With a whole day of feeling much too safe for my liking, I decided to perfect the art of pedal bike photography while enjoying a sloppy hot day in Chiang Mai. Unable to find a steezy fixed-gear that would make my little brother proud, Sander and I settled on rented bikes that looked like a gypsy had stripped them, and re-built a monster for their least favorite cousin. I say this because the builder maliciously made one handle-break a "fast stop" and the other a "slow stop." Not knowing this, in the midst of an especially good drive-by photo of a cat licking a Buddha, I hit the fast break and hit my lady-bits very efficiently on the handle bar.
Stop laughing. I have an inappropriately placed bruise.
We spent lunch at a heavenly Vegetarian Society cafeteria; what I figure is a soup kitchen for the very compassionate who are low in iron. It was fabulous and cheap. We finished our day at the Womens Correctional Institution. One of Thailands princesses, whose name is a jumble of consonants with a vowel thrown in here and there for good measure, designed a restitution and rehabilitation program for female inmates. Specifically, to teach them a trade (from practical handy crafts to massage) that will ease their reimmersion and legitimize their contribution to society. Fascinating to us Sociology nerds, even more so in my case with the mention of 'massage'. For 150 baht ($4.50 CAD) these women provide a 1-hour traditional Thai massage, or Thai foot massage. Of course, I simply could not resist having a murderous maven at my feet giving me a good rub. What this says about my own psychopathy is up for debate.
Finish with a cold Chang beer, rinse, and repeat.
Slaughter.
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