Our route to Pei curls and bounces over some of the steepest terrain and sharpest curves we’ve driven on our journey to date. Trucks loaded three stories tall with bamboo poles or cement bags, coconuts, or almost anything else you can think of blurp road dust out from under their oblong tires. As we drop into the valley, the cool air we’ve been enjoying for the last few days blows in through the driver side window and out past Andrew in the passenger seat one last time, to be replaced with the sun-soaked heat of a dry valley.

As we get closer, Google maps guides us through a maze of dirt roads, past village homes, and tall shade garages housing dusty, wrinkled, and desperate-eyed elephants chained to poles. “Hrrrrmmmmmmmmm....”I say as I pass by. The poor animals nibbled on a small, dry pile of grass at their feet.

Following Google’s lead, we turn left and edge down a narrow driveway where we park in the middle of what appears to be a working monestary. Monks in their orange robes, nuns in their white cotton shirts and pants sweep methodically, a working meditation the often use. As quietly as I can, I swing the wheel of the car and turn around to leave them in peace. This isn’t the destination we are looking for.

At the top of the driveway, we are trapped while an elephant gives us the side-eye, and his mahout leads him along the road with a large stick. Atop the elephant’s bare spine sits two be-dreadlocked individuals in colorful pants. “Hrrrrrrrrrmmmmmm....., poor elephant. He looks so hot.” I complain. His tail swats at flies and then droops in a resigned manner. After giving him considerable distance, I pull out and find our “resort” just two doors down from where we were.

Here, we are greeted by two friendly dogs, alternately wagging their tails with the insistence of welcome and pausing to scratch an area just behind their ears from which a nest of fleas bite and jump to avoid claws. The dogs lead us into the lobby. and I give one a scratch on the top of the head with the tips of my fingers. “Good boi, aren’t you?” His job accomplished, he trots off in another direction and leaves us to check in.

The resort is meant to be one of the nicest spots to stay on our route. It is build in the traditional style of Thai’s wooden houses, several bungalows are nestled around hot spring pools. But, we are lead to the back corner of a long corridor and tucked into a room with all it’s windows thrown wide open. I sniff. Stale cigarettes, and a suspicious odor of methane gas meet my nose. “Do you smell that?” I ask Andrew. Not one to admit a hotel deal to be a flop, he merrily pulls away at his clothes and replaces them with his swim gear.

“Let’s go check out the hot springs!”

The first hot spring contains only a pile of dead leaves and a layer of green slime in one corner. The remainder is dry. Andrew scowls, and we carry on. The next pool is a long oblong tank built above ground with Buddha’s head perched in the center. We climb the exterior stairs, and drop into a soaking seat along the edge of the wall. At the other end of the oval are two gents donning what is known in Australia as “budgie smugglers” aka speedos. One has a dreadlocked “Messy Man Bun,” tied atop his head with a scrunchie, and it bounces with emphasis during a particularly dramatic rendition of a story involving a female digital nomad in Bali whose desire for commitment did not live up to expectations.

I try not to listen...

“I just want deep connection, you know? A deep, spiritual connection! My heart is broken. I didn’t even want to surf anymore.”

“It hurts, I know it hurts, man….to be tossed away like you mean nothing.”

I dunk my head, then turn to Andrew and pose a question about the next leg of our journey - sleeper train to the ancient city of Ayuttaya - but he, too, is distracted by the “Days of Our Surfing Lives” playing out in the other corner of the pool. It would be impolite to eavesdrop and then laugh! So, we re-locate. The pool is not warm enough, anyway.

The next pool is a wide open square with a disappearing edge that looks over a hillside decorated with shade huts along the river. It is more beautiful than any of the others and there is a man running back and forth from the kitchen to the pool delivering beers. We order a Chang, then jump into the pool while we wait. “EYIIIEEYYYYY!!!!” I bounce out. That pool is fridgid! And my tropical strength blood does not appreciate the cold.

“I feel like Goldilocks…this one’s too slimy, this one’s too dramatic, this one’s too cold.” I take up a seat in the dying afternoon sun and scoot the wooden chair legs along the pool deck as I try to follow the very last corner of light before it hides behind a hillside of bamboo trees. I just barely finish my beer before the shade is upon me and I’m too cold to continue.

