The Real Travel Day

Only seven in the morning and already the heat was building.  The air was dead calm as the sun burned across the Mekong directly onto our little bungalow.  The I nside of our tiny cabin was an aircon oasis.  Outside, the town of That Phenom was already steaming.  Breakfast, well, the less said about breakfast the better.  Sometimes the travel gods give, sometimes they withhold. 

Our destination was the small village of Ban Kham Pia.  This little hamlet is three kilometers off of Thailand highway 212, but the bus does not go there.  If one is lucky enough to find the 224, and also lucky enough to have the 224 actually be running that day, the closest one can get is Ban Dan Chik.  From there, well, it's time to walk.

Luck being with us, we were able to catch a mini-van to Nakon Panom, the next stop in the travel chain.  Surprisingly on time, we snagged two good seats near the front and off we went.  The driver was a jovial fellow who was convinced that we should be going to the airport near Nakon Panom.  No Farang in their right mind would want to go further north.  Surely we must want to hop a flight to Bangkok.  When we assured him that, yes, we really did want to go to the bus station, he sighed, smiled, and cracked a joke with the guys riding in the front seat.  Basically, it was something like "Farrang, aye?  Whatta ya gonna do?"

Bus #224, the Nakon Panom -- Nong Khai special.  

We alit form the vomit van to find the lovely 224 bus already parked in its slot at the terminal.  Being savvy traveler's who do their homework, we knew this was our bus.  We checked with the drive, bought our tickets, and tried to find some passable coffee with which to pass the hour we had to wait.  

What we did not know, but would soon find out, is that Bus 224 has an identity crisis.  Bus 224, bless its little metal heart, doesn't want to be a bus.  It is not happy with the lot in life that has been given it.  Bus 224 does not like speed, does not like roads, and, really, does not like motion in any form.  Bus 224 wants to be a glacier, or something like a glacier at the very least.  Something that moves so slowly it requires scientific instruments to measure its progress.  Alas, we did not know this when we boarded the thing, which, for all the world, looked like any other bus.

Waiting for the bus to moveth.  Best to get on early if you want a seat.

You see, these two unsuspecting travelers think that they have done well.  They have made it to Nakon Panom from a small town, found the proper bus, and are now waiting to depart.  Poor, poor deluded souls.

Eventually the reluctant 224 lurched to life.  Very slowly, very carefully, searching every corner for some reason to delay progress, our friend #224 eased out of Nakon Panom.  And eased.  And then eased some more.  A crippled gecko trying to cross the street was in no danger from the 224.  No, it would gladly stop and wait.  Stopping and waiting is the #224's strong suit.  Moving is not.  No, no moving for the 224 if it can help it, thank-you-very-much.  

At the end of the first half-hour, we were finally at the edges of the town.  And let me tell you Friends and Neighbors, it ain't a big town.  Then came some actually highway, long straight roads with almost no traffic.  These stretches of open road made #224 very very nervous.  Creeping along the open highway at a stately 40 kilometers per hour seemed just about right to our metal pal.  And creeping.  And creeping some more.  Then there was the stopping at empty crossroads in the hopes that a passenger would magically appear from the Mekong scrublands.  When the crossroads remained stubbornly empty, the 224 would reluctantly creep on, dreaming of slow-moving Alaskan glaciers and other almost stationary things.

If you ever wondered where your useless first world crap ends up, like that misprinted Whole Paycheck bag, wonder no longer:  it is safe on Bus 224.

Just before she lept from the 224, this little girl said, in Thai, "Even I can outrun this piece of crap..."  Then she was gone.

Finally under our own power, the heat of the afternoon was a welcome relief.  Here is where we came from.

Up that really hot looking road is where we are going.

Free at last, free at last.  Three and a half hours later we were dropped at the crossroad hamlet of Ban Dan Chik.  We had gone a total of 100 kilometers.  That is an average speed of 28.571 kilometers per hour.  Translated for you none-Euros, that is a blazing 17.142 miles per hour on the average.  

As an aside, the method for choosing village names in these parts is pretty simple.  Folks place one cooking pot and two rocks into a galvanized wash basin.  Then they let the wash basin slide down the stairs of their teak house.  The resulting noise is the village name.  Ban Kham Pia.  Ban Khlung.  Ban Dan Samlan.  You get the idea.  

Rice fields.  Sun.  Lots of sun.  Hot.  Very hot.

But back to our story...  The 224 had dropped us off on a sun blasted road at 2:30 in the afternoon.  It was hot.  Really hot.  Regardless of the heat, we were so glad to be moving that we set off on foot.  Really, we had no choice.  There was not a tuk-tuk, Moto-taxi, or samlor in sight.  After about a kilometer we looked pathetic and sweaty.  We were at least pathetic and sweaty looking enough that a Thai couple in a shiny air-conditioned pickup truck took pity on us.  As we offered many Khob-Khun-Khaps (thank yous) they dropped us at Bunloed's bungalows, our new home for the next few days.

Bunloed, Angelina, and Baby Rose were ready for us to arrive.

Our bungalow for the foreseeable,   Home sweet home.

Even the geckos were welcoming, as long as we did not get too close to the brood of eggs in our bathroom.  Each gecko egg is just slightly smaller than a ping pong ball.  The adults will clean those ants up like appetizers.

After showering and a short nap, it was time for an evening stroll while Bunloed turned his attention to dinner.  This is the gas station in the hamlet.  

Ten minutes later, we were back in the countryside.  This is not a very big place.

Dinner, still a little floppy in the sink.

An Isaan feast.  In the foreground is a fiery Som-tam, green papaya salad that is not for the faint-of-palate.  Chilies and fish sauce lend a salt and heat combo that will wake you right up.  And this was full-strength Isaan style.  Steamed fish with chili sauce and sticky rice completed the fare.  All of it was delicious.  Bunloed is a very, very good cook.

Besides our gentle hosts, we had other company for dinner.  The big geckos were out hunting, pouncing on any cicadas that got too close.

Goodnight Sweet Prince.

Retiring to our Bungalow, My One and I fell into a heap under the mosquito netting.  There is nothing quite so romantic as a bed draped in the folds of mosquito netting.  Outside the rattan walls of the bungalow the night serenade was in full swing. Crickets, cicadas, and all manner of singing things trilled, chirped and tremelo'd to outdo one another.  A hard and rewarding day of travel came to an end.  It is not always easy to get from here to there, but my hope is that it always stays interesting enough to keep trying to do so.

With that happy thought in my brain, I bid you all a fond Ciao for Now!