Sukhothai is old – ancient, really. I mean it

Because we’re awesome and want to see everything there is to see in Thailand, the girlies decided to meet for a weekend in Sukhothai.

That’s Su-ko-thai. Not Suko-thai. Obviously.

Sukhothai was the original capital of Siam, back in the day. Like, in the 13th century. Which, in all seriousness, makes for an amazing sight.

See below for my adventures on the bus.

Then we continued on.

An additional - and very comfortable - 2 hours pass and we’re in Sukhothai. I snag a basket attached to a motorbike, which is known as a cab here. Then I hit up a guesthouse, hit up another guesthouse and book some hotel rooms. Etc.

That first night, Kim and I go in search of all things holy – street Pad Thai and Singha. We were sooo much more successful than we ever thought possible.

After some uneventful beer drinking and a run-in with some lame German travelers, we crossed the bridge – literally – and found ourselves in a night market that appeared to serve beer until the sun came up. Excellent.

Just as soon as the first Singha hit the table, we were approached by Sergent Smith. A Thai soldier.

In case you’re confused, Sergent Smith has an anecdote to help you understand. “Smith, Smith – you know, like Will Smith? Bad Boys!?!? I’m a bad boy – my name Sergent Smith.”

Oooooooh. Silly me. Now I understand.

Drink, drink, lots of cashews, some bananas soaked in love, more cashews, more beer. He pretends to understand English, I pretend to care. We ignore him and have girl talk.

Kelly and Marianne get to the guesthouse at 2am and call me. “We’re across the bridge drinking with Sergent Smith. Start walking towards the river and I’ll meet you.”

The beautiful thing about this moment is that Kelly, with a huge backpack in hand and 9 hours of traveling behind her, does not even question this. She just confirms the directions, lights up a smoke and walks towards the bridge.

More beer, cigarettes and Sergent Smith. He loves me because I’m the only one who didn’t say she was married. Bitches.

I make up a story about how my phone only calls US numbers, and how it costs some astronomical amount to call me if you’re not in the States. Which is clearly proven wrong when the girls call me on Thai cell phones. Whatevs. I take his number and promise to call. He hits up the ATM and pays for all the booze.

Again, we are bitches.

We sleep nit noi and wake up early to get moving on seeing ancient shit. A whole ancient ruined city, actually.

All five of us roll into one basket that pushes us all the way to the national park, where we rent some nice little peddle bikes for the day.

“Yours has a 9 on the back. Remember that.”

“Haha, that’s funny – so does yours. And Marianne’s.”

This should have been a sign that something was wrong, but I was too preoccupied making my old-fashioned bell work while ringing it incessantly to the tune of “Ring My Bell.” And singing along. While driving the peddle bike through motor traffic.

At the first stop we lock up the bikes as instructed – 3 tied together with one chain, 2 with the other. Too easy.

A few photoshoots with Buddhas and we’re ready to hit the road. Unfortunately, there are only 3 bikes left. And they ALL HAVE A 9 ON THE BACK.

We realize that the bike company must be stealing these back, hoping that we’ll come crawling with apologies and pay for the cost of replacing them. Otherwise they would have taken our names, or charged us more than a dollar for a day’s rental.

Puh-lease. Like we didn’t see through that.

There are pegs on the back of 2 of the bikes, with a little place to strap your bags and other goods. Or, if you’re crafty, a farang chic.


So the rest of the day we peddle 2 to a bike. Up hill, on the highway – doesn’t matter. Wee seeing ancient things. And Buddhas. It’s good karma if we have to work hard.

The day is beautiful, as you can see. Beautiful and breathtaking and tiring and completely worth the trip. I don’t know when I’ve had time to spend an entire day at a national park. Or dedicate a weekend to getting there.

We adopted an English guy named Mark on the way and invited him to drink with us later that night. And since Marianne is a blatant whore, he took us up on it.

The night was great, we stumbled around and turned a full stage show into a karaoke shit-show the way only we could. Downed 2 bottles of rum in 1 hour.

I sang the Titanic theme song at the top of my lungs with a Thai singer who should not have put up with me. Kim stopped mid-song to play Freecell on stage, using the laptop that plays karaoke lyrics. Par for the course.

I really wish one of the ladies would send me a video or picture of this.

Then Kim and Marianne decided to get fucked up and Kelly and I babysat. Haha, love it.

The next morning we had breakfast, got on buses and went home. Nate picked me up on the curb, which is a legit bus stop according to the HangChat police, and informed me that we had been robbed. By students. But it’s ok, because the school gave everything back and expelled them. I should just “watch my back,” since the kid might be angry and he’s evil and he might try to hurt me. Niiice.

Honestly, it’s ok though, because I have a live-in babysitter. And the kid is MAYBE 80lbs. So I could sit on him and he would die.

The end.