that comes from walking pretty and talking about yoga, noodles, and how cheap coconuts are.

I think I have found a nice balance of activities to keep me sane here for a while, ie sipping wine at the Riverside vs not going anywhere near or even climbing inside abandoned buildings; chatting Chekov at book swaps vs. howling along the street in Critical Mass.

I may be here until March 2013. So book yr tickets, mai?

Megaboom

Loi Loi Krathon, Loi Loi Krathon... The Lantern Festival! Light a kom loi, make a wish! Float a krathon, feed the river gods! Decorate your front door sweetly, be nice to all your friends! Stock up on explosives and whiskey though, you don't want to run out.

The parades are long but they are pretty. See the giant blue glittery cloud decorated with swans and umbrellas that nestles a little girl dressed in red and gold who can hardly keep her head up because her face is so thickly laid with eyelash glue, lipstick, and meters of fake hair. A cable on the back of the float connects to a truck following closely behind, bearing a large generator that cloaks the street in an ethereal diesel mist. The traditional bands carrying gongs, very long drums, and boys who dance/fight with cymbals, are usually drowned out by the 10-speaker sound systems. And so on for two hours. Great costumes, smiling people (how do they smile for so long? Vaseline), epic dancing.

The day after, school has the afternoon off to make krathons, which are offerings to the river made of folded banana leaves and decorated with flowers, incense and candles in the shape of a lotus. The idea is to put your wishes on the krathon, light the candle and push it into the river, where it floats downstream, all the way out to sea probably. My 7-year-old friend Bandok (on the left in the picture) and I struggle through, doing our best to make something beautiful.

Interesting story I heard about the origins of these floating offerings; the original city was settled a few miles downstream of the established Chiang Mai. There was a horrible virus that started killing everyone off, a kind of bubonic plague situation with the sick packed into areas separate from the village. Of course quarantines are tricky when your walls are made of bamboo leaves, so the uninfected people were left with few choices. Those that could, left. They left their families behind and took boats upstream to start a new village. This village was extra clean and healthy, and everyone was happy with their new lives. But they didn't forget their sick relatives, and knowing that they were struggling, every full moon they sent down boats built from banana trees filled with provisions. And so, krathons for our ancestors.

Two days after the first parade, there is another one. They told me, “It's like the last one, but bigger!” Indeed. Now they are driving more elaborate floats with 3-storey castles stuffed with beauty kings and queens, smiling for all of Siam. Even the Night Safari crew rocks up (marketing tagline: you can eat anything you see! They had to keep a low profile shortly after they opened when a pack of wolves escaped and was spotted prowling the streets of Chiang Mai) with horns tied to their heads and feathers tickling the noses of onlookers. I get a very good look at them when the parade stood still for 20 minutes. Then I get a little restless and walk up a little towards Nakorn Ping Bridge. I watch a big-bellied man drenched in glitter rub a gong for another 10 minutes or so. There is a big explosion behind me and everything goes quiet.

But then everyone remembers, ha ha ha, it's Loi Krathon! Explosions are good luck! Then all the power along the river goes out, but they were just kidding because it comes back on after a couple minutes. By this time I am jammed into a crowd of drunken Thai boys, cheek by jowl. Bring on the groping. I'm talking full on free for all grope time. I decide that it's worth heading home at this point, as the only white girl in the heaving whisky-scented mass. This takes a LONG TIME because all of Chiang Mai, and any lucky evacuee from Bangkok, has congregated at this intersection and is trying to get somewhere. Finally I am spat out onto the bridge. Keep eyes out though, they tell me that falang often find firecrackers under their feet.

The next morning, I go for a run. The charred corpses of kom lois are caught in trees, crumpled on street corners. The river is speckled with bottles and firework canisters. I think that if I liked loud noises and dreadful amounts of booze, this would have been a brilliant festival. But, but. I do like things that light up with lots of colours, I like things that float in the sky and in the water.

