Travel Diaries: Thailand pt.2

We strapped ourselves in for the ten-hour drive through the dark Thai countryside. Mia and I were escorted up to the top deck of the coach by the attendant and shown to our seats on the front row, directly above the driver. The bus departed at approximately 8.45pm, with an estimated arrival time of 6.30am. This would be the first of many gruelling long-haul journeys on public transport, packed in like sardines on vehicles only fit for contortionists and Olympic gymnasts.

Mia fell asleep straight away, but I had work to do. The travel diary has garnered a devoted fan base, much to my consternation, so I had to spend the majority of the journey completing the previous edition (only joking, I’m loving the attention really).

I can only imagine the beautiful scenery we missed out on during the 700km trip, driving in absolute darkness, but the beauty of travelling through the night means we don’t have to pay for a night’s accommodation, as you can sleep on the bus. I use the term “sleep” very loosely. I woke up every thirty or fourty minutes to the sound of unbearable and unrhythmic beeping coming from the cockpit. Presumably a ploy to keep the driver awake, it definitely had its desired effect on me.

At six o’clock we arrived at Chiang Mai bus station. Half awake and volatile, we booked a Grab to The Prince Hotel. We were approached by a Belgian girl who asked us to car share and split the cost of the journey. She was very talkative, evidently having a much better night’s sleep than myself and Mia. We were in no mood to be making new friends, but reluctantly accepted her proposal. We staggered into the reception and got slapped with a fat dose of dejavú, as the staff told us that we couldn’t check in until 2pm. The chap offered to hold our luggage until check-in time, and recommended us the pool area to relax. We gave him our bags and wandered towards the the centre.

As the sun began to rise over Thailand’s second largest city, we stumbled upon a McDonalds. We thought it rude not to treat ourselves to some breakfast, and after exploring what we could, opening times permitting, we went back to the hotel and set up camp around the pool. On the way back, we walked past the aptly named New Delhi Indian Restaurant. As I scowled at the signage, a pigeon shat on my face, it’s stool trickling from my forehead and into my right eyebrow. It was very metaphorical, and I’m sure a much better writer than myself could outline the symbolism. I simply think it was one of the many Hindu gods letting me know that, no matter how safe I feel, the Delhi demons will follow me wherever I go.

Back at the hotel, by the pool was a soft spoken, middle-aged, six-foot-something Canadian man, covered in traditional Sailor Jerry tattoos. He had a massive gut, and, as we have since found out, an even bigger heart. At the time of writing this, we’ve known him a couple of days, and he really is a great guy. His name shall remain anonymous, not because we’re trying to be mysterious, merely because we haven’t asked him yet. In fact, scrap that, he looks like a Bill, so let’s name him Bill.

Myself, Mia and Bill sat chatting around the pool. We got to know him a little more, and learned that he has been a teacher in South Korea for nearly twenty-five years. He has a Korean wife and fifteen-year-old son, and an incredible sense of humour. He’s been coming to Chiang Mai every year since the early 2000s, and had an abundance of recommendations for us. We already had a basic idea of the nightlife and the kind of activities the place had to offer, but Bill was throwing some hidden gems at us, the kind only the locals would know about. We spoke extensively about travelling, music, politics, and everything else in between. We laughed at how ironic it was that both his home nation and adopted nation are in political crises, albeit very different ones.

As I write this, alone in a bar whilst Mia gets her nails done, my concentration has just been completely blemished by the stench of grease from a deep fat fryer. That familiar, dear smell has just momentarily transported me back to a traditional Yorkshire fish and chip shop, and I’m now yearning for a chippy tea with a big pot of curry sauce and scraps. I miss my family and friends, of course, but I’ve never properly missed home until right now…

Anyway, we checked into our room to find a nice big double bed, a balcony, mahogany floors and bed frames, a TV… a delightful, much needed revelation.

We had our first wash for over 24 hours and changed ready for the night ahead. It was going to be an eventful night, I thought, as I reached into my fourty-five litre rucksack and retrieved a white box from the very bottom. Hidden away for weeks, catching dust, the box contained Mia’s mother’s ring. I’d brought it with me, with permission and blessing, and with the intention of asking Mia to be my wife. We’ve been together for nearly six years, and my proposal was arguably long overdue, given that I’d known from day one that I wanted to marry her. Although neither of us necessarily believe in the traditions surrounding marriage, it was definitely something we both wanted, and I thought there would be no better time to do it than when we were travelling the world.

All I had to do now was find the right moment, the right scene. Somewhere quiet, a picturesque place with magical surroundings. The perfect place to get down on one knee, grit my teeth as I asked her the question and waited for her answer, and most likely struggle to get back up regardless of her response. I suggested a waterfall, a sunset walk, a local park, a trip up to the top of the mountain, all to which she replied “no, I can’t be arsed doing that”. This was going to be difficult. If only the mardy arse knew what was coming… but that wasn’t the only hurdle in front of me. I’d given the entire contents of my wardrobe to the hotel to take advantage of their laundry services, and only had one clean t-shirt. It was the Aston Villa home shirt from the 22-23 season, slightly too big in size, and definitely not the perfect outfit for the perfect proposal. I told her I wanted to get a new top for the evening, because I was already skeptical she was going to say yes, and being in a two-year old football shirt definitely wasn’t going to help my cause. Perhaps if it had been this season’s strip I’d have felt more confident, but even then I’d have had my concerns. I nipped into a tat shop and bought a tacky little Chiang Mai 2025 t-shirt, printed with a psychedelic elephant photo, much to Mia’s disgust. It was a detrimental buy, and only worsened her mood. She asked why I’d wasted money on an ugly top that was too small for me when I had a perfectly fine one on. I just shrugged.

