'Planet' of the Oops!

Monday night finds me in a $5 flophouse in Chiang Mai’s backpacker ghetto. My room consists of a mattress on a bare plank floor, an electric fan, and … not much else. Shared bathroom somewhere downstairs, where the never-ending party rages on. Hoots and laughter and thumping bass continue long into the night.

I sit cross-legged on the mattress, gazing around the bare-walled room, and marvel: Was I really once a middle-class husband and father living in a West Linn cul-de-sac, with a nice home and suburban-type stuff to go inside it? What happened?

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Monday begins with so much promise: I bid adieu to my poolside digs at the Riverside Guest House to experience life on the west side of town, near Chiang Mai University. The pleasant middle-aged lady who runs the Riverside advises me where to catch a songthaew, one of the covered red pickups that serve as taxis, which will take me to CMU.

Located well away from the tourist district, the university neighborhood is greener, quieter and more upscale. I hop out of the songthaew and go eagerly in search of the place that is recommended in my Lonely Planet book … the 2006 edition.

I should think about buying a newer book. Turns out my target guest house closed two years ago.

The remaining choices up this way are pretty grim: plain cubicles up a dirty concrete staircase, with shared bathrooms on the ground floor, for half again what I was paying at the wonderful Riverside.

Discouraged, I walk back toward the tourist-friendly inner moat area. Walking and walking, and now it’s starting to rain. I am at loose ends for what to do next, so I return to the guidance of my Lonely Planet book, which says wonderful things about the Julie Guest House, way down at the opposite corner of the moat. The price looks right, so I cinch up my shoulder straps and soldier on.

Laid-back Julie Guest House reception area.

Lonely Planet describes the Julie Guest House as “funky,” and it’s certainly that: Catering to young farang vagabonds traveling Asia’s Banana Pancake Trail, the Julie is a rat’s maze of staircases and corridors, as if the builders made it up as they went along. Its reception area is a patchwork of corrugated roofing and tarps that shelter rattan lounging decks with tie-dye throws and blankets, a wi-fi zone, and tables for the in-house restaurant (which is actually decent, and cheap). The clientele is pure Oregon Country Fair, circa 1974. The dreadlocked horde ignores the frazzled-looking old sweat-bomb who drags in about midday clutching his stupid ancient Lonely Planet book.

One night sets the low-end limit of my guest house expectations. Early the next morning I bug out for -- yes -- another Lonely Planet thumbs-up establishment, Tri Gong Residence, at the northeast corner of the moat, about a mile off. By this time I am pretty damned sick of carrying this daypack, which actually seems to be getting heavier.

Fast-forward two hours. No, three -- I'll spare you the searching and inquiring and swearing and more searching. Turns out the map location for Tri Gong was all wrong in ... you guessed it. Damn you, out-of-date Lonely Planet!

So I'm parked here for the next few days of air-conditioned R&R. I need to recharge.

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Here is a common, pathetic sight in Thailand: an aging, usually dumpy farang man on holiday, accompanied by a much younger Thai rent-a-sweetie. At lunch today these two plop down across from me. No smiles, no words. The woman orders (in Thai) fried rice for the both of them; he gets a beer. Then they proceed to utterly ignore each other.

In retrospect, maybe coming to Chiang Mai principally to eat khao soi isn't such a goofy idea.

Typical Thai breakfast: chicken & rice soup.