The mood here is somber and sobering, to say the least. A couple of countries away, the devastation in Mumbai is making the violent protests here in BKK look like a fart in the wind. I don't know enough about the disturbing events in India yet to opine any educated words about it, but needless to say that hearing those accounts, talking to Thai residents who know people involved, on top of the closing of all airports in Thailand due to the scuffle between the PAD (People's Alliance for Democracy) and the corrupt-ass Thai govt., I'm starting to feel a little claustrophobic. I'm supposed to stop through Bangkok over X-mas break to update my visa. I have mixed feelings about that. I'm not worried about being a foreigner in that situation, as the tension is between the PAD and Thailand's Prime Minister, but the potential for violence is a little nerve-wracking, even here in Surat, about 450 miles from the scene. So, I hope they resolve this shit come X-mas time.
To make things worse, it hasn't stopped raining for three weeks (the rainy season supposedly ended at the end of Oct.) which means all the scorpions and centipedes and millipedes are seeking shelter indoors, a vicious species of mold has begun to colonize my clothes and pillows, my only form of transportation has no pedals, and my computer is kaput. That last piece of news means that I won't be able to keep up with this here blog as much. From here on out I'll have to write everything short-hand, and then find some Internet cafe to transfer the words. But I've decided to breeze through my time in Chiang Mai, my B-day sojourn to Koh Tao, emphasizing the highlights and omitting the bullshit, or else I'll never catch up.
With all this drama, it mind sound like I'm not having any fun, but make no mistake, this has so far been the most fulfilling experience of my life, and that has everything to do with the kids I teach. They are, quite simply, a-may-zing. As soon as I walk into that classroom (just wait till you see my classroom videos, coming-soon I hope), I forget about all the strife going on around me. I forget about the sweltering heat (yes, it's hotter than FL); I forget about the prehistoric bugs haunting my bedsheets; I forget about lady-boys who try to manhandle my man-marbles every time I go to a bar/club; I forget about all the fantastic fucking football I'm missing; I forget about how much I miss my family and friends. I seriously want to smuggle these Thai kids back to America with me. As much as I love their country and culture, I want to show these kids a life they deserve. These kids are budding geniuses; they have a thirst for knowledge the likes of which I've never seen in an American classroom. And it's going unnoticed and unappreciated. So this post is a long overdue tribute to the reason why I'm here. My students. I hope that I'm teaching them a fraction of what I've already learned from them.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Shots Fired!
Shit got hairy last Thursday. It was certainly a day of reflection. It's days like last Thursday when I ask myself, "What the fuck am I doing here? What the fuck am I trying to prove? Do I really want to go through with this teaching thing for a year or more, and if so, do I really want to do it in Thailand?" I've heard people say how much safer a country Thailand is than the States; how much less crime there is. And for the most part, from what I can tell so far, that statement is pretty accurate. But there's a misconception in that thinking. There are certainly more dangerous, deranged, and generally fucked-up people in America, but we have a much better system of keeping those people in check. When something illegal happens in Thailand, it usually goes unreported by any witnesses, and unnoticed by any police. And this isn't a presumptuous, half-cocked theory that I've formed after being here for less than two months; this is a wide-spread attitude that I've picked up on after talking to many people, both native and farang, who have lived here for quite some time. What incident inspired these insights, you might be asking? Well, nothing I could write or say could possibly convey how close my pants came to being soiled, but I'll try.
Thursday evening I decided to be a good roommate and take out the garbage. The only other person home at the time was Katy. Ryan and Claire were still teaching. When Katy saw me struggling with the large garbage can, she offered her assistance. I declined, thus losing my only English-speaking eyewitness to the events that were about to unfold. But she did hear the events. Feigning gentlemanliness, I hoisted the can over my back and exited the apartment.
The two street-cans that we dump our garbage into are about 50 yards up the street from our front door. As I approached the trash barrels and began to unload my load, I heard a loud report. Being used to such startling noises in Chiang Mai, be it arrant fireworks or back-firing scooters or exploding transformers, I thought nothing of it. I attributed it to being the day after Loy Kratong, a festival giving tribute to the goddess of water, and some rappscallions setting off left-over black-cats. Then I heard five or six more loud shots, and I knew something was rotten in Surat. As I began to turn around, the first thing I noticed was a little boy riding by me on his bicycle. I looked over his head and in the middle of the street, about half way between me and my apartment (about 20 yards away), was a clusterfuck of three cars and two scooters and about three men on foot. The men on foot were each holding guns, .38 specials which I figured out from the shell-casing I found later that evening, and they were firing them haphazardly into the air.
For some reason, my first instinct was to pretend like none of it was actually happening. I turned around and continued dumping my garbage. That's when I saw that the little boy on his bicycle was cowering behind me, and when our eyes met he actually grabbed me, his eyes pleading for me not to expose him. That's when I realized that this shit was really happening. I turned my head one more time for some validation, and saw one of the gunmen point in my direction. I'm quite sure, only in hindsight, that he was in no way interested in me. But that finger falling anywhere in my vicinity got my blood a boiling. The scooter, with two Thai dudes on it, hauled ass towards me and my little compadre, followed shortly by a very expensive looking car the likes of which you don't see in Surat. That's when I grabbed my tiny friend by the shirt and ran for the cover of a nearby fence. The car and scooter drove by us, without a glance in our direction no doubt, and we waited for what seemed like ten minutes (in reality 30 seconds) before emerging.
