Jill Thomas is a rambler, traveler, and storyteller with a big laugh who believes life takes her where she needs to go, no matter the roundabout path.
PSSST . . . The pictures I shared with this blog are pretty things I've seen in Chiang Mai, not the bus tour.
It was a gray, gloomy day in Chiang Mai, Thailand, a pathetic fallacy if ever there was one.
Early that morning, Stormy and I saw the direction of the US election and decided to take the Hop-On-Hop-Off bus tour for some light distraction. The tour was terrible, but at least the retelling of the story will become a source of much future hilarity. Sadly, it’s doubtful that the same will be said of the 2024 US Presidential election.
The tour's online description promised transportation to all the city's top sites, including a temple that "few tourists visit." We were told that we could hop off at any point of interest, explore for two hours, and then hop back on, ultimately returning to where we started.
Somewhat excited, we walked to the designated meeting spot and quickly spotted the bus. It was one of those enormous, sleek-looking tourist coaches, the kind you see everywhere. It had massive compressed air-released doors and protruding side mirrors that resembled antennae on a bug.
We were sure it was the right bus because it was wrapped in a bright green and banana-yellow advertisement that boldly declared, “Hop-on-Hop-Off Tour.” We waved it down as it quickly became apparent it would not stop otherwise.
When we tried to board, the driver attempted twice to tell us we had the wrong bus. Apparently, he wasn't expecting any customers, but we persisted, explaining that we had bought tickets online.
When Stormy finally found and displayed the tickets on his phone, the driver broke into a wide smile. He then scanned the tickets with a device that made an unpleasant noise, similar to the sound you hear if you try to board an airplane with the wrong boarding pass. He did this another nine times, each time getting the same result.
Eventually, he gave up on the scanning and told us to grab a seat. Then, a man I’m assuming is in charge of marketing jumped onto the bus, snapped a picture of us, flashed us a thumbs-up, and jumped off again. Then we drove off, noting wryly that we were the only tourists on the bus.
The bus drove out of Old Town into an area called Nimman. This is where most of the expats live, and we are here to scope out the idea of being expats, so we were curious. Stormy and I both stared out the windows, pointing out Farangs—a Thai nickname for foreigners—and assessing the look of them.
Nimman is more modern and less chaotic than Old Town. It resembles a trendy but slightly grungy neighborhood you might find in Vancouver, Canada. There are a multitude of cute shops selling Acai Berry bowls and smoothies, sharing crowded blocks with global chains like Starbucks.
It is also home to a massive glittering silver Asian mall of the sort I've only seen on YouTube. Inside, there’s probably a Porsche dealership sitting next to a store that sells $15,000 handbags I’ve never heard of.
However, the bus driver said nothing and didn’t stop the bus.
So, we continued, passing a nursing college and a few large hospitals. Stormy pointed out which hospital I should go to if I ever need to, based on our travel health insurance.
Eventually, we arrived at the University of Chiang Mai, which appeared large and green, making it seem worth a Ramble. However, according to the TripAdvisor reviews, you might want to skip it.
Nonetheless, the bus driver said nothing about it, and the bus didn’t stop.
The first time the bus stopped was at the kitschy entranceway of the Chiang Mai Zoo. It looked run-down and cliché at the same time, reminiscent of a long abandoned 1960s amusement park.
According to the internet, exploring the zoo on foot is not advisable due to its steep and hilly terrain, and it reportedly does not meet animal welfare standards. I’ve never liked zoos; they make me feel sad, so we stayed on the bus.
The bus pulled out once more and stops on the side of the road in a dull industrial area a few minutes later. The bus driver then walked up to us, phone in hand, and his Google Translate tells us, “The bus will stay here for 20 minutes. You can go for a walk.”
Stormy opts for a walk, but I stay on the bus so I can doom-scroll the election results. This is when it sinks in. Donald Trump will be President with a clear mandate. How is this possible?
Stormy returns with an iced coffee. It’s cold and sweet, topped with creamy milk foam, and it's so delicious.
