By Lucy

Note: WordPress broke last week and wasn’t loading properly as I tried to edit and post. I ended up posting early, in a rough form, because I was concerned that if I tried to schedule the post or load it to double check for errors, it wouldn’t let me back in.

Chiang Mai is the end of the line for the train. Beyond it, there is nothing but untamed wilderness.

Don’t let that colour your opinion of Chiang Mai, however. It is a little Bangkok… or, more accurately, a Thai version of Amsterdam. There are pot shops everywhere and the smell of pot is omnipresent. Even moreso than in Bangkok, there are farang everywhere… or at least, downtown.

The downtown core of Chiang Mai is old town, and you can even see on Google maps how it is a perfect square, ringed by the old canal. At some spots, the ancient city wall has been left intact.

It is soooo much cooler here, I can breath again. I suck in a lungful of cool air and sigh.

It takes a while to summon a Grab to my hostel. Chiang Mai is unique in that it has a “bus”, which I didn’t know yet. Some tuk-tuk’s are painted red and they do the rounds of all the tourist sites. They are only supposed to charge you 30 baht, but if it’s a slow day or you’re going in a different direction than anybody else, they might try to hustle you. Don’t let them! They can only charge 30 baht and if you say “nevermind, I’ll get a different tuk-tuk” they’ll quickly relent.

The hostel is nice. Like the hostel before, there isn’t much of a common area or kitchen, although at least there is a seating area inside. The beds were nice; the curtains are thick, plus some very convenient shelving, and USB charging spots. Everything is from Ikea; I recognize Ikea anywhere.

The lady at the front desk informs me that, because I didn’t answer the email about when I was arriving, they charged my credit card. Oh. Well, darn. I didn’t even bother checking my email the whole day. She does still want 200 baht cash for my key deposit.

I check in, drop my bags off, and practically run down the street to the cafe where I am meeting Filippo. He’s already there, nursing a beer.

“Hey!” He says, rising to greet me and offer me a hug.

Oh? Ooh la la!

He orders the Khao Soi. I get a Pad Thai, mostly because I want the protein from the peanuts. My stomach is twisting itself into knots from the lack of Metamucil.

The other day, while I was on the train, he’d rented a Vespa and gone out to Sticky Falls. He was really jazzed about the ride, and I teased him that if a scooter was that exciting, riding a motorcycle with me would be even better, and he didn’t argue.

We sit there for an hour, talking. He’s much warmer and chattier now, and my heart leaps for joy. He found recommendations for a jazz bar nearby, but it’s already hopping and there’s no live band in sight. He suggests we go for a walk, and we wander off into the dark streets of Chiang Mai. It rains a little bit, but we don’t notice.

Eventually we find Little Khao San, a square full of bars, with greeters lining the street, trying to get our attention. He wanders around, trying to find another jazz bar – because he wants live music – before we pick a bar at random. They offer us a free shot and I chose tequila.

They actually bring us the lime wedge and the salt. There’s an awkward moment where neither of us remember the correct procedure.

“Salt, shot, lime.” Someone else at the bar says. Everyone is grinning at us, and more than one person comments that we are a cute couple. I blush; Filippo doesn’t react.

I order a tequila sunrise and he orders a margarita. We talk and talk. I find his brown eyes very distracting; so warm and inviting.

I pointed to the orange string bracelet wrapped around his wrist, “Where’d you get that?”

“Oh, my girlfriend made it.”

That was a splash of cold water on my expectations.

“What? Oh, I thought it was one of those bracelets the monks hand out at temples.” I said, hurriedly covering my surprise.

“Ah, no.” He smiles.

We talk for another half an hour and then we call it. He has to go back to his hostel to pack for his hike the next morning.

Despite the girlfriend, we hesitate at the street corner where we say goodbye. I can sense something more than friendship, I think. But it’s not my place to make a move.

I wander off down the dark roads of Chiang Mai by myself, a little tipsy. I felt silly about saying something, but now I regret saying nothing. I text him, “you are such a tease”.

“Am I? I was just being nice!”

“I thought you were flirting. It’s fine, I appreciate you being nice. Your girlfriend is a lucky girl.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to create expectations.”

“No no no, you didn’t.” Not maliciously so. That’s the human condition, the difference between us and AI. Cues get misunderstood, advances get rebuffed. We accept it graciously and learn from the experience.

I wonder if that’s part of my perpetual draw to Italians, I muse, as I walk back to my hostel. They have such a warm affect and I’m jealous of it. Me and my ice cold heart.

I fall asleep with the lyrics to Iris ping ponging around my head. When I walk up, I have some clarity. “I don’t want the world to see me/ cause I don’t think they’d understand”. I sing that all the time, and for the first time it occurs to me… I complain I’m lonely and misunderstood, but I don’t let myself be seen. And they might reject me, but mine is to rise above. To accept rejection and try to find my tribe.

Once I got over the immediate shock and disappointment of Filippo having a girlfriend, I was actually very pleased with it. It was the best of two worlds, really; people often mistook him for my boyfriend, so he saved me from being hit on, and in turn, I didn’t have to worry about him hitting on me. He was safe to go partying with, and a lot of fun to hang out with, polite and respectful.

I walked down to 7/11 for breakfast, like usual. Came back to the hostel and settled in the common room.

The main problem with this hostel is that the common room, on the main floor behind the check-in desk, has a glass front facing the street. Many times over the next week, I was interrupted by people knocking on the glass hoping I’d let them in, and them being irate with me for refusing to open a locked door for a stranger.

The owner at the hostel is also the woman who greets you at check-in, named Fai. She’s quite accomplished, in my opinion, investing 2 years and many thousands of baht into making this hostel fully licensed. She tells me later that around the time she opened, she was the only hostel on this street that had actually gone through the trouble of getting a permit, and thus was the only one not fined and shut down when the police inevitably came knocking.

She has a cushy job for all that stress. Most days, from 9 ‘til 6, she just sits at her desk in the front, waiting for guests to check in, out, or ask her something, watching Tiktok and ordering lunch on Grab while the housekeeper tidies around her.

I asked her if I could extend my stay, but she said they actually close down for the month of March because of “burning season”, and they tidy and reno the hostel in the meantime. Oh darn.

Kim emailed me as she finally got around to deciding she’d go to the conference. I emailed her some tips and recommendations, which, yes, did include recommending she watched Kpop Demon Hunters as an entry level primer on Korean culture. No, I know it’s not the most robust information, but she doesn’t really need an encyclopedia about it.

