Slug Bug!

Throughout our travels, Win has been playing Slug Bug, with me as the unwilling loser. Granted, the occasions to actually call ‘Slug Bug’ are pretty rare in the land of motorbikes and Hondas, but they do happen.

Every time I see one of the Beetles cruising around town I can’t help but wonder how difficult it must be to drive a 60s or 70s Volkswagon in a country where they drive on the left. If memory serves, I believe that the shifting isn’t the same as in most cars (something with the placement of reverse?). Put that on top of driving on the left hand side and having to shift with you left hand, all while anticipating the antics of Thai drivers. It’s mindboggling.

I haven’t seen so many VW Bugs in one place as I have since we arrived in Chiang Rai. There are so many here that occasionally (when Win is distracted or driving) I actually manage to win. In reality, we are probably dealing with a max of a dozen, just seen in different locations. But in a country where the motorbikes vastly outnumber the cars, this is still a bizarrely high proportion. There’s a wide variety of colors, and they all seem to be in pristine condition. How did they end up with so many Beetles in Thailand?  

The World's Most Awkward Birds

On a recent weekend excursion around Chiang Rai, we chanced to see something slightly different on the map. Along the route we had planned for the day, there was a tiny red star indicating the Wana Ostrich Farm. Wana Ostrich Farm? You bet we wanna.

With the twenty-foot tall ostrich statues standing guard over its entrance, Wana Farm would be hard to miss. We entered through the gift shop – purses and lamps made from monstrously large eggs – and walked back to the “farm.”

Ostriches aside, the farm itself was a bit on the average side. A handful of sheep, some very large and very sleepy rabbits, a couple of horses. But of course, then there were the ostriches. Probably a dozen, ranging in size, trotted awkwardly around a couple of pens, gangly and befuddled.

Now, I can say without hesitation, ostriches have to be some of the goofiest creatures on the face of the earth.  Dr. Seuss characters come to life; they have wings, but cannot fly. They have a long, awkward neck, but none of the grace or fluidity of a giraffe. They loll their heads about on their stringy necks, and try to eat everything within mouth-range. And, while we didn’t see it in real life, cartoons tell me that they are dumb enough to try to hide by sticking only their head underground, giant ass in full view. Their huge, curious eyes would be lovely if not for the expression of pure stupidity. Their feathers lack any color or beauty, nothing more than floppy brown tassels. Their feet are easily three times the logical size, perhaps to keep them from keeling over, and have to be lifted all the way up to their stomach and then flung forward in order to induce forward momentum. Never have I seen such an awkward creature.

But then, Win was offered the opportunity to ride an ostrich, and all awkwardness increased exponentially.

The understandably reluctant ostrich was cornered and a burlap sack tossed over its head, like putting blinders on a horse. Before having Win climb up, the Thais gave a full demonstration on the proper technique: climb from a stool onto the beast’s back, wrap your legs around it, grab the wings (as they are useless anyhow), lean back, and hold on for dear life.

When they removed the bag, the ostrich began trotting around the pen. The ringleader of the whole setup, standing safely outside the pen with me, leaned over and said to me, “It can go faster. You wan to go fast?” Of course I want to go fast, I’m sitting on the sidelines rather than on the ostrich. Everytime I would say “fast” he would yell to the Thais inside. Apparently the way to make an ostrich go faster is to chase it with a stick. Think reverse rodeo clown. So, around went the Thai with a stick, around went the ostrich with Win, and around went the second, riderless ostrich. Faster and faster, at my behest.

“Run” is probably not the word for the movement of an ostrich. Horses gallop. Gazelles bound. Giraffes lope in slow motion. Ostriches … garlumph. Yes, that has the right ring to it. Their big floppy feet are pulled all the way up to their chest, their legs swing wildly, and their whole body plops from side to side, their head bobbing and swaying atop their spaghetti neck in opposite rhythm. Ostriches garlumph along at relatively high speeds. 

And there was Win perched atop this swaying bobbing, swinging mass running away from a stick. Except, Win’s legs, being much longer than those of Asians, didn’t exactly wrap snuggly around the chest of an ostrich.

Shoes were lost, mud was flying, feathers were sticking to his sweaty palms in clumps. It was the best hundred baht we have spent in Thailand. 

Motorbike Exploration

Chiang Rai is in no way lacking for things to do. If you look at a map of the area around Chiang Rai, there are dozens of dots strewn about – temples, waterfalls, caves, an elephant camp, hill tribe villages. A recent visit from friend from New Mexico served as the perfect opportunity to spend a lazy Saturday on motorbikes, exploring the areas around Chiang Rai.

Win and I had our motorbike, Jenny and Ansel had one rented for several days. Our itinerary was ambitious, but plausible: the nearby Buddha Cave, a waterfall, the Black Temple, and the longneck Karen tribe.

The air was heavy and wet, the sun forcing the moisture into the air, but moving along on the motorbike the breeze was cool. We took a circuitous route through rice paddies and open fields, past the prison, eventually winding up and around jungle hills. It involved a heavy amount of guesswork, as maps in Asia aren’t especially nuanced, and therefore often prove themselves to be somewhere between confusing and useless. One roadside fuel fill-up (poured from repurposed whiskey bottles) and several wrong turns later, we found the cave we were looking for.

Stray dogs lounged about on the steep staircase, but let us pass with little worry. Set in the side of a lone rock formation jutting from the rice paddies, the Buddha cave was inhabited by all manner of Buddha statues. Reclining, seated, standing, small medium and large. Even placed in gaps and natural skylights in the ceiling, there were Buddhas galore. And, the part I found most delightful, a number of stray cats lazed around, basking in pools of sun, and absorbing the quiet calm of their cave home.

