Interlude

I spent an afternoon looking around the old house of an American ex-pat who had something to do with the Thai Silk Trade and disappeared in Malaysia in the 60's.

Then I head off to the bus terminal where I bought my favorite second class ticket to Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand. 11 sleepless hours later I arrived and crashed at a really, really terrible hostel, then awoke and changed hostels. At this point I walk around to try to buy a plane ticket to Burma (Myanmar) and notice a newspaper headline about an airplane crashing a few kilometers south of here in Indonesia. The airline? Mandala Airlines. Struck by the fact that this airline is the only airline that runs from Chiang Mai to Mandalay, I pause to analyze the situation. In the past few months an absurd number of flights in the developing world have met the turf a bit early. However, in this short span no one airline has lost two planes. Just one each. Thus, the fact that Mandala Airlines just lost its one in Indonesia bodes well for me, as the chances of the encore just days later in Myanmar (Burma) are slim.

Except that I'm an idiot and I'm flying Air Mandalay. Not Mandala Airlines. You understand, of course, how I made the mistake. So now we're back to square one with Air Mandalay's card yet unplayed. But if there is an omniscient time-teller out there, he(she)(it) would have to be pretty deranged to throw that one at airflight historians who would require entire paragraphs if not chapters ensuring that their audience of academics understood the distiction between the companies that experienced crashes on the same subcontinent just days apart. Oh the confusion. The sheer chaos of it all.

Either way, my flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. Let's just hope it arrives as well.

Last night I went to three bars with three Swedes. The last afforded us the opportunity to see the other side of thai tourism - there is not one single hill tribe member or trekking agency present in the discoteque. Instead, there are thais and Europeans alike trying to relive spring break 1995. Except that they don't HAVE spring break in Europe and all the European men that I've discussed it with are at first enfactuated that it is, indeed, a real phenomenon, then become wholeheartedly regretful that they didn't get to be drunk on the beach in Mexico for a week of debauchery when they were 19. Apparently, they're trying to make up for it in Chiang Mai.

Today I woke up at my typical hangover time of noon, and after recovering rented a moto to see what there is to see in the hills, then took it easy in town.

Now, as I mentioned before, I am going to Burma (Myanmar)(Interestingly, in the government's quest not just to oppress the ethnic Burmese, but the entire population, they chnanged the name of their texas-sized territory). There is no internet accesss in Burma due to the preceding parenthetical reference to oppression. There is, supposedly, email, but not web-based email. I have no idea how that will work out. International Phone calls from Mandalay are of terrible qualtiy and reportedly cost between 5 and 7 dollars per minute.

You will not be hearing from me for two or three weeks. I'm out.