As we browsed the night market of Pat Pong, getting ever so close to throwing away $30 on a Folex, we started into the liquid courage that would eventually drag us to the main attraction. There were a couple false starts, but we all agreed in the end that we had come that far, and we were all adults after all, so... on with the show! For those that aren't familiar with the idea of a "ping pong" show, let me be the first to suggest you leave your racket at home. What exists in these back rooms is, in theory, a showcase of talent unknown in familiar regions.. er... uhh... Mom, perhaps you want to skip forward a paragraph.. Simply put, because I could skirt around the subject for ever, a woman stands on the stage in what loosely resembles a strip show, and proceeds to fire a ping pong ball without the use of her hands or feet. And if you can't fill in the blanks, perhaps a search on the internet will further enlighten you. Not recommended at work. In the end however, we all sort of walked out confused. In no way was the show erotic, or in any way impressive.. to be honest the ball never even pinged.. it sort just fell and ponged.... There was an incident involving a whistle and a guy in the front row, but in the interest of escpaing an R rating, I'll avoid the particulars of that event. For those of us who witnessed it however, it provided a story that continues to be told in certain circles and always invokes horrified, uncontrollable laughter. Except, perhaps, for poor Whistles in the front row.

So that was Pat Pong, and that was Ping Pong. Probably our last visit to either. Definitely the latter. Luckily our ride home was so hilarious that it washed any impure thoughts from our reeling minds. And it definitely made up for the ride there. As soon as we had jumped into our cab, our driver cranked the music (something along the lines of "I don't need no diamond rings, I don't need no Cadillac cars"), which he happily replayed over and over again much to our amusement. As we sang along, our driver sat with a lit cigarette in his ear, and almost drove within the limits of the law. Our spirits were so buoyed by the time we reached Kohsan Rd, that we were hardly rattled by the men on motorbikes with cocked machine guns. Oh, Bangkok. What a weird and wonderful place you are.

We said our goodbyes to Kevin and Erin, and went to rest up for our next jump. Every email that would follow between us would inevitably include some mention of diamond rings and Cadillac cars. One of those unique moments that, however brief, will always remind us of friends from a time and place in our travels. I think there was a full day that followed before our train left, but it was obviously filled with nothingness. Certainly no hands free sports or death defying transport. If I were a betting man I'd guess we ate some Thai food and had a Thai beer, but I fear I'd lose something important if I started to press my memory to remember the details of an unconsequential day. So, onto the train. Next stop Chiang Mai.

Pack bags. Check out. Find cab. Board train. A routine that would eventually become painfully familiar. But as it was just the beginning of Southeast Asia, we were still giddy and ever so weary of how hot and claustrophobic our 12 hour trip would be. As we sat on our bags bursting to the seams with novelty sized lighters and knockoff t-shirts we sipped coffees and wondered what lay ahead. We had no passports. They were left in trust with a Thai girl we didn't really know. We were "in theory" booked into some guesthouse in Chiang Mai and were supposedly settled up for the next week and a half of accommodation, but it all could have been an elaborate hoax. All we could do was cross our fingers and board the 10:30 to Chang Mai.

As we settled into our seats, we were surprised to find ample room, air conditioning and even complimentary bottled water. This was a fry cry from the images constructed in our imagination. Stories from travellers before us warned of robbery, overbooking, and even the odd gassing. But this seemed almost disappointingly easy. So you can understand our excitement when halfway through the trip our imagination caught up and the air conditioning called it quits. As luck would have it the fans also took a time out, so we sat sweating our baht off, staring with contempt at the lazy fans and bolted windows. Fortunately our food arrived at around the same time, and before I had the chance to have a bite, my little fold up table on the seat in front of me followed the air con's lead and dumped a full plate of rice in my direction. As I sat there with a lap full of stir fry, and Kyle fought for air in between fits of laughter, our attention was drawn away from our mild discomfort to the scenery outside our window.

Having arrived in Thailand during the tail end of the wet season, we found ourselves passing village after village of flooded fields and submerged homes. At each stop we could see families taking temporary shelter in old box cars on dead lines at the edge of the water. Farmers drifted slowly over the remains of crops, while men, women and children searched for belongings amongst the flood waters. It was a heart wrenching scene to witness, and definitely made light of our situation. At times I felt compelled to jump from the train at the next stop to greet the people face to face, but what good would it do.. Aside from fulfilling a selfish want to photograph everything before me, our presence would offer no solution to these people's problems. Most likely problems that they deal with every year or two when the dry hot season is replaced with the waters of the wet season.

So we simply sat in our rice and watched the world go by. Although much of it was under water the landscape was beautiful. Eventually we gained altitude and climbed towards the cooler air of Chang Mai. As the sun set and the track carved it's way through mountains and jungle, we stood between the shifting passenger cars and grew hungry for our first real taste of Southeast Asia. Just after dark we arrived. Waiting for us was a young Thai man with a sign labelled, much to my amusement, "Mr Jesse Bradstreet and Mrs Kyle Dawson". He helped us into the back of some pickup truck and we disappeared into the side roads and back alleys of the city until we reached the Chiang Mai Guesthouse, our home for the next couple of nights and jumping point for our trek. That night and following day we took our time exploring the city, doing our best to aviod the lady boys and wooden frogs.

The morning of our trek was heralded in by the very obvious presence of a group of loud mouths in the restaurant below. As we dug our heads into our pillows, trying to steal a couple more minutes of sleep, a mix of Aussie and Canadian voices belted out various meat head grunts and high fives. We rose hoping to God that they weren't on our trip. It turned out they had just arrived on the overnight train, having opted for drink instead of sleep. And glory be, they were on the same trip as us. Fortunately, and with a capital F.O., there were too many people for one group, so while the Durr Patrol grab assed and lit off fireworks, Kyle and I lucked out and shared the trip with Hannah and Kirsty, two girls from England who were also looking for a more relaxed pace. Packed into our pick up truck / taxi, we took off in a pleasant silence with our guide Pong. No relation.

