This section from Mae Sai to Chiang Khong is the fortieth instalment of my bicycle loop through South-East Asia from Yunnan – if all goes according to plan. Titled “Slap the Belgian!”, it is simultaneously published on Crazyguyonabike.com, where you’ll find a map with the itinerary and many other bicycle diaries by me and others. I hope you’ll enjoy.
I start off with Chinese breakfast. That’s right, like every self-respecting town, Mae Sai has a sizeable contingent of Chinese denizens. I’m appealed by the sign that promises me a bowl of Yunnan’s very own over-the-bridge-noodles 过桥米线 and Shanghai small-basket-buns 小笼包. The order comes out wrong because so I end up having pot stickers 锅贴 instead. They’re horrible. And so are the noodles. Sweet, minging, lacking spice and a layer of oil floating on top. My fault for trusting Chinese food outside China (or at all).
I leave with a retch, slap some sunscreen on my sandpaper skin and splutter off towards Chiang Saen. Nothing much happens, it’s mostly flat and I get a chance to complain (to myself) about the dust on Thai roads. They really are dusty. In no other country have I been squinting to produce tears that will cleanse my eyes from either dust or flies.
Just before spotting the Mekong river, I reach a big hill, which, more or less in keeping with yesterday’s gradients, makes me pick up enormous speed on the way down. Some tourists clumsily swagging around with their bicycles at the bottom of my hill get it. They’re in the middle of the road and it’s impossible to predict what they’re going to do next. “Hey there Margaret, I’ll wait for you here, in the middle of the road, you just cross now”. A loud OI gets them clearing the way for me as I thunder down the hill at about 75 km/h. I won’t have no tourist spoil my only bit of fun today.
I reach the golden triangle, the former opium producing region where Myanmar, Thailand and Laos meet and, according to WikiTravel, Thailand’s biggest tourist trap. Sneaking into the immigration office, I get a good picture of the area and when caught red-handed, I pretend to be looking for information. The Thai immigration official is very helpful if not very good at English. I understand that I can get a day pass to Myanmar’s casinos from here, and if I want to go to Laos, I can take a boat one kilometre from here. This surprise me a bit, I thought the only crossing was at today’s target of Chiang Khong. Apparently not, or she’s out of date.
Deciding that I have to get at least some culture on this trip, I pop into the 212 House of Opium, a museum dedicated to opium. I also heard about the Hall of Opium, but I have no time (or money) for the fully interactive opium-based theme park it is marketed to be, and I also am unable to find it, whereas the House of Opium is well signposted. It turns out to be only half interesting, with great exhibits but not all that much information about the political side of the issue. It’s little paraphernalia, the silver boxes for opium, the porcelain pillows, the opium weights, the pipes and the descriptions strangely awaken in me the desire to try opium. I just wish there was an interactive den among the exhibits.
No such thing, so I continue my trip into Chiang Saen. I have half a bread with mackerel and tomato sauce as I look over the Mekong. Small but fast boats are scooting stuff around, not unlikely to the shiny large casinos on the Lao side. A woman washes her dog with soap while her son takes a dip in the Mekong. Having seen the river in China, there’s no hair on my head thinking about dipping in its filthy water.
A French cyclist informs me that there was a great bike shop in Mae Sai, which would have the brake pads I needed. This very useful information comes too late, though, but it reminds me to try in Chiang Khong at least. I decide not to ride with him, as he seems to be keen on the flat road along the Mekong while I want to hit the hills on the shorter route to my destination.
Hills I want, hills I get. Once again, gradients are a little steeper than what international standards deem is responsible, and here, on a road under construction, away from a breeze over the Mekong, and in the blazing mid-day sun, I am burnt to a crisp.
I spot emergency lights in the distance. Police, on shiny motorbikes. Behind it, a caravan of at least 100 Chinese cars in proper pecking order: the 云A capital dwellers in their BMW SUVs at the helm, followed by their lesser brothers with 云J and 云F plates. A consular mission? An official visit of the people of Kunming to the Kingdom of Thailand? No, just ordinary tourists, each with a big sticker to the windscreen informing the world that they are just tourists. Why they have a police escort is beyond me, perhaps to ensure they’re not driving on the right. Or perhaps to give them a safe feeling in these strange lands! They sure look like idiots to me.
A few more such caravans pass me. At another junction, a few have got out of their cars and before I know it, a large camera lens swivels in my face while I hear the dry click of the reflex lens tilting. I give him the finger and I hope it’s on file. Such rudeness, you can really only expect it from the Chinese.
The final fifteen kilometres to Chiang Khong are brutal. On the map, it looks like a pleasant trot along the river, but in reality, it’s a series of walls that I have to climb.
In Chiang Khong, I start looking for a guesthouse. Pretty difficult, as some ask 350 baht for a dank room with no window. 500 baht seems to be the price if you want to look outside from your room. I refuse to pay that kind of money for a tiny border town like Chiang Khong, so I try at Baan Rimtaling, where I get a dorm bed for a mere 100. I originally wanted a single room for 150, but the rooms are terribly small and I’m too claustrophobic to take them. The dorms are great, there’s no one in them (yet) and the beds are hard, which I always prefer.
The woman at the hostel suggests I try a motorbike shop near the traffic lights for brake pads. Not believing that they’ll have any, I point to my brakes and sure enough, they produce a pair of Shimano brake pads. They’ll install them tomorrow for me, I hope they fit, but I’m mostly amazed that they have what three bike shops in Bangkok didn’t!
I have dinner (three times) at Smile restaurant before returning home. After all, it’s the night before election day, which means a 24 ban on all alcohol sales. I wanted to go to Rin Bar (run by a Belgian whom I met on the way) but his bar is also affected by Thai law. All restaurants, 7-elevens and hotels are not selling any beer tonight! Disaster! I’m only too happy to see that my guesthouse’s self-service fridge is still open. I grab a few and get to work.
At the guesthouse, I meet Alan who runs a free English language school in Luang Prabang in Laos. He’s on a sanity leave from Laos because he refuses to pay any bribes to the local government and police, and they sure are making life hell for him. He tells me a bunch of interesting stories about corruption in Laos (and how only 2 out of 10 doctors there can actually take blood pressure – everyone else just pays to get the certificate), and delivers a sharp analysis of the political situation in Thailand. Sounds like it’s more than just yellow shirts against red shirts. With the elections due tomorrow, some killings yesterday in Bangkok, and Lao’s party music playing across the Mekong, I’m happy to leave Thailand tomorrow.
Mind, this GPS track is incomplete. There is another 15 km of hilly riding lacking due to phone problems.