And on our way to Asia, we were very concerned about the fact that you can’t drink the water. We were looking at being relegated to buying large quantities of water in 500ml-1liter plastic bottles. And all in a place where “recycling” is truly a foreign word.

I cringed at the thought of throwing away plastic bottle after plastic bottle, not to mention the money we would spend for this privilege; the privilege of having clean water.

But we managed to find a viable alternative to this wastage: a way to sterilize water on the go, and all in a small compact solution that easily fit into our bags; SteriPEN was our savior.

SteriPEN uses ultraviolet light to eliminate all the bad stuff that makes water harmful; from bacteria to viruses. The only pre-requisite is that the water be clear to begin with – no muddy creek water allowed. So whatever came out of the taps where we were traveling was more than sufficient.

Initially we were a little apprehensive about using a tiny little light to sterilize water that had the very real potential to make us incredibly ill (even fatally so), and then to have the guts to drink said water. But we’re still here to tell the story, so all I can say is…it worked!

Although we had to pay about $100 for the SteriPEN, we never had to purchase water in countries where that’s conventionally the only option, and of course saved (and continue to save) the consumption of hundreds of plastic bottles. It took a little extra planning and effort to sterilize a few liters of water (at a whopping 90 seconds a pop) each morning and evening, and then to carry around a bottle of water all the time, but what a savings is brought both our pockets and the environment.

Let’s do some math:

• We were on the road through Asia for about 45 days.
• At approximately 2 liters of water consumed each per day, we consumed 180 liters of water.
• Most bottled water came in 500-750ml quantities, which meant the equivalent of 270-360 bottles of water was consumed.
• The cost of a bottle of water averaged out to be a little less than 50cents. Which meant that we saved about $150 (300 bottles times 50cents) in buying water.
• The SteriPEN more than paid for itself during our Asian trip. And now we have it for backcountry camping, and future travels through countries where the water isn’t safe to drink. It’s all gravy from here on.

And yes – we did falter here and there. Some days we didn’t have enough water with us, or forgot to bring it along. During our entire trip, we had to buy a few bottles: 11 to be exact. Which is still better than 360 if you ask me.

We even sweetened the environmentally friendly factor by purchasing it with the solar charging case. Even when the sun wasn’t shining to charge the batteries, we could plug the adapter in and recharge the batteries that way without wasting disposable batteries.

If you are planning a trip that may take you into an area where the water is not drinkable, consider the alternative to buying (and wasting) your way to hydration. I can say from experience: the little light works. Save a few bucks and a few bottles too.

Satisfied it, and then some. Here are some highlights (and otherwise) of our culinary adventures:

Street Food: Are You Brave?

For those with an iron constitution and a little courage, the street food in Asia is not only cheap and cheerful, but also a staple for many residents. Usually for under a dollar, you can help yourself to a serving of your favourite meal, cooked right in front of you. Pad Thai, curries, sweet roti, fried rice, green papaya salad, fried meats and fish, and yes – even insects, are available for sampling.

Some of the best places to enjoy a street-food-meal are at the local markets, where in between shopping for local crafts and souvenirs, you can stop off for a meal or drink.

We enjoyed the street food of Asia, and had no incidents of digestive distress to speak of (as many people worry about). I will say though, that after many weeks of this type of eating (ie: eating while standing or walking through thick crowds, and typically shoveling the food down whilst in search of our next street-food course), we found that our ability to sit down and enjoy a meal is now hindered. But at restaurants they tend to look at us funny if we say we want to eat standing up, so we sit down, try to slow down, and not rush off to another restaurant as soon as we’re finished.

“To Go, Please”

Asian people also don’t like to eat while standing and walking, so when they choose to eat street food, they often get it to go. And when you order this way, you can expect your meal to be served up…in a plastic bag.

Order curry, and you’ll get a small bag of rice, another with curry in it, and maybe a third with various condiments. They have a great way of tying the bags with an elastic so they are full of air and securely fastened, and yet easy to open. I tried and tried to emulate their bag-tying prowess, but to no avail.

It was when I saw people getting drinks to go – also in plastic bags – that I realized fast food is an art form in Asia.

I guess it is a good thing – plastic in general isn’t good, but a few plastic bags is less wasteful and harmful for the environment than hard plastic cups, or Styrofoam.

Food Court?

While in Chiang Mai, we had one of the best food court experiences of all time. In a temple courtyard on the night of a weekly local market, dozens of street food stalls set up along the perimeter of the square. In the middle were some beautiful thick rich-coloured wood picnic tables and benches. And typical of so many public eating establishments in Thailand, we found it to be impeccably clean.

What capped off the experience and made it memorable for us was the accompaniment: monks chanting. The hum and low lull of their voices in unison provided all the ambience we needed for an incredible experience.

Check out this video for a sample of our dinner experience that night:

Mongolian Grill?

