And by Dream, I mean an eggplant purple, kickstart only, unknown vintage Honda that had a gas gauge that only sorta worked and a key that, I was warned, could be removed from the ignition while running. It was on lanyard that I kept looped around the side mirror to prevent it from being lost. Despite its minor shortcomings, it was a terrific little machine, really living up to its name, and I was sad to return it back in Chiang Rai. Together we scooted a total of 766 kilometers over seven days around northern Thailand, even though we had to go up, and down, some of the very steep and windy hills of Chiang Rai province in first gear. The terrain means that there is ample opportunity to survey the scenery from above.

Some noteworthy mentions of the trip:

Chiang Rai to Mae Salong to Mae Sai: really pretty mountain scenery, green everywhere. I ended up in Mae Salong for two nights, just because it was a nice place to do nothing, and the morning market with fresh Chinese donuts and hot soy milk was less than a minute’s walk from my guesthouse. And there was another vendor who sold samosas that were triangles of delicious, crispy perfection. Those samosas are joining the Travel Meals Hall of Fame. I still regret not having gone back for seconds. There are a number of hill tribe/ethnic minority villages in the area, and I spent part of a morning riding through the backroads to take a look. It turned out to be an uncomfortable experience. With only one exception, no one smiled, said hello, or waved anywhere I went. I felt like an unwelcome intruder, and there was an awkward human zoo aspect about it. I think these villagers are visited with some regularity by tourist groups and trekkers, and I really can’t blame them if they don’t like any of us. I’m not even that smooth when meeting strangers who speak English, so rolling into a rural village of a completely different culture and language was pretty much a doomed excursion from the start. Realizing that I wasn’t going to create any unique cultural experiences for myself, I just scooted back to town. 

At some point between Mae Salong and Mae Sai, the road runs right next to Myanmar, with various checkpoints along the way. Either no one was present, or the guards just waved me through.

Myanmar over there, Thailand over here, hill straight ahead

And while getting lost in Mae Sai, I inadvertently found myself at The Northern Most Point of Thailand, which is tucked away with absolutely no fanfare in a little concrete park on the other side of the market. 

The Sop Ruak Golden Triangle: an example of tourism gone wrong. It’s both a geographically and historically interesting place. In the immediate obvious sense, it’s where Thailand, Myanmar, and Laos meet, facing each other across the Mekong and Ruak Rivers. And it’s the region where most of the world’s opium poppies used to be grown, and where vast quantities of opium and heroin were trafficked. Keeping tradition alive, it’s still dedicated to separating fools from their money, as one square acre of tourist tack. There are booths full of stuff no one needs (except the coffee stalls), a gigantic golden Buddha, and other various repositories for donations. To clarify, I don’t think that Buddhists donating money to make merit qualifies as the aforementioned fools and money, but I wonder, why does it have to be Right There. There’s a wat pretty much right across the street that can serve the same purpose. It would have been nice if the area had been left undeveloped, the better to appreciate borders and history, instead of polluting the landscape with unrelated and irrelevant razzmatazz. Or, if something trashy must needs be built, an enormous gilded opium pipe would have been more appropriate. Visitors feeling the need to throw away money could make a game of pitching coins into the bowl.

Chiang Khong: this is another nifty town that’s perfect for doing not much at all. I had my hopes up for visiting the Mekong Catfish Museum, but was disappointed to discover that it’s no longer in operation. Apparently the exhibits, uh, met their end on the dinner table. However, there is a free bicycle museum with some beautiful old steel frame bicycles. But, to talk to owners of various eating and sleeping establishments is to realize that Chiang Khong is changing, and not necessarily for the better. The newest Thailand–Laos Friendship Bridge border crossing (this is where I originally came into Thailand) means that buses and caravans come pouring over the border to overwhelm what was a small, mellow town with too much traffic and noisy tourists. I know that if I ever go back in the future, I will find it a different place.

