Southern Sights

I’m holding on to my bag like an old lady just about to get robbed. My friend Sarah has suddenly stuck her head in from the curtains covering my bunk bed, looking like a floating head in a magician’s show. She pushes the heavy drapes aside, allowing the scent of lemongrass dinner to sneak in along with the view of the Thai family eating it. Two armed guards walk past us in the aisle, beaming surprisingly friendly towards everyone. After all, we’re in the land of smiles – on the night train to Chiang Mai.

What a view: narrow roads, the occasional motorbike and a sunset lighting up fields and small villages. The warm light hits small particles of dust floating around in the train compartment. We are on our way to the largest city in northern Thailand, at the foot of the Himalayan mountains. That should be quite the contrast to the sandy beaches of the south.

We decide to pull out the map in front of us while eating. Thick and curly egg noodles fall down, making lines and directions to the multiple places we could explore. “Nice place”, says a voice belonging to a girl our age. We’re so used to hearing Thai language ever since we left Bangkok, with the exception of someone shouting “Dear God” from the toilet earlier. The reason turned out to be that the lavatory consisted of a very large window and a hole in the floor. The local girl sits down with us and shares her best tips. We have yet to arrive, but can already smell the ylang ylang lotion used at Mimi’s spa, feel the wind in our hair while mountain biking down Doi Suthep, and the excitement of roaming the street market where we manage to get lost twice before finding one another. And finding ourselves. Over a fuming food stand, ordering kai (supposed to be chicken, but pronounced wrong meaning something very different).

It smells of damp cotton and cheap tobacco, and the altering landscape outside is no longer to be seen. We sit quiet next to a foggy train window and could not be more content. We’ve gotten close with locals sharing the richest stories in such sparse surroundings. They tell us this destination is like a sanctuary. That is before the train door in front of us opens and a heatwave of sound and sweat hits us - hard. It is Shakira’s “Whenever, wherever”, and a handful of tourists taking drunken dancing to the next level. That’s the thing about travelling. It opens many doors. This time, one door was better shut, but all the other ones led to great discoveries before we even arrived.