We travel onwards on traffic-clogged highways, passing endless rows of dank and filthy industrial car parts stores, black mold-covered apartment blocks, and gaudy colorful billboards selling junk food. I think to myself, humans suck.
Stormy's seat collapses, so we move two rows forward, and then my seat collapses, but I decide not to care anymore. I’m feeling grumpy about the state of the world and the quality of this bus tour. Stormy can tell I’m stewing, so he hands me a bag of dried mangos we bought yesterday in Chinatown. They are delicious.
The bus continues on to the Chiang Mai Convention Center. This massive, unattractive modern complex makes me question whether there’s a nepotism problem in the city planning office.
Its bland, barf-colored, geometrically shaped buildings highlight the tenacity of tropical black mold. The ugly modern sculpture in the entryway is entirely out of sync with the colorful and glittering temples that define this city.
The bus stops in the convention center's enormous entryway. It’s hard to tell if the driver intended to give us the option of hopping off or if he’s stuck in a traffic snarl. A home expo convention is in full swing, and busy traffic controllers are directing a barrage of cars and buses every which way.
Stormy and I considered disembarking and checking out the sofas but ultimately decided against it when we realized we would have to pay to get in.
Eventually, the bus pulls out again and exits onto a massive multi-lane highway with streetscapes that further reinforce the malaise I’m feeling about humanity and how we suck.
The bus continues, eventually pulling over on the side of the road in an industrial part of town. We spot a chedi—a Thai version of a Buddhist stupa—through the window and realize this must be the promised temple that not many people visit. We had planned to spend two hours here, but after looking at it through the windows, we changed our minds and decided to remain on the bus for the duration of the tour.
The bus driver said nothing and drove on.
We drove through more streetscapes that reminded me of humanity’s many failures and then stopped beside a giant building. Was it a bus station? A stadium? I still don’t know, but it was huge, surrounded by abandoned parking lots, shabby big box stores, and exhaust-choked highways.
The bus driver walked up to us, showed us his phone and his Google Translate announced, “We stop here for 2 hours. Bus leaves at 3pm. You go for a walk.”
The driver grinned triumphantly and pointed at the bus’s door with a huge smile. I could tell he was a super friendly guy, and I couldn't help but like him. Nonetheless, I said something not sweet in a tone that clarified my opinion on the matter despite our language gap.
Stormy pokes me and reminds me it isn’t the driver's fault. The bus driver smiles, impervious to my tone, making me like him even more and feel bad about my crankiness.
I was anxious. I couldn’t stop thinking about what just happened to the world. I always find it hard to be nice when I’m anxious or under pressure, and I admire people who can pull this off.
Abandoned, we call a Grab—a Thai Uber—and are relieved to be quickly picked up and transported back into the beautiful Old Town.
I ask Stormy if he feels anxious, and he says no. He claims, "I am trying to be in the present." I agree with that strategy but feel irritated nonetheless because I have no idea how to do that right now.
Stormy and I decided to treat ourselves to lunch at our favorite restaurant. We ordered Massaman curry. It’s white and creamy, super coconutty, with hot mustard seeds and thinly sliced pork. It's so good.
Even though it was only lunchtime, we ordered a large Chiang Beer with two glasses and ice. Day drinking is a bit against the rules, but today, we have an excuse.
While we ate, rain started pouring down — a tropical deluge that would soak you to your underwear in a hot minute. I love this kind of rain, especially the sound of it on the restaurant's tin roof. With no place to go, we ordered another large Chiang Beer—with two glasses and ice.
We ate more curry, drank more beer, and officially added bus tours to our reverse bucket list (a list of things we will never do again). Then, we reminded ourselves that life is good and tomorrow is another day.
READ MORE > JT's Tales From the Trail, Rambler Cafe Blog
Sometimes the things that did not work out as expected, make for the best stories!
Well, that’s sounds like a sucky day, for sure, Jill. With so many other beautiful places to see (judging by your previous posts), what were they thinking? But, travelling is all about the experiences and the fact that we are lucky enough to have them. You took it in your stride and told a great story about it. Way to go, Sole Sister!
I just loved reading your story.
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