Travellers

So, my dear folks, here's the moment you've been waiting for.

Because let's face it, everyone loves a good trash-talkin'. Some shit-talkin'. Some dirt-layin' sonovagun who can tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!

It's not that bad, of course. If it was horrible, no one would travel and your facebook feed wouldn't be occasionally submerged by posts like "Why I travel", "Why travel ROOLZ GUYZ", "What I learned during my amazing travels", "Travel frees the soul, is the school of life, OMG iz SO GOOD".

I consciously leave most of the annoyances, negativity and other insects of that family out of my posts to make it a pleasant and uplifting reading experience (but then again, when I look at the blog stats, the most popular entries are the sad ones).



My biggest pet peeve, I would say, are other travellers. While away, no matter if you're on the road for 6 weeks or 6 months, you will meet a diversity of characters richer than a Tolkien novel, as diverse as the inhabitants of the lands of Westeros, and sometimes just as ludicrous as, well, any spoof of said literature.

The order of this list follows my train of thoughts, and nothing else. Literally whatever comes to mind goes first, and then second, and then well you know how lists go.

First!

The Traveller Fashion

Yes, my dear drinkers of knowledge, there is such a thing.(try Google-ing it too!) To put things in perspective: you leave home with a bag weighting under the 12 kg. limit to avoid airline penalties and so you pack light. That means leaving a few shirts behind because you'd rather pack a book - and anyways there's shirts where you're going (probably) and it's a nice souvenir too.

So! If you're like me, you just landed in Thailand and are walking among the unorthodox mess that is Koh San road. It's fucking hot. So you think, ''Hey, I'll get me some tank-tops, it's like 4 dollars each and I can probably get a deal if I buy more than one''. Little do you know, you've just taken your irrevocable first step into Traveller Fashion (add echo).

Douchebag / laidback / fuck yeah vacation look:
Local beer tops. Tubing in Laos tops. Muay Thai tops. Tribal turtle tops. Elephant pattern pants. Swimsuit all the time.
Cheap flip-flops, or if you went all out, those with the fake grass so you feel like you're playing mini-golf bare-foot all the time.
Fake Ray-bans should complete the look.
It's what I wear, I totally get it when people silently eye me dơwn in hostels. With my tattoos hanging out I can look like a total dick.


I'm going Into the Wild! look:
Picture African safari pictures of olde. Black and white photograph , and the subject is some old white dude with a sweet curly mustache and a hunting rifle; indigenous men in the background, out of focus, carry his crap. Now picture how he is dressed. Yes, exactly like that!
Some olive, savannah-colored cargo shorts and when he sits they go up to the middle of his thighs.
A matching button-down shirt with those nifty straps on the sleeves so you can tight them up even more, you know, so you don't get caught in the heavy bush.
Maybe some sleeveless army-green mesh shirt with lots of pockets worn on top of that shirt.
To complete the look, my favorite: trekking sandals. I love those!
I've never worn any but every time I see a pair of them on some sweaty feet I'm like "Damn, that's luxury right thurr".
It's like a Jeep for your feet.
So yeah, some people dress like that, usually in the range of 35 to 45 but sometimes you see a kid, like 19, sportin' the look.


I'm a free soul look:
This one puzzles me. I don't know where it comes from. Who decided collectively for all the hippies and off-the-grid survivors, think-outside-the-box, I'm-saving-Gaia-by-eating-only-plants that this look was the official one? And if you're so original, why do you dress all the same?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging: I come from the punk scene, where everyone says they're marginal, but everyone follows a rigid uniform code.
Anyways. Long hair for both male and female. Bandanas are welcome, tied around the forehead to support all that hair and those revolutionary ideas.
Tie-dye shirts are not uncommon, but usually the tribal turtle shirt is sported, or maybe some loose cotton shirt (looks fucking comfortable, not gonna lie) or straight up their clothes from home.
Since they don't burden themselves with artifacts of the material world, they can pack more clothes and still be under 12 kg, I guess.
The elephant print pants are an absolute must, on guys and girls alike. Very popular are also those pants where you look like you have 3-inches high legs, where that part that usually holds your butt is by your ankles (you make me think of Obelix).
Shoes, sandals, anything for your feet is optional. They go bare-feet wherever, in a complete disregard of local cultures. They can probably walk on Legos, their sole is so tough and caked with shit.
Also, dreads.

I don't give a fuck look:
My favorite, and what I went for thís time. Basically what you wear at home, fuck it. T-shirt and jeans are good for nearly every occasion, anyways.
Special mention to the guy wearing his american football jersey.

Not very negative, as you can see, just some observations. Judgmental as fuck, actually.

Next logical item on the list (I lied! There is an order!)

Personalities:

I hate to judge based on looks, to think that humans can be so easily categorized, that we're nothing more than some straight-out-of-the-box, pre-made characters for some Higher Power's sunday Role-Playing game sesh, so I will not attach their personality to their looks.

And here starts the bitching, friends.

I think it's because I'm laidback and can actually listen to people when they are talking, but I meet a lot of:

Know-it-all(z):
Armed with their cellphone and roaming data package, they always know the best spot to eat, the cheapest guesthouse, the next temple.
They stop you from walking spontaneously into a Wat on the corner of the street because there's a bigger, better one just 2 kms away.
If you answer ''I don't know'' to questions like ''Where are you going next'', better grab some pen and paper, this guy knows where you're going next!
For people like me who prefer to see as you go, who are not too stressed about paying $1-2 more for a dorm because the cheapest one in town is full, it's fucking annoying.
Granted, sometimes I would have missed really cool things if it wasn't for a random person suggesting what I should do next, of course.
But being figuratively taken by the hand by some random stranger and dragged (or followed) around town can be quite the mood-killer.
Their mouth hands out unwelcomed, basic knowledge like their minds are the sharpest. They don't listen to you when you speak, will interupt you or repeat exactly what you just said in different words to seem like they thought about it first.
They annoy me.

Lonely Planet Zombies:
Their weapon of choice: the latest edition of the traveller's bible. The books are pretty useful, of course, but some people are treating it as a holy book, the one that contains all the knowledge and that will show you the path to a perfect voyage.
First of all, these books were written by people, like you and me. So, it follows their preferences and taste, most of the time.
Second, when I say zombies, I mean it. Some people quite literally leave their brains at the guesthouse and wander around town, nose in the pages, not even looking around to absorb whatever it is that they came for to absorb. I've seen people stop in the middle of the street in front of incoming traffic to look at a map.
There's only so much the authors can cram in there! You're bound to miss out if you think you've done everything in a town because you did the 5 suggested activites.
Also, and this is from experience, their cultural Do's and Don't' miss the nails more often than they hit it, at least for ASEA.
I'm not saying they're useless, I personally use Frommer's Rough Guide when I'm about to cross borders to get up to speed on the upcoming country. I'm just saying, once in a while, leave the book on your dorm bed and go explore. Get lost. There's no instructions on how to get invited to 4am, drunken karaoke with the locals.

