Am I Corn or Kale?

I must have jinxed myself when I pointed out my lack of motorcycling experience, because a few hours after the last blog post Som decided she and her brother would come pick us up (on their motorcycles) the very next morning so we could all ride together to an organic farmer’s market. Clearly, I survived.

At the market we met one of Norika’s host moms and gave her a small, vacuum-sealed portion of dried Northern Michigan cherries. Our generosity, however, was quickly one-upped as she presented us with a bagful of fresh organic produce from her farm. Since we don’t turn down free food (even at a place where food barely costs anything), we went back to our hostel and reacquainted ourselves with our dormant cooking skills.

Oh, our hostel. Over the past couple of days, Norika and I realized that we cannot be classified as backpackers. Firstly, we don’t have a bulging backpack with dirty hiking shoes hanging off the back (our luggage has wheels and we are very grateful for them). Secondly, we find little pleasure in laying on the hostel’s living area floor watching stupid action flicks all day (not sure all backpackers do that, perhaps it’s just the odd breed that has been around here; at the risk of coming off like an elitist prick, who comes to Thailand to eat canned beans, spaghetti, mac n’ cheese, and french fries? That stuff probably cost about 3 times more than a regular Thai meal!  Anyway, I’m closing my parenthesis of negativity). Lastly, the economics of hostels dictate that, when traveling as a couple, it costs just as much to book a private room than stay at a dorm where you pay by the bed (and are forced to pay for two, regardless of your willingness to forgo comfort and share a twin). It is possible that our position on this may evolve a bit during our trip through Europe, but for now, we’re just travelers, thank you very much.

In any case, I shouldn’t criticize food choices so much, as some of the stuff that we’ve eaten over the past few days can be considered pretty offensive (especially to our bellies). The other night Som took us out to dinner, suggesting afterward that we go eat some toast. I was obviously quite confused as to why anyone would eat toast for dessert, especially after dinner, but was persuaded to accept the proposal based on the promise of ice cream. I was not disappointed: I had a delicious cup of black sesame (!)  ice cream. Som ordered the toast anyway: in pure Thai style, it was a sweet, covered not in butter or jam but rather by a generous dose of condensed milk. It was decadent.

That said, our most offensive meal, by far, was the all-you-can-eat Korean BBQ joint we went to a couple of nights ago. The place was huge: it looked like a large, wall-less warehouse with wooden booths (hundreds, I would estimate), with a stage in the front where musicians and comedians took turns trying to cause the most annoyance. In the middle, long tables were set up as a buffet, one with large platters of pre-made dishes, another with fruit, vegetables and mushrooms, a couple more with desserts, and finally the stars of the place: a bizarre selection of raw meats (not just chicken, pork or cow cutlets but also liver and other less identifiable things) and seafood (fish, squid, octopus, little shrimp, large shrimp, etc.), to be cooked by you, the customer, who will make use of an ingenious fire stove that sits in the middle of your table. The strange device features an elevated middle section where the meat is cooked, while the circle around it serves as a bowl where you make soup with vegetables and mushrooms and whatever else you decide to eat in this absurd, indulgent feast.

Perhaps consequently, we took the next day off and spent it sitting around our room reading and/or online. These restful hours proved to be a wise move, because yesterday was brutal. We got up at 5:45 a.m. to get to the station on the other side of town on time for the 7:00 a.m. bus toward Lampang, which would drop us off on the side of the highway so we could visit the Elephant Conservation Center (its actual name has been changed to Thai National Elephant Institute, or something like that). Despite making it to the station on time, we were told the 7 o’clock bus wouldn’t drop anybody off except at bus stops, so instead we had to wait till 8:30 a.m. before heading out on an hour-long trip to elephant land.

Unlike many (most?) other elephant camps in Thailand, this center actually treats its animals nicely, with a focus on healing elephants who get hurt elsewhere (the nation’s main elephant hospital is there). Sure, part of the deal was an elephant show where they busted out a couple of tricks (e.g. cool elephant paintings), but for the most part they were showcasing traditional domesticated elephant procedures, like moving around huge logs and so on.

The center also features an elephant dung paper “factory”, where the aforementioned product is manufactured by hand — and not just the elephants’ digestive system. It’s a neat sustainable process and the proceeds go straight back to the elephants’ bank accounts.

What has gone unsaid so far is that elephants are incredible (and that they have rather long eyelashes). It is amazing how one moment a creature can inspire such awe and respect, and then suddenly when they get a bit too close the feeling mutates into fear. They are huge, powerful, strong, and you just don’t wanna mess with them.

After catching a couple of the shows and seeing the animals bathe, we set out to find transportation back to Chiang Mai under the scorching afternoon sun. We crossed the highway, found shade, and hoped a bus of some sort would drive by and be gentle enough to pull over and pick us up. Really lucky us: the wait took less than 10 minutes.

A few hours later we met up with Som and P’Pae for a farewell dinner/night out: Som is going to Japan on Saturday, so P’Pae took us to a nice restaurant and picked out some more great food:  coconut milk soup, deep-fried morning glory, and a crazy seafood curry served inside of a coconut.

Then… we went out, one of those nights out for the ages, the kind that we can only pull off a few times a year. We  finally got to see the side of Chiang Mai that had been less apparent: that this city, at least of weekends, needn’t sleep, as long as bar owners have paid local enforcement a little extra something to keep from getting shut down after the city’s 2 a.m. curfew.

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