Chiang Mai: Stamps at Last!

Beautiful stamps aren't dead. They are just temporarily missing. The personnel at the Thai post office went out of their way to find some for me.

The whole process started with the long walk to the post office. I went in and took a laminated number card. I saw by the number on the monitor that there are about twenty people ahead of me. That's fine, because the post office is air-conditioned.

I wandered around a bit, then sat. Fortunately the Thai post office is organized by the 'one stop shopping' method. I hate post offices that have a line for stamps, a line to send packages, a line to pick up packages, a line to do registered and insured mail. In addition to being frustrating and time-consuming, it is usually an indication that the clerks aren't too bright and are only capable of performing one simple task. They therefore are not capable of handling any questions.

Eventually my number was called, in Thai. It flashed on a screen, and my pilgrimage started. I hope everyone that received a holiday card enjoyed the stamps, and can appreciate the trouble the Thai postal service went to. They could have just said they were out.

Instead, I learned I just had to go to the packaging window to get them. Except the man there says they are out. He sent me to talk to another clerk. I followed that clerk's directions to the offices in back of the counter. There I got to talk to some of the staff who don't speak English. I looked foolish as I mimed stamp licking and pasting, complete with the pounding fist that guarantees the stamp will really stick.

Of course I eventually ended up back at the first counter. There the original clerk checked with all the other clerks. Finally he explained that they are out of the latest stamps because they were very beautiful and very popular. He digs in a bag and comes up with some nice stamps in small denominations. I can use them for part of the postage on my holiday cards, and get the rest of the postage metered. I go for that option. I even get to lick and stick and peel things. Very satisfying on the whole, especially the pounding part.

Chiang Mai: The Pig Roast Crowd

This past Saturday I went to a pig roast. It was a going-away party given by the couple that used to own the Pirates Cove. They are leaving to tour around on their Harley, then go back to the US for five months or so. After that they will head south, Mexico into Central America, then on to South America. He's retired from the Navy, some sort of underwater demolition work. After he retired they lived on a sailboat and went up and down the East Coast. Then they decided they were ready to settle down, and bought the bar. They were wrong.

The pig roast guy set up on the sidewalk and served roast pork, potato salad, and rolls. The pig was free, but we had to buy our drinks. I had two scotch rocks. These days that's practically enough to put me under. My drinking days are over. Somewhere in my middle forties I just lost the ability to handle alcohol. My theory is that we are all allocated a certain number of drinks (or alcohol units, as Bridget Jones would put it) in our lifetime. Due to a couple of clusters of heavy drinking years, I used all mine up around the time I turned 44.

Anyway, I was sitting at a table with some people, looking around, and realized how different they are from the people I usually meet. I don't hang out in bars, for one thing. I go to this one for the wi-fi. So I'm looking around. Major tattoos. One guy has a Mohawk that looks more like a palomino's mane. There are a few people who teach ESL (English as a Second Language). They keep their tattoos where they can be covered by a short-sleeved shirt. There were also a couple of old men with young Thai girlfriends or wives.

I started to wonder. When did Mohawks come back? They remind me of high school, when getting one was good for a week's suspension. Isn't this the third time around? The late fifties, the punk era, and now? Maybe they are immortal, like platform shoes. You can just never quite kill them off.

So I'm sitting there thinking that I don't really like tattoos. I hate motorcycles, motorbikes, motorscooters, even mopeds. I find the idea of the old men with the young girlfriends off-putting. I'm in a strange place, for me. Yet everyone is really quite normal. It's me and my old-lady biases that are out of place.

I guess travel is broadening my horizons in ways I never imagined.