Sunday Night Market madness

The Sunday Night Market, in theory, sounds awesome. Cheap shopping. Cheap eats. Stall after stall of items you don’t need, but suddenly have to have. My kinda market.

I should have known better.

Crowds and D never mix.

And yet, there I was, being the cheerleader for Katie, Isabelle and I heading out into the darkness to go and experience the Sunday Night Market.

We headed out into the city, rain hovering above us and waiting to pour from the clouds at any moment.

As soon as we hit the market, I was kicking myself.

I knew I had to experience it. Everyone said the Sunday market was a “must” when in Chiang Mai, and far better than the more touristic generic night market. Cheaper prices. Better stuff.

But, this. Ohhhhhhh. It physically pained me to step foot into the market.

At first, I tried to close my eyes and breathe deep.

Sadly, my shoulders crept up to my ears within minutes and a grimace replaced the smile I had so wanted to stay put on my face. My jaw clenched. My hands formed tight fists.

We walked through the food part and I snatched up some sushi — five pieces for five baht. Not a bad deal at all.

One of the many stalls serving yummy (and cheap) street food

I tried to keep my cool, but once we were back on the main drag of the market, I couldn’t take it.

All around me there was something going on. Lady Boys dressed elegantly posing for photos and shouting in Thai. Children and performers sitting in the middle of the street with jars for donations. People stopping mid-street for no apparent reason. Umbrellas threatening to poke out eyes. Elbows in sides.

 

The does no justice to illustrate the throngs of people at the Sunday Night Market. It is a sea.

It made me feel sick.

I grabbed Katie’s arm as Isabelle stopped at a stall to look at clothes.

“I can’t do this,” I said through clenched teeth. “This crowd is way too much for me. We should split up.”

“Just try,” Katie urged. “We don’t have to do this long.”

The truth was, I wanted to do it. The stalls had a mix of great stuff. I just didn’t want to do it with anyone else. I needed the freedom to bop and weave through people. To decide to turn a different way without making sure there were people aware of my change of direction.

Paintings take up half of the street
Then, there's stalls with trinkets (hard to focus when there is a stream of people)
And bracelet stalls
And painters doing their thing ...
And, my favorite, the handmade leather journals

For about 30 minutes, we tried to navigate the intense elbow-to-elbow crowds. Then, I was done.

“Let’s go get dinner and wait out the rain,” I suggested as the water began to beat down on us, prompting the vendors to throw sheets of plastic on their goods, and the crowd to pop up even more umbrellas, threatening to poke out eyes.

We grabbed dinner at a cute little restaurant with a garden patio and a band. For an hour, I watched the crowd in front of the restaurant, meandering around.

The crowd had thinned somewhat, thanks to the downpour, so we hit some side streets of the market and wandered for a bit more. Finally, sleep was creeping up on me. So was an early morning pick-up to the Elephant Nature Park.

I went to bed that night incredibly grateful to have experienced the Sunday market. And with plans to check it out again upon my return the following week. Round Two could be better, right?

I had a week to prepare myself.

A week living with elephants.

Escape of the Week: The Japanese Toilet Controls

When I landed in Narita for my (surprisingly long, thank you United) stopover, the first thing I did was head to the bathroom. Nine-plus hours on a plane will do that to you. I wanted to take a look at myself in the mirror, see how haggard more than 12 hours of traveling had made me. And, of course, I had to use the bathroom.

Aside from not having any Yen, I also didn’t  have my backpack, so actually using the restroom was mercifully easy.

When I walked into the stall, I was greeted with the most amazing thing I have ever seen in a bathroom: an entire control panel on the side of the toilet with crazy things, like a remote controlled bidet that allows the user to dictate the pressure of the stream; a fake flusher … just in case you need some noise to drown out some other noise; and, a deodorizer after you’ve used the fake flusher.

Sheer brilliance.

It’s not the best photo ever, but I’m pretty the awesomeness is clearly conveyed.

America … when do we get these bad boys?

Hangovers and headaches

I woke up in the morning, curled up in a ball on my bed.

I looked to my right, Katie and Isabelle were just waking up, too.

My head.

I sought to put together the pieces from the previous night.