One night in search of a new set of street food stalls, we passed by what appeared to be a Mongolian Grill. We had dined at such establishments many times back home in Toronto; a large round grill occupies the middle of your table, and you are brought trays of various meats, fish, and vegetables to cook up and dip in a variety of delicious sauces.

“Sweet”! We said, as we excitedly took our places at a table. What fun this will be.

When we looked around at the other customers, we were pleased to discover that the place was not only packed (a good sign), but we were the only white people there (also a good sign).

The server spoke absolutely no English (this evening was full of good signs), so she basically brought us the standard fare for this restaurant. We immediately recognized the little plastic trays as they were brought to our table. Via sign language the server asked if we knew what we were doing, to which we casually indicated that we were old pros at this form of dining. She filled the perimeter of the grill with water (our first sign that maybe we were in over our heads), and walked away with what in retrospect I can only imagine was a slight smirk.

Still sure we knew what we were doing, but wanting to confirm our knowledge, we stole glances at the couples and families enjoying their meals near to us. Lettuce and fish went into the water (which was now boiling), and the meat went on the grill.

“Okay, this is no problem. It’s a little different, but still a Mongolian Grill, just as we thought,” we said with a sigh of relief.

Then, we took a look at the meat in front of us. Something fatty – bacon? Something pink. Something resembling ribs. Something else shiny, something that looks like liver, and two more trays of bacon-looking meat. It appeared that instead of getting a selection of different meats, we got a selection of different parts of a pig.

It was the intestine/colon that got to me. I won’t go into specifics, but suffice it to say that from the overly chewy consistency to whatever it was that squirted out when I bit down on it, I had discovered a culinary limit. The entire time, I couldn’t get out of my head an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations, where he was relegated to eating wild boar colon over a fire in the African bush. What was in my mouth could well have been something relatively innocuous; but there was no convincing me that it wasn’t pig ass.

We muscled our way through the rest of the meal, noticing that we weren’t as smoothly getting through the dinner as our neighbouring tables were. We had huge amounts of meat charred and stuck to the grill, and we certainly did not ask for seconds, like most of the other diners were so eagerly doing. They seemed to be having a gay old time of it – we seemed to want to puke.

And sadly, I don’t think I will ever look at a Mongolian grill the same way again.

Although we don’t expect as many culinary adventures, anomalies, and street food stalls in Australia, we look forward to trying new foods, and even grilling up a thing or two…on the “Barbie” kind of grill, not Mongolian kind!

Homesick in Paradise

I sit atop a hillside, looking down into a luscious valley below. The sun is setting over the layers and layers of mountains that form the horizon, each layer of rolling mountains foggier the further away it is. A temple in the valley floor shines with its colourful curved roof glinting in the sun. Music wafts up to me, echoing throughout the hillside and creating a magical ring. Children are laughing and playing somewhere out of sight.

I am preparing a delicious and healthy meal with all organic ingredients grown within two kilometres of where I sit.

And in light of this idyllic paradise, I find myself feeling homesick.

For a Hobo to feel homesick is an odd sensation; I have a country I call home and am very proud of, and a few cities within that country that I have lived in and have created homes in throughout my life. I have family in those cities who create an additional sense of home and belonging.

But I have no actual physical home to be sick for.

So why, in the tropical Thai paradise I sit, do I find myself homesick?

It all started when we were chatting with another couple about our experiences. We were reminiscing about our time in Hawaii at Popai, since it was a sustainable permaculture property, and our locale in Thailand is similar. We reminisced about our time in the mountains of Canada, telling tales of epic mountaineering adventures and relaxing in the hot springs after a long day of climbing.

It was right about this point in the conversation I found myself getting teary, and missing so much of what “home” has to offer.

Everybody’s reasons for traveling differ, but I wonder if there is a common theme. We all want to expand our horizons, step beyond our comfort zones, and grow as individuals. We want to experience adventure and culture, and see what the world has to offer.

But I also wonder if a deeper underlying (and possibly subconscious) reason for travel is one that ultimately encapsulates everything above and takes it one step further: if the real reason we travel is to better appreciate what we have right on our own doorsteps.

If we travel and are away from loved ones, we miss them and appreciate their good qualities when we remember them.

If we travel and are away from familiar physical places like our homes, we see those places in our memories as more than just dwellings and instead as sanctuaries full of personality and life.

And if we travel and are away from our climate and land, we remember all the temperate days and beautiful sunsets that we took for granted when we were with them every day.

When we are away from our loved ones, our homes, and our land, we rarely remember the bad things. We rarely complain about all the shortcomings of our homeland; instead we tell tales of wonderful memories and delightful adventures.

So for a hobo to feel homesick in paradise is okay. I believe that it helps me to define what I call home, and helps me get closer to it every day, regardless of physical location, distance, climate, or dwelling.

