Bangkok made me lazy. Lazy for private rooms and easy Thai food. A Tom Yum a day, keeps the doctor away!
With a stopover in Kanchanaburi, I finally hit the road again. I felt like reborn, just by stepping out of my little circle of lazy misery. Will I ever learn?
I caught an early bus to Phu Nam Ron, which was the first step of an adventure that was going to be much longer than researched. Like always.
I had picked the most remote border crossing there was to find, because, well, I like to make it myself difficult.
When I disembarked from the bus, a kind lady was trying to explain me something. But since I did not really pay a lot of attention in my Thai classes... - Ok, I never got Thai classes - I did not understand a word, expect for "Dawei".
She motioned some arms and legs around, and talked a little bit more, holding my bag, telling she would look after it while I went to the immigration office.
I joyfully walked towards the office and got my stamp out of Thailand.
While I was walking back to where I had left the lady, a dude on a scooter passed me by with my backpack loaded up front. What the hell?
I ran after him, until he stopped and let me jump on.
He drove me around from office to office - which were not much more than desks in a jungle - and eventually planted me down at a table in a restaurant to wait for the bus.
The strangers at the table smiled with their bloody beetlenut-teeth and I hesitatingly joined the crew.
Since communication was not all that great due to the language barrier, I started doing what I do best: share wasabi nuts and learn the language. I soon gained a lot of popularity, trying to pronounce my first Burmese words as good as possible, and it made the waiting more bearable.
Five hours later, it became clear that the bus had transformed into a car (or there had never been a bus), because someone loaded my backpack into a vehicle and squeezed me in the middle.
The woman next to me got out her snorky-dorky laugh when she realised she could sit next to me. I could see in my eye-corner that she was persistently staring, but when I turned my head, she pretended looking the other way. I took her phone and took a selfie of us, which clearly delighted the heck out of her. Over 40 years old, but cute as a child.
The guy to my right weighed little bit more than a toothpick, and it was only after an hour that I heard someone scraping his throat in the trunk of the car. Well, hello, you!
So, off we went: three up front, three in the back and one in the trunk, surrounded by luggage and body odours.
We drove 25km/h averagely, since the road literally stopped at the Myanmar border and consisted of dirt surrounded by untouched jungle.
I soon needed to pee. I drank litres of water at the border to kill time, and even though I mentioned it several times, my question got waved away every.single.time.
The woman next to me was puking her eyeballs out in meanwhile, and there was no other option for me than to take advantage of the situation and train my lady-part muscles on the bumpy road.
The woman was suffering, but nobody else really seemed to care. I could only hope, that whatever she had, was not contagious. I had my own problems now. Like a bladder ready to explode.
Two hours later, we stopped. And I rushed to the nearest hole in the ground to relieve myself of the undergone horror.
About seven hours of beautiful-scenery-in-pristine-jungle-vegetation later, we arrived in Dawei, where another couple of hours of waiting was on the program, so it seemed.
Pink colourful monks were colouring up the place by sunset.
Out of boredom, I started shaking along with the music playing a little while further on the parking lot.
Before I knew it, I got tangled up in a dance battle between a local and me.
We were giving everything we had, surrounded by phones recording the curious event of a foreigner dancing on traditional music.
Entertainment that appeared out of nowhere and soon disappeared into a taxi to somewhere.