lok tik means traffic jam

It is Monday, March 12. Yesterday, after a weekend of markets, riverboat rides, a massage at Wat Po (the birthplace of Thai massage), and a jaunt through Chinatown, we flew to Chiang Mai. Arriving just in time for the Sunday Walking Market, we settled in at a guesthouse tucked away in a relatively quiet corner of the old city. It is comfortable, clean, and convenient, but my favorite part is Bum who works at the front desk. She is kind and witty and offers us honest advice. Right now, I am sitting in the main hall of the house (see below) with its wooden floors and glassless windows listening to geckos cackle and looking forward to sleep.

We have walked our asses off these past few days, not wanting to miss an ounce of the quiet, breezy charm of Chiang Mai. Last night, over a few beers, we met several expats, one of whom has been living here for nine years. He's Dutch, and his Thai is very good. Expats are slightly better integrated into the fabric of the community here, or so it seems at first glance. Bangkok is just littered with scraggly, white-haired, leather-tanned westerners losing themselves in hedonism.

Monday began with a bowl of noodle soup with ground pork balls and spare ribs and iced thai coffee at a place around the corner (50 Baht!). I was determined to eat somewhere that actually looked like a Thai person would want to eat there. It's proving a little difficult to avoid tourist restaurants, but we're mostly doing alright with getting great food wherever we go.

Today, on advice from Greg's coworker, we ventured into the jungle for some ziplining and gibbon-spotting. We finished off with a waterfall hike and dinner in the main village where Flight of the Gibbon has its home. Now, I love the thrill of coasting along underneath the jungle canopy, but what really made this was the sly antics of our guides, Woody and Scott. These two had apparently been at it since 6am, and they still managed to scare the living shit out of us once or twice, just for laughs. Between zipping along an 800 meter line running smack into a giant net and careening toward the ground with a caribiner tacked to my back, arms and legs flailing, I swear I felt like Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom. Jealous?

Here is a picture of Greg taking off:

Tomorrow, we are going trekking (elephants! hiking! rafting!) and will hopefully make it to Koh Pha Ngan on Wednesday for some yoga-laxing and beach time. In the meantime, I am trying to see how many different kinds of fruit juice I can sample in two weeks. Sanook!