The panoramic (and dramatic) view from our 10th floor hospital room in Chiang Mai.

My, what an adventure May has been for us! We are thankful to be putting it behind us, and moving on to greener pastures. At least our time in the hospital included free WiFi, and so I was able to increase my online activity a little bit, before we start traveling more actively again.

Vagabondish

Look forward to a six-part series on How To Become A Vagabond. It’s big, and will likely form the foundation for one of those books that I claim are “inside me and waiting to come out”!

Wise Bread

Fund Raising Dos and Don’ts – A collection of lessons learned from our recent stint as an International NGO on the fly.

Outsourcing Your Life and Creating New Businesses – Inspired by Tim Ferris’s The 4-Hour Workweek, this is an article about making life easier, and/or starting a new business without losing yourself in it.

Quality of Life – In this article I share the life story of a Thai man that we met and shared an evening with named Joe. He helped us to realize that the fight for “quality of life” is universal.

Snap Beaches

Travels to Mauna Kea – A “snap” of our trip to Mauna Kea in Hawaii. It was a wonderful way to remind ourselves of Canada.

Hospital Update May 28th: Things aren’t much better. It’s still ugly. We just hang on to the fact that the “fever” part of Dengue Fever is not supposed to last more than seven days, and we are at day six. Four days from now is our cut-off to be sufficiently recovered to be on the train to Singapore (a four day trip) to catch our flight to Australia. If we can’t be on that train, then we must fly. Either way, we remain hopeful and positive that a quick recovery is just around the corner.

This post was written prior to our Burma initiative. We share it with you now.

We sit in the stifling heat, beating off the flies and bees. Cicadas and crickets chirp in the hills all around, and a chorus of laughing children drifts up to us from the valley below. Fields of rice and citrus form the vast expanse in front of us, and the occasional Thai farmer in broad straw hat moving about his fields breaks up the monotony.

A giant spider tenderly creeps by behind us, aiming not to be seen. A welcome breeze wisps by, rustling the banana tree leaves to sound like the light patter of rain.

I take a sip from my mango-smoothie-like-no-other.

This is what break-time looks like at our cooking course in paradise.

On Monday afternoon, we are whisked away from Chiang Mai and taken to a small organic farm and permaculture property about 50 kms outside of the city, in the beautiful country side. A quick stop at the market floods all our senses: sounds of shopkeepers calling to one another and chatting with customers, smells of everything from fresh fruit to rotting fish, colourful sights of tray after tray of produce, fingers running over everything from silk to cacti, and the taste of just about anything you dare to try.

Another short ride and the truck pulls off the main road and onto an uneven driveway meant for a four-wheeler. But here, cars, trucks, and (more commonly) motorbikes navigate conditions many drivers back home in Canada might think twice about.

We have just pulled into You Sabai; a little piece of paradise run by Krit and Yao, a beautiful and kind Thai couple.

“Relax, take a walk around the property, have a nap, come by the coffee shop, whatever you like. We’ll have dinner at 7:30,” Yao says, after she shows us to our adobe hut which is to be our little home for the next three nights.

The hut reminds us of the ferro cement yurt we lived in for almost three months in Hawaii. Only it is smaller, the windows are covered with mosquito netting, and the bed is on the floor (a romantic style I absolutely adore and plan to replicate when we set up shop again in Canada). A large white mosquito net hangs above the bed loosely tied up. A peek out the window reveals miles and miles of relatively untouched greenery, gradually climbing up a small mountain in the distance. This is the stuff of dreams; I’m sure if I read romance novels that this place would be front and center in one.

There is no electricity (candles and headlamps illuminate the way at night), and the washroom is another adobe hut just up the path. The shower is as traditional as it gets in this part of the world: a large bucket filled with water (all the water here is from a rain catchement or nearby reservoir), with a smaller scoop or bowl to ladle the water all over yourself. And the water is always colder than you expect it to be.

We haven’t even started cooking yet and my senses are being overloaded!

After a fabulous dinner that gives us a small preview of what we are to expect in the next three days, we retire to our hut for the night.

Ah yes. We remember this from Hawaii: the rounds. We inspect every inch of the bed, the walls, our clothes, and the blankets for critters we would rather not share the night with. Although we are reassured that there’s nothing “very” poisonous here, we are a long way from anywhere we could get first aid, and a long way from anything familiar.

The spiders are easily 5cms wide (and those are the small ones), and we immediately spot two different (and alarmingly large) types of scorpions.

Needless to say, with all our night companions, sleep does not come easily, even with the mosquito net creating a protective bubble around us.

At least the sounds of nature and not urban sprawl keep us company, and eventually we drift off into la-la land with a chorus of strange and foreign animals singing to us.

Bright and early the next morning, we gather for Yoga in what has to be the most inspirational setting ever. The sun is rising over the rolling mountain beyond, and we lay our yoga mats out on a small patch of dirt with the valley in front of us. We are a small group that has risen (literally) to the occasion: there are just six of us.

