Bangkok ends in the blue light of a night bus.

The last Bangkok day before the north is deliberately not a heroic day. No huge temple, no programme, no need to see everything once more. First: slow down. One hour full-body massage, and a tiny Thai lady treats my body as if I were made of chewing gum. She presses, pulls, climbs around on me in spirit, and because we share no language, we both just laugh. That works as translation.

Bangkok also makes it almost impossible not to eat something small all the time. Every two hours there is another smell, another colour, another pot, skewer, cup, something. You decide to be reasonable, and then the street briefly smells better than your plan.

In the evening the mode changes. The big luggage stays stored, the pickup goes to the bus terminal, and Bangkok turns into a night line to Chiang Mai. On the map it almost looks tidy: 11 hours and 10 minutes as a glowing line north, past Ayutthaya, Tak and Lampang. In reality it is a whole night, roughly 750 kilometres, and tomorrow my head should be fresh enough to absorb a new city.

And then the bus is there. No, it is not an airplane, even if the cabin, light and service pretend for a second. The seat slides almost into a real bed position, has its own capsule logic and even built-in body massage. After the real Thai massage in the afternoon, almost the mechanical sequel. A hot meal in the middle of the night is included. Thailand again delivers that sentence I keep thinking here: unbelievable service. Good night, Bangkok. North, see you soon.