Opting out of the rafting and a tribal overnight, we headed for the snake farm to observe the vipers, asps, cobras and other creepy crawlies being gaily fondled and petted. As I suspected, volunteers were soon requested to kiss the cobra. Yeah right! My partner jokingly (I think) attempted to raise my hand. A sole stalwart (fool) came forward and, after much frightened posturing and with suspicious ease for a random audience member, actually kissed the cobra on its lips (aside from the danger, quite an accomplishment when you think about it).
There were demonstrations concerning various specimens and their habits with commentary given in sometimes understandable English by a gorgeous hunk wearing nothing but an obscenely revealing bathing suit and a turban. All was forgiven, seeing was enough, the snakes, I mean. The “milking process” threw me at first. I never knew snakes had teats and had wild imaginings as to the milking stool. I jest, of course; it was about obtaining the venom and very interesting.
Finally came the inescapable tour of the gift shop where I summoned all my strength to turn down offers of stunning belts, wallets and iPod covers. The only snag was the lunch during which the cook, obviously in the last stages of consumption, coughed and hacked over all and sundry. The “Reptile Repast” buffet consisted of a wide variety of spicy dishes which for some reason all featured chicken. I could have declined, but as a Maine Yankee I had no choice; it had been included in the admission price. All in all a very impressive show if you like snakes, venom and death.
My diet plan: walking the streets
As senior men and women of a certain age and physical condition, we are often plagued by constant and well-meant advice, threats and warnings concerning a need to diet. TV ads are subtly (or not) pointed out to us showing remarkable before and after photos. We all have friends who participated in those star-sponsored diets and had great results, several times, in fact. Which brings up the point often hastily skipped over: in order to keep the pounds off, one must continue to purchase dishes from their menu selections, plus we must not forget the dreaded exercise.
As a constant martyr to my diet (ask anyone), I faced this reality and embarked upon a rigorous walking/exercise program during my holiday. For hours, night or day I relentlessly walked the hot and steamy streets and alleys of Chiang Mai and Bangkok. Facing facts, however, I concede to failure. I blame the spread of American culture which has invaded even the seediest, seamiest areas where I happened to stroll: Mr. Donut, Big Mac, Dairy Queen, etc. are everywhere, taunting the health conscious.
Due to the heat, naturally I had to stop now and then to take sanctuary and where, of necessity, partake of the teensiest morsel, hardly worth mentioning, for sustenance. After an exhausting three weeks, the results have been disappointing. I am therefore forced, as many of you must, to admit to a real problem. Luckily, I just discovered the cause of it all in a wonderful supermarket newspaper article. It seems it is not our fault; we suffer from a low metabolism. That’s the answer and we’ll just have to live with it. What else can we do?