And it just so happens that one of the course attendees just took a yoga-teacher workshop, and she leads us through a one-hour Ashtanga session that loosens us up and stretches us out.

After a quick break and breakfast of fresh fruits, it’s down to business.

As a group (we are seven in total), we must decide on 12 of the 20 delightful vegetarian Thai dishes to prepare. It isn’t too difficult, and it quickly becomes apparent that we as a group will have fun cooking together.

But before we head for the kitchen and headlong into our lunch preparation, we learn how to make tofu…from scratch. Tofu has always been something of a mystery to me, and often not the protein of choice. Although I don’t mind it, I’ve never found an easy way to cook with it without turning it into an unidentifiable mush.

But the tofu we made was firm, delicious, and relatively easy to make! Although we are not devout vegetarians (we prefer to call ourselves “omnivores”), we fully expect to make our own tofu in the not too distant future.

The kitchen is not what we are prepared for; an open-air paradise, overlooking the open valley and distant foothills. There are four wooden stands with propane burners, and a long cement table where we eager students take seats in front of the ingredients we will shortly be preparing. With seven sets of hands to chop, dice, and mince (plus the very capable hands of Krit, our instructor), easy work is made of the initial preparations.

Shortly thereafter, we start cooking; Krit would prepare a dish, we would all taste it (no cooties here – everybody dips their spoon in and shares communally), then in two shifts, would try our own hands at replicating Krit’s masterpieces.

Fresh spring rolls, pad thai, panang curry, sweet and sour pineapple, green curry, sweet mango sticky rice….the list goes on. Everything is made from scratch, and with nothing but organic and fresh ingredients, grown onsite or purchased locally. What a treat!

And so it went, Tuesday and Wednesday – yoga in the morning (until the bees came out at which point I would run away, flailing my arms all along the way), a small breakfast (thankfully), then three dishes for lunch, and three dishes for dinner. Inevitably by the time dinner rolled around, we would insist that we were much too full to keep cooking and eating, but somehow we would manage to keep cooking and eating.

After dinner by headlamp and a sole light bulb in the area, we would chat, play cards, and get to know each other better, all the while batting away a whole new conglomerate of insects that came out at night. Once the insects got to be too much, we would retire one by one, and proceed to inspect our respective huts for unwanted creepy crawlies.

Some of the students were up for the bugs more than others. None of us were all too pleased to be sharing our dwellings with the likes of a scorpion, but some were able to take it in stride a little better. I would like to think that with our Hawaii experiences, we fell into the latter category, but you never know. I think I lost ground every time I ran from a meditative yoga session for all the bees around me.

Thursday morning, we decide to skip yoga, and find ourselves being woken up by the mystical sound of music, drifting up from the valley. A truck with a loudspeaker is driving by the temple way below us, and singing to the hills. The ominous music lingers and creates a slight echo, both throughout the valley and in our own minds. This is one of the best alarm clocks we have ever had, and we try to capture this moment forever as we lay in bed listening to the bells and chimes. What a way to wake up before we head back to Chiang Mai.

We reflect on the three days we spent creating wonderful meals, memories, and friendships. You Sabai continues to be an experience we rave about to anybody who will listen. If we could do it again, we would, bug spray and all.

Until recently, travelers from all over have hailed Thailand as one of the friendliest places in the world. However I have received increasing reports that Thailand’s tourism industry is eating away at the friendly nature of the people and the land. And our first few days in Thailand (sadly in Bangkok) did nothing but perpetuate the sense that Thailand has fallen way off the friendly-scale.

Once in Chiang Mai, though, we saw another side to the story.

And now – I get it.

When we decided to do whatever we could to help the victims in Burma, we approached the owner of the internet café we had already spent some time at. We asked him if he knew where we could rent a truck. Immediately, we were introduced to a friend who has a truck, and would be willing to drive with us to the Thai/Burma border to drop off the supplies. He would not charge us for gas or usage…instead his biggest expense is time. So we would pay him by the day, which was sure to be a fraction of the cost to rent.

But the café owner (who told us to call him TJ, but whose Thai nickname is actually Taey – pronounced something like “doy”) didn’t stop there. When he discovered we are Rotarians, he exclaimed “My father used to be a Rotarian! I can call the president of the Chiang Mai Rotary club. He is a very powerful man, and he can help you,” and off to the races we went.

Again, the generosity didn’t stop even there. TJ granted us unmitigated access to his café to use his computers and the internet whenever we wished. He apologized for having to charge us for phone calls though – it is a direct expense he cannot bear. (The fact he felt he had to apologize for this was unbelievable; his generosity was already reaching unprecedented levels in our books).