Ze Bros:
They can be the life of the party, or they can be the death of the soul.
Usually super cut, and I suspect they carry a wax-a-chest kit with them.
They say stuff like ''I'll never go to X town, it's way too touristy'' (actually everyone says that) but the only time they leave the confines of their guesthouse it's to go to the bar.
They're loud, they command attention, they're big, they're having so much fun.
If you look closely, you can see a faint glimmer of jealousy in the eye of everyone they are annoying. ''How can they be so free! Is it because they're so cut? Muscles bring freedom?''
Sometimes followed by one smaller, bearded, beer-gutted dude.
They treat the locals like Disney World mascots, don't bother to learn ''Hi'' in whatever local dialect, and will just talk louder and LOUDER if the waiter doesn't understand their order. ''Pizza. Pizza! PIZZA. PIZZA!!!''




Well folks, there's plenty more but I don't like to be this bitchy for this long and I am also quite lazy all of a sudden. I hope I could get a few laughs out of you.

I let the inner geek out more than usual. Deal with it!

I hate being a salesman but I do love attention so if you ẹnjoyed this, go ahead and like the Biere de Route facebook page, share your stories! I want to hear them! Also share the page! Tell your friends!
There's an Instagram page as well, Bierederoute. I got a new phone and the camera's real nice so I'm posting regularly.

Peace out mafakas!

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! 

JOYEUX NOEL A TOUS! 

Beijing markets, night train to Pingyao

23/09/14

After a nice day spent wandering around the Beijing weekend market laid out in a huge open area covered by a giant roof, under which are stalls are thrown together in long lines offering every kind of goods. The first end of the market seems to deal more in bracelets and necklaces, huge and ridiculously long, sold directly on a carpet thrown on the floor. People are haggling while smoking cigarettes, squatting comfortably inches from the floor. Again, like every place in China, there are almost no western tourists.

After a few rows of these the stalls change into huge piles of what looks like infinitely precious china - porcelain - all arranged neatly, waiting for a bidder. There are way less people in these rows and the stall owners are playing games on their phones or catching a quick nap on a tiny chair, head laid back, mouth wide open.

Following this rising trend, the last stalls are small rectangular affairs, more high than wide and my personal favorites: they deal in folk paintings of tigers or rice fields, mountainous landscapes or huge characters of Chinese alphabet, an awesome display of calligraphy.

When I even just ask to look at a tiny necklace of a Buddha sculpted in jade I am rudely waved off by an aged Chinese woman, her eyes closed to emphasize the gesture.

When you reach the outskirts of this mass (mess?) of people you run into these old, small stone buildings that look like something directly out of a Kung-Fu movie. The jewelers occupy these squat houses.

I soon realize that behind those buildings there is another, smaller market where they sell books, old vinyls and even propaganda art. I think about getting a booklet of fragile paper full of drawings against Japanese soldiers. I only know they are Japanese because of the flag insignia they are wearing - they are drawn resembling dogs or rats, stabbing farmers or common folk with bayonets! I know my friend Angus would go nuts for it but I'm afraid to destroy it if I take it with me on my travels. I settle on a classic small Chairman Mao red book written in french, from 1966. Easier to carry.

That night, in my little room consisting of a rock-hard double bed, a tiny desk and a toiler/shower, I read about leaving Beijing.

From the tiny bathroom window seeps in sounds from the street below. The incessant honking that was breaking the silence of day is replaced by chatter, laughs, spitting and burping as people eat their meals on tiny plastic furniture laid out in front of the restaurants. Classic Chinese music (it's exactly what you're picturing) provides a soundtrack to this social life buzz.

I am a little nervous as I read online that apparently it is nigh impossible to get a seat on a train on the same day. I set my alarm for 6 am and try to relax, reading a book in bed while the street noise slowly dissolves and all that is left is the man in the next room snoring peacefully.

After a short 3-hour night (time difference, a ridiculously hard bed and an even harder snorer team up to keep me awake) I take a cold shower to wake up, pack my bags and make my way to the train station.

I get there fairly easily - the subway system is efficient and there are plenty of directions in English - and I all but stop dead in my tracks, gazing at the scene unfolding in front of me.

First of all, the train station is intimidating. Huge, with no English signs at first glance.
Second, there's hundreds of humans moving about like ants working around their fortress. A policeman with machine gun, all dressed in bad ass black, is standing on a podium like a statue.

Not too far from him, kneeling on the hard ground, a lady of about 70 years is begging. I notice that she is not wearing a shirt... but you cannot see her breasts. They are completely engulfed by giant tumors flowering out of her chest. Several people are eyeing me down and pointing at my tattoos without shame.

After a few minutes of aimless walking around with my 15 kilos on my back I finally find the ticket office.

Judging from the giant light sign displaying trains, departure times, seat availability and prices on the far wall, there's a few seats left for the sleeper train that I need. Several minutes later and I have a spot thanks to the fact that there is one window at the ticket booth reserved for English speakers. The train leaves at 5 pm and it's not even 10 am yet so I find the place labeled "Baggage Let" and drop off my temporary home. The man at the booth tries to joke with me in his language and ends his sentence making a gun with his hands and pretending to shoot me.

We both laugh at the awkwardness that ensues.

A quick look at my map, there's still time to squeeze in a last sight! Temple of Summer it is.

Perched on top of a stony hill, overlooking a big lake crowded with small boats, sits a temple built right in the middle of jagged rocks. The climb is quick and easy and the view well worth it. During my walk I try some street food, this type of Pogo... a sausage wrapped in a gauffre, on a stick. Delicious!

Walking back from the Temple of Summer (it was, as you may have guessed, the summer residence of the emperor in ole days) I try more street food that I have been shying away from. All great, all cheap. I try this giant spring roll that turns out is packed tight with rice. I also get 2 types of pancakes, folder onto each other several times to become compact little squares packed with vegetable goodies. I feel that my grace period of adaptation is coming to an end: no more expensive hotels or fancy food or falling for scams, I tell myself!

That night, as a kind of confirmation, I climb into my hard mattress, 3rd bunk from the floor on a rocky sleeper train. There's small handles you can unfold from the wall to help you climb up since it's 7-feet high. I am the only whithey in the wagon. I keep waking up all night, afraid to miss my stop. I am scheduled to arrive at 5 am and I set my alarm for 4:30 but all the announcements are in Chinese and they have a very different way to pronounce city names.