Our first stop was the giddily anticipated Elephant Trek. The four of us piled out of our truck and paired up for a ride on the back of an elephant. And while it was still amazing to ride on top of such a beautiful animal, it was more or less an Elephant Predefined Dirt Course Ride as opposed to the hacking-through-jungle Elephant Trek we had imagined. But as far as elephant rides go I'd have to have to rate it amongst the best I've ever encountered. Although I don't think our elephant appreciated us sitting on his head and back. Even after feeding him a full bundle of sugar cane the little bastard hit me, mouth open, with a sampling of the muddy water collected in the foot prints along the trail. I was positive this would lead to some exotic parasite and a slow painful death. Sure, people would remember the story, but I wasn't terribly fond of going out like that....

But by the grace of God I survived, and we continued on our way to start the trek proper. Our first day of trekking took us past quiet little villages surrounded by vast rice paddies that beautifully filled all available space. Exactly the kind of landscape and experience we were hoping for. After pausing to cool off in a multi-tiered waterfall, we made our way through some light jungle and tip toed our way between rice plots. Pausing when ever Pong found some flora or fauna that caught his eye. From spiders the size of my face to plant stalks that blew bubbles, we were kept constantly entertained as we made our way to the Hill Tribe village that would serve as our home for the night.

While we heard the Noise Brigade find their beds in the centre of the village, Kirsty, Hannah, Kyle and I bunked in with a family just outside the reach of the others. We were hardly there 12 hours, but I truly cherish that small time we shared. After settling in and making quick work of a bottle of Chang, we all joined the father in preparing dinner. Our tasks were simple, cutting beans or grinding garlic, but it felt great to contribute for once, and man alive was the food good. Of course while all this cooking and brotherly love was going on, there was also bottle after bottle of home made rice whiskey that made the rounds. I was in such high spirits that I graciously accepted a whole baked chilli pepper the size of my pinky and proceeded to chew and chew. Foolishly chew-chew-chewing away until my eyes released a torrent of tears and I fell into uncontrollable heat hiccups. And once again good old buddy Dawson guffawed away. Hah-hah.. real funny. I almost died again.

The remainder of the evening was spent trading words in Thai and English with the parents and amazing the kids with electronic wizardry from the future. There wasn't a lot said of great importance, but I'd put that night up against any dinner party I've ever begrudgingly attended back home. The people putting us up were so generous and fascinating I didn't want to leave. And we couldn't have asked for a better group to share it with. All four of us took it in as much as we could, including a bit too much rice whiskey, and eventually found our way to our surprisingly comfortable floor mats or in Kyle's case, strip of floor beside the fire. All the while the Tweedle-Dum's and Dee's were lighting off fireworks in the distance.

When we woke up Kyle and I had the choice of continuing on our planned three day itinerary, which would have grouped us with the Loud Bunch, or cutting it a day short and staying in our relaxed little group. It probably comes as little surprise that we opted for the later, especially after comparing the schedules of both trips and realizing we weren't missing much. So, after saying goodbye to the family that had put us up, including possibly the cutest kid in the world, we returned to our feet, back into the heat of the jungles and paddies. The second day was filled with scrambling trails, streams crossings and a bamboo river rafting excursion that concluded with cliff jumping into the siwrling rapids below. By the time we were finisihed we all welcomed the end of the trail and that rusty old pickup awaiting us.

And then, at that very moment, sitting in the back of that old pickup, Kyle spotted it. Something on my chest, just under the skin. As he pointed at a spot six inches under my chin, I assumed he was going for the old "what's that?" flick of the nose trick. I was quick to dismiss this trickery, but the look his face, a sort of morbid fascination, gave me pause.. What? What is it? He loosely described a small wriggly line, motionless, just above my clavicle. Quite savy on the art of nose flickery, I backed off using one hand for defence, and touched the area he was gesturing towards. Although I couldn't see it, no matter how hard I tried to peer around my own chin, I felt it...

Now, this has been the subject of many a conversation. I still remain that it was simply a vain working over time to pump blood from a tiring hike. My companions on that trip were quick to worry me with stories they'd read or one of the many apocalyptic descriptions of parasitic dangers found in guide books. If I was lucky the worm inside me would make it's way to a natural orifice and leave without a fuss. In a less than ideal world it would gather the strength to burrow it's head from beneath my skin, where I'd be left to wind it out on a stick, an inch a day for ten days. And I just plum refuse to entertain the idea of dying a slow death by parasitic worm. Oh God. Parasite... The elephant... the muddy water.. it IS a worm. And such was the my thought process for the next month. Joking when the subject of parasites came up "Eating for two now!" Har-Har, then lying wide eyed in bed thinking I could feel something in there.. Slowly burrowing through my lungs, chipping away at my spine, making it's way to my brain where it would lay it's eggs, raise a family and turn me into a zombie. But in reality, nothing ever materialized. And my little buddy was left to my imagination, ready to spin a yarn of Asian jungles and parasitic worms when ever it found an audience.

And so our first introduction to Thailand and Southeast Asia was complete. From the congestion of Bangkok, to the flooding fields of central Thailand, and the mountains surrounding Chang Mai we had taken our first steps. And the two months that would follow would seem to last forever. There's still a story left in Thailand, before we would leave for Laos, but I'm happy to go out on a worm, and the next story lends itself to a decent intro so I'll stop here, and end with a dot.

For more pics click:http://jbradstreet.smugmug.com/gallery/2272975