At lunch, I walked down the road to Pizza Hut. I wanted something with cheese on it. I did tease Filippo about how much pizza and pasta are butchered overseas, but he refuses to be baited. What really winds him up is when he sees really out-there variations of sausages. Must be a regional thing.

They picked this week for a blitz of tidying up all the wires on the poles. I didn’t comment on them before because it seemed rude, but they do make me nervous. They never did fix the pole across the road from the hostel, although they made a few attempts at it.

Around 2, I walked down the road to a public pool. Fai tried to advise me to go to a hotel pool, but those were all expensive, and this place claimed to be 50 baht.

It was a little grungy, not gonna lie. I walked up to a counter and rang a bell, and a man appeared. I handed him 50 baht and said I wanted to use the pool, and he took the money and disappeared. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I could have walked in and used the pool for free without anyone noticing.

The water was a little cloudy, but smelled unmistakably of chlorine, which is the important part. There was a man doing laps already. I dutifully changed in the changeroom and showered, but I’m not sure it made a difference or anyone cared. I swam laps for about 20 minutes and got tired quickly, deciding not to push myself. I sat on the concrete patio for a few minutes, air drying, and the man got out, changed and left. He was white and gave me a vague wave and a “hi” on the way out.

When I got back to the hostel, Fai stopped me, “So, what are you doing in Chiang Mai?”

“Oh, stuff.” I blushed, “I am getting a Sak Yant tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s why you wanted to go swimming today!” She said. I breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t admonish me for cultural appropriation. “I noticed your triangle.” She said, gesturing to my forearms. “I have one, too.” She turned around and lifted her hair, showing me a triangle tattooed on the back of her neck. It was too brief to determine more than that.

“Oh, cool. By the way, the pool was fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and only 50 baht for a swim!”

“Oh, I should check it out sometime.” She quickly typed herself a note.

I watched a movie, had some leftover pizza, and I was asleep by 9.

Woke up, had breakfast, walked down to the tattoo shop.

I showed up around 8:40, still lost on what to expect.

The shop is small, with a glass front, and a small altar off to the side. The staff smiled as I opened the door, “Sawat dee ka! You have an appointment?”

“Ah, yes, for Lucy.”

Click, click.

“And do you know what you want?”

I nodded. They opened a look book and spun it around for me to peruse. I already knew what page it was on, so I flipped to it.

“Oh, cute!”

I felt myself blush. I hadn’t picked it to be ‘cute’.

“Where do you want it?”

I gestured to my flank.

They tilted their heads. “Sure! Take a seat.”

One of them went to the back. A man came out, the ajarn who would be tattooing me, but I didn’t know it then. He stared hard at me for a minute. “Be strong and don’t cry, right?” He said sternly, in a tone that implied he thought I would anyway.

Ah, yes, because rib tattoos hurt a lot. In addition to, you know, being stabbed.

He’s in for something else.

Still. As far as I was concerned, I was buying something with the pain. I could have come early for numbing cream. I chose this.

The attendant took me to the back. It took us a while to decide how to wrap me in a shawl in a way that allowed the ajarn access to my ribcage without showing too much of my skin. Personally, I figured they could just lift up my shirt. I was wearing a sports bra, which covers up most of my top half.

“Ah, you’re so young!” The clerk said.

“No I’m not! I’m 30!”

“What? No, you’re lying!”

I showed her my passport. She still didn’t believe me.

They give you a couple of offerings, wrapped up in leaves. At 9, they led me to the back.

I knew the ajarn is technically no longer a monk, but I was still expecting someone a little more monk-like than him. He looked kind of like a punk. Maybe that makes a certain kind of poetic sense; I’m not one to stand on ceremony. His assistant was wearing a Billie Eillish shirt.

“She’s from Canada!” The clerk says.

The ajarn was very no-nonsense, adjusting the shawl around me to allow him better access.

“It will hurt.” He warns me again.

“Many things in life do.” I reply.

I handed my phone to the clerk. You have to kneel in front of the ajarn for a prayer, I think. They explained what to do, but not why. I tilted my head down as he spoke, in Pali or Sanskrit or Thai, I’m unsure. The words felt powerful.

He then told me to lay down on my side… ish. Side/ back. He warned me that his assistant would have to touch me, to hold my skin taunt. I was ok with that.

It took him five minutes to set up. I felt nervous.

Then the tattoo started.

Tattoos are always painful, obviously. But this was pain on top of pain; ribs, plus the hand poke being inherently more painful. It felt like he was sawing my ribs in half, burning like fire.

The taste of blood filled my mouth as adrenaline started flowing through me.

I didn’t cry. I did clench my fist tight so my nails drove into my palm, trying to redirect my focus. I imagine Hanuman holding my hand, telling me I am strong.

I’m facing a clock on the wall. A blessing and a curse. I can’t help but keep track of the time.

I sighed deeply a couple of times, trying to release the pain. They asked if I was ok at first, but then they stopped because I kept saying “I’m fine.”

I realized my breathing was adjusting where he was aiming, so he had to carefully wait for each breath. I tried to breath deeper into my belly, so my ribs didn’t move as much, but it was hard to keep up. Curled up on my side between the ajarn and the assistant was not very comfortable either. My left leg started twitching.

“Ten minutes.” He said, at 9:15, taking a break to wipe off the ink. Ten minutes left, or ten minutes to go? I didn’t ask, or try to check the progress. It’ll be done when it’s done. “You are strong.” He says, sounding mildly surprised.

Do most people cry or ask for a break?

More fire, cutting my flesh.

Focus. Why do you want this?

To be strong enough to do what I need to do.

I close my eyes and imagine my dad in pain. He had his surgery younger than me, more surgery, less refined back in the day. He got an infection and they had to pack the wound. This is nothing. It could be worse.

At 9:25, he said, “Almost done. I have to keep my hand steady when you breath.”

I was fidgety by this point. My legs were cramping from being in one position for so long, and the fire was almost unbearable. The pain had a wave; light at first, then a peak as the skin tried to warn me it was being damaged, and then it trailed off as my body tried to numb it.

Then it was done. The assistant started cleaning up. The clerk came back in to help me to my feet, and then I had to sit in front of the ajarn while he blessed it/ me.

“Strong.” He says again.

Is that an affirmation or an order?

I wander back out to the front. They give me some tea and cookies while I adjust to the pain in my ribs. Most tattoos taper off once the work is done, but this still stings.