At 4 am however, I am woken up by a train officer, this lady in blue uniform armed with a flashlight aimed directly in my face. When I first got on the train she came to take my ticket and exchange it for a small color card, big like a business card. She is now handing back the ticket to me as I return the color-coded card, I guess it's their little system to make sure people get off at the right place. She tells me to get ready with gestures. 40 minutes later and I arrive in Pingyao.

 It's 5 am, it's pitch black, and it's cold.

Beijing Scammer #2 and the Great Wall of China

21/09/14

After visiting the Forbidden City I make my way back to my hotel and get off at the wrong subway station, again. This time however I recognise the street corner from the last time I got lost. I look at the city map on the sidewalk (NOT conveniently pointing in the right cardinal direction or even facing the right street), then look at my own map, then at the subway lines map on the back of my city map.

Like an awesome advanced computer I triangulate my position and realise that there are stations missing on my street map!

No wonder I keep getting lost! 

For the folks at home, the Beijing metro stations are not so close to each other like in our beloved Montreal. The stations of Beijing are easily an hour's walk from each other, so you can imagine the amount of walking I have had to do.

This time though, I get back on the subway and go one more station in the right direction and here it is, the streets near my hotel greet me. Confirmed: my map is either old, or stupid.

Tired of eating 50 cent noodle soups to save money and needing to forget about the scam I climb the stairs to an ultra-posh (word I picked up in the U.K. that means "fancy" to us Canadians) Pizza Hut and sit down at an empty table, picturing a giant all-dressed monster oozing with cheese and steaming sexy calories. I was going to destroy that betch.

What I instead receive for my order is a tiny pizza for kids, what we call bambinos back home. False advertisement is the norm in China it seems.

I eat it slowly, eaves dropping on the table next to me and watch as the 3 westerners make one special demand after another to the staff, quite rudely at that.

I was wondering if the chinese workers would pull a South-East Asia style of service, the one that goes something like "You are making my life difficult therefore I will stoutly ignore you until you exit my sphere of existence" but no, these people look at the clients in all seriousness, but as soon as they turn the corner (where I am sitting) they laugh it off amongst themselves and proceed to meet every demand (not enough vegetables on this side order. Can I get more ice? Ice? ICE? No no mine was with NO ice. Can I get my coke colder, but with no ice, like her? Can I get different vegetables this time? Can I get a second pizza for free this one was not big enough?)

Later, in the hobby of the hotel, I meet 4 Polish girls, 2 pairs of travellers that just met. I tell them of my debacle at the Forbidden City and everyone has a good, long laugh at it, including me (the beers help swallow my pride). One of the two pairs invites me to join them on their trip to the Great Wall for the next day. They announce that they are leaving at 6am because they are going to a secluded portion of the wall that also has a slide, and then they retreat to their rooms.

I get back to mine, to shave off all that curly hair and beard I was letting grow, having bought a cheap shaver the day before.

The next morning I grogilly meet them in the lobby and I immediatly find myself walking top speed through the streets on an empty stomach. I think to myself that if they plan to keep this rhythm all day I would strike out on my own fairly quickly.

About 40 minutes later we arrive at the subway station that connects to a bus line that should take us to our ultimate destination. I am calmly looking for directions when suddenly a wild woman dressed in bus driver uniform appears!
"Hello! I am a bus driver, do you need help? Where are you going?"
Why, this is almost too good to be true! We tell her our bus number and the lady informs us that this line no longer exists, it has changed to a new bus line. She gives us clear directions to reach it.

The girls get into this gear, this special speed where you're more than jogging but not quite running yet. I reluctantly follow, trying not to lose them in Beijing-level rush hour traffic. As we make our way through the human river I keep an eye out for the bus signs. No indications about the old number at all.

We finally arrive in a giant indoors garage where dozens of buses drive by and tonnes of stops are identified with big green signs, metal fences forcing people to queue up (as forming a line to wait is not a concept that has yet to reach the average chinese person's mind, in 2014).

Still no sign of the original bus number but we find our new number fairly quickly and magically the lady bus driver appears to guide us in the right direction.

We manage to get on the bus after fighting our way through the pile-on that forms outside the railings and the 3 of us sit together. I fall asleep.

I wake up about 40 minutes later and we are still on the road, the Polish girls are still sitting next to me, still smiling and full of energy and good will even this early in the morning. They share a portion of their snacks with me.

Another 15 minutes go by and suddenly the lady bus driver reappears! She is now changed in civilian clothes.

"Bus stop! Here!"She says urgently and we all disembark right in the middle of a giant street corner, in a distant suburb of Beijing. There are some small stores and a few high-rises, a park where people are playing ping-pong. Smog still covers the sky,

The lady walks us a few meters down the street and from her pocket produces a car key. She unlocks her vehicule - we all stop in our tracks. The mood becomes very sour, very quickly. The girls that were making fun of me not even 12 hours ago just felt for a scam. All of a sudden, the woman's english language drops in quality, as if she just practiced a few lines over and over again.

As we grimly look on, she matter-of-factly gets a book of bills out of her car and uses the hood as a table. She leans down comfortably and gets a pen from her pocket.
"60 km" she writes. "60 x 3" she adds, pointing at the 3 of us one by one.

"Fucking bitch" we all say in perfect harmony.

I tell her that she is a thief, all the while keeping my voice calm and level, because if you make an asian lose face things can get very ugly, very fast.

She keeps smiling. "50 x 3", she writes. It's only $10 each, but a trip to the Great Wall normally costs about $3 a person, by bus. I tell her that the only way we are getting in that car is if she charges us 50 Yuan total.

The girls say they are never getting in that car, and I agree. For all we know, we'll have to stop at her friend's place for tea, then at her cousin's for cheap jewels, then pay extra still to get to our real destination.

The lady doesn't understand our logic. "You made it all this way, surely you can't just go back?" she tries to emulate with basic mimes and a few sparse english words. "No way to Wall from Beijing! No way!"

At this point I start to lose my cool a little bit. All the while smiling but speaking a little bit louder I go "You are a liar, and a thief, and a bad person. We will pay the bus again then we will go to the Great Wall from Beijing. People do it every day, all the time, for years now. Just because we're white doesn't mean we're stupid".

We crossed the street to the bus stop where a small gathering of people were seemingly just passing time. The lady follows us screaming in her language. One man seems to be very angry at me, gesturing me to get out of town with his hands, quite intensely. Everyone else is just looking on quietly. People don't like to get involved here in China, I would learn as I travel. I take the Lonely Planet book of one of the girls, find a picture of the Great Wall and show it to the man who was so agitated. He seems to understand a little bit. "Aaaaah" he says, tapping the picture with his finger and showing the curious man who was looking over his shoulder. After all, there are no mountains around us. The lady starts screaming and pointing at us, probably trying to win her case.