Bring on New Year's.

mountain fun

Clean Food Good Tast

ACTUALLY, I am going to forfeit my ticket and take the best job I could hope for at a great school. I will be helping a Thai teacher do a grade 2 class, age 7-8. Lots of mask making and pretending to be animals. SO! I can stay in Chiang Mai , I can go to Critical Mass on the 28th, I can go to another Sunday walking street and eat  fried things at the temple, I can train to cycle up Doi Suthep, 13 km  no problem. Come visit me sometime  eh?

You will be denied boarding once gate closes

So I'm off now, taking an airplane, not a 40 hour bus journey, way way down south almost to the Malaysian border - no fighting, trouble not - to Songkhla province to the rubber factory transport hub of Hat Yai. What awaits me there? Buildings, roads, Chinese food, Malaysian tourists, not a lot of falang folk to Starbucks up the place. I have a job at the International School of Hat Yai, starting Tuesday.
woo!
Pumpkins are in season, the tastiest vegetable on this earth. Raw chocolate cake and veg soup tomorrow night at Giant Guesthouse, all us mucky hippy intellectual types will be scarfing down the deliciousness in the communal kitchen after a Doi Suthep wonder tour.

Nature Will Bitch You Up

After recess, the naughty nine-year olds were all like, "teacher, teacher!" and pointing at the table. A big, black, shiny, round, hairy, spike-leggedy beetle, with big chompy jaws. Poor creature, I thought, trapped inside horrid human classroom. So I let this huge bastard climb onto my hand, which it gripped with disproportionate strength. I whisked it away downstairs to the garden by the parking lot, tailed by two of the boys from class. I'll just let it down gently in the shrubbery, I thought kindly, but when I tried to pluck it off my hand, it HISSED AT ME. I have never heard myself scream like that, a wail of sheer terror, thinking this monster tightening its grip around my wrist was going to sever it, and I'm screaming and it's hissing and the boys are pointing and laughing at me, and I must regain my teacherly composure, so I coaxed it off with a dry leaf on the ground, each of its barbed legs unfastening themselves from my skin.

I found out later that they do not spit poison and kill, but they will pinch you like crabs do.

Big Flood Time

I am eating nice hot and sour coconut soup with chicken, noodles, a bit of boiled egg, and a disc of vegetable that is similar but nothing like potato. There is a hideous soap opera on TV behind me.

I have just said goodbye to a new and most excellent friend, esteemed musician, cardplayer and adventurer, Mr Nick Rocco. I think that's his name.

I will tell you of my day, from the very beginning. There are four things.

1. 4am, I am woken up, as I am every night, by the temple bell and the howling dogs. Someone is playing music that sounds like Cat Power, but just voice. Somehwere, a machine is on that sounds like a snoring basoon. It's raining. It's a good little soundscape, but I wish it was cool enough to close the balcony door.

2. 7am, it's still raining. I put on my plastic rain mac from 7-11 over my office clothes, and cycle to an interview at the Chiang Mai University Language Institute. BUT! What is this? Upon turning off the busy Huay Kaew road onto Sirimankalajarn, I am landed in six inches of water, which gets deeper as I go further along the street. I have never seen such a puddle. Every car is splashing me on my right, and my knuckles are white from fear of falling into one of the many potholes camoflagued under the brown water. I got really wet yeh. The interview was fine, and they're going to call me before December.
2.5. Later, after a sneaky full English breakfast, I comply with a sixteen-year-old Thai girl's approved request to have a lesson on how to flirt with foreign boys - I draw on my vast well of experience here: "So what do you think about you and me?" "Hi cutie." "You're so handsome." "I like your hair/ clothes/ music." Still, despite my efforts, she is concentrating on her phone and the clock on the wall.