There’s another woman there, she’s getting her whole back done. She got a small one a week ago to see if she could handle it.

Once she heads in, the staff offer to put some ointment on my tattoo and take a picture of the result.

“I love it.” The clerk says. “This one is new, actually, we just started offering it in January. Before, only big turtle.”

“Ah, lucky me!”

A couple come in; they booked back to back tattoos, so that they can hold each other’s hand during it. They are on a different wavelength, though. A man comes in as I’m changing back into my shirt; he booked last night and doesn’t know what he wants.

“Does it hurt?” He asks the couple, as I come back into the room.

“Ask her, she just got one.” The woman says.

I lift up my shirt to show them mine. They all praise it.

“Yeah it hurt a lot, but then it is a tattoo on my ribs.” I shrug. “Do you meditate?”

They nod.

“I found finding my centre helped. Focusing on why I wanted it.”

I stop by the cabinet on the way. They sell prayer beads as well. A bit overpriced, but then you can get them blessed by the monk, which is priceless. I buy the last rudraska seed set. I note that some on Google say it is a little more ‘powerful’ than, say, lotus seeds, and cautions first time users against using them, but I think I’ll be fine.

Once I purchase them, they hustle me back into the room with the monk so he can bless them.

Guess I am a Buddhist now.

I walk back. It’s cloudy and slightly windy today, which is nice. My flank continues to sting.

What did Hanuman say, long ago? We were talking about past lives.

“[The Vagabond] says we chose our lives. When we reincarnate.”

“We do.”

I frown. “How does that make any sense? Why would anyone chose a life that had a lot of pain?”

He shrugs. “Because they think they can handle it.”

I don’t know if Buddhism believes that.

Still, I come back to it from time to time. It’s like the Christian saying, “God never gives us more than we can handle.” I accept that challenge. I can handle this.

I chose this.

I can handle it.

“Let me see!” Fai exclaims, as I walk back in to the hostel. I lift up the hem of my shirt. “Ahh, it looks so good! Did it hurt?”

“Hell yeah, it’s on my ribs!”

“Did you cry?”

“Nope. I’m strong.”

Don’t cry or I’ll give you something to cry about.

Crying would be the show of strength from me.

She claps her hands. “Very good! My friend got one, she cried the whole time. It was in her video.”

Settled in the common room for a bit.

I decided to book the overnight hike for the next week. If I was going to have to swap hostels, why not just use one of those nights for it? I do enjoy hiking, although several things about my health make me nervous.

My eyelids started to grow heavy. Off for my usual post-tattoo snooze.

I like the bunks here, but the mattresses are a little… hard.

When I woke up, I had a new roommate, a ginger from England whose name I did not catch. She surprised me by knowing where Thunder Bay is; she did a 3 month work assignment in Owen Sound.

Fai noticed my new mala beads. When I asked her for advice, she frowned and said, “I don’t trust the monks”. There have been some scandals involving the monkhood within the last decade in Thailand, and by law, monks cannot be arrested. The cops basically have to have incontrovertible evidence before going to the head monk to have the culprit defrocked, which is often the only punishment they get, although it is a doozy. Basically no one in Thailand will have anything to do with a monk who was kicked out of the monkhood, since the bar is so high. She did give me the contact information for a local Wat who will chat in English about Buddhism.

The quest for Metamucil continues. I hit several pharmacies and had no luck, but they did have some “fibre jelly”, which I bought to try. The pharmacist tried to recommend probiotics for me as well, and I just told her no without bothering to explain my complaint. I get tired of explaining myself.

I tried the cafe next door to the hostel, which has the added bonus of being within range of the hostel’s wifi. It’s quiet, but the food is good quality and reasonably priced.

“Sawat dee kaa.” I chirp, as I get back to the hostel.

“Where are you from? Why are you so happy all the time?” The clerk asks.

With my smile I turned the world upside down!

I pause, slightly bemused by the phrasing of the question. As if where I am from might be some golden field of Elysia, where people are endlessly happy. I’m also amused at the constant juxtaposition between how dark my thoughts and feelings are, and how much they apparently do not reflect on my face. “Canada.”

“What part of Canada?”

“Don’t worry about it, no one ever knows where it is.”

I tried texting Nhan’s sister, forgetting that I only have texting in the country I am in, and back to Canada. I booked my flight from Hanoi to Saigon. 

Early to bed that night.

I made myself get out and about the next day.

I had breakfast at the cafe next door – I figured I should eat a little better than “grabbed from 7/11” for the first day after my tattoo – and then headed out.

My first stop was the Lanna museum.

Northern Thailand is actually a distinct ethnic group who are not technically Thai, named Lanna, or Lan Na, I’ve seen it spelled both ways. They’re somewhere between Thai, Indian, and Chinese; roti is a common street food here, they have their own language, and before they joined Thailand, a form of Animism was the predominant religion. There was some Hindu influence – they still use hardwood limbs to hold up bodhi trees, festooned with ribbons – but singing is a big part of their culture, which explains why everyone thinks me singing and dancing is just darling. They also use Tamarind paste to paint and glue things.

They spent a few hundred years being taken over by Myanmar, and then freeing themselves. That changed when the French and the British showed up and started colonizing. At that point, they decided to join with the nascent Siam kingdom rather than be colonized, and it seems to be working out for them… better than Laos and Cambodia, which were part of the kingdom of Siam at some point, and are the worse for separating, IMO.

The Lanna still have their own language… which I discovered when I tried to translate my tattoo. See, the tattoo has a blank section on it where the monk fills in whatever text he thinks is appropriate. It’s the last part of the tattoo he did, but I can’t translate it from Pali… because he wrote it in Lanna!

They also seem to be big into Naga; there’s a lot of Naga iconography around, which I don’t think the average farang would appreciate.

They’re also big into paper lanterns.

I also noticed one of the displays says the Lanna believe there have been 4 Buddha’s, and there will be a fifth one “soon”.

The museum is short. Once it was done, I headed further downtown for the Silver temple, the one temple in Chiang Mai I wanted to visit.

Before I went to the Silver Temple, I stopped by a hostel nearby and signed up for their tour of Chiang Rai the next day. Behind the desk was the fattest beagle I have ever seen, and the poor thing couldn’t even walk.

The Silver Temple is beautiful. It was renovated, like, 20 years ago to make it a tourist attraction, but worth it. However, because it was a functional temple, women aren’t allowed inside the main building, which is bollocks. At least there’s pics on Google.

A strange thing happened.