But hold your applause – there’s more. He then proceeded to chauffer us all over the city of Chiang Mai; to Rotary meetings, to the mall for supplies, and on various errands. If we ever suggested that we would take a taxi and spare him (or god forbid actually take the taxi in question), he became angry with us. And on the few occasions when he couldn’t drop everything to drive us somewhere, he got one of his employees (and good friends from college, whose name is “Ou” – don’t even try to pronounce it because this seemingly simple name will somehow end up coming out all wrong) to take on the task.

And so a relationship developed over the following two weeks of our fundraising and aid relief efforts for the victims of Cyclone Nargis in Burma. TJ spoke very good English and served as a translator for us more than once. We met his beautiful wife and daughter, and visited the gift shop that his wife owns and operates. We cracked jokes with Ou, who is a self-proclaimed expert on Chiang Mai cuisine, “with a belly to prove it,” he would say proudly, rubbing his tummy. Ou even makes a cameo appearance in the CBC National news story on our efforts – right at the end he is the one to walk into the café.

Now, both TJ and Ou visit Kelly & I daily at the hospital. They bring us fruit, good company, and just today they gave us a bag full of gifts that they were going to give us when we left (which was supposed to be last week). TJ continues to drive me anywhere I need to go, and scolded Kelly yesterday for letting me go to the train station by myself to cancel our tickets instead of calling him to pick me up and take me.

TJ (like many Thai people we met) is a very modest and humble person. Before taking us to some of the Rotary meetings knowing he would be in the company of big business owners, he told us that he doesn’t belong. “I’ll just wait in the car,” he said.

“No you absolutely won’t!” we said. “We need you in there to help us communicate, and besides – you are embracing the meaning of Rotary with your generosity and dedication to a good cause! You do belong.”

Once in the meetings, he was astonished to discover that these people enjoyed talking to him, gave him their business cards, and even asked him to join the Rotary club.

“That man,” he said one day, pointing with a shaking finger to a fellow who had made efforts to chat with TJ, “is the CEO for one of the biggest computer companies in the city. He is a famous man. A powerful man. And he wanted to speak to me! And he is so nice! Look – the hairs are standing up on my arm from being in his presence!” he exclaimed, flush in the face and clutching the man’s business card.

Is it this unassuming and modest nature (even in the big business people) that gives the Thai people such charm. There is true respect in their greetings (prayer hands, held under the chin accompanying a slight bow). Never a desire to step on anybody’s toes. Generosity extended in whatever way possible. And always, even if a stranger passing on the street – a big smile in return if you have one on your own face.

Quite frankly, the expats we have met stand out garishly in comparison, despite how nice or genuine they try to be. Try as these expats may, the gentle nature of the Thai people we have met is as yet unmatched.

We believe that had we not embraced the Burma relief efforts in the way we did, we would not have experienced this level of Thai hospitality – the kind that people say is dead.

And the Thai friendliness we saw extends way beyond the efforts of TJ and Ou. Members of the various Chiang Mai rotary clubs offered their individual help to us in a variety of ways, from establishing contacts, to donating money, to the efforts of Thitiphan – the Rotary president TJ spoke of, who was a real leader for us in helping broadcast our call for help throughout the Chiang Mai business community.

The woman who has washed our laundry a few times gives me a big hug whenever I come by. For no reason at all, she hugs me and giggles. She is hands down one of the sweetest people I have ever met, and we can hardly even have a conversation with the language barriers.

Here in Chiang Mai, if somebody stops you on the street and asks you where you are going, they aren’t always trying to get you into their taxi. Sometimes, they are simply interested in what you are doing, and they enjoy giving you advice on good places to see in their beautiful city. How refreshing.

TJ & Ou have been our Thai family, supporting us through some very tough times in every way possible, in the absence of our own families who are so far away. And of course when we told them this, they simply blushed, laughed, looked away coyly, and tried to find yet another way to help us. As only a modest and generous Thai person would do.

Who says Thai hospitality is dead? Somebody who either never left Bangkok, or who didn’t stop long enough to see what the place is all about, I think. Take a side step off the tourist bandwagon in Thailand, and you may find something you never anticipated. True friendships and genuine hospitality.

The article below was written a number of weeks ago before we began our Burma initiative. We are sharing it with you now.

I am in the back of a pick-up truck on one of the hottest days I’ve ever endured. I am drenched in sweat, and yet am shivering. I have vomited eight times in the last two hours; behind bushes, in filthy bathrooms, and in plastic bags when no alternatives present themselves.

I suffer through this transit because I know it will come to an end at some point in the next six or so hours, and I am on my way to a Thai cooking course on a sustainable farm outside the city. I can’t currently imagine preparing food much less ingesting it, but I must tolerate this penance.

But first let me tell you how I got here.

