Over the last seven months, while this idea has been cooking I had it brewing deep within my belly then moving to become a reality. As now, I sit on the airport seats near the boarding gate quietly chewing my already well bitten nails, reflecting on the last seven months of what I would now call relaxed preparation. Even though I am not the type of person who researched everything down to the last minute detail, a few people out there have to book the hotel and know exactly where they are going to be before they leave home. I had the tightest knot forming in my stomach fretting I did not have everything for my first boarder crossing. In order not to losses the essence of travel, discovering something out side my world as it stands now I constricted my self to a set of basic items to research in the countries I plan to visit, which ultimately boiled down to only the entry and exit procedures and the visa requirements of each country.
Checking into plane I already ran into trouble, the girl rejected me on the basis I did not have a flight out of the country. They were worried I would not respect the visa given on arrival and try to out stay. I tried to explain, that I have no intentions on exceeding my 30 day visa because if I did I would have to pay a huge fine to the Thailand government for my motorcycle that was already in the country and was waiting for me to retrieve it from cargo. She just looked at me with disbelieving eyes and told me that I only had two options, the first one being to reschedule the flight and go and obtain a visa at the Thailand embassy tomorrow or to get an open flight out of the country within the visa period. Now it was my turn to look disbelieving at her, turning and followed her directions to the Qantas desk.
On arrival at the Qantas help desk, I discover that another girl who was similar age had to do the same thing. The assistant grumbled about having to do this as it actually cost Qantas a lot more that it did us. I did not really care and was not about to start felling compassionate to a huge company like Qantas! I just want to be allowed on the flight, my motorcycle was waiting for me!
On Friday I rode my bike down to the airport precinct half way there the sky opened up and poured down on me my nice clean bike was collecting the dirt on the road, which had become mud. I could not find the office where I needed to arrange a dangerous goods certificate. I rang the bell and an older man let me into the office and handed me a chair to sit down on. He started to type up the certificate, I could feel the water pour off me and create a puddle at my feet. He asked me to bring my bike into the workshop where they weighed my bike and checked to see if I only had a third of a tank of petrol and my battery was taped up. We returned to the main office I could see that I had made a mess, hoping he would not notice until I left. There were puddles of water all the way across the room leading to the chair which it self was soaked. I was embarrassed knowing the owner of the chair will be returning from lunch soon. I paid the fee and said good-bye that when he noticed the puddles, I smiles shyly and shrugged my shoulders, ‘sorry’ I called out as the door banged from behind me.
At the Qantas cargo terminal I quickly wiped down my bike with my sleave I did not leave much of an impression but I knew if they wanted it cleaner, they would tell me. I unscrewed the mirrors and put them into my bag with a quick look over this will be the last time until Bangkok. I handed over my custom clearance certificate, the dangerous good certificate, and my money. My bike was due to arrive a day before me ready and waiting for me. I walked back to the main international terminal and took the train home. Feeling empty, as my prise procession was gone, in the hands of someone else.
After landing in Bangkok, initially I had intended on heading up to Chang Mai for a Horizons Unlimited meeting. I could feel my eyes dropping, my mind turning back to my life as it was in Australia due to the lack of stimulation while cruising along the pristine oversized highway forging it self through the centre of Thailand. Tacking east towards the Burma boarder, I found myself enjoying sweeping from side to side as the smooth asphalt road folding it self between two sharp towering mountain ranges. Eventually I was spat from the gorge onto a rolling plateau where Mae Sot sparkling in the sunlight trading precious gems stones.
Matching my physical location on a tiny black and white map lacking in the village’s three dimensional details I found myself gazing at from my currently location. I take a stab in the dark and pile my sweaty motorbike gear back on me. Stumbling down a few lanes, a patch of green extending into the sky like a beckon amongst the dust billowing from the streets, I had found my Oasis. Pealing off my gear layer by layer and running cool water over my skin, I emerge from my temporary haven as a human being.
Wiggling my toes within my jandals trying to keep the road dust from gathering and swallowing them completely, tentatively I pick up a pair of disposable chopsticks, slurping down a bowl of beef noodle soup. The sound of Thai and Burmese men jostling and calling out words in a progressive tone before the sound hits a peak and drops off before becoming silent. Like a record stuck in time it the battle begins again. Refraining from licking the bowl clean I scraping the last of the tasty soup with my spoon, sensing the switch had flicked on I become a floating lighthouse in a sea of local men. With all eye’s on me I rose from the plastic stool I moved down the road before the hounding began.
Drumming slices through the crisp clear morning air, shaking the dreams from anyone who thought they could enjoy a good morning sleep in. Dozily I pad to the bathroom squinting through my sleep congested eyes I realise the drumming hadn’t quite manage to shake the sun from the horizon. Flopping back onto my bed, I struggle to hide from the vibration that was coming from the alley directly behind my room.
Back on the road, I found it fluctuating quickly between being fully asphalted one moment to loose uncontrollable gravel the next with undulating gracefulness, which drove me wild as I tried to fold seamlessly into it. When I thought I had become one with it, I barrelled into a corner when the road disappeared under the wheels of an enormous truck licking the edges of loose gravel. I applied pressure to my front handlebars and shifted my weight to help with my sudden change in course just as I hit the gravel. Feeling the back end of my bike swing around trying hard to parallel with me, I was franticly changing down the gears to match my speed, pulling the rear back into control. With the looming tires in the foreground I gained control of my bike and came to a stop as the truck roared off like nothing happen as the impression of the wheel arches firmly imprinted on my retina. Taking a deep breath, I silently thanked the boys a ‘Q-Ride’ for teaching me how to ride my bike so well.