I’ve been wearing my mala beads on my left wrist, some mix of “reminding myself to use them” and “adjusting them to my Aura”. I’d felt self-conscious at first; time was, every farang came back from south-east Asia with a tan and some mala beads, and I wouldn’t want to risk looking like I was doing it just to be trendy. However, as I walked around, I realized no one does that anymore, so I was safe.

There was a monk sitting inside a room in the temple compound, with a sign saying “monk chat”. Oh, perfect! I’d love to talk to someone about Buddhism.

I hovered outside the door and he noticed, looking up. “Oh!” He exclaimed, “Those are nice beads.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you waiting for your friends?”

“No, I’m travelling alone.”

He thought for a minute, before pointing to a large temple across the way. “Have you been there yet?”

“No.”

“Go to that temple, then come back.”

Ok. I walked across the road and into the other temple. It was pretty. It was also under construction.

There was a cranky old monk seated at the back, holding a brush that they use to flick the holy water over you. He finished blessing a couple. Was I supposed to talk to him? He gestured for me to step forward, but when I bowed my head, instead of flicking the water at me he whacked me in the forehead with the brush. It did not hurt, but it was startling!

Then he tied another bracelet ’round my wrist. I already had one from the tattoo ajarn.

I walked back to the Silver temple. There was a French woman just walking in as I got there.

“Oh, come in, come in.” He says to me, seeing the bracelet on my wrist.

We kneeled in front of him and he said a long prayer, flicked water on us, and then gave us each a bracelet. I noticed the other woman did not have any bracelets. Then he dismissed us.

I waited outside for a few minutes, just long enough to observe some other people go in and get blessed, with no previous blessing.

So! I am special in some way. Did he send me for the extra blessing from that monk because of my mala? I don’t know!

At this point the midday sun was getting to me, so I walked back to the hostel.

As I walked, a thought that had been percolating in my mind for a while started to crystallize.

Maybe I finally know what my purpose is.

I stopped on the walk back and grabbed some Imodium, because I was tired of.. well.. I’ll spare you. The pharmacist tried to argue with me to try probiotics first. I have money, just give me the goods! I’m not gonna try to explain my condition to someone who doesn’t speak my language!

I settled down to watch some TV for a bit. Fai asked me what I was watching; with nothing better to do, she’d been watching over my shoulder, on the security camera.

Filippo texted me. He’d hopped into a taxi with some “bros” and headed 3 hours north to Pai, which has a reputation as a party town (Google ‘full moon party’ if you want some visuals). He was now regretting it, and I’ve noticed that Filippo is quick to text me when he has something to complain about, but not to make plans. Oh well. I’m happy to be his sounding board; Lord knows I use Paul as one often enough.

Ugh, now I should work. It was my last day to submit my paperwork for the Allocations committee. I’d already blown off the regular Rotary meeting on Tuesday, and accidentally missed the meeting for the conference (I’d set my alarm, but when I woke up before my alarm, I couldn’t remember why I’d set it and only remembered after the meeting was over). The spreadsheet Matt gave us was terrible, and after calling Kevin for professional help, I gave up and made my own. I sent it to him with the line “I am but a humble carpenter”. I couldn’t imagine he’d be really upset about it, but at least the chuckle would ease the pain.

Everyone has noticed me typing a lot and thinks I’m working remotely. Hah! If only I was getting paid for this shit.

Speaking of! Feel free to send me some change. Even ten bucks goes a long way in Southeast Asia.

There was a bunch of drunk German girls at this hostel, slamming doors and being loud. I stayed up late since I knew they’d keep me up anyway, and even once I gave up and went to bed, I could hear one screaming through the wall.

I am burning out a bit. I booked a private room for a few nights in Hanoi, since Vietnam is cheaper than Thailand, just to have some time for myself. For bonus points, it’s walking distance to the airport.

Chiang Rai

Bright and early.

The bus said it would pick me up between 7 and 7:30. I sat outside with the Ginger Brit, chatting. The bus showed up after 7:30; a Lanna woman came running down the road, yelling “Lucy!”

“That’s my ride!”

I jumped up and waved for her attention, then followed her back to the mini van. It only had a belt for my lap. I was seated in the front row, next to an Austrian woman named Barbara.

We had to pick up one more person, and then we were on our way. We had me, Barbara, a German mother and daughter, a couple of Italians, and an African American man who knew basically nothing.

The guide’s name was Toi. The driver’s name was told to us as “Dingaling’, but I’m not convinced they didn’t know that’s an insult in English and nickname him that for the giggles.

We drove about 45 minutes to our first stop; had to escape Chiang Mai traffic first. The driver’s relationship with lane division is shaky at best; he often drifted into the other lane, and he knew he was doing it, because he laughed about the rumble strips on the lane dividers.

Our first step was “Longneck village”. The Longnecks are a tribe of Karen who’ve fled persecution in Myanmar, and they use these heavy metal rings to make their necks look longer. They can’t get any kind of status in Thailand, so they’ve resorted to turning their own villages into a kind of zoo, letting farang pay to gawk at them. Is it ethical? I suppose it allows them to keep themselves fed.

Personally, I’d rather give them 300 baht as charity, but I was kind of stuck. I was counting down my cash until I got on the plane… not that baht is expensive, but I had a budget, and getting out anymore baht was gonna cost me 20 bucks I wasn’t getting back. I’d rather hold on to it.

I sat by the road, watching cars go by, for half an hour, and then we got back on the bus and headed out.

15 minutes down the road, we stopped at what they insisted on calling “hot springs”. Once someone popped the door, however, I smelled the sulfur, and realized they actually meant “thermal geyser”.

Ok, well… that’s fun. Now I’m back at work again.

I wandered around the booths selling crafts and food nearby. I wasn’t planning on buying anything, but a silver bracelet caught my eye.

“500 baht.” The shopkeeper says, noticing.

Hmm… 500 baht isn’t a lot, but I still want to budget properly. “I’ll think about it.” I said, starting to walk away.

“For you, 300!”

Grumble grumble…

I’ve been pretty good about not buying souvenirs, bolstered by the fact that my luggage is so small, but this would easily fit in my bag…

I bought it.

I walked away, feeling both cheated and like I had cheated her.

It took us two hours to get to Chiang Rai. There was a lot of construction on the way, not that that stopped our driver, who would frequently cut across the unpaved shoulder or jump out into oncoming traffic to get ahead even one more car. It seemed like a bit much and I was slightly terrified.

