Summer Lovin' Had Me A Blast, Summer Lovin' Happened So Fast...

In the back of a red minibus driven by Michael Knight of the Far East and I am misty. Melancholy melodies floating through my head and salty water gathering at the lashes edge.

I am leaving Chiang Mai, and Thailand and heading to Burma - country 33 I believe - to have an adventure with my dear friend Laura and perhaps gain some spiritual awareness in the land so deeply rooted in Buddhism it is brand spanking new to the tourism game.

My last couple of days in the Northern town of Chiang Mai have been almost delightful and that, in no small part is due to my Canadian Danny Zucco, my travel mate for this week and an undeniably nice man from the Great White North by way of a little Caribbean country.

I'd venture to say we met for a reason. If only I believed in that sort of thing...

Both hurting, both grieving, both lost in Thailand searching for the answers to regaining composure after the loss of a parent; the loss of a best friend.

I'd like to think my dad was playing matchmaker in the sky, trying to keep me safe, and trying to make me a little less lonely in this big crazy world.

The woman who had booked our transport for the Monkey Show monstrosity had told us we were not to miss the Sunday Walking market. It is an expansive market, blocking off one main thoroughfare in town and splitting off for different arteries, offering local crafts, noodles served by hand, literally, and the same old shit available at every 'market' in the world (key chains, magnets, etc).

Living in a city with nearly 9 million people it takes a lot for me to use this word- but it was overwhelming.

Throngs of patchouli scented travelers, Bermuda hatted tourists and assertive locals push their way down the streets, bartering deals and tasting exotic cuisine.

Traveling with a slightly less adventurous bloke we did not eat off of the street and instead ate at a local restaurant with a sole employee and prix fix menu featuring a plethora of pork with the bonus of provided entertainment in the form of the real housewives of anywhere USA pontificating on how people swore they were essentially in utero until they gave birth to their progeny. I'm suspect. Stomachs full and people watched  accomplished, we meandered the streets until late into the evening, stumbling across a town square and a sparkling temple to which I had not yet been privy. Stories were exchanged, as we're hugs with Luciano, an old eccentric man from Italy who perches atop his bicycle, offering an embrace for free, at the entrance to the old city. Rubins wasn't up for the task feigning the flu but Luciano had a sparkle in his eye and I was feeling one love, so I gave it a shot.

Back in our beds at the Royal Guest House I had the mosquitoes and my stolen Air Asia blanket to keep me warm till morning came.

The perception of who I am seems to lean more toward the ball buster than the doting pretend wife persona but I am a woman, and as women tend to do, I acquiesced to the wants and desires of my partner, even if it was just a pretend boyfriend for a week, and agreed to go to the cooking class on which he seemed so keen.

We signed up for an all day course at Asia Scenic Thai Cooking School and after handing over 1000 baht for these 7 courses of instruction all I knew is that I was going to eat. After being picked up by Marin, our teacher for the day at 8 am we wound through the back alleys of Chiang Mai before arriving at this charming outdoor instructional center with our motley crew of foreigners fixed on the culinary arts.

There was a small quiet Filipino girl who seemed very excited about the prospect of learning a new style of cooking and perhaps equally disappointed to discover that Thai and Filipino food are perhaps not all that different. There was a Swiss couple comprised of a friendly chef and his older yet still trophy worthy wife. A lion of a young man named Leo who had left his girlfriend back in Bordeaux to spend a month in Thailand taking as many cooking courses as possible in order to master the field - and who insisted I was Brazilian so I immediately adored, Rubins a gentle and cautious young man from Canada on his first real foreign adventure, a sassy American who will remain unnamed, and Peter, a very granola and very friendly farmer by way of Massachusetts who had attended a family wedding in Malaysia and decided to stop on over in Thailand for some cooking and some very heavy conversation with aforementioned American.

The papaya salad and spring rolls went of without a hitch, but as the day progressed and my spacious belly ran out of vacant area and my cooking suffered. We had completed 3 courses when it was time for a very lengthy lunch break and it seemed as though, though all of us spoke English as the common language, we paired off into groupings of those who could understand minutae in conversation that only a native speaker can really grasp.