After once again consulting the map, we ventured out, waterfall-bound. Now, there are a number of waterfalls in the greater Chiang Rai region, so once we found our way to the main road and the right general direction, we simply started following signs. Left, right, up, down, through residential neighborhoods, hill tribe communities, and lush, green jungle. Often, we would lose the signs and have to guess our way along, but the signs would almost always pick up again. The road meandered and wove through beautiful, diverse scenery, taking its time as it led us along.

It wasn’t the waterfall we were aiming for, but we found a waterfall. We headed off across a rickety suspension bridge over a river, assuming it would lead somewhere, which it didn’t. So we crossed back over the bridge, careful to avoid precarious or dangling boards. 

Then we tried the trail with long, flat steps leading up small patches of bamboo forest. The Thais seem to build staircases to any and all natural or man-made points of interest, so it was a brief, easy trek to get there.  It also wasn’t overly impressive, the water murky brown from the season’s high rains, but it was still a waterfall.

After a quick stop by a hilltribe museum --just one room filled with old tools, clothing, and accessories used by the local people -- and an attempted drive to a view point, which ended with us rolling backward down the hill, skid marks spooling out before us, we were ready for the second half of our adventure.

Then, it started to rain. And not just a little. I’m talking about the rains that wash, dump, and flood Thailand many afternoons during the (aptly named) rainy season. With Jenny and Ansel not being used to driving motorbikes or Thai traffic, let alone when complicated by monsoon rains, we figured it was time to throw in the metaphorical towel. Second half, canceled. It was a rain delay of the monsoon variety. We arrived home soaked and ready for an afternoon nap. 

So, it looks like Win and I will just have to postpone the Black Temple and Karen Tribe until we are feeling ambitious and touristy, or until some other friends come visit us.

Getting There, Bali Style

The first step in planning any proper Balinese outing is letting the boys pick something around town that they think sounds cool. If it includes the words “elaborate,” “cliff carving,” and “25 meters,” they’ll probably pick that one, but only because very few temples in the Lonely Planet include the words “video games,” “beer,” and “boobs.”

In the morning, enjoy a breakfast of fruit salad and a bizarre pyramid-shaped banana sandwich. The freakishly large ants will wait until you finish before starting in on the leftovers, but the sugar bowl is probably full of their dead friends. Also, you will be interrupted frequently by the where-you-go-today call of the local guesthouse proprietor trying to sell you any and everything they can. Sneak out of the temple-style guesthouse when he isn’t looking in order to avoid more hassle. 

Next, find a row of parked motorbikes covered in half-asleep Indonesians. Equally willing to do anything for money, one of them will gladly rent you a motorbike for the day for less than $2.50 for the day, or at least call a friend who will. As a side note, Asians have mastered the art of sleeping on a parked motorbike; unless you want to domino a row of parked motos, I wouldn't recommend trying it.

Also, they will show you and your friends how to ride a manual, give you helmets, and include bribe money with the license in case you are pulled over. This shouldn’t happen as long as you stay on the right (left) side of the road, they tell you, but if it does, you don’t speak English. 

Now you’ll want to get directions. This consists of getting the correct pronunciation of the place you’re going and the most descriptive directions you’ll get all day – “Petrol station. Turn left.”

Staying to the far left, you’ll want to dodge pedestrians, randomly parked vehicles, numerous potholes, and a handful of hippies/yuppies wielding yoga mats. When passing anyone going slower than you, keep in mind that there are no solid/broken line rules; passing is always acceptable, and the bigger vehicle has the right of way, always.

After you go to the petrol station and turn left, you’ll drive for a while without seeing any signs for where you are trying to go. Then you’ll come to a three-way stop.  Hoping you haven’t passed it and armed with correct pronunciation, ask directions. You’ll want to ignore the person who offers to lead you there in exchange for money. Go in whichever direction the person points, in this case, right. You get the feeling that they might as well be pointing up.

Come to yet another fork in the road. Pull over into a parking lot to ask for directions. The first group of women will not know, but they will still offer to lead you there for money anyway. Go in the direction a shop owner points, back the way you came.

A little ways farther, you stop for gas and maybe more directions. You accidentally give them a 1000 rupiah bill instead of a 10000. When that doesn’t work, you should pay them properly while wearing your sheepish I’m-a-silly-tourist grin. Directional requests will probably be met with shrugging.

Pull back into traffic, but when the road curves, try staying straight to go on a residential road. Ask for directions. Follow the pointing finger to the left. Dodge chickens. Ask for directions again, but this time let one of the boys ask for the wrong temple, that’ll confuse ‘em. Keep going left. Start guessing which way to go.

At this point you should just pull over for a cigarette and a home-grown trek through the jungle. And by jungle, I mean community water spigot and trash pile in the jungle. Did I mention you won’t realize that until you’ve walked down about a hundred steps? Whew, what a cigarette break. But past the trash pile and beyond a trash waterfall there’s a river. It would be picturesque if not for the mosquitoes and how sweaty you all are.

Remount motorbikes. Careful, the seat is hot and the helmet feels suffocating. But, drive for three minutes, up and over a couple hills, and at the edge of this residential neighborhood you will find the point of interest you’ve been looking for. You will pay to park, accidentally doing so in the sun, and then pay twice as much as you thought to get in, but you’ve made it.

When you see that the cliff-side carvings are not as elaborate as all the Hindu temples and that they are 25 meters long, not tall, the boys will be extremely surprised. The male system of listening to only keywords has failed. But, hey, at least they did all the driving.

On the way back into town, you will make a minimum of three more wrong turns, driving many kilometers out of the way. This will not be your fault, since you have no way to communicate with the other motorbike and are therefore stuck following them in the wrong direction. However, you are all veterans of the Indonesian direction-giving system. On the way, you might even find burritos, just be sure to ditch the motorbikes before starting in on a pitcher of sangria.