The first place we stopped is called the White Temple. Unlike most other temples, this one was built specifically as a tourist destination/ vanity project, designed by famed Thai artist Chalermchai Kositpipat, completed about 30 years ago.

I must admit, as far as vanity projects go, it was pretty cool. There was quite a few pop culture characters made out of plaster around to pose with.

The entrance to the temple starts in Buddhist “hell”, Naraka, with the hands reaching up to you. Then there’s the bridge to Nirvana, guarded by two Devas.

Toi told us about all of this before we got here; she joked that she’s going to hell because she’s a bad Buddhist who refuses to stop drinking, and her husband is dead and probably in hell and she wants to join him. We were all rightly horrified by this declaration and tried to comfort her, but she brushed us off.

Toi warned us not to take pictures of the inside of the temple. She said so that the Chinese can’t copy it.

After that, it was a pretty standard Buddhist temple. I wandered around, taking pictures.

Behind the temple itself is the “cave of art”. I didn’t realize our ticket included free entry here, so I didn’t go inside.

Around the back is a golden “Temple to Ganesha”. Ganesha being the elephant god of Hinduism and elephants being sacred to Thailand, it made some sense, but the ‘temple’ is actually just an excuse to sell you souvenirs, so you can safely skip it.

There’s a little exhibit about the symbolism of the main temple, like the divine lotus flowers representing the 6 levels of Brahma, but I imagine no one is here for an in-depth art history analysis and primer on Buddhism, so I’ll spare you.

I wandered out to the bus stop with 20 minutes to spare. The midday sun on all the white and mirror inlays was getting pretty close to inducing snow blindness. The American found me and started asking me about all the symbolism.

We also had a funny moment here. None of the bathroom at any of the stops had toilet paper, which I expected. I’m always prepared, so I had a roll of toilet paper in my bag and all the ladies kept borrowing it.

We went across the road to a cafe that seems to exist just to feed tours. They laid out a buffet for us; curries, stir fries, rice, watermelon, and some bowls of Khao Soi. I grazed, grabbing a bit of this and a bit of that, hazarding some watermelon. The wait staff drifted by, refilling platters and glasses.

The American held up a bottle of Maggi and asked what it was. When I answered, the two Germans at the table looked at me in surprise, “You are German?”

“My mother is from Baden-Baden.” I replied.

We ate for half an hour, then back on the bus!

I thanked the wait staff before we left, and they seemed very confused by it.

On the ride to the next temple, Toi asked what religion each of us was. By way of answer, I held up my mala, and she nodded and moved along to the next person.

The next temple is called the Blue Temple, although it is called the “Tiger Temple” in the original Thai. It was also built as a tourist attraction, but it is free, and is only 20 years old.

This was my favourite of the three. The iconography was more obviously Hindu and I knew what most of it was.

It was at this point I acquired a few hangs-on. Everyone was curious why Toi had known what my beads were, and once I explained it, they wanted to know about all the symbology at the temple. I explained the parts I was confident with, a little uncomfortable with everyone treating me like some kind of expert.

One of the ‘famous’ things about this temple is the blue ice cream. It’s just regular coconut ice cream dyed with butterfly pea flower, but since I was the only one who knew what that was, I stood out… again!

As me and Barbara sat eating our ice cream, she asks, “What got you interested in Buddhism?”

“Do you know Herman Hesse?”

“Ah, Hesse! Siddhartha! And your mother is from Baden, you said!”

Yes… but they’re not connected. I just nodded along. It was a weird coincidence. “Yeah, he learned about Buddhism when he visited Thailand in 1890 or whatever.”

Back on the bus.

20 minutes later, we were at our final destination; the Red Temple.

Or, that’s what the itinerary said. We actually ended up at the giant temple to Guan Yin, which we could see a long way down the road and absolutely blew our mind.

Now, Toi confused even me here. She told us the story about a princess who cut off a hand and an eye to save her father. What she didn’t explain was the connection. Guan Yin is the name of the statue, but the story is of Miao Shan, who was one of the incarnations of Guan Yin.

The story of Miao Shan is that she was a princess in China, who was a bodhisattva, someone who is enlightened but not yet ascended to Nirvana, and refused to be married, so she could live a life of devotion. Her father was upset by this and exiled her, and she went up to a mountain and made herself a little hut and lived as a monk, preaching to anyone who visited her. Then her father got sick, and the monks told him only the arms and eyes of someone who is a bodhisattva could cure him, and there was one living on this mountain. He dispatched a messenger there and the princess cut off her arms and her eyes to be made into medicine. When the king found out it was his own daughter he saw the error of his way and repented and her arms and eyes grew back etc etc we know how this ends.

At the base of the hill, we hopped on a tuk tuk to take us up to the base of the statue. It was here we discovered… there’s an elevator on the inside!

We went up inside the head and peered out through the eyes. The inside of the head was a treat in itself, lavishly decorated with Chinese iconography, like the Ancestors, and phoenixes.

Then we went down to the bottom.

“Now what? We have an hour to kill.” Barbara says.

“You’re forgetting, there’s a whole actual temple to explore.” I said, pointing to the bottom of the hill.

My little crowd followed me down the stairs.

“Why is she a woman? I thought the Buddha was male.” Someone asked.

I smiled, “There have been four Buddhas -“

“What?” Everyone exclaimed.

“Yeah! A Buddha is just someone who has attained Nirvana, and anyone can do it. They’re waiting for a fifth one now.”

“Huh.”

Most of the other peeled off here. The older German lady was suffering from the walking and the heat. The American disappeared. Me and Barbara wandered through the temple, which was much of the same so I’ll spare the pictures. We went over to the Pagoda, which, to our surprise, you could climb. All. Nine. Floors. Which got narrower and shorter as we climbed, until the ninth stairs was practically a ladder and I whacked my head on the ceiling.

Then we were all templed out and wandered back down to the pick-up spot.

Barbara was staying in Chiang Rai, so we said goodbye at this point, but I got her number and we chat on Whatsapp. She was taking a bus across to Laos, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that we run into each other in Vietnam or Cambodia.

The American was 15 minutes late. He thought he was supposed to wait at the top, where Guan Yin is.

Then we headed back to Chiang Rai.

Halfway there, we stopped. The driver was hungry. I hit the bathroom and was convinced to buy a small serving of dumplings for 10 baht.

Fai had gone home and the hostel was quiet by the time we got back, so I watched TV for a bit and headed to bed.