Rubins and Leo chatted enthusiastically in French while Peter and I began a conversation across the table on a lazy, sunny afternoon. Small talk has never been my strong suit and I greatly appreciate those who, like me, appreciate the 'heavier' in life but looking back I can honestly not say how Peter and I went from chatting about coriander to him very emotionally speaking to me about the loss of his mother a couple of years ago and me needing only a few minutes before reaching for the 1 ply tissues available all over Asia. At one point he was speaking about the actual moments in which his mother lost his life and I was crying and though I had not told him anything about what has been going on with me or why perhaps this trip is so meaningful to me at the moment - he looked at me and said - I can tell you've been wondering the same sorts of things.

It was not flirtatious and playful - it was very real and very raw and, if Peter ever reads this - very appreciated. I don't find comfort in other's pain, but there is some sort of club I now seem to be a member of and it feels like a friendly hug or knowing nod everytime someone reveals the secret handshake.

By the time we were to soups and curries I must have checked out because although I added plenty of fresh chilis and followed my teachers instructions to a T, the meals were beautiful, yet bland and I was hitting limit with food fascination for the day.

I stand by my statement that food just tastes better when someone else makes it.

After  there was yet another siesta - a favorite for the mounty man.

More evening walks by the waterway and we were ready for big changes. We were ready to shake things up - we were ready to step out on a ledge and - eat Mexican food. A Californian snob at heart, I will give El Diablo, though suffering a bit of a cultural identity crisis, it's due respect. Pancho Villa it was not, however, the enormous (and pricey) burritos that were served were pretty darn good and though their homemade chips were unorthodox, after you eat one or two you realize the thick cornmealy taste is a hearty flavor worth further exploring.

Time for bed.

Eating and napping all day can really take it out of a girl - leaving me to lazily rise close to 9 am, the latest call time yet. A main draw for the Royal Guesthouse was the bright blue pool featured on their site that looked clean and crisp and refreshing. It did not disappoint. During sunny hours there seem to be a litany of young European woman doused in coconut oil and little else catching some rays. I chose to be that young ingenue, if only in my head, and grabbed my recently purchased novel, my cell phone connected to the hostel's wifi and a bottle of water to spend an hour or two lounging by the pool and earning my Brazilian good looks - Ha!

I had already gone for a run and I deserved it.

When I could no longer justify lounging, I went to wake my chilled out chum and suggested we do SOMETHING, anything. I took a quick look at my Lonely Planet, as well as the map handed to me from the front desk and decided on Doi Suthep, a temple situated high in the hills above Chiang Mai that is supposed to be relatively close, which in Asia means anywhere from 20 minutes to 3 days away.

After negotiating a red minibus to the zoo one is expected to catch another vehicle that costs 40 baht or so. This is the way prices are quoted to you, but costs seems to be all in the fine print in this Buddhist paradise because only if 10 of you get on the same bus at the same time going the same direction is the cost of a ride 40 baht. Otherwise you'll get a quite closer to 400 and, being in a foreign land with a foreign language and not used to foreign 'customs' - they know they pretty much have you from the short and curlies.

We waited a good 40 minutes or so before 3 other travelers were on board and perhaps seeing that business was not booming on this particular afternoon the driver agreed to bring is up and down the mountain for 50 baht.

Drawing upon memories of nausea along Highway 17 during childhood road trips the route up the mountain was difficult, at least for someone as prone to motion sickness as me. After the windy road come the 300 steps or so up the ceramic dragon lined steps to the temple. My only altercation en route took place with an 8 year-old girl dressed in traditional garb out for blood who, when hearing my shutter shoot from my hip stated in no uncertain terms - 'money'. I dismissively said no and stepped around her, with her cutting me off at the pass as repeating 'money.' My guess is this manipulation is most successful due to the enormous amounts of white guilt that take on those stairs.

Luckily for me my self pity leaves me rarely experiencing such things.

Once I reached the summit I was met with magic hour light and a pagoda of reflective gold so beautiful it almost sang. After a loop around the property to take in the luscious pinks and greens of blooming bougainvillea and views of the city below as far as the eye can see.

Once we approached the center of the square we each took turns scribbling words of love, remembrance, and classic rock on the long golden scroll meant to be inscribed and wrapped around the pagoda.

A book on Karma written by a local monk with hopes of Buddhism helping me see the light in life and a handful of prayer bells in my bag and we were off down the steps, in the bus and back into town.

With no real direction in mind we hopped out once the minibus seemed to have reentered old town and, almost as if the gods were answering my pretend boyfriend's dietary prayers, we were right in front of a burger spot. A chicken burger ordered, and a pork burger delivered I consumed this lackluster meal replete with fruit shake before looking over and noticing Guest House Art Gallery 24.