A quiet young man suddenly comes up to us and asks us in English what happened. We explain our predicament and he calmly translates our story to everyone. The lady is losing face. She starts yelling even more. No one seems to believe her, or care at all.

More than an hour later, back in Beijing, I walk side by side with the student. The girls are walking ahead of me and I can tell they feel terribly bad about wasting my time. The young chinese man eyes me up and down calmly and says out of the blue "You are strong". I laugh, tell him chinese people are stronger, and try to talk about his studies but he says he does not understand what I mean. Soon the group splits up. I refer to my written down notes from my original plan and make it to a more touristy section of the Great Wall in about an hour.

To try and describe the Great Wall without sounding like I'm exaggerating... The idea behind the structure sounds like something out of A Game of Thrones. The scope of it is Tolkien-ish. But this is real life.

Like a giant stone snake, the Wall rides the tops of mountains and hills, rocky and sharp, sometimes foresty. While walking it, the steepness of it - coupled with the fact that the stones are made completely smooth by centuries of feet walking it - makes my cheap shoes slip and I almost lose my footings a couple of times.

Some places offer a few flat spots. They have to be navigated shoulder to shoulder with the masses resting, taking selfies, catching their breath, spitting.

I look back at the way I came to take in this picturesque view of small poking mountains protruding from the fog... or is it smog?

I reach a high point where a small guard tower sits patiently. Totally exhausted, I watch a tiny chinese lady, as old as the wall, climb the stairs quickly and mercilessly. I feel weak.

I look at the time: already 3pm. With the climb back and the fight to get on the buses I estimate I should head back already. Some people do several days of hiking without ever stepping off the wall. It must be an amazing experience.

In retrospect the first destination considered by the girls would have probably been better and more exciting only for the fact that I wouldn't be drowned in a sea of chinese tourists but another scammer has almost ruined my day, again.

The next day was spent planning my next destination, giving a break to my dead-tired feet who have been through a lot of walking in the past month in really bad shoes. I make an effort to visit, in the late afternoon, a park close to my hotel, called the Temple of Heaven.

There, I am magnetically pulled towards a group of Chinese standing in a circle with an accordeon player and 2 flutists. They are under the direction of a jovial chore leader singing Chinese opera with all of their heart and all of their lungs.

I listen for a while, in trance. After half an hour I take my leave to calmly walk on paths lined with tall trees. Here, in the heart of the city, the air is cooler and the ambiance quieter. An old man with 3 teeth left is very delighted to meet me. All smiles he asks me a few questions about where I am from and if I like China.

I answer politely and keep walking, taking deep breaths and relaxing.

A smile appears on my face as I think about the funny, mispelled, engrish T-shirts I have seen so far. The list is infinite and I was too lazy to write them down as I saw them but here are a few:

-Prosche, instead of Porsche.
-To better love than today alone.
-FUCK
-A very old lady wearing a playboy shirt.
-BING (instead of bling?)
and many, many instances of a word missing a letter or a P or B or S printed upside down.

My theory goes like this: A man makes an order from a chinese company. The company goes and prints a few thousand shirts and sends a picture to the man. "Yo, is this cool?", to which the man loses his shit and refuses to pay for those. The chinese man, knowing full well his fellow countrymen can't read english, proceeds to sell the shirts here himself, for a nice profit.

End of story.

Beijing Scammers and the Forbidden City

20/09/2014

As some of you may know, I made a conscious decision to leave semi-prepared, hoping this would make the trip more interesting. I checked the "essentials" online a few days before leaving to make sure I wouldn't miss out on any cool things to do or have problems at borders and that was it.

Well, it has certainly made things more interesting.

On my way to the Forbidden Palace, about to exit the subway station, I am intercepted by two Chinese women of about 40 who could speak english very well. They offered me to join them for the Forbidden Palace, they would act as translators. They were part of a bigger tourist group but decided to split for a day.

That's what they said.

"Cool", I thought to myself, some company.

My top, best, favorite thing in travels is to mingle with the locals.It's not always easy. It is also one of the reasons why I love Laos so much, they let you right into their life.

After we exit the subway, they guide me to the forbidden city, all the while making small talk and invite me for some tea before we proceed.

This is when the spider-sense would have been tingling, have I read a little bit more about Beijing beforehand.

We had some tea, I had a beer and they ordered some cocktails and snacks. We had a good conversation about China and Canada and some laughs, and then came the bill.

One. Hundred. Dollars.

Even better, the tiny place where we are is dead silent. Then my brain starts working out some details I should have paid attention to. There's only one table in this place, a tiny spot in the corner. Looks normal for a chinese place though, but still. Also, the sign for open/closed is switched to Closed in the window facing the street.

The waitress and both ladies are staring at me expectantly. I raise my eyebrows and say that this is really expensive and ask for a discount for my beer, which was $10. Considering there's 50 cents cans right next door to my hotel, this was ludicrous.

The waitress, upon hearing my request, immediately starts shouting! "YOU PAY! YOU PAY!". One of the ladies says that it is chinese customs for the man to pick up the whole bill. "That's fine but I'm not chinese, and you were the one to invite me." I offer to pay for my beer and 1/3 of the tea ($50 alone!). I calmly take out my money and put it on the table, then stare at the other two ladies without saying a word. No one picks up my moneys. After a few, very tense seconds, one of the two ladies starts laughing and says she will pay the rest. I ended up paying $35 for beer and tea! More than the price of my room for a night, or even a full day in South-East Asia.

Later on in my travels I would meet other people, men and women, who would fall for this scam. One french man explains "It is the most expensive water I have ever drank".

Very bitterly I exit the restaurant and tell the women that it was over-priced and ridiculous. It still hadn't crossed my mind that they were working in tandem with the store owner, just that they wanted to be spoiled.

"Tea made me hungry, do you want to come with us and eat some noodles?"

At this point I realized that I had been a huge idiot. I stopped in my tracks and stared at them longer. I told them I was going to go on, on my own. They said their goodbyes cheerfully and went their way, probably back to the subway station to hook more tourist-fish with their deceptive worms of smiles.

I hope that once in a while, lying in their bed in the evening, they think about what they do, and they can't sleep at night.

Moments later, I find myself in front of the ticket office for the Forbidden City. There is an inner battle in my mind: Cost for my day - scam included - versus memories. In the end I tell myself I made it all the way to freaking China, might as well. I'll skip on some other things.

