Southbound trains, northbound planes

Friday afternoon we board a second-class sleeper out of Chiang Mai to begin our nine-day trip to the south -- first a few days' R&R among the farang tourist villages that line the island of Koh Samui; then it's on to Lian's hometown of Na San, just an hour inland, to visit her aged mother.

Here's a helpful tip when planning your train connections in this country: don't even try. Unlike, say, any northern European railway system where civilized folks care about schedules, their Thai counterparts are extremely mai bpen rai ("no worries!") about that stuff. And so your train will arrive in Bangkok two hours late; you will spend most of a day staring morosely at insipid sitcoms and pop videos on the big screen in Hualamphong railway station waiting for your next train, which is also late; and it will take you a day longer than you planned to get wherever you're going. So take a deep breath and just go with it.

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Hot afternoon in Bophut, Koh Samui.

Two trains, one shuttle bus, a high-speed ferry and a taxi ride later, we arrive in the coastal village of Bophut and at Eden Bungalows, the hotel where I stayed five years earlier on my first trip to Thailand. Maybe I should have gone back and re-read the TripAdvisor review I wrote at the time before booking a reservation: I had forgotten how the owner personifies and perpetuates the stereotype of the arrogant snotbag Frenchmen. As we approach the reception counter, he is slumped over the adjacent bar, his beardy puss buried deep in an issue of Le Monde. Not so much as a "bienvenue" or a simple grunt of acknowledgment from our host; instead, it falls to his Thai counter girl standing nearby to see this latest riff-raff up to their room.

Later in the afternoon we return from a long stroll. But now the owner is animated and jovial: he is joined at the entrance bar by a clutch of his expat countrymen, who occupy every stool -- same as five years earlier, I remember. We scurry past quickly so as not to disturb their private party; it feels as though we're tramping through a stranger's living room.

"We go another place, maybe?" Lian suggests; I'm thinking the same thing. So we self-banish from Eden after just one night (we reserved for two) and find a much more congenial place just two doors down for a less money and a lot more amenities. Another Thailand traveler tip: unless you're visiting on a special holiday in high season, don't bother with online reservations -- just show up and see what looks good, because Koh Samui is stinko with hotels and guest houses.

By the way, a big thumbs-up to Smile House Resort and its two fine pools, jungle-themed landscape and beachside restaurant with complimentary buffet breakfast. Bonus satisfaction points: I am even able to pirate Internet from neighboring Eden Bungalows -- the owner is a big merde-face, but they do have killer wi-fi.

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Gotta say, I am no fan of resort towns, whether in Thailand, Mexico or anywhere else under the tropical sun. Despite their boost to the local economy, the local power structures debase the indigenous culture, defile the landscape and siphon dollars to the white owners who call the shots. In fact, the only reason we are here is because Lian grew up close by and never once had an opportunity (or the wherewithal) to cross the water and visit.

So we kick back by the pool, stroll the waterfront row of tailor shops, pubs, jewelry stores and other standard-issue tourist town commerce, and hike inland twice a day for real Thai food. (The natives who work in the hotels and restaurants have to eat and live somewhere.)

If this all sounds extravagant, it's really not: the nice, mid-priced Smile House Resort runs me all of $58 a night, and that includes a generous buffet breakfast. I'll give them this, they keep things affordable.

Sunday morning we catch the ferry back to the mainland ... and back to the real Thailand. If Koh Samui is the disease, Lian's hometown of Na San is the cure.

A scrubby little farming community an hour south of Surat Thani, Na San has no shopping malls, no fast-food joints, apparently no bars, and not much in the way of diversion. But the local produce markets and food carts are superb and we go crazy on southern Thai flavors: fresh durian and homemade durian chips, curries, rambutan fresh off the tree, and other fruits from Lian's family gardens.

A brother-in-law takes us for a drive to a Buddhist temple built flush against this sheer, crumbling cliff that overlooks the town. Standing at its base is terrifying -- its craggy face rises up and out, obliterating the sky overhead. Pictures cannot to it justice.

One night we (meaning I) host Lian's family at a local restaurant that serves Issan food, the notoriously fiery northern Thai cuisine. Our party of 13 keeps the kitchen hopping, and I suspect that someone handed the menu back to the waitress and said: "Yeah, this all looks fine. Two of everything." The check, including tip, comes in at eighty bucks -- about what I'm paying for four nights in the nice room at the local hotel. But I score points with the fam, so that's fine.

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Two days to roll down south, two hours to fly home to Chiang Mai. God, I love air travel!

Old auntie under the rambutan tree.