3. I meet with Nick and Michael and Panisa, we have lunch and talk about when rascist jokes are appropriate and 80's teen movies. Then, then, Nick and I walk and walk, past the cabaret costume shop to the northwest corner of Old Town,  to this crazy Narnia building covered in white stone sculptures of lions, gorillas, and Greek boy gods, totally abandoned, half built and deteriorating. We walk up three flights of hazardous stairs, peeking in tiny empty rooms with floor to ceiling stained glass windows, until we get to the very top and out onto a big balcony, all of Chiang Mai presented to us. We poke around a little wooden house, empty but for a stool and two big knives. A woman starts following us around, pretending to sweep the concrete. Okay, sorry, we go now.

4. We want coffee, dammit, where can we get something like that in this town? Isn't it a Wednesday? In the middle of the afternoon? Where's the service? The service is currently under five feet of dirty water, sorry, closed today. And the next day. And most of the weekend. We hitch up our shorts and wade through. Thai people are stil smiling, heaving water with buckets from behind sandbanks, taking pictures of each other. Someone released a dam that was looking ready to burst, so rather than mess up the entire province, they just ruined a few homes and businesses by the river. Sabai sabai. It's pretty much okay now.

Susie's Super Chiang Mai Night Tour

Inspired by an epic nightime advenutre with my new Bostonian musician artist friend, I am starting up a tourist attraction at a bargain price!

BHT 50 per person, group of 4 or more BHT 150, group of 10 or more BHT 500

Please bring with you:
- footwear
- money for 7-11

You may also wish to bring:
- gloves
- helmet
- umbrella
- stick

We pick you up straight from bar of you choice!

The tour start with a long walk, in any direction of your choice. You may go down big streets and alleyways, climb over walls, and you might meet some people of your enjoyment, at any of these bars:
- Heaven Place - live music every night, free toilet
- Babylon - is it an airport waiting room?
- Roots & Reggae - watch your bag :)
If these are not to your taste, beer can be bought from a small shop close by, and also Strawberry Custard Cake! (I don't know how to embed pictures in my blog, please help)

Then you can walk some more, heading southwest. If you need a restroom, wade into the long grass and do what is required. You can use your stick to beat any snakes.

Meanwhile, when the park is closed, you must climb over the fence of Suan Buak Haad, , a very nice and beautiful park with enourmous fish and (probably) kaymans in the water. Do you like to swim? You like adventure! Now is a chance to relax by the water and look at the dark.

Soon, you will be at a relax and rejuvination so that you will wish to climb again, over the fence and up the old wall. Wear gloves if necessary, the grass is barbed. This is a fun challenge to make your way up the beautiful city wall, used in ancient times to keep out vicious invading tribes. From this place you can see many views:
- Doi Suthep (good weather only)
- Esso
- 7-11
- billboard
- road
This is an especial place for lovers of moats, since it is here where you can see the bottom very clearly, if it is shallow or dried. See every biology, where the scum washes on the rocks. The walk continues along the moat, where you can see many types of trees and flora. If it rains like a power shower, there may be a rest under a shop front.

Feeling hungry? The tour meanders to a night market, where delicious gelatinous jewels meet your desires. Authentic sticky blue rice is just right for a nightime treat, with free shrimp sugar. Still hungry? If you like meat, this will be an exception. See the pig head, and the piles of red and brown. Take in all of your senses, the knives deftly hacking at grizzle and intestine. Feel free to handle the produce.

At last the tour reaches a conclusion. You may wish to continue your tour alone at no extra cost, just find a free map provided at many places in Chiang Mai.

We await your custom!