Just then is dawned in me - Peter from the day before had mentioned an interesting if rather amateur photo exhibit there and it felt like kismet that we would randomly stop here, get the burgers he needed and the art I craved.

Upon entrance it feels more like a home for the young family who owns and runs the establishment, adorable toddler in tow. When you enter the 'gallery' which is a simple room with colorful snaps of reflections from the flood a couple of years back in Bangkok, scotch taped up in a haphazard manner along the walls you're instantly entranced. The photos are interesting and engaging. Essentially, they are just different - I bought 3!

A long walk home and quick break to rest my barking dogs and drop of my book of good vibes and we decided to take a romantic stroll down the ho littered streets to the Night Bazaar, where yet more shopping is not only encouraged. It's expected.

Eureka! I finally found the last gift in the trilogy of nephew trinkets for the most unforgiving of the bunch and all I can hope is he doesn't look at me with disgust and spit in my face at such a puerile attempt at a present. Wish me luck.

Rubins ran into a friend from Bangkok and being only of the only black man in the country was treated like a Backstreet Boy by the locals feeling compelled to yell out, touch or offer 'sexy chocolate man come inside of me' when excited by his mere presence on the street. It was like being with a celebrity, in a tank top.

The heat here really does take it out of you and I had to leave for the airport in the morning, Burma bound, so some sweet pillow talk of life's struggles and love and travel was shared from our respective pillows, in our respective beds - it's not that kinda party - in a humid room.

I realize this is how life works, just in a microcosm when traveling: people come and people go; places matter and then they don't. Sometimes just as something seems to be beginning, it ends - as did my time in Chiang Mai and my week-long platonic romance with a kind man from Canada who offered me friendship and understanding in a time when I needed it most.

Merci, Fancy Pants...

That's Wats Up...

Thwack!

That's one way to wake up and the exact sound my head made smacking against the inside window of a passenger van that I had booked for a day trip to Chiang Rai, an apparent must see when you're in the north.

The previous night my roomie for the week arrived late and despondent as the airline lost his luggage. We chatted for a while, both seeming to be on this trip as a sort of escape from the reality of losing a parent, both seeming to feel a similar displacement by it.

7 am same awfully early.

I had booked this trip on a whim last night, not knowing where homeboy may have ended up and not wanting to spend another day aimlessly wandering the streets of Chiang Mai.

When I saw a multi-stop all day trip for 1100 baht it seemed like a what the hell choice and a kind man named Singh signed me up.

In the van for the day were a pairing of Frenchies though I could not determine their relation, 3 Japanese tourists with expensive camera equipment and a young Spanish couple the female member of whom was dressed so inappropriately at for a Buddhist county and for the Wat we were slated to visit, I quickly turned into my mother  - over and over again throughout the day. Her bra was exposed and her skirt quite short, it was ridiculous. Trust me, in New York this assessment of her would be brazenly hypocritical but in Thailand you just look like a hoe.

I'm fairly certain she thought I was an old lesbian PE teacher of some sort because not only was I dressed quite conservatively and unfashionably but she and her beau caught me on more than one occasion eying her up and down and maybe they read in my big brown eyes that she was in need of physical education. Skinny fat is just not hot.

Not a huge fan of 'tours' I threw caution to the wind and jumped on board this one to get ... Exactly what I had been leery of. An orchestration of stops to buy shit sealed in plastic and be shuffled from vendor to vendor as if this somehow signifies an authentic cultural experience.

Our first stop was the 'hot springs' an hour outside of CM which was a rest stop with a sole shooting tunnel of hot, sulfur scented water. We had 20 minutes there to get out our selfie sticks and gather the family around the water hole that smelled like ass with time to spare to buy keychains and chopsticks till our heart's content. I may or may not have purchased a pair of Muay Thai boxing shorts for a certain someone with whom I share a drop of DNA - don't judge.

Then is was off, to another destination and to sleep. This time when I was awakened by our lady boy guide, Sherry, or Sherry West as I have deemed her. I find the West to be a needed addition, as after every sentence uttered through her pearly whites and inexplicable 'uegh' sound escaped her mouth. Each and every sentence. I have expected naked Kim K to come rolling down the street laying atop a motorcycle to the sweet sounds of Sherry's lyrical stylings at any moment.