I watched the documentary on American’s Next Top Model. I never really had high opinions of the show; I tried watching it for tips when it was new, but I kept thinking “these aren’t fashion shoots” and I was right. Most of the contestants became unhireable after they appeared on the show, partially because no one wanted to deal with Tyra Banks. I’ll admit, she puts up a good front for most of the documentary, accepting responsibility, answering with grace, but her front falls apart at the end. It’s revealed that Miss Jay suffered a stroke in 2022 that left him unable to walk (devastating for a catwalk coach), and that Tyra has not once visited him (the other two coaches did).

Ugh… Saturday.

First thing in the morning, I had a meeting. Talking about women participating in the trades.

I decided to sit down and catch up on some of the paperwork I’d been putting off. Also, now that it’s the end of February, time to file my taxes!

The year has not been kind to me. Or it’s been very kind. The scrapping of the carbon tax sliced my return, as did the fact that I’d made 10 grand extra this year over the previous year. I guess I shouldn’t complain I technically made more money.

I have been contemplating the idea of coming back to Thunder Bay in the middle of August, after the Soroptimist conference, and working a bit. That means I wouldn’t have to ration my resources so carefully.

I took a break around lunch and went for a walk, then ordered some pizza. Me and Fai sat around for a bit, drinking matcha lattes and gabbing about terrible guests.

Back to it.

I gave myself a bit of a different task by planning with the Cambodia club. I noticed that you can take a riverboat cruise from Hanoi to Phnom Penh. But the cruise (or at least, the one I settled on) was 300 dollars, vs 30 bucks for the bus.

But! Am I travelling to have fun or just to cross destinations off the list? I want to take the cruise!

The Cambodia club asked how many people are in my group. Oops! Just me.

Then the War happened.

It happened while everyone in Canada was asleep, that odd twilight time when all the night owls are asleep and the early birds are not yet awake and I am truly alone. It slowly unfolded, in the worst way.

The missiles hitting Dubai were the worst part, from our perspective. It’s pretty hard to cross from West to East; you can’t fly to Russia or Ukraine anymore, and no one could really fly to Iran as it was, which left Dubai as the East-West connection. Cutting that off effectively cut the world in half; people travelling in Southeast Asia from Europe had no way home. At least I could just retreat to Canada.

In the evening, I’d had some plans to go out clubbing with Filippo. I figured, with him by my side, I wouldn’t get hit on. He’d found some sort of EDM club less than a fifteen minute walk from my hostel.

My ticket was only valid for before 11, so at 10:30 I hit the road.

As I walked down the road in my skimpy little bodycon dress, I noticed all the old men with a young Thai girl on their arm. Gross.

The building was odd. From the outside it looked like an apartment building, and it took me a hot minute to find the stairs. The inside was no less confusing.

The club was also empty.

I grabbed a seat at the bar. Filippo was running late, because he just got back from Pai and wanted some food first.

A random Thai girl dancing to the reggae/ EDM mash-up wandered over and made some conversation, before dragging me over to her friends. The Thai girl introduced herself, but I couldn’t quite hear her name and figured it didn’t matter much anyway.

“You should drink something!”

“I’m waiting for my friend, he’s late!”

“What’s your favourite dish that you tried since you’ve been here?”

“The bugs.” I admit sheepishly.

“Really?” She shrieks and grabs my bicep with her nails, “Which ones?”

“The crickets.”

“Ah, me too!” She yells louder and clutches me tighter. “You are my best friend now!”

Ok, how many glasses of wine have you had?

She also uncorked a bottle of gin she was hiding in her purse and made me swallow a mouthful.

Filippo texted me, “Are you only there for me?”

I snorted. Technically, yes, because I’ve learned my lesson about clubbing solo in Thailand. I hate the tone, though, like he thinks I’m still hitting on him or something.

Shortly before Filippo finally arrived, her and her friends went outside for a smoke, which left me alone with the only other person in the club.

Filippo bought a beer and we danced and drank (I decided against buying any alcohol and just had some water) for about an hour. Some more people did finally show up, but it was clearly not the hot spot someone had told him it was.

When I left the club, he followed me out into the hall and kept chatting with me. I humored him, listening to his story and yawning a lot, until he finally let me go.

I slept in Sunday (as much as I ever do) and had a slow day. Close to the end of the day, I went to grab my supplies for my overnight hike, which included stocking up on Imodium. I foolishly picked the same pharmacy, and the pharmacist gave me an even harder time about the Imodium.

I did not sleep well that night. A new girl was up until 11. I don’t know what she was doing, but it involved the sound of repeatedly opening plastic wrappers. Which is annoying, but especially when you’re trying to sleep! I finally snapped at her to go do it in the common room (why do I even need to ask?).

Jungle Trekking

Move along, move along, like I know ya to…

Time to pack and ship out again.

One of the girls in my room got up and left around 4. The other had an alarm set to go off at 6. It has not been a good night for sleep.

Got up, packed carefully. I had to pack everything I needed in my small backpack, because I would be leaving my large luggage at the tour guide’s office. At the last minute, I decided against packing pajamas or a phone charger. Both take up necessary space, and I can always sleep in my clothes.

At 7:15, I decided to go outside and wait. Which was good, because at 7:20 a red tuk-tuk showed up. “Are you looking for me?” I asked. He replied with my name. Oh, ok. He’s early.

Very quickly the tuk-tuk was too full, as almost all of us had checked out of our hostels and were storing our luggage at the tour guide’s place. There were 8 of us, although the tuk-tuk stopped at one hostel and was waved away by the owner.

When we got to the office, the tuk-tuk was sent back to grab the guy who had been waved away. Ugh. We later found out, he was a Scot who’s stayed up late watching football and drinking. Of course.

We had 4 German girls, age 19, who showed up wearing skimpy little athleisure more suited for jogging at the gym than hiking in the jungle, a French couple who were almost certainly writing their own blog because they had an actual camera with them, and a Limey who was 47 and basically only doing the tour because his flight back to England had been cancelled because of Trump’s war.

We lost half an hour waiting for the “bus” to come back with the Scot, then we were on our way again.

An hour and a half later, we stopped at a small village that was the starting point.

At 10:30, we finally started walking. I ended up in front, behind the tour guide, but then that’s the usual Lucy experience. In school, I’d always end up hanging out with the teacher because I didn’t have any friends. Fortunately, this tour guide was more than up for the task; he was quite chatty, and enjoyed answering any of my questions. He’d pick plants and explain them to me. He also offered to grill up anything I caught along the way, which I appreciate but declined as I had no way to store anything I caught. His name, as far as I understood it, was Pa, but I might be wrong.