Phu Chi Fa: a little town below a 1,628 meter viewpoint that faces both the sunrise and Laos. In the morning, the hills below are blanketed in mist. I did actually manage to drag myself out of bed before dawn to get up to the viewpoint, only to find a parking lot full of tour buses and the summit crowded with people wielding those asinine selfie sticks. I had gone up the day prior in the afternoon, and it had been utterly deserted. Although the sun rose an electric pink that shifted to electic orange, it wasn’t the most spectacular sunrise I’ve seen. The best sunrises, and moonrises, are the ones you don’t expect to see. Last summer I was sitting on a bench in Campbell River on Vancouver Island, and an enormous, gorgeous moon rose up from behind a hill. I had no idea it was coming, and that’s what made it memorable. I did like Phu Chi Fa. It’s really tiny, and the only English on anything is maybe the name of a resort, and the words “Free WIFI”. Everything else is in Thai. And there aren’t too many people. I don’t know where all those morning tourists came from, because other than a trio of Canadians, town was fairly deserted at dinner time. There was a little restaurant with the lights off next to my guesthouse, but I found a man there who indicated that food was indeed available. My choices were to pick something at random from the Thai-only menu printed on the wall, or soup. Most restaurants of the kind that I frequent have a ubiquitous pot of bubbling broth and a bowl of noodles standing by, in addition to whatever else they offer, and sometimes that’s all they offer. I eat a lot of soup because oftentimes it’s the only thing I know how to order, which I do by either pointing, or asking “Soup?” But soup in Southeast Asia is almost always a safe bet. The constant heat is presumably keeping it sanitized, and every bowl is unique; there are infinite combinations of goodies that are either floating around with the noodles, or as garnish. When I order a bowl of soup, I never know exactly what I’ll receive until it lands in front of me.

Animal encounters that could have gone so much worse: first, I ran into a chicken. I didn’t run over her, I ran into her. I came around a corner, she squawked and darted out in front of me, I jammed on the brakes and heard and felt a feathery thunk at the front wheel. When I managed to come to complete stop I turned around expecting road carnage, and saw…the chicken walking across the road. She didn’t look any worse for wear from the encounter. I was obviously more shaken than she was. In retrospect, I should have gone to take a closer look at her, not that I could have done anything had she been injured, but I had standard post-accident brain state, and wasn’t thinking clearly. There was an old lady sitting by the side of the road, and if it was her chicken, she didn’t seem concerned. An American motorcyclist I met in Vietnam gave me a word of wisdom about animals in the road–always pass behind, but with chickens it’s a crap shoot. I don’t think they know where they are going from one moment to the next. It’s sort of a wonder that more of them don’t meet their end on the road. And then the next day, I had a head-on collision with a bee. Scooting merrily along, suddenly something the size of a pea shot into my nose. Thank goodness for reflex evolution, because I snorted it out almost immediately and swatted around my face, but, too late! I had obviously been stung. I kept checking my reflection, expecting some sort of embarrassing and unsightly swelling, but there was nothing visible, just a fading burning sensation. When I took a closer look later while wearing my glasses, I discovered a stinger stuck in the tip of my nose. Unfortunately the helmet selection when renting motorbikes is rather limited; visors are either not available, or in such scratched and scuffed condition to be useless. I started wrapping my scarf around my face when riding. Ironically, there was one time in Cambodia when I received a helmet that had horizontal black and yellow stripes, making it look for all the world like there was a giant bee perched on my head. It was a pretty cool helmet.

After Phu Chi Fa I rode back to Chiang Rai, taking the long way down route 1093 to Chiang Kham, and then cutting through farmland back to the main road north. Motorbiking around Southeast Asia has only reaffirmed my appreciation for small, occasionally rattletrap motorbikes. Tiny wheels can take you far. Sometimes they don’t go fast, but that’s not the point. Since arriving in Thailand, I’ve seen more full-size motorcycles than elsewhere, but they are still few compared to the number of 100 to 125 cc motorbikes. It’s also been a good experiment in learning now much I can do without. Every multi-day motorbike tour I’ve made has involved leaving my big backpack stashed somewhere in town, taking only a 26 liter day backpack and a shoulder satchel. It’s very liberating traveling with almost nothing. I’m baffled by legions of backpackers here who are hauling enormous, 60 liter plus backpacks that are straining at the seams. Perhaps more perplexing is the fact that lots of these backpackers are the ones who are wearing short shorts, tank tops, and flimsy flip flops. What are they carrying that’s taking up so much room? Even at home, I prefer being light on my feet. I stopped purchasing possessions a few years ago, for the most part, gradually adopting an increasingly minimalist and simple lifestyle; I very much want to avoid a state where my possessions are owning me, rather than the other way around. It’s one factor that allowed me to be roaming around Thailand right now, instead of sitting in an office in California. But maybe that’s another post, for another day.