Inside the walls of the Forbidden City I look around wide-eyed. This had been a dream of mine since I was a kid, hearing about it in a movie.

The entrapment scam had unfortunately left a sour taste in my mouth. I can honestly say that I did not enjoy walking the confines of this ancient, sacred place. Everything looked too new and rebuilt as well.

Surrounded by chinese tourists I climbed up and down white stairs sculpted in rock, up white balconies, always decorated with intricate railings where heads of what looked like dragons equipped with short elephant snouts pointing up stare out in every direction, for ever.

At the top of these stairs - always in red walls roofed by ornate green tiles supported by wooden beams lacquered in gold - are the buildings used by emperors centuries ago, where they prayed and held ceremonies. The first building was situated maybe 10 feet higher than the court but the more you moved towards the middle of the Forbidden City, the bigger these buildings became and the higher they were situated.

Amassed at the doors of said buildings are waves and waves of people - all chinese, all with black heads - pushing and shoving to get a cellphone picture of an ancient throne of gold or a giant gong or the empress's living quarters, separated only from the onslaught of chinese tourists by a metal bar, chest-high, and a quiet guard sitting bored on a chair.

Walking absent-minded I go through the process, seeing a series of buildings almost identical to each other for about an hour. I don't even feel observed any more, even if I am the only foreigner for long stretches.

Finally, I see something that truly impressed me.

In the middle of these stairs, always laid down and following the incline are stone carvings depicting various scenes.

In the center of the complex however, following the longest stairs, this stone is HUGE.

As you walk up the stairs you can watch the scene unfold, of dragons emerging from a stormy ocean to go dance in a sky occupied by clouds of tempest.

The giant white stone has apparently been dragged there centuries ago, from thousands of miles away. This piece of rock is enormous. I'm not good with dimensions but if it was laid up and straight it would probably be about 20 feet high at least, and 7 feet wide. It was brought there by very determined people during winter time. They would sprinkle water on the ground to form an icy path and slid the stone that way across China.

Impressive.

One for the Road? Season 2 Teaser

True to the tradition, here’s a little description of my environment.

I’m writing to you in my parents’ backyard, a nice little apartment on a quiet street in NDG, near bars and restaurants. I am in the shade, under this dome of vines, with my foot petting the family dog sleeping under the table. The air is fresh and construction not too far from here breaks the silence and the birds’ melody (and my concentration, already pretty feeble).

Good morning, good evening dear friends. I know, I know, it’s been a while since I’ve written. The reason is simple: Route means Road and since my return last year, I’m pretty sedentary. Also, I found myself writing heavy stuff. Sad stories, bitching… it’s depressing! This is not how I viewed the blog when I started it almost 2 years ago!

I decided to wait, to exercise patience, and to get back at it only when I felt ready. I was expecting to lose a few dedicated readers, what with not being any updates for months at a time.

Now D day is approaching, the first step on a path that I am undertaking without any maps, kind of like last time. This time however, I do have a few objectives in sights. We’ll talk about it another time.

Some details: since I’ve been back last April, I’ve been sorta quiet. I had a plan in mind: pay off my debts (plane tickets bought on credit cards) as fast as I could, work like a maniac, not spend a dime, and be gone before winter. I gave myself 6 months to respect a promise made to Mr. Ken, my Laos brother.

Today I look back at this and laugh… it wasn’t a very realistic goal!

Oh well. 16 months after my return and I’m finally ready to leave. To everyone who have nomadic friends, and who are telling them: “You’re lucky, you can leave whenever you can, you’re free!”… Well, it’s not done with luck, it’s done with willpower. I stayed at my parents 6 out of the 16 months in Québec (being 30 years old, it kind of hurts your ego). I rented small rooms. I worked 3 jobs in an industry I’ve never worked in before. I slept alone in 7 different rooms. I sold some of my stuff and stopped myself from buying new stuff. I was a little bit more quiet than usual, I became a little bit more grumpy than in the past. I think I grew apart from my friends a little bit, but it’s finally done: the budget is reached, my minimal preparations complete. I’m ready to go.

I heard a few times – more often than last time – questions like why am I leaving again, why am I going to the same spots, what don’t I like here, have you thought about your future? WHADAYAWANNA DO IN LIFE?

Well, yes, of course I think about it. I can’t sleep at night because of it.

Thinking about it, the moment I’ve been the most happy in my life was during these 6 months exiled, up until when I came back - too early for my taste – because of small health issues. I don’t know if it’s my ego talking, but I just have to go back, and do it even bigger this time.

I must admit that I am pretty jealous of legendary Bruno Blanchet, with his books, upcoming tv show, poutine restaurant in Bangkok (he’ll tell you it’s not his, but still!)

To stay motivated with my budget goals I took my dear British friends’ date of wedding as the main goal, these friends whom I met in Chiang Mai, Thailand – with who I travelled for 3 months and with who I connected so seamlessly. I would tell myself, if I’m happy here, I’ll go to the wedding and spend 2 weeks in England and I’ll come back. If I don’t feel like staying home, I’ll buy a one-way ticket for London and we’ll see from there. 

To me, it’s no use obsessing over a single goal. Life changes, people change, we change. Better to adapt than to dig in.

Next, I explored other options. I obtained a work visa for New Zealand. I thought about moving somewhere  else in Canada. I almost invested in a small restaurant. All sort of things but in the end, with my shifting mental health I decided that finishing the trip I started 2 years ago was the best solution.

So here’s the conclusion: I have a one-way ticket for Leeds, in the north of the British Empire, where reside Jen & Ben. I will be there for 3 weeks. Then, 1 ticket one-way from London to Beijing, where I will be stocking up on gadgets compatible with the power outage of Asia (cameras are cheaper as well). From there I will be making my way towards Vietnam in the south, where I am planning on buying a motorbike that I will ride all the way to Malaysia, all the while writing to you. Because even it’s just a small project, Bière de Route, the tiny blog started clumsily on a bench park of Mont-Royal street is what gave me the most satisfaction up until now. I can’t share with you the nice messages people wrote to me, encouraging me and thanking me but it pushes me to keep going, to make it better.

That’s the basics, open to change. I can’t wait. 

Before like that however, there’s going to be a nice BBQ in Parc Lafontaine, Saturday the 16^th of August, so don’t be shy and come grill some hot-dogs and down a few cold ones!

See you soon! 

Sihanoukville, Koh Trang, Kratie

Sihanoukville was a city that seemed better planned than most. Big streets and new clinics... But still the sides of the streets were filled with litter, stray dogs, and paranoid chicken.

There were also a lot more travelers compared to the places I had been that last week, young dudes and dudettes in tank tops and tattoos. You'd think I would identify with that crowd, but usually it means party-hardy times and a lack of respect for the locals...