Sexytainment

After work on Saturday, which was a painful morning of attempting to throttle out even a grunt in English followed by an afternoon of pretending to be tigers and bears with 6 year olds, I song teawed it to Wororot Market, the one sandwiched between Chinatown and the river. It seemed everyone was closing up their stalls as I walked through, but I managed to try a steaming hot completely delicious banana with sticky rice wrapped in palm leaf, grilled to perfect sweetness and chewy texture. Sticky fingers on the street, I walked past stores selling incence, flowers and chillis in bulk, others hawking terrible frilly shirts size 6 only, "no try on." I found a barbeque on wheels setting up, and I haven't been so adventurous with scary-looking food (see reaction to fried bugs, previous), so I ordered a tiny white squid on a stick. It had a surprising inner texture of fresh mucous, and the outer flesh was a kind of edible fish rubber. I ate its crispy little tentacles and threw the rest away. Meanwhile, as I endured this experience, it was getting dark. The streets I had only just walked down, looking urgently for work clothes before they shut, were lit up and full of new vendors. I'm sure I walked the same four streets at least twice, they were changed each time. Cheap tat for miles, gaudy, colourful and glittering. I saw a man set up his stall by pouring out a bucket of enourmous plastic jewelled rings onto a cloth and spreading them out a bit.

I got some coconut juice, which made me suddenly in love as I looked over the bridge of the Mae Ping, seeing the bank lit up by tiny hanging lamps in the trees. There was even a clear sky. The taxi drove me back home the long way, down a dark winding road of bowing palm leaves hanging over garden walls, with the occasional light from a bar made of corrugated iron, plastic canvas and bamboo poles all roped together.

If you are reading this then we definately love each other.

Amy Asks Too Many Questions, But Her Feet Are Wise

Quick update on my emotional state: I am stressed, homesick, tired, irritated by most westerners, in awe of the tropics, curious, inquisitive (is that an emotion?), grateful. There.

Suddenly I have 25 hours of work a week. So much for a 3-day silent retreat in some temple up some mountain. Lesson plan lesson plan flashcards simon says names of animals of numbers of months of the year of days of the week. Six-year-olds are ace, even the day after a very fun birthday celebration. They will be mental, chucking cushions at each other, falling over, shouting shouting, and as soon as you get a box of coloured pencils out, they go silent. Language schools are a good place to start, lots of small classes with all diferent ages. Administration is hectic confusing, lots of pink slips and green slips and even a punch card, like in a factory. For now, it'll do.

Thai people are just as smiley as everyone says. People greet you on the street, when you get into the same song teaw as them, and when they drive by on the road in the car next to you. Everyone says hello, and once you get talking to people, seeing them around a few times, they all want to help you learn Thai and teach you to draw.

In the past three days, a man has tried to snatch my purse (the indecency!),I've eaten a third of my weight in Japanese food at a buffet, I've been to an orchid and butterfly farm with the inimitable Amy, who also dared me to eat fried bugs, which were a grasshopper, a silk worm, a maggot, and a beetle. The maggots were long and crispy, void of taste. The silk worm was perhaps the least appetizing thing I've had in my mouth ever. Imagine crunchy burned leggy fish-tasting bits coating your tongue, getting caught in your molars. I've had an authentic Thai massage from an old blind man, who said I felt like a man, like a plank of wood. Ta. I went swimming in a lake by the mountain, so warm, so quiet, beauty beauty. I've played Jenga in the Griffin Bar (Moon Mueng Soi 7) with Egg and Amy, every night.

Amy was going to stay in Chiang Mai for a night and then go back to Pai, but she stayed here to play for my birthday. It was a dead good birthday. We arrived at the Reggae Bar early, so it was empty. We had a horrible pink cocktail. Then a Thai man with a dredlocked beard and many tattoos started chatting us up with the kind of abuse that's supposed to be funny. Then his mate Yawee showed up and it was his birthday too (the gayest man in Thailand, from Miami, got his nails done that day, and the tatooed man had no idea his best mate was queer, ("never, I never do that, why you say that, it disgusting"). So one small glass of strong clear liquid followed another and then it was two hours later and the band was singing us Happy Birthday. I woke up the next morning with all the lights on, but all of my clothes folded neatly in the cupboard.

I have an address now, send me a message if you wannit.