I dragged her to a nice serene and scenic park, which turned out to be the busiest spot in Chiang Mai. People running, playing badminton, tennis, dance classes - it was like being at Pudsey Leisure Centre at prime time. Anyone who’s been to Pudsey Leisure Centre would agree that it doesn’t make for a wonderful proposal spot. We sat on a bench as I cradled my man-bag like a baby, waiting for the sports clubs to disperse so we had some privacy. They didn’t, so I kept quiet, and we went back to the hotel.

We were getting ready for bed and Mia was desperately scratting at her mosquito bites. She was fumbling around for the after bite jelly like a drug addict, and hopelessly asked if it was in my bag, to which I replied “it’s not in there, don’t be going through my bag”. I came out of the toilet to find her putting the contents of my bag back in their rightful place after she’d emptied them onto the bed. She had seen the ring box, but pretended not to. I knew she’d seen it, and I knew that she knew that I knew she’d seen it. It was an awkward moment, and her mood completely changed, her bites seemingly no longer irritating her. I felt tempted to just do it there and then and get it over with, but thought it best to try and forget about it and do it the following day.

We spent the first half of the following day by the pool, getting to know Bill a little bit better. We were joined by Hans, an elderly German man whose swimming trunks were way too big for him, and revealed so much more than anyone wanted or needed to see. We discussed international relations, healthcare in our respective countries, the fall of the Berlin Wall, amongst much more. This felt like real travelling, talking to people from different generations and walks of life and finding that we’re all much more similar than we think. I asked the hotel staff for recommendations for a scenic place to pop the question, and they recommended the Ang Kaew Reservoir. I returned to the pool and when Mia went to the toilet, I informed Bill of my intentions and asked him to slyly recommend the reservoir. To which he replied, with eyes wide, “what, so I’m part of this now?!”

Also at the pool were two other Canadian men, also from Vancouver Island and the same town as Bill. They were Shane and Alex, a hilariously flamboyant couple who had been together for 17 years.

Bill dutifully and deceitfully planted the seeds, and we got ready to set course for the reservoir. Mia still had her doubts, instead wanting to relax by the pool and explore the city centre. We sped-walked through the Chiang Mai University campus, where many students were celebrating their graduation. It was busy, but once we walked further round the water we found a nice quiet spot on a bridge. I suggested asking someone to take a photo of us both, to which Mia declined. I asked a couple of Thai girls anyway, and they kindly obliged. As we got into position, with my arm wrapped round her waist, I turned to her and asked if she’d like to have a photo as fiancés. She replied “what are you on about?” I knelt down and asked her to marry me, and to my surprise, she said yes.

She felt like it was all a big prank, particularly because nearly everyone else knew and she didn’t. We had to call home and tell everyone, but given the fact it was 11am in the UK, everyone was at work, and we struggled to get through. We eventually did though, and were met with an abundance of congratulations. To be honest, it’s all a bit of a blur, it all happened so fast. We found a rooftop bar in walking distance from the reservoir and forgot about our backpackers budget for a few hours. Aperols were in full flow, making my memory even blurrier.

Chiang Mai night bazaar was our next stop, where I stuffed my engaged face with pork Thai sausage, traditional Chiang Mai sausage, grilled pork with milk, sweet and sour chicken skewer, barbecue beef skewer, and a double cheeseburger, all washed down with a big bottle of Chang. We got a tuk-tuk back to the hotel, and after a couple more celebratory FaceTime calls with family, called it a night.

The next day we sat around the pool before crossing the road to Sukhothai restaurant, a small outdoor kitchen with only a handful of tables, run by an American man and his Thai wife. It had been recommended it to us by Shane and Alex, and when we sat down, the owner recommended the Sukhothai beef noodles. She told me the beef was braised and then cooked low and slow for a few hours in a broth, the same broth in which the noodles would be softened ready for consumption. She had me from the get go, and it arrived in front of me just five minutes later.

It was served to me in a large dish, similar to a fruit bowl, or the kind of plastic bowl a parent would give to their sickly child to keep by the bed for when they needed to vomit. However, the contents couldn’t be any more different from a nine-year-old’s sick. The noodles were balled up at the bottom of the maroon broth, with pieces of beef sat on top, flaking and falling apart around it. There were two thin slices of potato placed delicately on top of the beef, just beneath a pinch of coriander for garnish. Let me be insistent when I say that the events that followed were some of the most astonishing gastronomical moments of my life. A sip of the broth which tasted like gravy on speed, followed by a chopstick-ful of beef which melted in my mouth. Bobbing around in the bowl were two little beef meatballs, which can only be compared to small round pieces of filet mignon. I felt like a caveman discovering meat for the first time, and probably sounded like one too. The noises coming out of me were alarming, as I found myself completely immersed in this meal. I forgot who I was, where I was, and why I was here. All I knew was the motion of chopsticks into bowl, pinch, chopsticks up to mouth, open mouth, cum, swallow, repeat until bowl empty. I wasn’t thinking about anything else, least of all fish and chips and apple crumble. It got to the point I was actually getting slightly annoyed at how good it was. I was angry I’d never had this before. I remembered why I was here. My God, I wish I was marrying this beef instead, I’ve got far more to say about it than I have my engagement.

As the waitress cleared our plates, I stood up and bowed, and gave her, and the rest of the staff members, a round of applause. We tipped heavily and rightly so, before heading back to the pool. As I came to terms with the out of body experience I just had, I was brought back down to Earth by an unexpected phone call. It was Eden… “Change of plan, I’m flying to Chiang Mai tonight.” Game on.