The Road to Pai

I thought it was such a great idea to take the bus from Chiang Dao to Pai because they look so close on a map – both north of Chiang Mai, somewhere in the mountains. The first part was no big deal – just 30 minutes on a flat road to a dusty town where we were supposed to change buses. We were dropped off on the side of the road with vague directions – really a hand gesture – that the bus station was that way. Luckily, we spotted two white guys by the side of the road – a father and son team from San Antonio – who were also headed to Pai. They were in front of a barbershop where there also happened to be a few benches. This was the bus station.

The bus was supposed to come every hour, but we learned that it skipped our stop if it was full, and it hadn’t come all day. But then – yay! – about an hour, and a good amount of stress later, the bus appeared like an ancient, green, sputtering savior. When it stopped, two guys jumped out and put little wooden anvils in front of the tires to prevent the bus from rolling. Our backpacks joined everyone else’s crap on the roof, strapped down by those ever so handy bungy cords (I now understand why they are sold everywhere in this country). Inside, the density was kind of like a subway in Tokyo during rush hour. And this is how we got to Pai – standing, as the bus twisted up and around through valleys and mountains, while monks and solders slept, and an old Lisu woman cleared phlegm from her throat, and home brewed whisky escaped from its broken casket and cascaded down the aisle. There were no animals on board and no one was sick, though. So apparently it was a pretty uneventful ride.