Thailand - where the ice cream is still 25 cents.

I'm leaving Thailand in about 6 hours. Marc and I split up yesterday and I puttered around Chiang Mai on my own. Travelling with people is great, but travelling alone has its own brand of magic as well. More things happen. Like the Thai boy with a spiral tattoo on his chin who was riding a bike and wheeling a second one beside him. He pulled up as I was walking on the sidewalk and asked if I wanted to go for a ride.

I asked "To where?' He said "Around" I said "Why?" He said "Dunno. Exercise?"

So I got on the bike and followed him around the city. It was nice in a hot, sweaty, but spontaneous sort of way. It occurred to me that he might be leading me to a place where he might sell me into slavery, so I kept an eye out for any suspicious locations he may be taking me to. Instead, we pulled into this plaza that had all these temples and monks, and we rested in the shade and chatted a bit. He used to go to school, but now he's been "on holiday for 3 years." He wanted to ride more, but I decided it was time for me to walk home. It's funny. I use the word "home" pretty indiscriminately. It's wherever I'm laying my head down to rest for the night.

Part of me is dreading going back to China, land of squat toilets and hard beds. But part of me is looking forward to it. Thailand was a vacation from my vacation, as Marc liked to put it. I could do my business in the morning on the toilet without having to worry about my quadriceps giving out. And I had hot water for a shower. And unlimited access to the internet (China blocks gmail). But every restaurant has more white people than Thai people, and there's families with strollers going around. Most dangerously - this place lures me to supermalls with movie theatres. China will be nice to go back to. Uncomfortable, but nice. And I can talk to people there.

I've also decided that I'm not a huge fan of countries where I can't communicate with the people. I can't speak Thai, and even ordering off a menu makes me feel like an idiot. Sure, I point like the rest of the foreigners do, but it makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. I can't ask the questions I want (like "Did you have to go to massage school before becoming a masseuse? How long was it? Were you afraid at the beginning because of all the men who come in? Do you like being a masseuse? Do you have any children? Do they have to pay to go to school here? Do you want your daughter to become a masseuse also? Why did you move to the city?"), and I somehow feel like I'm losing out on the experience. This limits my future travel to Spanish-speaking and English-speaking countries (and China). Luckily, all of South American speaks Spanish. Perhaps I can learn some Portugese also so I can go to Brazil and Mozambique.

I start my volunteer program on Friday. I get the feeling it will be really rough. We have morning exercises every day at 7 AM. Wonderfully communist. Especially since I'm not a morning person and I hate exercising. Considering that even middle class Chinese poo in trenches where you can see other people's poo floating by, I'm thinking that the rural village I'll be at won't be much better. I'm stocking up on toilet paper.