I had only planned a short day, so when I saw a small gravel loop on my map, I could not pass up the off road opportunity. I pulled into the side trail and waiting for the guard to lift the barrier. “Sa` wa`t dii kha” (hello) I call out to the middle age man ambling down the hill with some sort of gun slung around his neck looking quite bewildered at the sight of a young white girl on a motorbike. I think my face would have matched his, wondering what the hell I was getting my self into. I raised my hand and pointed in the direction of the barrier. As he stood next to me, rasing his gun he shook his head and pointed his gun into the scrub and said “no, no, bang bang” I nodded, said “Kha`wp Khum” (Thankyou), replaced my helmet on my head and turned my bike around glad to get to Mae Sariagi with out any holes.
At breakfast, I met a team of Canadian people taking a break from their posting in Afghanistan, who had decided to take a motorbike tour with a company from Chang Mai. They were completely kitted out in all the right motor cross gear that they had hired along with the bikes, when I sat down with them in my dirty stained jeans and rough hiking boots, I got the feeling that they didn’t really believe that I was riding solo around Asia.
Speeding past amazing sharp mountains ranges that defined Burma and Thailand with refugee camps the size of large towns packed under the shear cliffs. Hundreds of tiny huts clustered together constructed from the giant leaves that fell from the overhanging trees that surrounds the area. Layering one on top of each other, using the exact same waterproofing system as a standard shingle roof in New Zealand. Old Burmese women chewing on bright red berries, which spilled from their lips, giving them a spent hooker heading home after hard night waiting patiently for the bus to be fully loaded before leaving hours after its intended departure time.
This was a common sight over the next few days while I hugged the boarder between Thailand and Burma to Mae Hon Son, after some well deserved rest days, I headed over to Chang Mai. My visa for Laos was going to take four days. As it happened, it coincided with me getting violently ill and had to spend the next three days locked in my guesthouse alternating between my bedroom and the bathroom. So much for exploring the infamous Chang Mai.
After the three days couped up like a chicken, eating only rice. I had to get out onto the road, to feel fresh air hitting my face again. I packed up my bags and paid my extremely cheap bill, which only consisted of rice and water. I made my way through the smoggy motorways out of the city, to find that the countryside was still there and had not been flushed away with amounts of water I poured down the Thai style toilet.
Stared up at the budda dominating the hillside high above the village, I decided I should really take a stroll up there for a closer look. Not really knowing about the different states of Budda, I thought it was prudent to find out.Pparking my bike at the guest house and pushing my way through the Akha tribe girls trying to sell tourist their overly prices trinkets. One followed me down the lane to the bottom of the hill where a dog took over her and chased me tried nipping my ankles. Seeing that I was in distress a Thai man come out to see what all the fuss was about and called the dog off me.
Failing to stepping quietly past the cross-legged young monks lined up in rows all practicing their painting skills. One after another, they loose focus and turn their attention towards me. Feeling like I was intruding on their studies, I scuttle past as fast as I could.
The concrete path wound its way up the hill, with many shrines and different levels all the way up the mountainside, I passed the statue I was intrigued by and continued until I reached the temple at the top, which was still under construction. Distant towns and villages could be seen through the haze heat. I was blown away by the dedication to budda that I had experience by climbing up through the different levels.
The road to the next village was amazing. The only problem is that I had the wrong kind of bike for it. I needed a nice road bike to truly enjoy the beautiful sweeping curves that climbed up the hill and following a saddle to a tiny Chinese village called Mae Salong.
That bright sunny weather closed in forcing the following days to be grey and raining. I decided to spend the raining days off the bike wondering around the subsidiary villages that support this slightly larger village. Growing several inches taller as layers of mud clung to the bottom of my boots. Discovering the more traditional side to Thailand, I study the construction techniques of their homes. The bamboo strips woven together to create walls for their homes, the small tea bushes that lined the hill side just to contradict they had their prized satellite dishes posed at the front door like a trophy of wealth.
On the fourth day, the moody clouds parted and made way for the crispy clean blue sky. I said good-bye to my family of stranded tourist. We had spent the days, playing cards, catching up with emails and helping the family prepare for Chinese New Year.
Riding high along the ridgeline, I made my way to the very northern part of Thailand, Mae Sai. With one side of the road over looking shear cliff out to the beautiful scenery of Thailand and Laos, the other barricaded with barbwire and huge sharpened stakes, staggered at menacing angles to deter anyone trying to pass through. The narrow lane, snake through, sandwiched between the two extremes. My muscles on my face froze into an enormous grin, the pleasure expressed only been wiped when it started to become too painful to withhold as I leaned into the never-ending twisties.
Gemstone, counterfeit alcohol, and tobacco were shoved under my nose by Thai and Burmese peddlers trying to make a quick buck from some unsuspecting tourist. Poorer peddlers calling out to me through the high barbed boarder fence. I found myself heading back to the guesthouse just to give my senses a break from all the over stimulation. As the sun feel, I joined in on a game of cards, while we watched boarder jumpers wade across the river holding their clothes high above their head.
The mighty Mekong River made a stunning appearance beside me as I rode to my first boarder crossing. Slightly nervous at a rumour of the possibility of all boarders closed to motorcyclist. Cutting my Thailand segment down by a week, would allow me to head to Cambodia, testing every Lao boarder along the way.
Seeing the smudgy stamp landed on a crisp page of my passport, the sun broke over Laos. I was released from Thailand. Unwilling to break the tranquil morning, I glided down the banks of the Mekong River with the motor switched off. Securing a long boat with the usual amount of haggling, the Thai men lifted the bike into the unstable hull. With some assurance, one of the men straddles the bike placing each foot on shallow edges, keeping my bike on the boat for the entire crossing.