In Thailand, Muay Thai Boxing is a national sport and popular pastime. Upon arrival in Chiag Mai, still jaded by Bangkok but eager to turn over a new leaf outside of the city, we are informed of an Authentic Muay Thai boxing match that is taking place this evening. It is a very important regional championship tournament; a big deal. How lucky we are to have an opportunity to see such a piece of authentic Thai culture on our very first night in Chiang Mai!

We arrive that night at a boxing ring in an open square surrounded by bars, deep in the nightclub district (which seems to be invisibly connected with the red light district). Promises of a “cabaret” performance are met with “lady-boys” (Thai gentlemen very adeptly dressed as women – a common phenomenon in Chiang Mai especially) periodically performing lightly choreographed dances to popular drag queen songs.

We are immediately ushered to the very front row at the edge of the boxing ring. Seating is quite comfortable, and somewhat unsurprisingly occupied by nothing but tourists. We resign ourselves to the fact that our dollars are paying for this “championship fight”, and we wait for lower-paying Thai people to fill in the rest of the seats. And to some extent, this eventually does happen. To some extent.

To pass the time before the first fight, we decide to immerse ourselves further in this authentic Thai experience by ordering a bottle of authentic Thai Whisky. We consider ourselves to be amateur Scotch aficionados at home, and so to sample Thai comparatives is a treat.

Of course it isn’t exactly of the caliber of what we drink straight from Scotland (or even Canada), but the sweet aroma and pleasant bite does the trick for our small group in attendance. Bottoms up.

When the tournament begins, we are somewhat surprised to see two boys who are well under 10 years old enter the ring.

I must pause at this point in the story to plead my case against being here at all. I am not a fan of boxing or fighting of any kind. Although I appreciate the strategy, skill, and fitness required of boxers around the globe, I don’t appreciate two people beating the crap out of each other for other people’s viewing pleasure. So much so in fact, that I was perfectly prepared to give this event a miss entirely. But at the last minute, I caved into a self-propagated sense of guilt for missing something so culturally important and educational.

And so back to our evening, and watching two tiny boys enter the ring.

The ceremony that precedes every fight is actually quite interesting. A semi-choreographed dance to live music takes place, as each boxer delves inwards and seems to implore their spiritual powers to guide them through the fight.

Ding! And so the fight begins. The referee, towering over the two boys, gives the signal to start.

Muay Thai boxing employs the use of kicks, knees, punches, and a few wrestling maneuvers. The children, obviously trained but still grasping the strategy that takes years to learn, almost immediately find themselves in a stronghold, trying to use their knees to get points by nailing each other’s ribs or groin areas. The ref periodically breaks them apart, only for them to repeat the same pattern. Occasionally one gets a good punch to the head, meeting with the cheers of supporting audience members.

Each boy has a conglomerate of Thai supporters in their corner, cordoned off from the rest of the audience – being of course, tourists.

Between rounds, each boxer retreats to their corner to be pampered, stretched, coached, and watered down by their team. They quite obviously take this very seriously, and we feed on the energy.

Enter the lady-boys from stage left to perform another dance.

Order another bottle of whisky. Bottoms up.

I truly don’t know how I feel about little children boxing in this manner. They are unprotected. No head gear, no pads, and only possibly a jock strap. I feel upset about the cognitive impairment these children will experience growing up with a lifetime of punches to the head.

But this is Thai culture. They are representing their families, and some sort of pride (and possibly income) is involved. I can do nothing to change what I am seeing, only appreciate the differences in culture. And make a mental note never to attend another Muay Thai tournament.

Bottoms up.

With each subsequent match, the boxers in question get older. Some are boys, and some even girls. With age, the skill levels and strategies improve. And with each round, our sobriety lessens.

All of a sudden, surrounded by music, lights, sounds, and being sprayed with the sweat of boxers, we realize that the formally dressed referees are gone. There is no judging panel any longer. The boxers are adults, but are not dressed in the same regalia as their younger predecessors, and nobody is in their corner coaching and watering them down between rounds. And all the Thai spectators and supporters are gone.

Apparently the authentic championship boxing tournament was one of children, not adults. The adults boxing in front of us are entirely for show.

Bottoms up. Time to go.

The streets of Chiang Mai seem to look the same. Wandering earlier in the day, we easily found ourselves lost, searching for non-existent street signs and trying to discern our location on our badly photocopied map.

If during the day the streets of Chiang Mai blend into one another, then at night they are entirely indistinguishable, especially with a number of authentic Thai whiskies in us. We wander around and around the empty streets, looking for some clue that we are going in the right direction, but recognizing nothing.

Finding anybody at this hour, much less somebody who speaks English and can direct us to our guesthouse is a challenge. And so we wander, and wander, and wander, taking in this authentic Thai experience for all it’s worth.

A walk that should have taken 10 minutes takes over an hour and a half. Every member of our group is tired and frustrated, having argued much of the way home, feeling somewhat “taken” by the boxing experience, and all of us quite drunk.

