I could smell Bangkok as soon as they opened the cabin doors.

The delicious humidity crept into the plane like a phantom mist, as did the smell of exhaust and open sewage. The heat was shocking — May is the hottest month of the year in Thailand. I unconsciously let out a happy, contented sigh at the first whiff; It’s good to be back.

As I stood in the endless queue for immigration, I actually witnessed my beaten Gregory backpack — lovingly sewn back together with fishing line before leaving home — slide down onto the baggage carousel behind the row of stamp-wielding guys in uniforms. The thump thump sounds of them pounding passports was tantalizing.

Just on the other side of no man’s land and those brown-uniformed guys was my favorite country. I watched my bag circulate a dozen times while I was waiting to be stamped in.

When I collected my bag, there was oil and actual, physical tiremarks imprinted on the straps. Now that’s something new.

I’ve seen bags fall off the luggage tractors before, but I’ve never seen a guy deliberately back up to run one over a time or two. He must enjoy his corporate job as much as I once enjoyed mine. I’m not the only one with bag damage; a queue forms at the counter with angry people shouting claims about broken wheels and bloodstains.

No matter, I couldn’t be happier standing on my feet with 12 kilograms on my back.

Particularly after being Shanghaied!

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Vagabonding legend Amanda Formoso gave me a good quote from Celine: ”Your degree of fatigue gives you a pretty good idea whether you’ve reached your destination.”

If that’s true, then apparently I have already arrived.

I’m writing this from the french-fry-scattered floor of the international terminal in LAX, competing for space with other travelers among some of the best filth that Los Angeles can provide. Guys buff floors while shouting to one another in Spanish; the smells of cleaning fluids and closed restaurants hang in the air.

Actually, despite being shattered by weariness, my shell of a body has managed to cross only one meager continent so far: North America. I’ve still got the Pacific Ocean to cross and part of another continent — Asia — to go; 8,000 miles in all.

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My 10-year-old niece has sealed the deal; she gave me the number “200″ on the phone tonight, which corresponded to…

Simon Uribe-Convers!

Originally from Columbia, Simon is studying science stuff that flies way over my head at the University of Idaho.

Simon is actually an old travel friend. We managed to do some Red Sea diving and get into trouble in Dabab, Egypt, way back in 2006.

No anthrax or peculiar parcels in the mail, please. A good majority of the people who entered the contest by liking my Vagabonding Travel Facebook page were either local or travel friends. I am, however, a little relieved that none of my friends here in Kentucky won; despite saving some money on postage, I would have had some potential ‘splaining to do. Don’t hate the messenger.

The good news is that I’m sure Simon will put the waterproof backpack to good use. While he may use it just to keep homework dry, or as a soft cooler for beer, he’s also the type of guy who would chop through six hours of jungle vines and snakes just to collect a rare plant sample.

Congratulations, Simon!