After the wife of the hostel owner tried to talk us to death, we clambered into the back of a truck which escorted us to a minibus. We were going straight from Pai to Chiang Rai.
It was very pleasing when we found we had a minibus all to ourselves, less pleasing when we had to change vehicle halfway through and cram ourselves into a stuffy car. The Romans ate bags and bags of crisps while I dreamed of noodles.
We stopped on the outskirts of Chiang Rai and dropped Tiberius off at a sparkling white Temple – the main tourist attraction of the city. I would have gone with him if I hadn’t been so damn hungry. It was past 3pm and I hadn’t had a thing to eat all day.
I don’t know where the hell in Chiang Rai this hostel of ours is. There’s nothing here. It’s called Grace Hostel and it has bags more character than anything else around it, yet is still outrageously dull. The woman took forever to check us in and I could feel my patience hanging by a thread as my stomach roared with anger.
I feel frustrated at the amount of money that’s being sucked out of me every five minutes. More than ever, travel costs are building up. I’m burning through money like it’s wood. If I keep going the way I am my travel plans will become toast. A sudden urge struck me to forget Vietnam and jump on a flight to India. I can’t. I thought. I can’t be that hasty…
While Caesar and Caligula went to get passport photos and dollars, I rushed out to the nearest eatery I could find. I hurried past a garage looking frantically left right and centre. Where were all the restaurants? Then I realised the garage was in fact a restaurant and rushed inside. Within minutes I had a large plate of boiled rice and an omelette in front of me and, let me tell you, plain boiled rice has never tasted so good. The omelette oozed grease and I dipped it in a dollop of spicy sriracha sauce. About 20 minutes later I was tucking into a bowl of noodle soup in yet another restaurant that could also be mistaken for a garage. Dodgy looking balls of pork floated on the surface of the watery broth. I gobbled them up.
I needed dollars from an exchange bureau – a necessary requirement for the border crossing from Thailand into Laos. So I dragged myself in the direction of what’s supposed to be the city centre. I kept walking and walking, waiting for the city to materialise. Was I going mad? Walking through Chiang Rai felt like constantly walking the outskirts of a city. I kept thinking I was about to hit it, the built up sidewalks, the markets, the shopping centres, the parks… they just weren’t there. And there was no sign of public transport either…
I crashed down in a coffee shop feeling incredibly fed up. How the hell was I going to manage a border crossing tomorrow?
My exhaustion was somewhat abated after I ordered myself a large chunk of what I thought was tiramisu, but was actually banoffee pie. It was brilliant. A wholesome fat cube of luscious cream and sticky, salty banana caked at the bottom. The banoffee pie imbued me with life and I continued searching for the soul of Chiang Rai.
After walking for far too long, I stumbled upon a street lit with purple lights and a shining clock tower where oriental music played from an unknown source. Nearby I discovered a flower garden which bled the scent of tequila into the air. It was all very peaceful. But I did not feel peaceful at all. The border crossing was hanging over me like a cluster of darkening rain-clouds. After finally getting my hands on some dollars and cursing the exchange rate, I made the long trek back to Grace hostel for an early night.