We later understand the inherent risks of what we did. We were wandering around late at night, in a city we barely knew our way around on a good day, much less while drunk. We may as well have had a giant bulls-eye on us; we were certainly a target for anybody to take advantage of us. What we had on our side was power in numbers, and a certain degree of physical size and strength (myself aside). I don’t know if Chiang Mai is generally a safe city to wander around in at night, but on this night we find no trouble to speak of.

Ah well. Lesson learned. Home safely. Off to bed. Tomorrow, we meet our teachers and travel to the farm for a three day cooking course.

Arising in the morning to a crushing headache, I have to wonder if the cooking course will actually happen for us. Anybody who knows me understands the meaning of this statement. I tend to have epic hangovers. Actually they are not hangovers – I think they are allergies; my body rejecting the poison that certain forms of alcohol seem to be for me. And although at home Scotch doesn’t present a problem for me, in Thailand I am quite apparently not impervious to Whisky.

Having been through these hangovers more than a few times (sadly – you would think I could learn this lesson once and for all), I immediately understand what the day has in store for me. Constant vomiting, sweats, weakness, and general agony for six to fourteen hours.

I know it will end; that I simply have to endure the day. The cooking course was pre-reserved, and a pivotal reason for our trip to Chiang Mai in the first place. If I could drag myself (with Kelly’s incredible support, both moral and physical) to the rendezvous point and onwards to the farm, I would be sufficiently recovered in time for dinner, and the following day of culinary adventures.

And so we come full circle to being in the back of a pick-up truck, vomiting, coming in and out of consciousness, and generally wishing I was dead. I do not travel to get drunk, and to effectively ruin entire days following with body-crushing illness.

It is here in this truck that a decision is made in light of our whisky-drinking extravaganza at a Muay Thai tournament in Thailand: I shall never drink again. I truly appreciate a glass of wine at dinner with the best of them, but it is quite obvious to me that the wine does not appreciate me in the same manner.

I bid adieu to two things on this day: alcohol, and “authentic” Muay Thai boxing championship tournaments. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I shall never grace a Muay Thai boxing ring again; I only hope that I can hold to the second part of my vow.

So much for the last little scrap of “vacation” we were trying to salvage from this trip! Ah well – at least it’s comfortable here!

The post below was written “pre-Burma”, and we are sharing it with you now.

Thailand(or at least what we have seen of it, beingBangkok, Chiang Mai, and surrounding areas) has a unique character and flavour. And of course, there are a number of idiosyncrasies – large and small – that lend a certain personality toThailandthat makes it what it is:

Dogs and cats are everywhere.
We saw a lot of feral cats in Hawaii, many mangy, but not so many dogs that didn’t have owners. Here, dogs roam the streets, and cats line them.
Interestingly, the vast majority of the animals we have seen appear to be well cared for. I don’t know if they belong to owners and are just given free reign, or if there are just that many rats to hunt. But neither the cats nor the dogs appear to be particularly emaciated.
Those dogs that obviously belong to people are evidently loved and cared for; a nice treat after what we saw in Hawaii.
And thankfully, despite the number of dogs in the streets, I haven’t run into so many “doggie presents” (being poop) on the sidewalks – nowhere near what I would have suspected to have seen.

Speaking of sidewalks…

Sidewalks are more of a nice idea than a practical application.
Sidewalks are a funny thing here, especially in Chiang Mai. If there isn’t a market or bevy of street food vendors parked on the decent sidewalks making them difficult to traverse, then there isn’t much of a sidewalk to begin with. What sidewalks there are will often peter out inexplicably only to reappear again in 20 or 30 meters.
Many sidewalks start out at a nice size, but when utility poles, trees, signs, low awnings, and motorcycles occupy space right up the middle, it’s actually easier to walk on the road.

Speaking of roads…

Tuk Tuks, small motorcycles/scooters, and pick-up truck/taxis are everywhere.

This is something common throughoutAsiaas I understand it. And to drive a motorcycle, tuk tuk, car, boat, anything – down the streets inThailandis quite an undertaking; one involving nerves of steel and the reflexes of a gazelle.

Speaking of driving…

They drive on the other side of the road.
None ofThailand’s neighbouring countries drive on the left side of the road from what we’ve been able to discern, butThailand does. Go figure.

Speaking of figures (of speech)…

The Thai people love their loudspeakers.
Regularly, a pickup truck with loud speakers in the back will drive by, spouting some sort of message to all those within earshot. Sometimes it’s music, sometimes words. If only we knew what they were saying.

Speaking of different languages…

Gotta love those translations.
There is a huge number of English language signs to aid the many travelers who can’t read Thai, and of course many of the signs were written by those for whom English is not exactly a strong suit.
Use of the word “probably” is particularly amusing, as in “Probably The Second Best Pizza in Town” – a sign outside a pizzeria down the street from where we stayed one night. I have a feeling that the Thai people believe that “probably” is a good way to make a sweeping statement without being definitive…which is probably a good idea.