We were just in Sihanoukville to jump to Koh Trang but we missed our boat due to some weird receptionist.
"Can we book a boat to the island? And a room?"
"Yes no problem. I take care."
*Makes phone call*
"Ok, is confirmed"
30 minutes later, after some iPod gaming and when I came out of my bubble:
"Ok so when is the boat?"
"Is now"
"Ok is someone coming to pick us up?"
"No"
"Is it at that pier down the street?"
"No is 20 minutes away in car. You miss today"
"Oooookay"

There is literally no use calling him out on that and sometimes locals seem to expect you to do half the work and I keep forgetting that. And so we had to spend a night in this city.

We had trouble finding a room under 10$ so we decided to get a dorm bed for 2.50$ at Utopia. Walking through the courtyard opens onto an outdoors pool with a fountain in the middle and a huge bar, and a couple of chilling areas.

The dorms were 8 matresses next to one another with absolutely no space between them - I literally woke up with a stranger's face inches from mine the next morning.

Upon closer inspection of Utopia it was clear we were in sinner's haven, aka a shithole. The pool water was murky, 97% of the men were swaggering around shirtless with a douchebag aura, a DJ booth overlooked the dance floor, and there were flyers for a wet t-shirt contest on the walls.

We spent the night downing 50-cents beers to be drunk enough to fall sleep despite the music, and laughing at the dudes trying to get the attention of the girls with dripping wet white shirts clinging to their breasts while some ineffective party promoter kept screaming "whoooooo's ready to paaaartaaaaay" every 10 seconds.

At some point a local man came up to me and started a discussion with me by writing notes on his cellphone. After a few minutes he showed me: "Wanna come to beach? Party. Nice lady boom boom. Room for one." I didn't feel like getting mugged so I declined.

Needless to say I had a pretty shitty sleep too.

The boat ride to Koh Tran the next day was really nice in comparison. Quiet waters and a sturdy ship made sure of that. There was a second floor with a tent ceiling for shading, with some couches thrown around. We read and shot the shit for a couple of hours until we arrived on the island.

Right upon arrival we knew that the reputation of a chillout place was not true anymore, and after speaking with a man in his 60s who has been traveling for years I learned that in the last year alone the bars, restaurants and guesthouses went from under 10 to above 20.

The cheapest room we found had the 3 of us share a bed and me getting in arguments with the owners over money and pillows. The bars and guesthouses were playing music until 3am - total disrespect to the locals - but apart from that the seafood was delicious, the view was extraordinary and all the dogs were super friendly. Also saw a teenager with a Canadiens hat.

We ended up staying 3 nights and left for Kratie on a smaller boat who was rocking to waves and the sun beating down on my face. I found myself thinking about the time I almost applied to that school in Rimouski where they form you into being a captain.

Kratie was really laid-back, we got to see the rare Mekong dolphins on a short boat trip and eat fried rice on hutts and hammocks built right over some rapids. I tried to go for a swim but the current was too strong and the floor full of jagged rocks.

I found a restaurant that was offering poutine so I asked mine to be made custom, with extra cheese and hot-dog saucages. I offered that they put it on the menu and name it Montréal Poutine.

Cambodia proved both easier and harder to travel than Thaïland. Most of the times that some ill luck or a bill too expensive happened it was my own fault and could have been avoided. The locals were nice but less inclined to chat, especially since way less of them could talk english compared to the Philippines and Thaïland. The foreign investors were more interested in opening party places rather than coffee shops or the like.

I am still glad I spent a month here, just wish I moved around a little bit more. I was looking for a chilling and exotic spot in the south-east but found it in the north-east at the end of my visa.

Kampot, la suite

I think Jen hadn't even hit the floor that Ben and I were beside her. We saw that she was mostly ok - she wasn't going very fast. Blood stains were already on her shirt though, from a small gash on her chin about 2 inches across.

She was mostly laughing about it and complaining faintly about the pain. Through the light of our smartphones we inspected the gash and saw that it was dirty.

"Is it bad?" Asked Ben.
"I've seen much worst" I answered, thinking about the injuries i've seen on my dare-devil and/or drunken friends or myself. "Look, it's like manta ray mouth!"
"It's not funny you geeks!" Complainded Jen.
"Ok, I'll check the scooter, see if we can drive it back, I'll clean you up with my first-aid kit. Did you hit your head?"
"No, I don't think so"
"You have two mouths now!" Exclaimed Ben.
"Three" I added.
"You two are assholes! Can we go?"

After a quick inspection, I saw that the left brake was not working anymore and the front wheel was a little shaky. Thankfully the guesthouse was only a minute away. We crammed on the scooter, Jen in the middle so that Ben could hold her.

Back in the room we cleaned up her Cambodian souvenir as best we could and realised that it was a pretty deep cut... Jem changed in clean clothes while we looked for a hospital or a clinic on the city map. Thankfully it was along a road we were used to.

We packed books and beers in case this would take long. I put my headlamp on since Ben's motorbike lamp wasn't working, and drove to the clinic.

It is at around 2am that Ben rang the bell, installed next to a door made of sliding metal bars, same ones we see protecting stores. A drowzy nurse walked slowly towards us and opened the doors a few feet. Jenny half explained and half mimed her accident and showed her the gash.

"Oooonh" was all the nurse said, which seemed to mean "poor girl..." And opened the door large enough for her and Ben to walk in. They put her on a stretcher, Ben walking next to her, and I opened a beer while looking at the stars outside.

Abiut fifteen minutes and $30 later she re-emmerged, cleaned up, sowed up, chin-strap and all. We got back on the scooter and went to bed. I told Jenny she shouldn't sleep in case she got a concution - she did seem a little slow to answer, bu that could have been the beer and the late hour of the night.

The next morning Ben and Jen decided to stay a day longer in Kampot to let her rest, and offered to pay my share of the room. "It's not fair for you to pay because of me" she explained.

We had a very quiet day, eating and reading. We returned the scooters expecting a hefty ransom having heard the horror stories of Koh Pagnam, but Ben walked away with an $8 dollar bill.

We did go to a french pastry store we stumbled upon a few days back. A huge man in his sixties with a great round belly, giant forearms, and a mouth that barely opened when he talked greeted us, tellin us this place had the best pie he ever tasted.

Next time you see me, ask me to immitate him. Ben and I decided that he was a Tolkien dwarf in real life.

He asked us where we came from. When I said Canada he smiled and said Quebec right away, and I showed him my Canadiens belt buckle to confirm.

