Katee: 1, plague virus: 0

Why do all the best lines and phrases for my blog occur when I'm walking down the street alone, and then completely leave my head once I settle in to start writing?  It's the writer's curse, I swear.  I bet, if I actually bothered to stop and write down my little witty comments I come up with to myself, I reckon I'd be a much better writer.

That said, I'm feeling a whole ton better today.  I still woke up feeling a bit sick, and I've had to take today a little slow, but my fever is completely gone, and I'm feeling much better, if not still a little weak.  I just came back from dinner at Blue Diamond, my favourite restaurant in Chiang Mai - I wasn't really hungry, and after getting off the plane, I was starting to get really nauseated again, but I figured I should make the attempt at dinner, and two bites into dinner, I realized my problem:  I wasn't getting sick again, I was ravenous.  I felt so awful and ill during the plane ride, and during the time it took me to find a hotel to sleep in (I ended up back at RCN house on Moon Muang Soi 6) - and then when I started to nibble at my delectable, delicious avocado salad with tahini and homemade vegan mayonnaise dressing, I realized the real issue.  I was starving.  And then it clicked: I haven't eaten anything, and I mean anything in the last three days, except: two pieces of toast, half a pancake, and a box of saltines.

 

So I satisfied my craving of nourishment (I love avocados) ...and topped it with a mango-banana smoothie, a small slice of mango-strawberry pie (I had to try it, I finally caved) ...and a take-away scone.  Tomorrow morning, I'm going there again for breakfast before I catch my flight, but I think I've gotten ahead of myself.

The rest of my time in Mae Hong Son was reasonably decent, I suppose.  I mean, as decent as it could be, considering I spent two straight days in bed.  I'm thankful I paid the extra money in the beginning, because two solid days in a hard Thai bed would have killed my back and hips.  Sometimes, you pay for comfort.

Worst freeze-frame face, ever.  Seriously.

The guesthouse/bungalow/hotel I was staying at was really beautiful, and on the outskirts of town, so it was either a 30 minute walk into town, or a 5 minute motorbike ride (while I was sick, I obviously opted for the latter) and it was being run by an Aussie in his early twenties, who had a bunch of friends staying with him.  They were all really solid people, and I wish I wasn't so sick while I was there.  They would have been "heaps" of fun to hang out with - but c'est la vie.  They drove me into town one day when I was really sick, and it wasn't necessary for them to do that, so I really appreciate it.  There was loads I wanted to do while I was there, but I was sick, and we make sacrifices sometimes. 

Christmas passed rather uneventful, the stomach flu from hell, and a multitude of calls home because I was sick and homesick.  Christmas meant nothing to me this year - I was alone, and I was ill, and it wasn't Christmas in my eyes.  Not really.  The Thai's tried, but small school children singing - I use that term loosely - mumbling - 90s alternative pop songs such as "Kiss Me" by Sixpence the Richer, or that one Cranberries song everyone knows doesn't really count as "live music on Christmas Day".  I watched a few specials on my laptop that I downloaded while I was still at home especially for the occasion, and that kept me reasonably sane while I was too sick to read, or get out of bed.

I hope for a white Christmas next year.  Or just a Christmas at home, wherever home happens to be.  I don't like to quote things often, but this quote has been on my mind a ton lately, and it's my favourite scene in Garden State.  Zach Braff and Natalie Portman are sitting in the shallow end of a swimming pool (because Zach Braff's character can't swim) ...and...oh hell.  Just read it - I can't explain storylines worth anything, anyhow:

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.
Sam: [cuddles up to Andrew] Maybe.

 But it's strange, because flying into Chiang Mai today, I caught myself smiling.  I realized for the first time in days, I wasn't homesick at all, and I was glad to be back in Chiang Mai.  The whole song tao ride into town from the airport, I just looked around at all the familiar sights, and was gloriously, ridiculously, simply happy.  It was like I had come home, in a way.  Which I suppose, considering how many pieces of my heart I've left scattered across the globe, shouldn't really surprise me, but I didn't think I'd be leaving any of them in Thailand.

I love Chiang Mai.  Just simply.  Until I made it to my hotel, the same I shared with Tim a few weeks back, and I became lonely instead.  But these things happen.

Here, look at pictures:  BE INUNDATED!

 Gingerbread making:

 

 

 

At Doi Suthep with Tim:

 (oh, the jackfruit tree. Imma eat you!)

Around Mae Hong Son:

 

There.  Love yo faces.