Run for the border

Night bazaars always seem to have a bit of a carnival sort of feel to them. As a photographer, I have a somewhat unnatural reaction to different kinds of light. Just ask my friends at school, who always have to roll their eyes when I make the request that we flip on a lamp rather than the bland, bleaching overhead fluorescent. Sitting at the night market in Chiang Rai, I became keenly aware of how interesting the light in these places was, for these nighttime markets hold no government-sponsored street lamps or consistent illumination. They are a collection of carts and tables, each with a small umbrella protecting its goods from the ever-present threat of the Southeast Asian monsoon. Under each umbrella is a simple light bulb that floods its canopy, casting a red, yellow, blue, or green film across the rice or paintings or women’s underwear that the table holds. If you blur your eyes you’re presented with a free kaleidoscope, floating in the smoky haze lying before you.

I sat down for some dinner near one of the stands and listened to a man sitting on a small stage with his guitar, bringing a calm to the atmosphere, singing and whistling in Thai. It wasn’t until after I had ordered that I spotted this sign on the food stand (pay particular attention to the bottom):
I hadn’t chosen the “clean and safe” option. Perhaps my stomach would be getting some new cultural immersion all its own.

I had stopped on Chiang Rai on a return trip from the northern border where I had to go in order to get my visa renewed. Every 30 days, and no more. Unfortunately I had read my entrance stamp wrong and stayed in country two days too long, the lady border guard sticking me with a 1,000 baht fine (about US $25). Never a welcomed occurrence when you’re a freelancer trying to make it on a shoestring budget. I got an e-mail recently from one of my professors who is a very accomplished photojournalist, spending the majority of his professional career shooting for National Geographic. He told me that he had spent a lot of time in Chiang Rai back in the 80s when it was still “the Wild West.” As I walked back to my four and a half dollar hotel room, it wasn’t hard to see the town as just that. Back in the 80s, Chiang Rai had big problems with opium trafficking and prostitution. They seem to at least have gotten the former under control.

As I punch this out now on my laptop, I’m headed back down to Chiang Mai on a bus. I somehow ended up on a nicer one for my return trip, which I guess I sort of deserved considering my ride on the way up here. It was Friday when I ambled onto the green, 40-foot tin can on wheels and began making my way to my seat. I found it on the bus’s right side, with two of the bigger Asian men I have yet to meet already occupying the bench that, unfortunately for me, is built to hold three. There was only about five inches left on the bench, so I smiled at the man closest to me, who was older and I believe a bit senile, and motioned that I was also to join them for our pleasant, five-hour jaunt through the hills. He looked at me, looked at my ticket, nodded his head, and went back to staring straight forward without scooting a bit. “All right, I thought,” since I can’t ask the man to scooch over a bit, perhaps I’ll just take a seat and when he sees how uncomfortable I am, he’ll take the hint and give me a bit more space.” So I balanced myself on that five inches of plastic, and waited for a response. It never came. Now, I’ve been told before that I have a small butt (or was it a cute butt? I can’t remember) but never before had I considered it small enough to stay perched on five inches of seat for five hours winding recklessly through the mountains of northern Thailand. Which reminds me, be sure you think today as you’re driving just how thankful you are for a good highway system. It’s more of a blessing than we often times recognize, I think.

Once I arrive in Chiang Mai I’ll be meeting with my Global Refuge contacts, the folks who I will be doing some volunteer work for here and there throughout the rest of the summer. (You can find a link to their Web site on the right side of this page). They arrived just this morning, so I am really looking forward to having some new friends to show around. And they speak English, which is almost always a plus in my book. We’ll be heading to the far north in a few days to establish a base in a small, mountain village. I would tell you the name, but you probably won’t find it on a map. So for now, thanks as always for reading, and I hope you and all of your families are well. Please don’t hesitate to shoot me an e-mail to keep me updated on yourself. I love getting e-mail from home.