Whiskey and Coke bucket. Chang Beer. Which, apparently, is super strong. Dancing at the reggae bar. A 20-year-old drunk dude propositioning me, then telling me I lost my chance when I rolled my eyes at his scrawny, backward baseball cap, shorts well under his ass, ridiculousness. Thai children selling flowers. Getting paid to kick guys in their crotch. Walking over to another bar playing lots of popular music from 2006. Meat-on-a-stick. Faceplanting it into my bed.

“Where are my shoes?” Katie asked, sitting up.

Yeah. It was that kind of jet lagged, whiskey bucket-drinking night.

The three of us groaned and decided a proper Western breakfast full of grease was in order. But first, we needed a fruit shake.

Across the street from Little Bird was a market, so we all went over there and ordered delicious sweet fruit shakes. Katie ordered a super refreshing pineapple and lime; I opted for pineapple and dragonfruit.

The market

We sat at breakfast, trying to get over our hangovers with not so much luck. I had some prescription painkillers I had brought for just such an occasion, so Katie and I each popped one, feeling better within minutes.

Still beat from the night before, we returned to the hostel for an afternoon of lounging mixed with napping.

After a couple of hours of doing nothing but recovering, I decided it was time to take advantage of the cheap price for a massage, so Isabelle and I headed out — she to meet a friend, and me to indulge in the second massage in 24 hours — one for my head to help ease the headache I felt creeping back.

The two of us walked down the moat towards Taipei Gate, walking through the set-up of the Sunday market.

Colorful clothing. Adorable moleskin journals. Food. Avert your eyes, D. AVERT.

I trained my eyes on the cement.

“Isabelle, we can’t walk through here right now. If we’re doing this tonight, I can’t be tempted to shop right now,” I explained.

We changed our path and ended up walking right by Elephant Nature Park’s local office.

“Can we stop in here real quick?” I asked her. I wanted to make sure I was all set for the morning.

As soon as I walked in, five dogs ran up to us. One with three legs. Rescued animals living in comfort at the beautiful park office.

A clear indication of what I was up for at the park. 

I met with a representative, signed some papers, paid my balance, set up my pick-up for the morning, then we were off.

Isabelle and I found a nice massage place down the road from the office and it’s where I decided to stop to get  a head massage. She headed off to meet a friend and I changed into comfortable pants and laid down to fight the hangover that surely was only antagonized by the jet lag I was sure was still pulsing in me.

For an hour, I succumbed to my masseuse, letting her ply my body and put pressure on my head.

“You okayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?” She would ask from time to time.

My response would always be a content smile.

A wat against the thunder clouds

When it was done, I sat with my masseuse, drank some tea, then grabbed Isabelle so we could go walk back, weaving through side streets and Wats, to meet Katie at Little Bird and head over to the Sunday Night Market.

Fight the jet lag, drink whiskey

I rubbed my eyes.

Holy. Crap.

Katie had just walked into the room.

Suddenly, the exhaustion which had overcome my body melted effortlessly away.

“KATIE!!” I jumped out of bed and ran to her. “Oh my god!!”

“Surprise!” She said, smiling as we wrapped our arms around each other.

I held onto her for a moment as I let the rush of emotions come over me. It was just about a year ago we had met in Bosnia. She was a Travel Friend who had morphed into a Real Life Friend, someone who had stood by my side the past year as I moved to Las Vegas, went through my challenges of re-entry. Katie was one of my fiercest supporters. We had planned to meet up in Thailand months and months ago. When I had initially entertained the idea of volunteering at the Elephant Nature Park, I had sent her a message to make sure she’d be nearby since she was moving to Asia in June.

And now, here she was. In Thailand.

I turned to Isabelle to explain to her my excitement over the new girl in our dorm room.

Turns out, Katie had this planned for awhile, but due to torrential flooding in central Thailand, she wasn’t sure if she was going to make it in time to catch me that night.

Good thing that jet lag smacked me in the face.

“Well,what are you doing? Get dressed!”

I floundered.

Tired. Tired. Tired. Katie. Reggae Bar. Thailand.

“Um …” I began. “I am so tired.”

“No excuses. Let’s go out.”

Conversation done.

Isabelle whipped my hair into something presentable. I pulled on leggings and a LBD. Then, we were off.

Katie and Isabelle hit it off pretty immediately. Within the first few minutes, we were all having the girl talk that takes some people years to grow comfortable with.

