Pak Chong: Highway Walks with the Gypsy Gang

Reunions are very important for the soul. It’s not often that you are able to encounter people that make you shine, people that are just as weird as you are, people that you have fun with simply because of their company. I like to call these people my tribe. A band of sisters here in Thailand you might have heard me refer to as my gypsy girls.

So after far too many weeks of separation, we decided we must reunite. Pulling out a map and finding a midway point was the easy part. We weren’t trying to bust the bank so we looked for the cheapest accommodation. But with last minute planning, a place to stay wasn’t the easiest pursuit. So with questionable homage 24-hours before the weekend, it seemed like maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe another weekend. Maybe when we had saved more money. But then, just like that, with Facebook chat the only form of communication, a place was found and the adventure was set.

It doesn’t matter where we are staying, it just matters that we are together.

When I finally arrived from my long journey, five hours with two bus transfers, I phoned the hostel and was happy to hear one guest had already arrived. Must be Zola, no way the straggling Kara had made it there first. After catching up and lounging, we decided to make our way into town to grab some grub and to find the missing piece of the gypsy puzzle.

We took a stroll, with some miscommunication from the German owner on how to arrive in the city. Something about walking to the supermarket and flagging down a pickup truck (songtaw). But with only two possible roads in the right direction, we were certain it must be the dirt road, because there was no way a highway walk was the only option. We passed by some cut up rocks, which I insisted were cave stalagmites, and hit a dead end. Yes, the highway was the only option, we were told, everyone walks on the highway, even families and children. Apprehensive, we started our way, passing zooming semi-trucks, and countless honks. 

As timing works, we arrived in town simultaneously as Kara. Three gypsy girls walking down the backstreets of markets, with stories shared from our wild child about her previous night’s escapades. And let’s be honest, white people get enough eye attention.  It’s that starkly white skin, and that farang tongue. But take that attention and multiply it by 100 for a scene of a motley crew of hippie girls roaming around. It’s all good; we’ve got inexhaustible smiles to share.

In search of some green space, we asked around for advice on local parks that spared the costly admission. We decided on the only park within walking distance, which provided us incessant laughter as we arrived, walking into a cement-filled lot. It featured a running track and pony ride loop.  More laughter. Finding our source of entertainment with an unattended soccer ball, we caught up on our interim lives. A cute young 18-year old passed by and practiced his English with us. After our hour or so long conversation he shared that it had been months since he had practiced with a Westerner. The guts this guy had to approach three foreign strangers was very admirable.

Later, while munching on street food we caught eyes with the very attractive Salad Roll Man. Interested to make a connection, I used the thai wave to call him over. Soon enough, we had a tour guide for the night. After some 7/11 front stooping and the mistake of spending far too much baht on ice, we met our friend again and jumped onto his motorbike. The adventure began. Just like that.

And as us gypsy girls do, we made friends with everyone. With older woman. With older men. With servers. With singers. Kara fell in love with a guy who reminded her to not forget her backpack. And we transitioned from four people on a motorbike to 10 people in a pickup truck. At one point, I turned to look at Zola and she was rocking her dreads with the main bassist. There was an amazing light of energy, and we were treated like pure celebrities that brought the party.

And that’s what it feels like when you’re surrounded by your tribe. Sure, we were in some random town whose main attraction, Khao Yai Park, was unaffordable. But it didn’t matter. I was with people that emit blinding light. My gypsy girls might be extreme. My gypsy girls might be weird. My gypsy girls might have a voracious approach to life. But, most of all, my gypsy girls are magical.

So, find your tribe. Find people you can runaway from hostel owners, dashing towards the highway, laughing out loud, and almost falling over because of your comedic lifestyle. Find the people you resonate with. Your true allies on this journey called life.

So, do it. Find your tribe.

Magnify your brilliance with a trusted tribe of kindreds.