Butterflies

I'm in Chiang Mai, northern Thailand. It's sunny and in the low 80s. The traffic is unbelievable, but (in theory) for a good reason: they've decided to close certain main roads on Sundays, basically to give the Tourists some break from the traffic. But if you're a driver, boy does this ever suck! 

The flight from Bangkok (where I spent the last 3 days getting over jet-lag of traveling 12 timezones) was uneventful. I've taken so many flights over the last 15 years of business travel that I hardly even think about "regular" flights, and even the variety that comes with different countries' airports and procedures mostly fall within the realm of "regular". Only a couple of things stood out: there was the Israeli tourist who was videotaping the tarmac area; he'd be carried away by security if he did that in Tel Aviv, but in Bangkok it's mai pen lai, "no problem". And they called some flight from Bangkok to Chiang Mai about when ours was supposed to board. I heard the flight number in Thai but didn't make the mental translation — I noted that it wasn't our flight. But the tourists (with huge "GROUP" stamped on their boarding passes) all lined up, where they stood for the next 20 minutes until they called our flight. Very lemming-like. 

It was only after getting on the flight that the butterflies arrived. That slightly-queasy, pit-of-the-stomach, first-date jitters kind of feeling. What have I gotten myself into?

The feeling persisted for a few minutes, not that I became reassured, but I struck up a conversation with a Canadian and his Philippina wife, escaping from his work in Saudi Arabia, for a week and a half in Thailand. This passed a good half of the flight's hour. When we touched down, the feeling returned. We talked about ATM (the network technology I used to work with), Canadian politics, Thai food, Saudi Arabia and Ramadan, the best newspapers in Bangkok. Everything and nothing.

"Priority" on a baggage tag can mean from zero to everything in an airport, and in my case it was closer to zero. While waiting I spotted the fellow from Heifer International that'd offered to meet me. I felt at ease again, like having your little brother meet you at your destination and show you home.

I'm parked at the moment at the Galare Guest House, where Kathy and I spent a couple of weeks toward the end of our long vacation in Asia, ending not even two months ago now. I chose it for a couple of reasons: I know where it is and what it offers, the price is right, and it's reasonably close to where I'll be studying. But instead of staying here a week, I'll move. Tomorrow. But... to a reasonably-luxurious "condotel", between the northwest corner of the city, and Chiang Mai University. It's a nice area, and while I wasn't able to get to see the room today, I did check out the Fitness Centre, the swimming pool, and the various amenities. It's got a convenience store, a Japanese restaurant, laundry service, maid service (if you want to pay for it) — more than "all the comforts of home". Aryuwat (the guy who picked me up at the airport) commented confidentially that the girls here "are very beautiful", but he is sworn to secrecy on this point. Kathy must not know, or she might have to come visit and make sure there's no danger of seduction (hint, hint).

I'll write some more about the condo when I get settled, but it looks like a nice place in a nice place; a little empty because it was built during boom times and a lot of the potential shops are empty. The landlord is trying to woo Heifer into some other real estate transactions (they need more office space for example), and as a result they're being particularly flexible about deposits and half-month occupancy. All the better for me.