Because of Little Bird’s close proximity to a little enclave of bars, it was a nice and quick walk in the oh-so humid September air. This backpacker/Westerner joint was packed to the brim. Fortunately, one of the girls who worked at the hostel had already set up shop at a little wooden table and benches, so we joined her group.

Then, my demise was placed in front of me.

Object is much smaller than it appears. Don't be fooled. It's a bucket.

The whiskey bucket. Well, whiskey and Coke.

A terrible concoction for anyone who is trying to overcome jet lag.

I turned to Katie, a look of doubt crossing my sleep-deprived face.

“Welcome to Thailand,” she said, smiling, handing me a straw.

Sleep? Not in Chiang Mai

Checking in to Little Bird was easy.

I gave my name and showed my passport. Then, I was shown my room, a small thing with two bunk beds, a little wooden dresser and a chest-high locker unit.

It was cute, with the mis-matched paint on the walls. And, the doors. The doors at Little Bird (and other places) actually equate to a little more than one normal door. Split in half. Which means, that big backpack on my back? Yeah. It’s a struggle the first time I walk through. Thankfully, I don’t plan on having my backpack on a lot of this little holiday.

See, there are blessings of short-term travel.

I digress.

I walked in, heaving my backpack on the ground in the empty room, save the girl wrapped in her sheet on the top bunk across from me.

I stood there.

Thailand.

I smiled.

The girl rolled over in the bed, looking at me, wavy burgundy hair tussled.

“Sorry,” I whispered, crawling into my bottom bunk.

“No, it’s OK,” she said.

I laid down.

Ahhh. To be entirely vertical. And not on a hard bench.

I buried my head in the pillow, relishing the semi-softness.

Almost two days of traveling. 

It was my plan to sleep. It made sense to sleep.

Then, Isabelle, the girl in the bunk, and I, struck up a conversation.

Turns out, she’s from Germany. So we talked about that.

Then, I found out she’s studying anthropology and is a food researcher and living with a family in a small town a few hours from Chiang Mai. She comes in every weekend.

So, we talked about that. And all of the Thai food she got to eat.

Then (whew) we get on the subject of Thai massages.

Suddenly, sleep wasn’t nearly as important as a Thai massage.

Within 30 minutes of my arrival, Isabelle and I were friends and the conversation we had rejuvenated my tired, tired body.

I don’t even feel tired anymore. Jet lag? What’s that?

She and I head out into the humid and overcast Chiang Mai morning. First, we get food. My first true Thai meal. She explains to me the concept of sticky rice in Northern Thailand and its role as the dipper into food.

With our hands, we sit at a picnic table on a covered patio (which is the flavor of most Thai “restaurants”) and dip our sticky rice into my papaya salad and into her minced beef.

My first Thai meal: Papaya Salad ...

 

Complete with Sticky Rice for dipping

On our walk to get food, we had passed a little sidewalk sign advertising Thai Freedom House.

A place suggested to me on Facebook almost a year ago, I had seen updates intermittently. It had never occurred to me to go and find the place.

When in Thailand …

One of the many signs for Thai Freedom House

So, we headed there after (what I am going to call lunch, even though it was more like a late breakfast). A whimsical structure with intricate window covers, quaint outdoor patio and colorful decor, Thai Freedom House has a clothing store below and a cafe upstairs loaded with musical instruments, books, games and information. It is actually a language and cultural arts center, and  money goes to aid Burmese refugees and indigenous people from Thailand.

The whimsical Thai Freedom House

Isabelle and I sat in there for awhile, lounging on the cushions, taking in the cuteness the Thai Freedom House oozed.

“I ache,” I moaned. “And, I’m tired.”

“You want to go get the massage?” She asked.

I nodded.

A few minutes later, we were standing at the massage studio, curtains enclosed around our two thick mats. A pair of calf-length cotton pants lay folded on the mat.

“What are we supposed to do?” I asked, looking from the pants to Isabelle.

“We change and then lay down. Just follow me.”

So, I did.

Throughout the entire massage. When they sat her up and she lifted her arms and put them behind her, letting her masseuse swing her torso from side to side, I mimiced her motions with my lady.

The massage was bliss.

Two days of travel magically erased as my body was stretched, walked on and kneaded.

When we got up, I felt relaxed.