Paradise Direct

May I introduce the sexpat. You will know him by his flip flops dragging across the polished floor of the 7-11, his bald patch, his thin white vest. He sits at the front of restaurants that serve 100 baht burgers, leaning over to the waitresses nearby, telling them about America, telling them that he needs them to help him out. He is glassy-eyed, slack-mouthed and flake-skinned. Usually he carries a plastic shopping bag in one hand, a cane in the other. A skinny girl will follow a couple of steps behind. If you walk around a few sois after 8pm you'll hear her "hee hee hee!" echo down the alley.

And so I have landed back in Chiang Mai, which is really very nice, except for holes in the pavement and some funny smells. I've just come back from 26 hours in Pai, the mythical laid back mountain town. No funny business here please, there is a mosque. Four boys and I took a bus through spiralling jungle roads, bumping past towering green pulsing city of plant life twisting all sexy around everything, all of it growing on top of itself. Flowers hang open like mouths. Tiny houses made out of bamboo and palm leaves are being slowly eaten by the land. Mountains appeared suddenly, vastly, yawning out into the grey horizon. Rice fields and brown cows, then little huts behind big signs that say PAI IN LOVE, HAPPY HOUSE, SWEET DREAMS. We arrived at the tiny bus station and walked down the road, past little restaurants offering coffee and fried eggs. We checked in to the Riverside, all bamboo huts and hammocks.

We rented motorcycles, yes dad that is what we did, and I rode with a helmet on the back with a boy who had been riding motorcycles since he was 12. And he slowed down when I asked him to. I am unscathed, unlike one of the others who crashed into a car next to the rental place, burned his leg on the exhaust and had to pay off the driver 2,000 baht, or the other one who decided to go to a mountain summit to watch the sunset, drive into a pothole in the dark and bash up his foot.

We went to Pam Bok waterfall, a gorge full of mist and rushing noise. There was a very good rock for climbing up and jumping off, and a strong current that knocked one of the guys under water and swept him downstream. He is still alive, and probably not concussed. It was certainly a confrontation with a big natural force; water is in so many forms in this country, whether it's the canal around Chiang Mai, stagnant ground water in the village wells, in the waxy green of plants, or in deafening 30 foot falls.

Milk Sandwich, Yam Sandwich

After 6 days of being in Thailand, I think I have arrived today.

A note on wildlife. Little lizards grip on to signs, gates, walls, mimicking colours. They are super quick, so no chance of catching one. Cows with sticking out ribs and shoulders have floppy ears and hump backs. They munch on boggy leaves in fields next to the main road. Dogs be barking, cats be slinking, kamikaze squirrels are bleached on their tummies and tails. After sunset, which is like a divine light switch being flicked at 7pm, crickets drown out the noise of the highway next to Wat Jet Yod temple, and the frogs compete for the best warble. Bats skim the river around Old Town. I saw a gigantic glossy rat streak behind a cupboard in the cafe I had dinner in last night. The day before, a beetle longer than my middle finger crawled out from under a table on quick spindly legs, wings clicking. Orchids languidly weigh down their stalks, hanging down from temple walls. Tiny fish swim in ornamental ponds, weird looking birds squawk in cages above bamboo furniture shops.

I got a little job at King’s School on Kaew Nawarat, Just west of the big brown Mae Ping river. I start on Saturday afternoon, and I’ll be on very part-time hours. Still, I feel good about having something to show for my first day hawking my wares. I got very muddled up in alleyways searching for the fabled AUA school, and after reading the guidebook I think it is far too good for the likes of moi. They have requirements for the dress code like shower every day, wear a bra, shave...

I went into Tesco (yep) and I have found my favourite food so far: Ovaltine snacks. Crunchy malt biscuits with a sweet gritty paste malt sandwich filling, only 35 baht for a pack. It seems there is a malt-based craze here, because Ovaltine is on every farang drinks menu. I have given in to it completely.