We make a trip to the night market and by some miracle of Buddha find a place to park. We walk the gauntlet of hawkers offering tie-dyed macrome vests, tours of the area, or inviting us into clubs for the party that night. We find a handful of delicious new foods - our favorite of which is a chewy, toasty purple sticky rice with toasted sesame seeds and a light dousing of sweetened condensed milk. We sit at a small restaurant and watch the street go by while we drink another beer and only now do research about this odd little town.

Originally a small market village of Than people who have close connection with the people of Myanmar just across the border, only recently has this town turned to tourism. It started as a favorite of hippie backpackers, it eventually found itself dealing with drug trade problems and foreigners sleeping in what is claimed to be makeshift huts. Police attempted to crack down, arresting Thai land owners who allowed backpackers to sleep on their land, arguing that a new law required all accommodations to be “made of solid material, such as wood, gypsum, compressed fiber or cement" rather than the cheaper and more traditional bamboo favored by many guesthouse owners and low-budget backpackers. Many locals suspected something else was at the root of this “crack-down” as more high end resorts started being built by wealth Thais from Bangkok and foreign investors. The area became known for drug tourism among hippie backpackers until a recent effort by the government to crack down on those issues as well.

“Ah....” I say to Andrew as he reads the Wikipedia page aloud. “Pai is a little smokey!”

“What?”

“That must be what our hostess at the last place meant. She told us we might not like it here, it’s a little ‘smokey’.” I giggle a little. We return to our room that night to an even stronger smell of methane gas emanating from the shower drain pipe. “Am I going to die of methane gas inhalation in my sleep?” I ask Andrew as I tuck under the covers.

“I don’t think so, all the windows are open.”

We were ready to get on the road at first light, where we find curious looking bamboo tubes laid out on wood fire, puffing smoke into the morning sky. “Must be a new breakfast food! Pull over!” Andrew says as I look for the next brightly colored umbrella stand. The woman selects a tube for us and hacks it open with a large machete. She hands pulls sections down like she is peeling a banana and hands it to Andrew to reveal sticky rice roasted inside a bamboo tube. He pulls chunks of rice away from the rest and pops it into his mouth: “Mmmm! Sweet…. smokey….. chewy…. and delicious!” He looks skyward as he provides me with his report. The woman hands me my own tube and I partake. It is delicious, and portable!

Once we reach Chiang Mai and return the rental car. We decide we can’t leave Chiang Mai without experiencing a Tuk-Tuk ride, so we wave one down to take it to our next destination…

…Women’s Prison Cafe where we have it on good authority they serve the very best green curry. And, they do! It’s an odd experience to be served your greed curry by Prisoner 24601 trailed by her personal prison guard…in theory, they are learning new skills to employ in the real world once their time is complete. The prison offers massage, traditional craft souvenirs, and a delicious lunch all provided by inmates learning new things.

All through lunch Andrew is buzzing with excitement. “Ever since college, I’ve dreamed of traveling through South East Asia clattering along on a sleeper train. THIS IS GOING TO BE EPIC!” I smile at his enthusiasm, and I am glad we were able to get tickets on the nice sleeper train. Built fresh just a few years ago, it is reviewed to be smoother, cleaner, and all around a better plan than some other scheduling options available. We will hop on around 7 p.m. and arrive in the ancient city of Ayuttaya at 5:30 a.m.

After lunch, another Tuk-Tuk delivers us to the door of the hotel where the train tickets you reserved on line are printed out. We chat with the woman behind the desk as the tickets print slowly in green ink on an old style printer with perforated dots paper edges.

“There is a small cafe just down the road if you want to get dinner before you get on the train, and a 7/11 next door to buy snacks.” She tells us.

“Oh, I thought the train serves dinner with our tickets, right?”

The woman behind the table smiles. “Oh yes, they do….” Awkward silence hangs in the air while she waits for something to click behind our eyes. The click never comes so she gingerly continues. “…but the food is….”

“expensive?” Andrew asks, helping her finish her sentence.

She smiles, relieved to be excused from the remainder of her conclusion. “Yes, exPENsive.”

There is something about the way she articulates the word EXPENSIVE that once again makes me tilt my left ear to the floor. But, Andrew was already off and running. “Thank you!” He says.

We are slow learners.

To be continued….