Ready to sleep.

We walked back to Little Bird, planning our night at a reggae bar down the street.

“I’ve got to sleep for a little,” I explained, suddenly thinking of nothing but being curled up and passed out.

When we returned, I hopped in the shower, then crawled into bed.

She and I both napped for a bit, and then she woke-up.

“Let me sleep a little longer,” I begged as she jumped down from the bed to go use the computer.

“Oh, sure.”

I rolled over and sunk back into a deep sleep. I have no idea how many hours passed when I heard Isabelle move again.

“I’m going to go to 7-11 and getting coffee, you want some?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

There’s no way I can go out tonight. I can’t stay awake. The exhaustion I hadn’t felt the entire day smacked me in the face. Hard.

She didn’t come back with coffee. But, at some point well after the sun had set, she did come back into the room. I didn’t wake up. Until I heard our door open. I turned over, knowing at some point I was going to have to tell my new friend the likelihood of my going out was slim to none.

A new girl walked into our room. Short brown hair. Huge smile on her face.

I blinked.

No way. Really?

Was I still asleep? Or, did my friend Katie, who was supposed to meet me in a week, just walk through the door?

 

 

Speaking for the Elephants … in memory of Mae Sai Roong

Yesterday morning, when I turned on my computer after a night of restlessness, my heart sank.

There, on the screen, were two Facebook status updates. One from the Elephant Nature Park & Foundation page stating Mae Sai Roong, an elephant our volunteer group had taken care of when she fell ill on Sept. 10, had taken a turn for the worst. Then, an update time stamped about five hours later from one of the staff with the words that made my cry aloud — “Dear Sai Roong, RIP.”

No. Nonononono.

Mae Sai Roong had only been at the park for a little more than four months. An older girl, she spent her life in the logging and trekking industries, for the most part at elephant camps treating passengers to tick marks on their bucket lists by taking them for treks on her back. She was sold to people in Chiang Mai who had her go to a big elephant camp, and, a little while later, was transferred to smaller elephant camp near the park. Her owner was not happy with the way she was treated at the park, and decided to transfer her — yet again — to another park. However, her feet barely wanted to move after a live of giving rides, so the decision was made. It was time for Mae Sai Roong to retire.  The owner, along with members of Elephant Nature Park,walked her the short distance from her current camp to her new home, the park. The walk took her three hours because, after years of trekking for tourists, her movements were so labored.

I had wanted to wait to talk about Sai Roong and Elephant Nature Park. And, I still plan to fill readers in on my time volunteering at the park in the coming weeks.

But, for now, to honor her life, I wanted to post a few photos of her. And, talk candidly with my readers.

These photos were taken the day she was so ill, she had no strength to do anything but lay down, and the following day, when she stood up. The day she laid down was one of the saddest of my life as I, along with all of the other volunteers, some of the staff and the vets, rushed to fill sand bags and shovel dirt to create a bed for her. We watched as a harness wrapped around her saggy belly was hooked to a crane that tried, in vain, to get her to stand. We watched as she would get tiny bursts of life, sit up, look around at everyone, and then give up and allow herself to simply lay, nearly lifeless on the mound we had quickly created on the hot and humid September afternoon in the jungle.

Two volunteers sit with Mae Sai Roong the day she lays down, Sept. 10, 2011. Photo: Julie-Ann O’Neill

We didn’t think she would last the night. She did. The next morning, when a few girls went to see her, we didn’t think she’d last past breakfast. She did. A couple of hours after their early morning vist, we were informed that, somehow, Sai Roong, had found the strength and the will to live. After laying down for more than an entire day, the elephant had stood up.

Overjoyed, we walked down to where she was being treated a few times on our last day. We spent time feeding her, talking to her, giving her the love that she had been so deprived of in her trekking days.

Surprising everyone, Mae Sai Roong stood up less than 24 hours after her bleak prognosis. Photo: Julie-Ann O’Neill

On September 27, 2011, Mae Sai Roong, “Rainbow,” was finally able to rest, free after nearly a lifetime of suffering due to people supporting the abusive practices of the elephant tourism industry.

She had no elephant friends, but I am sure she was surrounded by a group of volunteers like the ones I spent my time with. Hopefully they were rubbing dirt on her, scratching her back and singing lullabies softly to her.