"Ooooh the Habs! Loved them when I was a boy. Had a lot of their stuff. They were unstopable back when all the frenchmen played for them. Rocket Richard and Big Bill and Boom Boom Geoffrion and Jack Plante. They won the cup 5 times in a row they did, more than once I believe. Yes. This place here, opened by the cook's parents. They came from China 60 years ago. Some frenchman from France showed them how to cook. The pie here, best I ever had, just like home. You cannot leave without eating it"

He was from Saskatchewan, and seemed to be sitting at a table of the little restaurant every single hour of the day, talking with someone.

The day after that we got on a bus that took us to Sihanoukville, the next chapter of my Cambodian journey.

Un pti peu de geekness

Visiting ancient temples and reading about mythology has been tickling my geek brain until I found myself daydreaming, trying to recall where I really intended to take my players on their DnD campain, and how they would react to an asian setting.

Daydreaming about this while riding a sketchy scooter. I reach a roundabout, and there's a 10-feet tall golden statue of Shiva with 8 arms. I am taken back to a scene with my other DnD group, the one Angus runs, as we're exploring a temple dedicated to unknown deities ( I guess I missed my knowledge check)...

And then I got this idea that I hope both regular readers and geek ones should like, if curious enough.

For those of you that never played pen and paper games or any RPG at all, sometimes what is in your inventory can make a difference (but wait, I found this warhorn earlier, what if I blow it?).

So, for more details about my traveling and so that I can have a list, here's my belongings.

Keep in mind everything is divided and packed in plastic bags to keep a semblance of order, this list starts with the bottom o' my bag, where I put the stuff less needed.

Here goes. (You should probably try to picture Diablo 1 inventory ).

Firstly, my ukulele, cream-colored with two zebras painted. I added a tiny sticker of the flag of the Philippines on it. It's in a travel case, standing up in my bag. Acquired near Cebu, Philippines.

My first-aid kit (there's a zipper at the bottom of the bag, so easily accessible): waterproof tape, tape for sprained ankles, (quest item received from Marc Jobin when he left Koh Tao), echinacea pills, hydrogen peroxyde, band-aids, and 2 months worth of malaria pills. Some of the tape has used when i cut my foot snorkeling.

Bag of "might-needs": stainless coffee mug (used once), keyclip, cheap ponchos (used 1 out of 4 that came with the bag), laundry soap (mostly intact).

Bag of electronics: camera (quest item acquired from Caro, but mostly unused, ipod is simpler), world electric socket adaptor, electric shaver. I started the journey with an iPod charger but the difference of voltage fried it.

Bag of light souvenirs: mostly maps, tickets, bills, business cards, museum and temple guides. Anything light I can later put in a box and open once in a while to help me remember this journey. 100% acquired on the road.

Bag of "never-enough": two bottles of Off!, Aloès after-sun, sunscream (60).

Bag of "to-read": Thaï phrasebook, Sex, Drugs, And Coca Puffe* (acquired from Damien St-Amour when he left Koh Tao. I would like to return it to him in person in Vancouver before I go back home), Teach Yourself Buddhism (acquired in Chiang Mai, pre-quest item if I find a monastary I can join for a time).

Bag of things to send home (once back in Thaïland, apparently Cambodia and Laos can't be trusted): t-shirts from Paï for my parents, red scarf similar to the ones used by the Khmer Rouge (quest item, members of Paï Scooter Gang sport this), bracelets for my brother (acquired on Malapascua, Philippines), cheap Dragonball Z toys, Game of Thrones Book II-III (book one entrusted to Marc Jobin, his own quest to bring it safely home), flyers from Blah Blah bar, the punk bar in Paï, and a scooter sticker for my guitar.

These are the bags I rarely take out. I then throw over them my dirty clothes, stuff them in to try and make an even floor. My clean clothes are stuffed with my shoes in my bottom pocket so I can change in-between bus rides easily.

I also have a bag of bags.

Clothes I started with: 2 pairs of underwear (one is now too big), 2 pairs of socks, 1 pair of jeans (my least favourite one, also now too big), my yoda shirt from the expo last summer, my Nothington shirt (awesome band, awesome show), and my camo shorts (had them for 5-6 years, starting to show). Finally I brought my favourite hoodie, black and shredded everywhere, but the lightest one I own. Half a mind to drop it, asians are always well presented and I feel I am shaming myself when wearing it. Finally, a green bandana.
Also crappy skateshoes.
I had to discard my swimming suit which I ripped at the overly-manly testicles area, during the "Try to Surf" level.

I obtained from various shopkeepers, mostly while haggling (Speach skills improved) 3 white beaters. One of surfing in Surigao, one of Tiger Beer (Tigers are awesome, and so is beer), and Muay Thaï. Also got 2 t-shirts. One of that famous E.T. In a bycicle in front the moon shot, only its an Alien (xenomorph) in the bicycle basket, the other one is a little girl holding an AT-AT walker in a leash. Star Wars shirts are EVERYWHERE in Thaïland (Sith happens). Also bought a hideous white swimsuit with yellow flowers (it was $4) and black shorts (needed to wash the camo ones). Got a really sweet camo poncho, light and it folds well. I keep it in the top pocket if my bag. Finally, 2 bandanas, one black and white, one black, white and red. They have more intricate designs than the ones back home. Also a dark blue baseball cap with no design.
Also got black gougounes.

A small towel, lime-colored and full of rust stains that I stole from my parents the very morning I left. With it comes my Habs débarbouillette.

Without a bag is my mostly useless Southeast Asia on a Shoestring (2008) book I got in Bangkok. Forgot my Lonely Planet book at my parents house, no doubt a horrific karma reaction to the towel theft.

Then comes my notebook. Was supposed to use it a lot but this blog took over. Right now there's some Filipino words, sketches from a DnD game in Koh Tao, and basic travel plans for Thaïland and Cambodia. Also lyrics for a song we wrote, about La Reine des Baleines. Inspired by a dive where Marc and Damien spotted a shark-whale!

Then comes my "everyday-use" bag, which I had to change since my beardcomb (yes) poked through it: 2 sticks of Old Spice (Smooth Blast), Tea Tree Oil (had a weird rash on the leg and this cured it), Polysporyn (cuts on the feet), bandaids, nail clipper, scissors to trim the beard and nose hair, a tiny mirror given by Marc Jobin, moisture cream so my feet don't crack anymore, tattoo cream, Q-tips (now huge because they got humid), 3-blade (balls), toothpaste and toothbrush (itself kept in a ziplok bag), soap, aaaaand beardcomb.

Finally, my "carry-on", my "satchel". If you go back to my blog from Bangkok I quickly say that I bought "some sort of tissue bag". Turns out they are called "Monk Bags".

