All I Want for Christmas is my One Front Tooth

The first part of this story has absolutely nothing to do with the title, but sit tight. I'll get there.

I arrived in Chiang Mai sometime last week (I've almost completely lost track of what day of the week it is at any given time; it usually takes me a minute of thinking about it to recall. Such is the nature of my journey... idyllic, zephyrous, free of the constraints of time. The only date I need to know is April 23, which is when I have to leave SouthEast Asia.) A vast difference from the noise and bustle of Bangkok, Chiang Mai - about six hundred miles to the north, near the Burma/Laos border - is a large city by Thai standards, but clean, peaceful, friendly, and fun.

I'd met a guy in Bangkok who recommended Spicy Thai Backpackers, a hostel on the west end of town. With no idea where else to go, I took his advice, and after the overnight trainride up, took a tuk-tuk across town. It was only 250 Baht a night (U.S. $7.50) so I signed up.

The greatest thing about backpacking as a method of travel is its relaxed, lackidaisical atmosphere. Take a German, a Swede, an American, a couple Australians and a Canadian who might never otherwise talk to each other, stuff them in a hostel dorm room and suddenly everyone's best mates. My experience has been no exception. I had barely settled into my bunk when a girl from Baltimore and a guy from New Zealand showed up within minutes of each other. Introductions past, the three of us headed for a burger joint on the corner (Western food becomes a craving after a while) and by the time we returned, we'd decided to sign up for a jungle trek together. Completely random, and - as it turned out - completely awesome.

We left on Sunday (at least I think it was a Sunday) and met up with a few of our fellow trekkers, two girls from Malaysia. We rode in the back of a truck about an hour into the mountains, stopped at a small village smack in the middle of nowhere... it was like something out of Rambo (minus the explosions and Stallone sneaking through the rice patties with a hunting knife.) The only evidence of modernity was blue plastic pipes assisting in the irrigation; everything else indicated technology and traditions a thousand years old. Every building was bamboo with thatched roofs, a dirt road winding through the middle and up a slight incline; idle chatter mixed with the spordic barking of dogs. Walking around felt almost sacreligious, as though we were treading through someplace we weren't meant to be.

The villagers were friendly, and had booths out with locally-produced items for sale, a reminder that trekkers frequented the place. I bought some Thai cigars, and after an hour or so of exploration we headed back for the truck.

Our next stop was a small marketplace, where we bought water for the upcoming hike and met the rest of our trekking group. It was a jovial crew, as diverse in nationalities as ours: two girls from France, one from Scotland, a guy from Mexico and a Spaniard. Like us, most of them had just met a day or two previously.

Next was elephant riding. After a massive Thai lunch (I've discovered, with some surprise, that I'm an enormous fan of Thai food [I don't like Chinese or Japanese food]) we clambered atop the beasts and plodded down a trail. While it was a disappointingly mundane experience (imagine sitting on a smelly rock at .0003 MPH) the aesthetic value of it outweighed any problems. Most of my friends were snoring through lectures or imagining quitting their jobs. I was riding an elephant through steamy Asian jungles.

The rest of the day's itinerary was hiking through the jungle. It reminded me of humping Da Nang hill in Quantico during USMC OCS... in other words, absolutely horrendous. We came to a waterfall that cascaded down a thirty-foot rock face; it'd worn a groove into the rock, which happened to make a perfect natural slide. Pouring sweat, we dropped the bags, lined up at the top of the incline and shot down into the pool below. It was one of the more fun things I've ever experienced, and it cooled me down. We left for our destination with high spirits.

Spirits were high, but the mountain was higher, and the heat took its toll. The group split up into several differently-paced sections, bound for the mountain village. Hours later we reached the summit, drenched in sweat, calves screaming, completely exhausted. Our hotel was a very spare bamboo hut perched on the edge of a steep drop, the balcony facing a massive valley. Beds were straw mats on the floor with the obligatory mosquito nets hanging above. They weren't comfortable at all, but once again I reflected on the fact that I didn't have an 8 o' clock class in the morning or a clock-in time at work. Instead I was going rafting.

Thailand is currently in dry season, so the water levels were significantly lower... we were warned that the rafting wouldn't be quite as spectacular as in June or July, in the middle of monsoon season. After the long hike down the mountain punctuated only by a stop at another waterfall, the river was welcoming, high or low. We headed downstream in the rafts, hitting a couple of rapids but were never in danger of overturning, which is the fun part. Miles downstream we switched to flat bamboo rafts, which sat about a foot underwater... propulsion was by bamboo (are you noticing a trend here) pole. At one point we passed a group of elephants on the shore, drifting no more then several yards away. Two seconds after we were downstream they decided the river was a commode, and proceeded accordingly. Suddenly we were going a lot faster. The trip ended shortly thereafter; we clambered ashore and showered off, ate a lunch and headed back for Chiang Mai.

In May of 1998 I was playing street hockey in suburban Cincinatti and caught the back end of a slapshot right in the face. Blood was spilt, and half my tooth was gone. The dentist made a crown and glued it in place. That crown lasted almost exactly ten years.

Sometime on the ride back I noticed my left front tooth was slightly loose.

Three hours later I wondered why there was a piece of bone in my steak... it wasn't a bone. Suddenly I looked like a Neanderthal and had no way of NOT looking like one. And I was 12,000 miles from home. Big, big problem. Fix-o-dent held it in place for about six hours at a time, thankfully, but the biggest problem would be getting it permanently in place. I didn't feel like removing it to eat three times daily.

I found a dentist on the east side of Chiang Mai, and after about two hours of walking, found myself in a sparsely decorated waiting room. I rediscovered the impromptu nature of Thai business: I filled out a brief medical history form, walked into the room and sat on the chair, and the dentist asked what I needed done. The price was negotiated for 1000 Baht to glue it back in place permanently - less than thirty U.S. dollars. Without insurance.

Very quickly I wondered if I was getting exactly what I was paying for. After stabbing my gums with an pick to clear the base of the crown, the dentist placed a towel over my head. Clearly blindfolding me, I thought, so I couldn't see the Thai Tooth Machete when she pulled it out. Several near molar decapitations later, the area was clean and the tooth in place. I walked out no more than twenty minutes after having checked in as a first-time patient... rather efficient compared to U.S. standards.

So it's not December 25, but I'll raft the Mekong River into Laos tomorrow with my One Front Tooth. Merry Christmas, me.