I had wanted to wait to start talking about this … to first share my stories of the elephants and the park, which was one of the most fulfilling and heart-warming experiences of my life.

But, then Sai Roong passed away. And her death shouldn’t go unnoticed. Instead of just posting that I am sad about her death, I am going to explain to you why, ultimately, she died.

Sai Roong, like most elephants that “work” in Thailand have to go through the a ritual called phajaan, or “crush.” It begins with the baby elephants (usually three to four years old) being taken from their mothers and placed in a small, wooden pen. To get them securely in the pen, these babies are beaten with bamboo, sticks with nails attached to the tip and bull hooks. Once in place, the crush lasts for roughly a week. During this time, they are beaten, bludgeoned, have hooks attached to their sensitive ears, and are deprived of food and water, all in the name of breaking ties with their mothers and becoming domesticated. While in the crush, through the infliction of pain, they learn how to accept riders, do circus tricks and paint. The end result –to crush the elephant’s spirit and deem them domesticated.

And, once they have their souls stomped out, they are simply vessels entertaining people. They are chained. They don’t eat enough. Like humans, elephants have the capability to form relationships and have emotions. But, not the elephants working for the tourists.

People who visit Thailand — and other countries with elephant tourism — don’t realize the damage they cause these elephants when they support trekking camps, go to circuses or buy the paintings done by these creatures. Without knowing, they send a clear message to the elephant tourism industry that shows they support the torture these animals go through early in their life, as well as the horrific conditions they live in as cogs in the tourism wheel.

It’s not my goal to upset readers. What I want, on the day after World Tourism Day, is for readers to KNOW what goes on behind-the-scenes.

Lek Chailert and the Elephant Nature Foundation, work tirelessly to show elephant owners there are other options to training elephants that doesn’t involve abuse. And, they have programs, like the Surin Project, that works with mahouts (ele owners) who had used their animals for street begging and circuses, and shows them there are alternatives for these elephants. The foundation also operates the Jumbo Express, which provides medicinal care and educational assistance for people and elephants in tribes. There’s even more, and a visit to the Web site can fill you in on all the good they do.

She, and the foundation are trying to make an impact on the elephant tourism industry.

You can make an impact, too.

For those who have ridden on elephants, I don’t judge you. I bet you didn’t know what the elephants are subjected to. Now, you do. So go … tell someone else who is going to Thailand (or any other country where eles are part of tourism, because there are far more places that abuse these animals in the name of a dollar than don’t) what I’ve just told you. Then, maybe they will tell someone else. Who will tell someone else.

One day, the message will be loud and clear to the elephant tourism industry: There are ways to train elephants without torture. And ways to make money from elephants without subjecting them to cruel living conditions. Change. Your. Practices. And we, as tourists, will support you.

If you really want to see for yourself the crush, here is a video you can watch. I warn you — it is disturbing and contains VERY graphic images of elephant abuse. But, sometimes people need to see it to believe it.

Hello, Chiang Mai

“There’s a smell to Thailand,” my seatmate from Narita to Bangkok had explained to me upon our arrival to the country, and before we walked off of the plane and down the stairs to the tarmac. “I don’t know what it is, but it is distinct. And I love it.”

We walked towards the door and the first thing I was struck with was overwhelming, hair-frizzing, awful humidity.

Being a desert rat makes you forget all about that damp air.

Then, I was struck with the smell.

It wasn’t all pretty and sweet, the way my seatmate had made it out to be. But, it certainly was distinct, and not in bad way.

The air was a mix of spices, diesel and rain. That’s the best way I can describe it.

Oh, and interesting.

After an uncomfortable night at BKK, I was five pegs above excited when we got to board our jet from the capital to Thailand’s second largest (yet, seriously smaller) city, Chiang Mai.

For the duration of the quick flight, my eyes sat glued to the ground below.

This is Thailand. I am in Thailand. There is Bangkok and the skyscrapers. There are gorgeous, lush mountains. There are vast fields of green farmland. There is Chiang Mai.

The view from the mountains of Chiang Mai

All of the aches and lack-of-sleep deliriousness was at bay as we landed at my final destination. After nearly two full days of traveling and four flights.

