Paï et le début de la fin de la Thaïlande

You wake up in the morning and meet up with a group of people you consider friends, many of which you know you will keep in contact for a long time.

Especially an english couple who you plan on visiting one day.

You share a breakfast and have a good laugh and decide on today's plans.

You rent a scooter and ask the owner of your hostel where you can go swimming and fishing, and leave with your scooter gang.

You split up from the gang to go swim in a tiny waterfall, the water ice cold and refreshing. So cold in fact that it actually takes your breath away when you fully dip in. You realise that the only water you've ever swam into that was colder was in Nova Scotia. You talk with a cute ginger who keeps staring at your chest but decide to not linger long since you have someone else on your mind and don't want to be a tease.

You meet up with the gang at the Piranha Fishing Farm and get your pole and bait, and a beer.

You chill out for a couple of hours and try your hands at Dirty Old Town on your harmonica, play with puppies and eat a chicken lasagna, out of vengeance for the rooster who almost made you crash earlier.

You go back to Paï and enjoy a walk in the night market, eating a little bit of everything.

You get drunk at the punk bar and the reggae bar. You go to bed with a smile.

You get up and repeat your morning routine.

You all decide to go to the hot springs to relax.

You all get on your scooters once more.

You have a quimsy feeling as Dominic - the wreckless guy of the gang - starts to speed up more and more. You know he's hungover and he hasn't had much to eat.

You take your time to see the scenery and negotiate the numerous curves of the country road, but always there is this nagging feeling inside of you.

You see a Thaï man watering his grass, water spilling on the pavement. You slow down.

You see this big curve with gravel coming up and you slow down even more.

You see Dominic waiting on the side of the road, holding his scooter. His body language is sending you signals.

You stop and see that his right arm is scratched raw, his right leg is bruised and bleeding.

You make plans to bring him back to town, wash his injuries, joke a little bit. You realise that naggy feeling was some sort of premonition - you knew this was going to happen.

You go back towards Paï, the most experienced driver bringing him back while the rest take it slow. You are driving the scooter that crashed so you do not dare go too fast.

You all later meet at the punk bar, then reggae bar, get drunk, laugh like crazy. This 20-year old french guy named Paul comes up to you and tells you he is glad to meet someone like you, who held on to his values for so long, that your personality is refreshing and humbling, and you hold back tears.

You talk food porn with the guys, laugh until you can't breath.

The next day you take it easy and end up at the punk bar yet again, and have a good talk with the owner/bartender who turns out to have a great sense of humour. You exchange emails.

You realise that tomorow starts your journey down south towards Cambodia and that you will be on your own again.

You feel alone for a moment and ponder on this feeling. A month ago you were seeking solitude. You think about your south african girlfriend who is waiting for you in Dubai and wishes you were talking more, but understands that you are traveling and wants to give you your space.

You wonder how your friends island-hopping down south are doing.

You smile, and go to sleep in your moskito net.

Paï si tu veux pas lire (Guillaume)

Very good nice

Paï - un peu plus

Paï est une petite ville de quelques blocs seulement, pleine de touristes, voyageurs et relaxeurs. Aucun building n'est plus haut que 2 étage excepté certains hôtels.

Au milieu de champs, avec d'énormes montagnes tout autour, il fait au moins 20 degrés le jour et la nuit ça descend jusqu'à environ 5c... On dort bien.

Dominic me dit que ça a changé énormément, ou peut-être que c'est à cause que nous sommes là pendant la saison populaire...

Le jour les quelques rues sont jonchées de gens qui magasinent, se louent des scooters, et récupèrent de leur brosse.

Le soir, la rue principale devient fermée aux scooters et autos et devient un petit marché où l'on peut acheter souvenirs et bouffe pas chère. C'est aussi la nourriture que je digère le mieux.

C'est dans cette ambiance que j'ai décidé sur un coup de tête de manger des insectes. J'ai toujours voulu le faire, et dans le marché une petite Thaï des tribues de montagnes, âgée, ridée et souriante vend des chenilles, vers, grillons, sauterelles et coquerelles.

Pour 20 bhats je me fait un petit buffet, 1 exemplaire de chaque insecte. Je voulais aussi aller boire une bière au minuscule bar punk que j'avais aperçu. C'est donc en écoutant des chansons de mon adolescence que je m'adonne à cette expérience cullinaire hors de l'ordinaire.

Un allemand à ma gauche grimace à chaque bouchée que je prend.
"Where are you from"
"Canada"
"And you eat that in Canada?"
"Nope"
"Why do you eat it then?"
"Because I'm in Thaïland!"
*crunch*

Le bartender est un Thaï avec un bon sense de l'humour, un mohawk rose et bleu, piercings, jacket de cuir avec studs et stencil des Exploited dans le dos, pantalons léopards et bottes d'armée. L'uniforme impeccable quoi! Il a même un oeil au beurre noir.

Il est jaloux que je vive à Montréal et me demande si je veux le marier pour qu'il puisse y rester. On rigole bien. Il joue ma chanson punk préférée pendant que je dévore la grosse coquerelle (Where I Stand - Nothington) et me fait découvrir quelques covers.

On rigole bien et j'y retournerai pour les 3 prochains jours où il me donnera des shooters d'alcool local et des flyers qu'il fait pour son bar. Je lui fait écouter Silver and Gold de Joe Strummer, ma chanson de voyage, et il est très heureux car il ne la connaissait pas.

La soirée se termine bien tranquille sur le balcon des français à jaser de tout et de rien.