Come and Knock on Our Door

March 16
Chiang Mai

Some people that I had dinner with in Vietnam were raving about a cheap and clean guest house in Chiang Mai, a city in Thailand's north that I did not visit 2 years ago. The guest house had a website, and while I'd emailed them about reservations, I got a non committal answer, “Sometime people stay long time, no sure about room, come check in person.” That was not exactly reassuring, but Chiang Mai is notorious for its cheap guest houses complete with complimentary bedbugs (I'd seen loads of backpackers with nasty rashes on their arms and legs only to be told, “Chiang Mai. Bedbugs, man.” Lonely Planet can only take you so far, and should not be used as a bible under any circumstances. Most of their info is dated the moment its printed, and I've found quite a bit of it to be flat out wrong. Relying on the advice of other travelers is crucial, so I headed to the spot my new friends recommended and hoped they had a room.

After my taxi turned down a narrow alley followed by another turn into an even narrower one, I was beginning to wonder if I had chosen unwisely. As soon as we pulled up at Bann Nud-Kun, I knew I'd be happy here. The giant green sign framed by spider plants with faces painted in the middle were inviting. Even more inviting was the man at the reception desk (Kun, I believe) who had my name written on the dry erase board on the wall. He was waiting for me, though he only had a room with a fan. All the a/c units were occupied. He showed me to my spotless room which was outfitted with something rare in these parts – screens! That means I wouldn't sweat to death at night as I could actually open the windows and not worry about mosquitoes. There were even screens on the bathroom windows - - and the shower was in a separate room from the toilet. I'd been showering over the sink or toilet since Hong Kong, and this was a most welcome surprise. The lobby was outfitted with all the things a good guest house should have: numbers of taxi companies, along with prices so you don't get ripped off, hospital numbers, bus companies, airlines, reliable tour operators. Most of the places I've stayed in had none of this crucial information, usually so that if you needed a taxi, the guest house proprietor would hire one of their family or friends to chauffeur you somewhere and charge you triple in the process. The common area was a shady cove with computers, tables, lounge chairs, two sturdy and comfortable bamboo hammocks, a fridge and a microwave. There was constant hot water and coffee, as well as about 50 different jars of teas with corresponding list of what ailments they would cure. Apparently rheumatoid arthritis can be cured by several herbal concoctions. Flatulence was another popular ailment, and thankfully one from which I did not suffer. For 12 dollars a night (10 if you stayed a week or longer), I could live here for awhile. And I soon learned that people did.

First I met Aimee (I think that's her name), a young American woman (another rarity in these parts) from Oregon who had been living here with her husband and 3 year old son for the past few months. He (the husband, who I never met) was a musician and they were tired of trying to make it on his salary in the States, so they took off to Asia to meditate on it. A girl in a group of three (or was it 4?) Australians had broken her ankle and was on crutches, so they'd all been living here for 6 weeks, and had planned to stay another 2 until the cast came off, but liked it so much they were all interviewing for teaching jobs, had paid for a 4 month stay and were trying to negotiate longer. Bridget, the Irish widow who lived in London and Long Boat Key, Florida, had just been on a 12 day trek in Burma and was passing through Chiang Mai en route to the islands. She had already committed to coming back for a month next year. Then there was Jim, the former member of the FDNY, doing god knows what over here, who decided he was going to be my new best friend. He was from Inwood and had a voice and accent identical to Ed Burns.I've met Ed Burns, and I can't stand his voice in his movies, nor can I stand it in person. So Jim's voice was not exactly reminding me of home in a good way, nor were his pro- Guiliani-reliving-9/11-every-day-of-his-life politics. He was an irritating son of a bitch. It really was a family atmosphere.

After a month in Vietnam and Laos, landing in Chiang Mai was bliss. I was greeted by an airport runway lined with actual lights, (none of those in Laos) and walked into a sleek and modern terminal. I was back in the “land of smiles” - not always evident in Bangkok if my memory serves correct, but so far, very true here. My female taxi driver (!) spoke great English and even told me not to worry about the Red Shirts protesting here (I arrived in the midst of the Bangkok demonstrations during which the pro-Thaksin population littered the government houses with their own blood), just in case I was worried about it. (I wasn't). “Chiang Mai people support Red Shirt but we use sticker.” She pointed to the tuk tuk in front of us, which had a pro-Thaksin bumper sticker. The roads – actual highways – were paved and populated with new cars from around the world. They were congestion-free and silent compared to the constant wail on the horn of the aggressive drivers in Vietnam. And the taxi? It had air conditioning. Ahh, modern civilization. It was nice to be back.