Having seen pictures of the White Temple in Chaing Rai it looks impressive - and though not a spiritual experience on any level (it's owned by a prominent sports figure in Thailand and is also surrounded by shops - nor was there a monk to be seen) the shear beauty of the all white architectural feat  is worth the trip. It's impressive. It's grand. It's art. Or ... it's Facebook fodder if you're anything like the 700 tourists who were there when I was literally being herded through the property by men in uniforms with bullhorns.

Do you think when the ancient Romans built the coliseum, the Chinese the Great Wall and the British Big Ben they were doing so to create a selfie spot for the narcissistic and unappreciative culture to come and pay homage with their big face taking up more than two-thirds of the screen?

I think not.

Off my soap box -  the temple was beautiful and, like so many places I've seen here - crying out for multi-spread fashion editorial. I have no idea why I've never seen these locations in print.

Back in the van and back to open mouthed, head back sleeping, huge noggin swaying gently to and fro in unison with the windy roads and we find ourselves at The Golden Triangle which, when I heard was the spot where Thailand, Laos and Myanmar meet, I was sort of stoked.

What I wasn't privy to is a ticket onto the boat to hop over to Laos is not included in the price of our already expensive adventure and in turn it would be another 300 baht to see the casinos that kitty corner one another in this three way.

I feel as though I've paid to be taken on a tour of places where I am meant to pay for memorabilia of this place I'm not really seeing - and I am hungry, dammit!

Buffet lunch was consumed at half past two (we had been on the road since 7am) and I was famished, so imagine my disappointment when the plateful of fried rice I served myself was unpalatable - and coming from a hungry me, that's a lot.

Some pleasantries were exchanged with everyone but the Spaniards and I was done. I was tired, my belly hurt - and there was still one stop on this sterilized sojourn - the Long Neck tribe.

That's right, those women you see in National Geographic with the elegant rings around there neck eventually making them unable to hold up their own cranium - those are the Long Neck Tribe and we were slated for a little meet and greet.

The Long Neck tribe is disturbingly beautiful. We've all seen photos of these exotic women with played necks but there comes a sadness in their eyes and in my heart when it feels as though their culture has been reduced to a series of tourist shop goods being peddled to fanny-packed and teva'd folks from all over the globe that photograph their children with morbid curiosity and cultural naïveté.

I'm not claiming in any way to be above this. I myself took a handful of photos, always asking for permission first and bought two cotton woven scarves half of our admiration of their loveliness, use of color and handiwork and half out of privileged guilt I only very rarely experience.

Strange as it was to go, I am glad I did and it was the last stop before turning back for what turned out to be a very long and very windy road to Chiang Mai with a driver who thought he was Vivien and this car cornered like it was on rails (a reference perhaps only my sister will appreciate) - I assure you it did not.

By the time I got back to my hostel I was green at the gills and as I promised my roommate I needed I close my eyes for just a moment to regain my composure, I was out. Out in all of my clothes with the lights on till morning sort of out.

It was in the morning I was met with drama filled text messages from back home - as I have noted- I have been dealing with my entire trip. I will not purport that this trip has led me on some sort of spiritual journey or that I've become a Ghandi or Lennon aficionado, but I will say life is so much better when we do what we say we will do, maintain a life of integrity and treat others with kindness. Having allowed two people in my life, and my home who lack any of these skills or traits hasabsolutely greyed me over the past few weeks and disappointed me with how vile human beings can be when they only think of themselves and their own dishonesty.

Moving on.

Though I had hoped to spend the day with my Canadian boy toy for the week, he, as I had the night just before, booked a trip without the other - so he was off to dance with wolves, and elephants, and I was left to my own devices.

This often leads to trouble.

Today the trouble seems to be mostly for my bank account. With finances alarmingly in peril back in the states (see:vile individuals) I thought in a city filled with bright colors as shiny gold - why not shop?

Choosing to walk East, in the opposite direction of Chiang Mai City, to see what it would yield I found yet another book shop and, when the first title I picked up was set on Los Angeles I saw it as a sign and immediately purchased this James Frey tome, ignoring his long ago Oprah controversy and stashing the paperback in my camera bag.

Passing lovely ceramic and embroidery shops along the way I picked up a couple of gifts for loved ones, something I tend to do in excess on these long trips, and landed at my now favorite Wat in all of Thailand.

