The Great Culmination - Part I

Chance became the dictum of the day. Who would ride the bus? We had hours of territory to cover, and precious little space to attempt any sort of segregated existence. Those curious and adventurous enough to venture north into the relative unknown might seem like intriguing characters. But, assurances simply don't exist in Southeast Asia. Relentless monotony could easily became a temporary neighbor, knawing at your patience until a once passive demeanor became a Thai legend of desperate, violent revenge.

The sun once again graced the earth, and our band of three boarded the waiting vehicle. We were the last to enter the constrictive metal box, thereby splitting the group across three different rows, and severly weakening our collective superpowers. I sat next to two girls. They smiled and offered bright, hospitable salutations. This seemed encouraging, until secondary thought provided an alternative. The possibility of bright facades, hiding recently escaped demons from the inner depths of hell. It's conceivable. Just last month, a newspaper in Indonesia reported an incident involving three demons on a bus from Jakarta to Marek. Nobody was harmed, but the passengers sitting near the demons reported benign, pointless conversation, and a strong, repugnant sulphur smell. So, the situation could only reveal itself though patience. Further evidence must be collected. I sat, and waited.

Like a truck emerging from a worm hole and colliding with my soft, pulpy body, the conversation commenced. It had continual momentum, and only ceased with pauses on rare occations. The discussion flowed like water over a conduit of smooth rocks. The fear that rested in my stomach began to dissipate. These two friendly sprites hailed from Canada, Toronto, from what I recall. They became the first in the group to transition into the slipstream of relative comfort. Four additional characters remained, hidden deep in the far reaches of the bus, beyond standard methods of communication.

The driver, simultaneously steering the vehicle and reviewing text messages on his phone, wielded the small bus through the stunning landscape of northern Thailand. After five relatively comfortable hours, we arrived in Chiang Kong, one of Thailand's northern border crossings into Laos. Here, during the walk through the small town, the hidden members of the group, previously unknown based upon a short lived bus segregation program, became assimulated into the group. This acquisition of new participants into the collective was not a simple matter though. Fierce and highly competative conversation, rigorous oral exams, and a life or death joust indicate only a handfull of tests that must be overcome to travel with such beacons of exploratory grace. Many have struggled to join forces with such powerful, pre-historical figures. In the secluded studios of some of the most prominent artists in the world, massive sculptures of Aimie, Keith, and myself have already started to take form. Incredibly enough, all those engaged in the notorious Chiang Kong trials passed with mostly sufficiant scores. Elliot, a husband and straggler from the rear of the bus, or the forbidden zone, as it's known to the locals, had some difficultly with certain portions of the joust, but prevailed after killing ten people and a centaur.

The group then expanded by six.

In the next installment, the newly formed Justice League travels into Laos, and we find out why Laos, Laos, the drink magically created from rice, is consumed in moderation.

The Sleeper Train to Chiang Mai

And so it began with a train - a sleeper train. A narrow metal tube housing tired and curious travelers, utilized during the night to couple both travel and lodging. This, in practical theory, potentially provides a more efficient usage of the most valuable resource for the traveler - time.

So, we sat in large, marginally comfortable seats, consumed overpriced, overcooked meals, played a stirring game of rummy that, if properly investigated at a later time, would certainly find some type of nefarious handiwork in favor of Aimie, and watched the dark, misaligned tracks move rapidly by through the well used toilet hole in the cramped bathroom.

Our sleeper car supposedly provided an artificially cooled environment. This was requested and thoroughly paid for during the arrangement period with the travel agency. But, theory often remains an abstract proposition in Thailand, leaving reality as a mysterious point of discovery.

The waking moments before and after sleep seemed tolerable. In fact, beyond acute consideration, the contained biosphere felt mildly refrigerated. I certainly wasn't a chilled cucumber - more like a partially spoiling block of cheese. But, I was at least good for another couple of days. Things flowed smoothly until we were ordered to sleep. Like rejected transformers, the lower seats were converted into beds, the upper beds were swung into position, and everybody was forced into varying states of slumber. We temporarily disobeyed, re-engaging in the rigged game of rummy. Aimie, quite predictably, procurred a solid victory, and we retired to our minuscule quarters.

This is when the air conditioning system seemed to have fallen into the surrounding jungle, and left the eager recipients to baste in a chili flavored sweat excreted profusely throughout the day. Once I closed the curtain, and segregated myself from the friendly train folk, the real roasting began. I laid my semi-chilled head on the pillow and by the combined powers of Jesus, Buddha, and Mohammed, passed quickly into a shallow, transparent sleep. But, this facade of slumber wouldn't last. My eyes flashed open as beads of scolding sweat rolled desperately down my face. What happened to the temperate climate we experienced earlier, I thought. My body felt like it was cooking inside, preparing some kind of organ stew. Maybe the temperature fluctuation was isolated, and they intended on serving my hair laden body as a delicacy for the next meal - slow roasted neandrathal with chili's and basil.

I was waiting for hidden doors in the side panel to open up and release spires of rolling flames. I shifted my position, turning from one side to the other, only to find that as my pulsating cranium touched the waiting pillow, the supportive cushion felt less like fabric and more like a wet sponge. This dire form of discreet torture faded in and out as I drifted through a very superficial sleep.

Finally morning arrived, too late for the pain incurred, and too early for the tiredness expected. We awoke to the chirping of an incessant, yet hospitable female conductor, ate a mediocre breakfast, and found ourselves in Northern Thailand.

Chiang Mai treated us well with temples, elephants, a cooking class, and a Thai massage. As four days quickly passed, we turned our attention to Laos, where a recommended boat trip would lead us to a wondrous city, and a memorable venture into the mountains.