The next morning we sort of sniffed our way up the coast. Our map doesn't show many back roads and we didn't want to ride the main highway. So we just kept going north, asking directions at every intersection. Even the few that had road signs were in Thai script only.

We asked directions by pointing and saying the name of our destination town for the day. All day we asked everyone we met, "Bang Saphan?" If we couldn't find a food stall or any people at an intersection, we either guessed or waited for a motorcycle. Usually the motorcycles would stop, turn the engine off, and give us their full attention.

While we sat at a table in a food stall about 30km north of Chumpon we saw the Swiss ride by. We yelled to them and they stopped. They had also asked at every intersection all morning. But they arrived by a different route than we did.

At the same food stall, a few minutes before the Swiss arrived, an older Chinese-looking man tried to talk with us. He spoke a tiny bit of English and indicated that he lived just a bit down the road. He kept pointing and gesturing almost as if he wanted us to follow, but not quite. We had just sat down so we didn't want to leave. He rode off on his bicycle waving and smiling.

We had completely forgotten about this until 30 minutes later when we and the Swiss decided to leave. As Joan and I rode by his house, we saw the same man yelling "Come Here!" in a very loud commanding voice from a shady spot near his house, about 50 meters off the road. Joan swerved quickly and went down his driveway. I followed and the Swiss rode on.

He wanted us to visit his family--the man, Samran Sisunk, his wife Boon Ping, granddaughter Siriporn Thathong (nicknamed Em) and two grandsons (I think). Em was on break from university in Bangkok where she was studying to be a teacher of Thai (literature?) She spoke English fairly well. We found out Samran knew English much better than he could speak it.

We found the family sitting on a low table--much like aking bed with a straw mat instead of a mattress. We see these all over Asia. People work on them, sell fruit on them, wait for buses on them, sleep on them. The family just seemed to be hanging out. The table was next to the garage, an older building separate from the house. The house was a huge, two-year-old Chinese variety like the kind you seein Singapore, or the ones the Hong Kong immigrants build in Vancouver. Many people think these houses are kind of ugly, and they are, when you see 50 of them on the same block. But one by itself is kind of grand looking, especially since it was so well painted and had a nice red tile roof. It looked like a great house. So it was funny to see the whole family hanging out, not in the house, but on a rough wooden bench-bed in the gravel driveway next to the highway.

They gave us cold water, bananas, a fruit I couldn't identify that tasted great, and some paper cones filled with a mix of coconut, rice and sugar. One of the grandsons sat at the table manufacturing these cones. He rolled a piece of paper into a cone, about one inch across the top, packed it with the sugary mixture, and then closed the top. The family gave us several to take along and a bunch of finger bananas too.

Before we left I played Scotland the Brave for them and a few other songs. They applauded after every tune.

Several kilometers later the road came to a T. We stopped for a drink and to ask directions. A group of six men sat on another low table under a shady tree near the concrete table and chairs where we sat. They were talking and laughing and having a great time. One guy came over to inspect my horn. I played Scotland the Brave for him and he stood in place, marching and saluting like a soldier, much to the glee of his gang of ogling friends. It was great. I played it again and then handed my horn around. One guy with no more than two teeth tried to play it but couldn't make a sound. Everyone laughed and laughed again.

The guy who marched gave me a green leaf and indicated I should eat it. He mimed it would give me energy by moving his arms really fast in a pedalling motion. He ate a leaf and so did another guy. What the heck, I figured, these guys are having a blast, I'll try it. I ate the leaf. It tasted like a strong mint leaf but I didn't feel any special burst of energy. (Joan: I was busy paying for our drinks and had no idea Eric was cutting some sort of drug deal under the tree). They gave me several for the road.

Later, Joan also tried a leaf. She didn't feel anything except a headached.

It was the second time I played Scotland the Brave that day. I play it for people when they do something nice for us or when they want to hear me play. Generally the more I play, the more we are interacting with people and the more fun we're having. (Joan: a One Scotland the Brave Day is a great day, so you can imagine what a Three Scotland the Brave Day feels like).

As we rode off, waving and ringing our bells, I asked Joan, "Is today a holiday? It seems like Christmas."

We kept reaching T's and Y's in the road. I think we made lots of wrong turns. We followed some dirt roads. It rained a little, which we welcomed. It was the first rain we had ridden in since Sumatra and it felt great--a huge relief from the sun. The best days are often the cloudiest.

At an important looking intersection we stopped for lunch. We had a conversation with a man driving a pickup truck and wearing rather ordinary clothes but a cell phone on his belt. He told us he was a policeman. We weren't able to understand much else. He yelled something to a gang of men (policemen) about 20 yards away and they all laughed. I never knew why. We had a pretty good pork noodle soup prepared by a pretty young woman wearing a beret.

The policeman said he had to leave and when he paid for his lunch, he also paid for ours! We tried, in English, to turn down his charity, but he had no idea what we said so we just said Thank You Very Much in Thai. Then I picked up my horn and played Scotland the Brave for him. The guys nearby cheered. After that he bought us dessert which consisted of bread mixed with fruit in a sweet syrup and topped with crushed ice. Not bad at all if you eat it before the bread is too soggy.

As the policeman drove off in his pickup, he stuck his hand out the window and pointing to the hood said, "Four wheel drive." (Joan: Before he left he also told the proprietess that I was "soy," or pretty, which blew me away).

We made several more wrong turns after that. We kept asking and pointing and it seemed like we went in circles, though we never went south. We had a good tail wind from the south, but instead of taking advantage of it we meandered all over the place trying to find back roads. Some nicely paved roads suddenly turned into red dirt and gravel. the rain came down harder and our bikes got covered with red grit.

Finally we reached a more main road, though we still didn't know where we were. The rain was coming down pretty hard when we passed a Thai resort. We couldn't find a single word in Roman letters but stopped anyway and got a wonderful large bungalow with AC, TV and a fridge for 400 baht (US$10). My hands were wrinkled and white from the rain but I found that a nice change from the usual intense heat. Normally at the end of the day when I open my pannier to get some clean clothes they're so hot it's like taking them out of a drier. They weren't hot that night.

Next: A turning point.

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