The night-train is on time and after a sundown hour or so on the platform, watching the food-vendors prepare for its departure, we board and wait for the porter's appearance. Seasoned Thai train travelers this time, our bottled water and cartons of cookies snugly bagged and needing only clean sheets and the gentle rocking clickety-click of a good sleep. The sleeping coach isn't air-conditioned, but we're lucky just to have berths. We have come to love sleeping aboard night-trains.

Morning finds us at the travel agent once more in the Bangkok train station, trying to book a bus, any bus to Chiang Mai. Nothing is available and he suggests we taxi to the north bus station and wing it. We do, and begin to understand just why reservations are such a problem. Along with the influx of foreigners, the Thais have a long New Year holiday and every kid who left the farm, every family with kids in tow, everyone who can is headed back to family. The bus station is a sea of people. Just as the reservation clerk at one of the thirty or so windows is shaking her head to tell us there's nothing, an extra bus is announced for Chiang Mai and we grab tickets. Misha heads for Dunkin Donuts for something to eat on board and in a half hour or so we clamber onto a sixty-eight passenger air conditioned Mercedes bus, once more congratulating ourselves on luck and perseverance.

Well, maybe not exactly the best of luck. The bus seems bent upon stopping at every conceivable backwater bus station and, as the seats are all sold, we take on an additional twenty or so standees. I guess we are lucky at that---it will be nearly twelve hours to Chiang Mai and the seats, fortunate as we are to have them, are as cramped as an airliner. The Kinaree Place Hotel has held our reservations and we shower, grab a Tuk-Tuk to a quiet dinner and fall into bed.

Tuk-Tuks are great---three wheeled motorcycles with a little top-cover and seat for two, all of them decorated to suit the owner's taste and driven by smiling madmen who wiggle their way through the maze of city traffic. They're cheap and move much faster through the streets, due to their size and the outrageous behavior of their drivers. They're everywhere and next morning one takes us to the Galare Guest House, a place recommended by our friend Charles Terry and situated snugly along the bank of the Mae Nam Ping river. Absolutely delightful and gracefully designed in Thai style, with grassed courtyard and dining terrace overlooking the river, it is of course fully booked. While we discuss options with the receptionist, a cancellation comes in by phone and we are in---set for a week at this little oasis on the river and yet just a block from the Night-Market and central to everything of interest. We are lucky. We have always been lucky in our travels together and now it has become a habit.

The Night Market, ahh the Chiang Mai Night Market. I don't know if night markets are unique to Thailand, but most towns have them, partially open-air and partially under permanent cover, they are what I would expect of middle-eastern bazaars. Wonderful conglomerates of hawker's stalls with everything from counterfeit Gucci and Levi to local crafts and hill-tribe artwork. It's a jam-packed carnival atmosphere with tons of bargains and street-food. There are two night markets in Chiang Mai, a huge affair dedicated to merchandise and a smaller, more local food market, where strange stuff bubbles in woks and one has to know the territory.

Bargaining is the rule:
"How much?""350 baht. You want?"
"150 baht."
"250."
"150" (and I begin to walk away).
"200" (and a smile).
"150" (and I do walk away).
"Okay, okay, 150."