Pa pointed out a termite mound to us and said villagers will carry entire mounds back to the village so the chickens can eat all the termites out of it. He also picked up a “buffalo spider”, holding it in his hand and posing with it dangling over his mouth for photos, but of course I’m afraid of spiders and I stayed far away from that noise. At one point, we found a monkey hanging out in the trees, but the dogs barked and scared it away before I could get any photos.

We often spotted wild bananas. There aren’t the kind of bananas you’d get in the store, though. Pa said only squirrels eat them; yes, there are plantain squirrels. I did not spot any.

Two dogs followed us from the village. Pa said sometimes random dogs will follow him on the entire hike, including the 3 days 2 nights hikes. One dog seemed to like me in particular, as it Velcro’d to my ankle, and everyone commented on it.

The trail here was not much. It was often a narrow trail running along the edge of the mountain, barely wide enough for one person to walk comfortably. The bridges over the frequent creeks was rarely more than just a fallen tree.

After half an hour, we encountered the first set of rapids on the river we had been following. The guides offered a half hour break here if anyone wanted to swim, and we accepted, although we had no idea how much of the day was left!

I wasn’t even gonna bother trying to swim, as I still had my healing tattoo, but I did take off my shoes and roll up my pants and wade. Pa found some wild passionfruit (I think) and handed out half to each of us. I never got in on the passionfruit craze, so I had no idea what it was or how to eat it. It was pretty good, though. Afterwards, I went down and sent the rind down the river like a little boat.

The Scot was still fighting a hangover, and napped.

Onwards.

After 20 minutes, we came to another waterfall.

40 minutes after our little break, we came upon our lunch spot, which also offered swimming and a waterfall. The guides had brought rice with a Thai omelet wrapped up in banana leaves, and some fresh fruit for each of us. It was all very good and my only complaint is that I could not eat more! The pineapple, in particular, was so much nicer in Thailand.

We had a 2 hour break here. The Scot had another nap.

There was also the “jungle 7/11”, a shack that sold cold drinks and little trinkets, which confirmed what I suspected. Alongside most of the trail was an ATV track to service the various places we stopped, and the guides had satellite phones, so at no point were we particularly isolated. Part of that’s probably for safety; the last thing they want to deal with is the hassle of extracting a farang who hurt themselves or overestimated their hiking abilities.

The toilet here was barely more than a concrete shack with a toilet seat. For all of this hike, you had to supply your own toilet paper, and at this spot, using the toilet cost 5 baht.

This time, the other guide, Di, took lead. He is not very chatty and walks faster than Pa, and barely checked to make sure everyone was following (of course, Pa was in the rear, so there was no real risk of anyone being left behind). At one point he picked the leaves of a plant and showed us an action how to make a “drum” out of it, an action I found akin to a kid picking a dandelion to make the “head pop off”.

After we left, we walked through some dried up rice paddies. Rice is grown from July to August, during the rainy season, and the rest of the year the field is left alone. Pa said that some fields closer to Chiang Mai grow rice twice a year to service all the farang.

After half an hour, we stopped at another spot. There was a small, open-sided shack, a few kids playing in the river, a woman weaving and selling drinks and trinkets, and a toilet that wasn’t even a concrete shack. There was some sort of latrine to squat over, with a bamboo fence short enough that I could see over it while standing, and a bucket of water with a ladle for “flushing” (at least it didn’t cost 5 baht).

As we rested for 15 minutes, I realized this was all this family had. The small open sided shack, a hammock for each of them, and the latrine. Were they happy with it? They certainly didn’t seem upset, and I could imagine, as a child this would be lots of fun. Maybe even as an adult; bathing and swimming in the river, eating fresh fruit, weaving. Can’t miss what you never had, after all. But even more than that, not having to work was a life I yearned for. I’d accept less luxuries for having all my needs met for free.

After we left here, was the gauntlet.

At this point, I was willing to bet I had fully deconditioned from climbing the stairs at Fort Frances. And I knew a steady incline would be a challenge for me, with whatever is going on with my heart. What I didn’t expect was how dramatic the climb would be. It was a least an kilometer of elevation gain, tripping on roots and slipping on fallen leaves. Fortunately Pa was in the rear now, because I fell behind and stayed at the end of the line for the rest of the hike. My heart rate flew up to 160 and I could hear my pulse in my ears. Pa had a machete with him and cut me a walking stick out of some bamboo, which became my crutch for the rest of the hike.

At 5, we arrived at Mountain View lodge, which is how I knew what path we had taken. From there, we descended 15 minutes into Di’s village.

I will say, nothing was a dealbreaker for me and I’d do the hike again, but the accommodations were not quite what I’d been led to expect. We had an open-sided shack for dinner, a concrete shack with no lights for the toilet, and a dorm for sleeping. We each got a straw mattress, 2 blankets, a pillow, and a mosquito net I recognized was from Ikea. The couple got their own room. Pa strictly warned us to make absolutely certain we closed the mosquito net.

The view was second-to-none, though.

They gave us an hour to settle in and shower while they cooked dinner. I didn’t trust the shower water with my fresh tattoo, so I just sat around in my sweat-encrusted clothes and regretted my choices.

An older couple in their own hut cooked us dinner. Since this is Di’s village, I wondered if those were his parents.

Dinner was very good. I stuffed myself as much as I dared and bought a bottle of water as I was completely out of liquid. The Limey was already 2 beers deep. Pa passed around a bag of spices to sprinkle on the food. “No spicy, no sexy.” He said with a grin. I can’t tell if he’s flirting with me or if he’s just being funny.

By 7, the sun dropped beneath the horizon, and the temperature quickly followed… hence the two blankets. They turned on some solar lights so we could find our way. I was tired and I didn’t much want to stay up, when I’d be plagued by skeeters and spiders, and tempted to keep drinking water, which would mean spending more money and more midnight runs to the bathroom, down two flights of very rough stairs. So I went to bed.

Apparently Pa wasn’t kidding about the campfire. They had a karaoke machine as well, and I was kept awake by the warbling. It’s hard to decide what was the most stereotypical, the Germans singing 99 Luftballoons, or the Limey singing Wonderwall. I debated joining them, and decided against it. The Scot also went to bed shortly after me.