In there, most of the time: my stormtrooper toy, gandalf light, swim goggles (Marc again), Gastro pills (yup), toilet paper, condoms (useless so far), my wallet, passport, harmonica, shades, earphones, speaker (asian), headlamp (asian), iPod charger (asian), keys for current hotel/scooter, and current book (Game of Thrones book IV), iPod in a separate pouch.

However when I go for a walk/ride I leave all the electronics save the iPod.

Whew! Lastly I discarded my previous headlamp which broke, and my Tremblay Beer cap which was full of sweat salt and surf wax.

If you read through all this, kuddos! Next geek post will be my travel achievements and levels.

This took SO long.

Phnom Penh en techni-color

Y fait chaud...

Paï

Yesterday morning I woke up from a good relaxing night and found an internet coffee shop to skype with a few friends from home.

I then set out for Paï where the gang already is.

A mini-bus took us through the curviest roads I've witnessed yet, and I kept wondering how the hell they achieved this feat and how long it must have taken them.

After 2 hours of sickening frantic driving through jungle, the trees diminished enough on my left to unveal a scenery of mountain tops and orange sunset.

A military check-up and 2 more hours and I was in Paï, hanging out with the crew. We ate some Phad Thaï and proceeded to get hammered at Yellow Sun, a cool little bar.

We then went back to the house we were renting and chilled out on the balcony, drinking rum n coke and watching the meteor shower.

This morning I woke up and had the shakes from a Changover. We all went for breakfast and had a good laugh, then all got out on our scooters. I set off on my own for about 20 minutes for a dip in a freezing pond at the foot of a small waterfall.

I then went back to our group of friends who were at a Piranha fishing farm. We spent a good 2 hours there, drinking beer, casting lines, hanging out and relaxing. We're still here at the moment, the owners are heavily-tattooed australians who figured out a righ way to live.

There's 2 Thaï kids playing around and 4 puppies sucking on a bitch's swollen teets, while the male tries to eat the fish bait from unsuspecting fishermen.

Ben's the only one who caught something, a common silver barb, he estimates the weigh at 1kg.

I almost crashed driving there because a fucking chicken crissed the road at the worst possible moment. I hit the brakes and hurt my toe a little bit since I was only wearing slippers, but the main danger was averted.

Some dogs started barking at me and I tried to explain to them that I just saved that chicken's life, but I think they only spoke Thaï and Bark.

Tonigh will probably be spent lounging around drinking local rum... The night should be quiet, there's a regga festival going on but we decided not to go.

Lop Buri - Chiang Mai

* je sais que fais des fautes mais mon clavier de iPod me fait chier et ça m'enlève l'envie de les corriger, merci de votre patience *

Après une nuit plutôt merdique je m'offre une douche et un pti dej "western", et apprend que dans 2 jours c'est l'anniversaire du roi et presque tout les commerces ferment, et le service d'autobus et suspendu aujourd'hui et pour les 3 prochains jours.

Petit moment de panique mais on me dit que le train fonctionnera toujours. En me rendant à la station de train pour réserver mon lit sur un voyage nocture je croise la Polonaise chiante. Je prend quand même le temps de lui dire ce qui se passe avec les autobus.

Elle ne me croit pas et fait à sa tête. Tant pis.

Je trouve le fameux temple des singes. C'est une petite ruine au centre de la ville où environ 200 primates ont décidés de s'y installer. J'achète un petit sac de maïs et m'arme de ma caméra et commence à faire le tour. La vendeuse me suggère de cacher mon sac de bouffe et je comprend vite pourquoi...

Quand le sac est dévoilé je dois constamment surveiller mes arrières à cause de sournois poilus qui essayent de venir me le voler en douce. Je trouve aussi nécessaire de me promener avec un bâton, après avoir vu une fille se faire escalader contre son gré par des bébés singes qui utilisèrent ses cheveux comme soie dentaire.

Très cocasses les pti, à faire de la lutte et se battre pour la nourriture (ma faute, et j'ai fait exprès). J'assiste au renforcement de leur hiérarchie: un gros mâle se promène et s'amuse à violer les plus petits que lui.

Les plus vieux sont toujours à l'ombre, tantôt en ligne de 5 à se chercher des poux, tantôt à nettoyer l'anus d'un confrêre, ou à intimider les touristes.

À part les singes y'a pas grand chose à voir, je passe l'après-midi à jaser avec les espagnoles.

Vers les 8pm le train nocturne arrive finalement. J'ai un lit du haut, c'est 100 bhats de moins cher. J'y rencontre (dans le train, pas dans mon lit) un australien dans les 40 ans qui me pique une jasette pendant 2 heures. Je lui montre quelques accords de Ukulele.

Je visite le wagon-resto et c'est plein de voyageurs plus jeunes qui se soulent et crient. Pas ce soir. Je retourne dans mon lit et dévore Game of Thrones tome 2 jusqu'au sommeil.

Je me réveille quelques fois à cause de freinage brusque ou bruits stridents mais pour la plupart du voyage je dors bien.

Le lendemain matin je rencontre ma voisine de cabine. Une ontarienne les yeux dans la graisse de bine. Je l'invite à déjeuner et on discute de nos plans de voyage.

En sortant du train vers 8am on est assiégés par des promoteurs et vendeurs, chauffeurs de taxi et Thaïs qui survivent du tourisme. On trouve un gars pas trop insistant qui offre des voyages gratuits vers Julie's guesthouse. Moi, l'australien et l'ontarienne ont entendus de bonnes critiques donc on embarque dans son mini-bus/taxi.

Lea chauffeurs qui offrent des voyages gratuits recoivent habituellement une comission de l'auberge, donc ils n'ont aucun intérêt à nous arnaquer.

Dans l'autobus on fait la connaissance de 2 autres ontariennes.

Le centre-ville de Chiang Mai est situé à l'intérieur de douves et vestiges d'un mur de fortifications fait de briques oranges. Les rues principales sont quadrillées mais des centaines de ruelles serpentent le tout sans trop de logique. Les auberges sont la plupart du temps dans ses ruelles.

Julie's est complet mais à l'adresse voisine chez J.J's je trouve un lit dans un dortoire à 100 bhats, et je fais la rencontre de Mathilde, une francaise mignonne et sympatique, ouverte d'esprit et patiente. On a le même type de visites en tête et donc feront partenariat pour les jours suivants.

Chiang Mai est ma destination préférée en Thaïlande, et seconde seulement après Sargeio aux Philippines.

J'écris ses lignes dans un des deux lits simples qui meublent la chambre que je partage avec Mathilde à Tawan Guest house, et suis un peu fatigué de ma journée de balade en scooter.