The road to Pai

Early morning, late bus, smog, through morning stalls along the roadside, sheltered markets beyond, morning in the city. Out through traffic until the road changes into a sequence of twists and turns; supposedly 762 between CM and here, rising and falling. On the bus only two rucksacks, ours. A couple of spare seats and the road empty of motorbikes, again there's a sense of changes, of difference. The rest of the passengers travel light, I wonder about their gear; left in Chiang mai while they set off on a brief trip, 8 hours there and back; maybe we measure time differently… but I've read of folk jumping an early bus, half a day here before hitting the night market for a couple of hours and then back to CM in the dark. Seems a bit rushed but I suppose we all journey in our own manner...

Out across fields other hills rising, back towards Chiang Mai, the bright blue sky caught upon a darkening, the outlying barrier of murky pollution spilling from the city beyond. 

Later as the bends tighten, hairpin iaround steepening slopes, a window opens, a head pushing itself through it to throw up from motion sickness as we continue slowly, unable to stop until the road flattens, straightens out, allows the afflicted one to jump into sparse dry roadside shrubs and empty his guts, being passed water by his companions, returning to the bus, warmer now as late morning has come, the sun above the guiding slopes. And then stepping down onto the familiar dust of market street.