Revisiting Chiang Mai. December 2013

14:40 plus 3:58 plus 1:10 in addition to layovers of 1:35 plus 5. Those are legs in hours it takes to get from LAX to Chiang Mai Thailand. The total is just over 25 hours, time that is hard to compute if you're just basing this on your watch, which is good to change along the way to make sure you get to your next flight on time. There is a nine hour time difference from PST to Thailand. Of course this doesn't account for the time you'll spend worrying about whether your bags will ever get to you after you arrive. Luckily I didn't let this bother me even though the ticket agent (after weighing my checked bags, my carry-on bags and me) told me my bags were probably going on a different plane. 30 hours later, I'm wondering if I'll get clean clothes today. For those of you who have laughed at me for packing clean undies in my carry-on luggage, know that I'm not laughing. I didn't do it this trip, and after all this traveling and walking around Chiang Mai all day and celebrating the Shan New Year's Eve, you can imagine the body odor, though nothing like the stench in the slums of Mumbai, so I guess I shouldn't complain. And I guess I won't say more about the malfunction of the instant hot water, and actually lack of water in my shower. Thanks to my friend, I did manage to get a warm shower in her room before collapsing into a sound sleep until 3am.

I missed my fellow board member/executive director, Bernice Johnson, at the Chiang Mai airport. She went to the international terminal, and though I ventured over there from the domestic terminal to see about my luggage, we passed each other as if we'd been wearing invisible capes. We did meet back in her room and proceeded to one of her favorite places for tea, the Blue Diamond, for its fabulous garden and eleven-year old goldfish. Bernice has spent the last 12 winters here, staying at the Boonthavon Hotel on Soi 1 Rajchadamnern Road. I'll never understand addresses in other countries. She said Soi means street, but why use "road" also? It actually means there are multiple streets along Rajchadamnern Road. I know there's a Soi 1, 3 and 4, and maybe more with a tag of Rajchadamnern. How the taxi driver found this hotel is amazing given the number of lodging establishments tucked away on the narrow streets which we would call alleys, and more down even narrower paved paths which maybe they call alleys here. Bernice introduced me to the young woman who works at the hotel who let me into her room. Another woman told me my room would be ready at 10am, but couldn't understand when I said the room number wasn't what I'd reserved. Oh well. It's a small hotel, not a Marriott or Radisson. I was assured the woman who works in the afternoon speaks English. She got me a blanket, a fan, changed batteries in the in-room safe and understands my luggage is to be delivered here, so we hope. Too bad I didn't try to take a shower while she was here.

Given the Thai names that were already flowing in my head--Nit Noy, Kahun Nuk, Poy-- I shouldn't have been surprised when Bernice kept stopping to introduce me to friends she's met over the past decade. In between she pointed out the good eateries--this one is owned by the sister of Eed and wife Née who run the Blue Diamond, then she'd point to another one and say the same thing, and another. Looking at my questioning face, she said Eed had three sisters--Hon, Da, and another I can't remember. Their restaurants all were for the tourists--Mild, Da's Bakery, and Nice Kitchen. After coffee we went to lunch where again she knew the owners and pointed out the best dishes. With meals here generally costing less than five dollars, it's easy to eat out all the time. We stopped at one of the numerous cooking schools to check on schedules. Do I want to take some classes now, or wait closer to when I return to the US? That way I could practice what I've learned as soon as I get home. But more practice here could also be of benefit. I don't need to do everything all at once. I'll probably wait until next week after my yoga friend Susie leaves and Bernice and I do our work this weekend. I looked for clothes in the afternoon but it seems this is the eating district. So no new clothes for our expedition to the Shan New Year's Eve festivities.

We didn't wait long for a song tao, the 4x4 red trucks you sit in the back of for 20 baht, unless they tell you another price for a longer trip. We were dropped off at Wat Ku Tao. The night was young, there were crowds of people, but nothing to give a clue what it would be like a couple hours later when we tried to leave. Later, we'd need a police escort to pave the way. Stalls of traditional Shan attire, and the usual t-shirts, games, balloons, etc. surrounded the temple. The smells of Shan foods filled my nostrils, my nose not yet able to discriminate enough between Shan and Thai food, just embracing the essence of these wonderful aromas. As during the day, Bernice kept being stopped by local friends, in this case former students from when she taught English as a foreign language, and also those who work here on behalf of Schools for Shan Refugees, the Minneapolis-based non-profit which is the reason I'm here. The 501(c)3 oversees education programs for Shan refugees in Thailand by supporting Shan migrant schools as well as the living and educational costs of a small number of Shan orphans and scholarships for many others. We met Toom Mawk, who now works at a local Shan radio station, Ying Tzaem, an assertive young woman who works for a non-profit here, Charm Hom who works with our organization overseeing the orphan project, and Nor, a hard-working teacher. Penny and Reggie, both readers and from Canada. Gabriel, the French woman who does Tai Chi. Finn, from Denmark for tax purposes but travels extensively, having spent time with Bernice this summer touring the US southwest. Pippa, the woman who handles our money transfers. Bernice introduced me to everyone, making my head fog over with names--Thai, Canadian, French, Danish names--now a total blur after 25 hours of travel as my mind tries to keep these in my memory before the next onslaught of names purrs out of Bernice's mouth tomorrow. Penny, Reggie, Finnnnnnnnnnn. I'm oblivious to the height of the mountain high pillow in my almost comotous state of sleep.