I did not sleep well. At 11 I was woken up by my bladder, and wasted several long minutes trying to will myself back to sleep, before I gave up and crept down to the concrete shack. Fortunately no skeeters or spiders materialized to threaten me, and the full moon was bright enough to see by, which I knew from my adventure in New Zealand. I also realized, as I limped down the stairs, that I had definitely strained my LCL.

The sound of the river was constant.

I was awoken some other time by the pain in my legs, and again by the sound of something big moving outside. It was probably a cow, but half asleep, I imagined it was a tiger and remembered we didn’t even have a door on our shack, and lay somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, panicking.

Around 6, I was awake again and decided to get up. The sun was rising, although with the mountains it took a while to finally show its face. I’m glad I decided to bring my jacket, because it was cool enough in the morning that I could see my breath.

When they noticed I was up, they laid out some hot water for instant coffee, and some freshly brewed Jasmine tea. The Limey didn’t like it because it was “weak”, but I think he just meant in the caffeine department, because the flavour was quite potent and lovely. The leaves themselves were probably fresh off the plant… this is where they grow tea, after all. I jokingly pointed out to him that tea like this was why his people conquered India. I had 3 cups and decided to cut myself off before I spent all day peeing.

They said breakfast would be served between 8 and 8:30, but it didn’t get served until close to 9. I think part of it was because no one besides me wanted to get out of bed until close to 9, which was very frustrating. We all signed up for a hike, does everyone not realize every minutes we delay is another minute spent hiking during the hottest part of the day?

Dinner was nice, 3 slices of bread toasted over the fire, butter and jam, some fluffy eggs, and more fresh fruit. I occurred to me, as I licked the butter off the spoon which was the only utensil they gave us, that this was probably fresh butter, since they had cows in the village.

We didn’t hit the road until 10. We got stuck waiting for the German girls to put their faces on. The fact that girls take so long to put on make-up strikes me as self-mutilation on par with the longnecks using the rings to make their necks longer. You’re not going into the office or on a date, you are hiking in the jungle. Who gives a f*ck what you look like? How much money and time and space in your luggage are you wasting?

Di took point to start.

We crossed the Karen village, stopping briefly at a waterfall.

Then it was time to climb again.

Oh joy.

I hung back this time, knowing I’d quickly fall behind. Two of the German girls couldn’t get their butts in gear, posing in front of the waterfall for photos, and had to be prodded by Pa to get a move on. As I fell behind, we lost sight of them.

At one point, there’s a fork in the trail, and Pa told me to turn left.

When we got to where everyone had stopped to let us catch up, the two German girls were nowhere in sight.

Uh oh.

“I bet they kept going straight, at the spot where you told me to go left.” I told Pa. He nodded, and him and Di took off.

See, this is what happens when you keep stopping for photos!

It took them about 20 minutes to find the girls, as they had kept walking for a bit before realizing they were not on the correct path. I was right and they had kept going straight.

It took us another half an hour to make the final elevation, 300 meters above the village. Pa stopped to gather up some ferns and taught some of the girls how to make “queen of the jungle” woven crowns.

Now to descend.

It took us about an hour for the first part of the descent. We were now walking under the noon sun with no protection; at least the day before had been mostly under the cover of the jungle. We walked through Karen villages and across sun baked rice paddies. The valley sprawled out before us like an open book.

The mountains had disappeared into a haze overnight. Burning season had begun.

At one point, Di stopped and baited a tarantula out of its den for everyone to take pictures of. I stayed far away.

We’d lost all the dogs from the other day, I noticed. They’d stopped at the overnight village with us, and had either taken off or not bothered following us this morning.

“What are the dogs for?” I asked Pa.

“Pets.” He said, “We don’t eat them.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I thought… maybe herd dogs.”

“I did eat dog once.” He admits, after a few minutes. “Someone else offered me some. It wasn’t very good.”

I shrug. If someone offered me dog I’d probably try it too. Meat is meat.

At 1, we stopped at a shack for lunch, which was noodles wrapped in banana leaves. I had drank all my water and there was nowhere to buy more at this time, so I ignored my noodles in favour of downing as much watermelon as I could. Watermelon is the same as drinking water, right?

After I was full, I took my shoes off and rolled up my pants, and went over to the log bridge over the river and submerged my feet. Aah! The cold water felt so good on my sore feet. Soon everyone else had the same idea and the bridge got a little crowded.

Another half an hour of walking later, and we stopped at another waterfall. This one is quite the attraction; there’s even rooms for rent here. We stopped for an hour here so everyone could have a swim. I bought a water bottle, then rolled up my pants and waded in. You can go behind the waterfall to take pics as well.

Then it was time for the last leg of the journey.

Barely 5 minutes later, we were waylaid. Me and Pa were at the front again, and as we just finished a small incline, the group stopped and went back down the hill. There were some elephants taking a bath in the river. But I didn’t want to go down the hill just to climb it again, so I stayed at the top.

We spotted some wild papayas by the side of the path. The guides said it was too early to pick them.

An hour later, we spotted the road. Finally! It was a little after 4PM.

Everyone else was wearing shorts, and everyone else’s legs were all cut up. Not mine!

Of course, we weren’t done yet. We still had to go back to the tour guide office to grab our bags, and then check back in to a hostel.

I chose poorly for my next hostel. I’d picked something cheap, but I hadn’t double- checked the location, and it was right downtown. So it was full of drunk people being drunk late into the night. The curtains were thin, and the hallway was open to the road, so noise was constant.

That said, I did sleep well that night. I crashed around 8 and was awoken at 10 by the couple in the bunks across from me. They apologized, but I fell back asleep easy.

The next day was a headache. I broke my shoe on the hike – split the sole widthwise – and had to find some superglue to patch it. I’m not buying shoes here!

People like my boots here. Everyone wears cheap sandals or white sneakers; my red boots stand out. After the third person stopped to take pictures of them, I hid them behind the rack, before someone walked off with them.

I also found out I had been scammed for a fake Visa, which was doubley annoying because Vietnam’s visa system is broken and had no expedited options, and you can’t apply for a visa on arrival. I found a person called Emily on Reddit who helped boost my visa, and I double checked on the government website to make sure it was legit.

Sleep was worse the next night. The couple were out drinking and came back around 2. That’s already annoying, but they stored their bags under my bed and every time she came back to grab something, she shone her flashlight right in my face. She came and went 4 times in an hour and I ended up being awake for 3 hours because I couldn’t get back to sleep.

And then I was awake at 7 because I am incapable of sleeping in.

Onwards to Hanoi.