With a burst of energy, I departed the plane, grabbed my backpack, cleared my declaration (um, nothing in my bag), and bounded to the cab window to get my ride to Little Bird, a suggestion from Katie. It was the place we had decided to meet after my time at the Elephant Nature Park and then my two nights of bliss at the Rachamankha Hotel.

Eyes-wide, I watched as the cab driver navigated the crazy streets of the city, competing with red cabs which are really pick-up trucks with covers over their back and two benches facing each other, tuk tuks, motor bikes and cars.

Along the way, he pointed out, in near perfect English, the major landmarks — the old city and it’s walls, the moat (yes, a real, live moat) and more.

Chiang Mai wasn’t what I had imagined, but with the abundance of tropical flowers and green foliage, I was happy.

A street in Chiang Mai

We pulled up to Little Bird and I got out of the car. Like most places in Chiang Mai, a large portion of the guest house was fairly open, save for a roof.

“Heya,” I said to no one in particular, but everyone under the roof, as I grabbed my belongings and headed to check-in.

I was way too energetic for just getting off of such epic travels with little (and uncomfortable) sleep, especially at 8:30 a.m.

But, I didn’t care.

I was in Chiang Mai!

Crossing the Pacific

The itinerary I had printed a day earlier from UNITED was becoming worn before I even boarded my flight from SFO to Narita, Japan.

Yes. Narita.

I had learned the day before my trip that the flight that was booked for me from San Francisco to Bangkok was not actually a flight from San Francisco to Bangkok. Rather, it was a flight from San Francisco to Narita, Japan. A stop-over. And then another flight to Bangkok. Same flight number. Different plane.

Oh, and hours in the Narita Airport.

The little things United likes to keep from its loyal customers.

I studied the itinerary as I sat on-board the (now) first long-leg of my journey to Thailand, looking at it, hoping that somewhere on that crinkled piece of paper it would tell me just how long my stop-over in Japan was.

Of course, it didn’t.

Resigned to just roll with it, I put the paper back in my messenger bag and waited for the doors to close on the plane so I could get comfortable for this long journey.

I watched as people took their seats in front of me. Across from me. Behind me.

I looked to the two open seats next to me.

No one. Could it be …? Were the Travel Gods actually smiling on this girl today?

I tapped the flight attendant’s arm who was standing next to my row of seats and gestured to the empty ones beside me.

“Is this really happening?” I asked him.

“I think it is,” he said, smiling. “The flight isn’t full.”

Holy crap. 

I hadn’t had a row to myself on a long-haul flight since my first solo backpacking trip in 2002. And now … what was starting to sound like an annoying trip with unexpected stopovers … there was this blissful silver lining of empty seats.

I waited, holding my breath as the final passengers boarded.

FREE. FREE. FREE.

I was given nine hours and 45 minutes of empty seats. During this time I took full advantage, sprawling out nearly immediately, closing the shade (the sun never set on the trip across the Pacific), and relaxing. Ironically, the first film to come on was “Water for Elephants.” The book version is what sparked my initial interest to go visit formerly abused elephants in Thailand.

When we began our descent into Japan, I sat with my face glued to the window, soaking up every detail of the water and whitecaps as it lead to the coastline; the green and red farmland below; the crashing of the waves where they hit the sand.

Well-rested and content, we arrived to Narita, where I learned the stop-over wasn’t really a stop-over, but more of a five hour visit to Japan.

I wandered around my gate aimlessly for a bit, eyeing the sushi restaurant.

I mean … sushi … Japan … I HAD to eat there. Especially since I had no idea if my return ticket included another little stop-over.

I pulled up a seat at the counter and ordered some fresh sushi and cold sake.

I’m in Japan (airport). Eating sushi. Holy crap.

What $52 worth of sushi and sake looks like at the Narita Airport in Japan

I tried to make the lunch last as long as possible. I savored every bite. The fresh, fresh fish. The rice. The cold and delicious sake.

Then, I looked at my bill.

39,000 Yen.

Right.

Since I hadn’t known about my little Japan excursion, I hadn’t looked up the conversion from USD to Yen. I had ordered without thought of the actual cost.

“Excuse me,” I said, turning to the man next to me at the sushi counter. “Do you know what the conversion is for USD?”

Please don’t let it be too bad.

He examined my bill.

“You just paid $52 for sushi and a shot of sake.”

Oh. My. God.

