Chiang Mai till I Die

I haven't written about Chiang Mai since we arrived. The city's so nice, I have trouble organizing my thoughts on it. My three readers might notice this.

It's very easy to be a foreigner in this town. Most everybody is happy to do business or try to converse with me. Thailand naturally offers a lot to the tourist.

Good food and great massage have long histories here. Massage parlors are on nearly every block. Now, this is the real deal here--no surprise "happy ending" massages in Chiang Mai. (I've heard the deliberate ones are pretty easy to find.) That being said, the variety of massages offered is astounding. I've seen some advertised as four-hour ordeals with hot oil and flowers and little Thai women walking on top of people. Nearly every parlor offers hot herb compresses and facials, hand and shoulder massages, feet massages, full body massage, aromatherapy body treatments and a million other luxuries. They're cheap, too! We're talking 3 dollars for an hour.

And the food's just fabulous. It's delicious to begin with, but always served with a cacophony of spices: sugar, salt, pepper, red pepper sauce, green pepper sauce, and dry red pepper. Some of the spice containers take up the entire table. We've been able to eat cheap and well every day and there's still several hundred restaurants we want to try.

Little laundry places, hair and nail shops, alteration places, coffee shops, book stores and Seven Elevens are all over the place.

The Thai people are kind and laid back. They remind me a lot of people from the South. The streets are full of tableaus that remind me of summer birthday parties or fish fries back in Arkansas. The women gab at every passer-by while teenage boys fly past on motorcycles and men work together on engines. And the people are quick to smile or share a laugh. Mangy dogs weave in and out and between everything and everybody all the while.

You know, one drawback is the pedestrian situation in Chiang Mai. Much like the States, many streets just don't have sidewalks. You're either walking in the front of somebody's shop or in the street with a million mopeds and couple thousand diesel trucks and three wheelers too. But, Jim's former co-workers let us borrow a scooter he used to ride. He's the driver; I'm on the back watching the city swirl by. It's great fun.
Don't worry; we wear helmets.

By the way, Jim and I usually work together on posts, but I'm solo on this. Feels a little odd. Everybody needs an editor, right?