Way Buppharam is a gilded ornate Wat, like many others but having out on a sleeveless dress that hit above the knees today I knew Wat was up ( I couldn't resist) and was aware that I would not be able to enter any temples today looking like a western temptress. I took off my shoes, and climbed the red and gold steps, past the sleeping dog to a man and a monk. The wat had a balcony of sorts and I gesticulated, while asking in English of I could walk the perimeter, as I knew I wasn't allowed inside when the older man, in lightly accented English said - why wouldn't you be able to come in? I motioned to my bare arms and he said nonsense an ushered me in.

There was a green and blue altar, looking like something out of 'The Little Mermaid,' which was unlike one I have seen elsewhere and the kindness of the old man in front bathed the building in light in a way the afternoon sun never could.

Down the road even further I found an amazing skirt and some fetch earrings for me and my Bestie - so it was a spiritual experience soup to nuts!

Having the only key to room 402, I knew I had to meet my Mounty (Canadian) back at the Royal Guesthouse between 5 and 7 and spent those hours lounging and digging into my new piece of fiction before his arrival back 'home.' He shared pictures of his exciting day and I listened intently. He showered and primped, making sure there was not a lock out of place and we were out into the significantly cooler night air, walking through the city looking for eats. It is always a joy to meet a nice man in my age range. I don't know if New York has hardened me or life has simply got me down, but a breath of fresh air is happily inhaled when you encounter what seems like a genuinely kind human being. The fact that he and I could share about our parental tragedies both with words and unspoken emotion only intensified this meeting of the minds in Thailand.

We found a spot that looked like nothing special, but touted 35 baht meals and was situated next to a jazz band singing American jazz standards with very thick Asian accents. Greeted by a lady who did not speak English and a Pomeranian who was clearly so well fed that he resembled a donut hole more than an animal we shared a meal and an amazing iced tea heavily drenched in sugar and enjoyed an evening in Chiang Mai, together.

Taking the long way home led us back toward the sexy time district and I almost needed to rent a wheelbarrow to accompany my jaw. I consider myself a fairly worldly women. I've been some places, I have seen some things. I have been hard to shock, surprise or excite since birth, but there is something about sex workers that fascinates me in a way no other subculture does.

I wanted to walk up to these young women draped on stools at Tijuana knock off bars or the Lady Boys in the street with too much foundation and talk to them. Ask why they chose this. Do they get scared? What is it like? I also wanted to take each and every woman's portrait - but either I am savvy enough to know that is frowned upon or frightened enough to not ask. The men are another level of shock and awe and depressing lonliness. Where is Diane Sawyer when I need her for an in depth expose on sexy time in Thailand?

Feeling like a woman, and not in a Shania Twain sort of way, I had acquiesced to the activity to which my male counter part seemed most excited and gotten tickets to the tiger spot up north and a monkey show. I was suspect, but he seemed happy and I thought it would be fun to so something with someone, so I was on board.

At 8:30 a man with a white Honda and predilection for Hello Kitty picked us up and brought us out to the Tiger Kingdom to see the tigers. I will say that, though I had done this outside of Bangkok, the tigers here looked much happier and none had chains around their necks, so it was a nice change of pace. Of course, we opted for the package which allowed us to see the babies and the big bitches and spent WAY too much, but I can now say I have spooned a 200+ pound tiger = priceless.

The monkey show was another thing all together. When you enter it is called the 'Monkey School' and there is an adorable Marcel knock off in a tiny cage on a table looking forlorn, which I find in the animal kingdom can be easily mistaken for excited.

The show is 30 minutes of monkeys whose faces so closely resemble those of human beings you can almost envisions the slave trade as these beautiful creatures, rings and ropes around necks stare deep into your eyes, almost begging for salvation before being asked to perform their next task of playing basketball or riding a bicycle. The vapid crowd seemed intrigued but it hurt my heart. After the show, which is on repeat you can walk around to where dozens of animals are so tightly chained to their posts they cannot even walk in 360 degree circles.

I am sure everyone will be happy to bring home their Polaroid of a monkey on their lap from their Thai holiday - but at what cost?

Sadness in my heart, I was now back in the Honda and we were careening through the streets back to Chiang Mai so that my little Canadian bacon could take a nap and I could have my 500th order of pancake with banana and honey and write this here.

Tonight is the Sunday Walk - a weekly market in town where things are meant to be cheap, but I believe that the mere rumor that everything here is so cheap leads people to believe they are spending pennies - that is until they get home and check their back accounts.

Being the anal tight wad I am proud to be, I have checked my account plenty - and trust me - its a whole lot more than pennies.

Till next time.