So, one sushi roll, one piece of Yellowtail sashimi and one piece of Ikura later, that was the damage.

I quickly chocked it up to the experience … because … that’s what traveling is all about … and went to the gate, wallet zipped.

A few hours later, I was boarding my next flight to Bangkok. A six-hour trip.

This time, I wasn’t so lucky. I had a seatmate, but he was cool. We talked for a bit about elephants (he mentioned how much he loved his elephant paintings, something I didn’t even know existed), about Bangkok, about travel writing, and then I passed out for almost the entire duration of the flight.

When we arrived to Bangkok, he took me under his wing, walking with me to customs and then showing me where all of the food was located and where I should sleep until my last flight of the day, a one-hour quickie to Chiang Mai, boarded.

After almost 30 hours of traveling, I was in Thailand.

Adventure on!

 

 

 

Getting back into Travel Mode

When I got into flight booking mode booked my trip to Thailand back in May, I knew it was going to take me a day or so to get there.

Well, more than a day.

As the trip grew closer, the length of the actual time in transit began to hit me. According to my (inaccurate) United itinerary, I had three flights, starting with an 8 a.m. departure from Las Vegas to San Francisco. Then, I had a flight from SFO to Bangkok, an overnight at that airport, and then an early morning flight to Chiang Mai.

I left on Sept. 1 and arrived on Sept. 3.

No biggie.

I could hardly sleep the night before the trip. The excitement pumping through my body kept me wide-awake and oh-so anxious to get the trip started.

When my best friend, Kyla, called me at 5:15 a.m. saying she was outside, I was by no means ready to leave.

“Crap,” I said into my phone to her. “Can you give me a few minutes? I’m not ready.”

Then, it was a mad dash. Get dressed. Brush. Wash. Last-minute tidying up for my friend who was house/cat-sitting while I was gone. I glanced over to my backpack, ready to strap it back on after a year of it being dormant.

It’s too full.

Unzip. Unpack. Re-evaluation.

I ditched everything. Well, almost everything.

Re-zip. Strap to my back. Last look over the place to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything.

Goodbye to the cats.

Bye, Vegas.

I jumped into Kyla’s car with far too much energy for pre-sunrise and headed to McCarran.

While I was sitting at the gate, waiting (im)patiently to start my journey, a wave of inexplicable bliss washed over me.

It’s been far too long since I have had my passport stamped.

I popped open my laptop. It felt comforting … opening my little Netbook and logging in to the internet through Mozilla. Just like old long-term travel times.

The sun was just coming up, washing McCarran’s D terminal in a warming golden hue.

I turned on my computer, and the little icons from my RTW trip began to pop up. Skype loaded, it’s little orange alert popping into the right bottom corner of my screen.

And then, I was back on my previous adventure. Sitting in an airport. Waiting to catch a flight to my next destination.

The few days before embarking on my journey to Thailand had been a rush of emotions and memories. Memories I completely had forgotten — like my breakfast at the Frankfurt Airport en route to Maryland last year

After two hours of waiting, I finally boarded my first flight. Knowing damn well that the minute I stepped foot onto that airplane, my life was going to change.

At that moment, the two days of travel didn’t bother me.

I was ready to live again.

 

Escape of the Week: An Ele Family

Yes, another elephant Escape of the Week. Here’s the deal: I took about 500 photos of elephants, which is more than I took of any one city while I was traveling. Therefore, there is an obscene amount of elephant cuteness sitting on my laptop, begging to be shared with the world.

But first, a note to you, my wonderful readers:

I promise, the stories start tomorrow and will go on and on and on. To be truthful, over the next few weeks, there are going to be some stories you may not want to read. There are going to be some stories that make you cry. There are going to be some stories that make you angry. And, most importantly, there are going to be stories that make your heart smile and remind you just how beautiful people can truly be.

My goal isn’t just to share with you my experiences living with elephants, it is to educate each and every one of you with the hope you educate someone else and so on … until we, as travelers and tourists, can send a clear message to the elephant tourism industry about acceptable practices.

Please share as much as you can. It takes one person to start a movement, and this beautiful community of travelers is powerful when we take a stand together.

This is one of the elephant families at the park, covered in mud, plodding on down to the riverbank to wash off, only to toss mud back on themselves minutes later.