Speaking of food and beverages…

When you order coffee, it usually comes in a mug about half full.
I don’t know if North American coffee is an anomaly (I suspect it is), but the coffee you get here is strong, and usually half as full as it should be. We have now taken to filling our coffee cups up the rest of the way with hot water – not because it’s too strong, but because we feel ripped off in the morning if our cup of coffee isn’t a full one.
The good news about the coffee here is that each cup is usually brewed to order, and what you get (albeit a small amount) is good. Not cheap mind you, but good.

Speaking of good…

Thai massage parlours are everywhere (and wonderful).
If you haven’t received a traditional Thai massage before, find a place and get one. It is a full-body experience, and depending on the masseuse, can be somewhat rough. You’ll get an elbow to the thigh, you’ll be sat on, twisted, stretched out, and kneaded into a pulp. An hour is apparently not enough (traditional Thai massage takes at least an hour and a half for a proper job to be done), but you’ll get the general idea in an hour.
And for an hour of bliss/torture (depending on how you look at it), you will pay the equivalent of $4 to $6. And you’ll feel absolutely wonderful after it is done.

Speaking of cheap…

It’s not always easy to adapt to the baht currency.
With the current exchange rate, $3 will get you about 100Baht. You get used to dealing with the large numbers pretty easily, along with the lower cost of living here. So much so that more than once, I found myself squabbling or complaining over paying an extra 10Baht for something, which converts to effectively $0.30. I’m not cheap, really!

Speaking of 10Baht…

Thailand takes street food to epic proportions.

If you have a sense of adventure and something of an iron constitution, there is nothing better than the street food in Thailand. No hot dogs here: you can get anything from green mango salad to red curry to pad thai to soups to corn to pig testicles to…you name it. Really.
Markets are the best places to go, as these mobile vendors (visualize a hot dog cart with a bicycle or motorcycle attached to the side) set up along the sides of the road and offer their wares. A plate of pad thai in the right place will cost you a whopping 10Baht (30 cents).

Speaking of eating…

Chopsticks aren’t as common as you might think.
In fact, the utensils of choice appear to be the fork and spoon. You use the fork in your left hand to scoop the food into the spoon in your right hand, out of which you eat. Luckily you rarely need a knife, which is almost impossible to find anyway.
And I guess the switch to the fork and spoon combo is good to reduce wooden chopstick waste.

Speaking of garbage…

When you need to, you can’t find a garbage can to save your life.
Seeing that the streets are quite clean, and the outdoor food courts (basically street food vendors surrounding a bunch tables with little chairs) are impeccable, I can’t understand how there are so few garbage cans to be seen. I walk around and around the streets, carrying refuse from my recently purchased street food, desperately looking for a way to properly dispose of it. I see not one chopstick on the ground, not one napkin.

Speaking of napkins…

The washrooms rarely have toilet paper.
One thing you learn in travel, is that it is best to always have an emergency stash of toilet paper handy. Especially if you are not prepared to squat like the locals and rinse with the adjacent hose like the locals too. It works for some…and not so much for others!

Speaking of hygiene…

Many creams and lotions have whitening agents.
Beware when you buy local sunscreen, face cream, moisturizers, and the like. Many (in fact, most) have whitening agents in them. It appears that we Caucasians sunbathe to get as dark as possible, and Asians cower from the sun and use whiteners to get as light as possible.
I can only wonder if the active ingredient in these creams is bleach.

Speaking of skin care…

You don’t need a bathtub to shower.
In fact, the shower (if there is one at all and not just a large bucket of water to wash with) is a box on the wall which can heat water and send it through a portable shower head. The drain: a hole in the corner of the bathroom. You shower in whatever available space the washroom offers, and you simply expect everything in the bathroom to be soaked by the end. The toilet, the sink, even your toilet paper if you’re not careful.

Many of these idiosyncrasies are not specific to ThailandI’m sure. But combined, and with the bright smiles of the people, the hospitality, the smells (good lord – the smells, good and bad), the sounds, and the sights –Thailand is a place to behold.

77 people (and organizations) rose to the challenge, and in total (net of fees), we raised $13,547.81!

We received donations from Canadians, Germans, Austrians, Australians, Americans, British, Dutch, Japanese, and Thai people.
We received donations from Rotary Clubs in Canada, as well as here in Thailand.

We received media attention from Canada, the UK, Sydney, and Germany.

And most importantly, we received the support of those who know us, and even those who don’t.
Our donors will be kept apprised of the news as the donation process continues along. We are busy at work behind the scenes completing this mammoth project.

Thank you again. Without you, we would not have been able to make such a difference to the victims of Cyclone Nargis, which has ravaged a nation, and whose victims are still suffering.