Thai people live in complete denial of anything awkward or embarrassing. "Save face" is the motto of the entire country. Soon after the incident that nearly shook my pants, the once trembling little boy was calling across the field we were in to some friends, with a huge smile on his face, regaling the now laughable events that had just transpired. He ran off with out even so-much as a, "Kopen Kup (thank you)." Returning to the street from behind my fence, I saw that all the neighbors and store-owners had come out to the street to see what all the hubbub was about. I was greeted with Thai gufaws and gibberish (one woman actually mocked me by mimicking me holding up my garbage can in front of me like a shield). I didn't mind the laughs so much, being thankful that I walked away unscathed, but I was fucking disturbed that these people seemed so un-fazed by what had happened, and I was quite sure that none of them were attempting to contact the authorities. Walking down the street in my new-found glory and celebritay, my walk soon became a fast trot when I realized that those bullets had to fall somewhere.
And that's it. Guess you had to be there. I still don't know what exactly transpired, but there's a shop-keeper on our block that speaks pretty good English, so I'll try and get the scoop soon. Christ on a waffle-cone.
Thursday evening I decided to be a good roommate and take out the garbage. The only other person home at the time was Katy. Ryan and Claire were still teaching. When Katy saw me struggling with the large garbage can, she offered her assistance. I declined, thus losing my only English-speaking eyewitness to the events that were about to unfold. But she did hear the events. Feigning gentlemanliness, I hoisted the can over my back and exited the apartment.
The two street-cans that we dump our garbage into are about 50 yards up the street from our front door. As I approached the trash barrels and began to unload my load, I heard a loud report. Being used to such startling noises in Chiang Mai, be it arrant fireworks or back-firing scooters or exploding transformers, I thought nothing of it. I attributed it to being the day after Loy Kratong, a festival giving tribute to the goddess of water, and some rappscallions setting off left-over black-cats. Then I heard five or six more loud shots, and I knew something was rotten in Surat. As I began to turn around, the first thing I noticed was a little boy riding by me on his bicycle. I looked over his head and in the middle of the street, about half way between me and my apartment (about 20 yards away), was a clusterfuck of three cars and two scooters and about three men on foot. The men on foot were each holding guns, .38 specials which I figured out from the shell-casing I found later that evening, and they were firing them haphazardly into the air.
For some reason, my first instinct was to pretend like none of it was actually happening. I turned around and continued dumping my garbage. That's when I saw that the little boy on his bicycle was cowering behind me, and when our eyes met he actually grabbed me, his eyes pleading for me not to expose him. That's when I realized that this shit was really happening. I turned my head one more time for some validation, and saw one of the gunmen point in my direction. I'm quite sure, only in hindsight, that he was in no way interested in me. But that finger falling anywhere in my vicinity got my blood a boiling. The scooter, with two Thai dudes on it, hauled ass towards me and my little compadre, followed shortly by a very expensive looking car the likes of which you don't see in Surat. That's when I grabbed my tiny friend by the shirt and ran for the cover of a nearby fence. The car and scooter drove by us, without a glance in our direction no doubt, and we waited for what seemed like ten minutes (in reality 30 seconds) before emerging.
Thai people live in complete denial of anything awkward or embarrassing. "Save face" is the motto of the entire country. Soon after the incident that nearly shook my pants, the once trembling little boy was calling across the field we were in to some friends, with a huge smile on his face, regaling the now laughable events that had just transpired. He ran off with out even so-much as a, "Kopen Kup (thank you)." Returning to the street from behind my fence, I saw that all the neighbors and store-owners had come out to the street to see what all the hubbub was about. I was greeted with Thai gufaws and gibberish (one woman actually mocked me by mimicking me holding up my garbage can in front of me like a shield). I didn't mind the laughs so much, being thankful that I walked away unscathed, but I was fucking disturbed that these people seemed so un-fazed by what had happened, and I was quite sure that none of them were attempting to contact the authorities. Walking down the street in my new-found glory and celebritay, my walk soon became a fast trot when I realized that those bullets had to fall somewhere.
And that's it. Guess you had to be there. I still don't know what exactly transpired, but there's a shop-keeper on our block that speaks pretty good English, so I'll try and get the scoop soon. Christ on a waffle-cone.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Random Thai Nuggets
The Thai people don’t refrigerate their eggs. In the household they sit right out on the counter with the fruit and the bread, and in the supermarket you can find them in any dry goods aisle.
From what I can tell, there are only seven beers served regularly in Thailand, and when I say regularly I mean these are the only beers I’ve seen in all the 7-11’s, liquor stores, grocery stores, bars/restaurants, beaches, trains or ferries I’ve been in or on. These beers are Singha, Chang, Leo, Tiger, Cheers, San Miguel and Heineken. Leo is by far my favorite, as it is the most economical choice at around 37 Baht for 32 oz., and it doesn’t sacrifice quality, what little of it there is in Thai beer. Singha tastes much like Leo (they all taste much the same, actually), but it costs about 10 or 12 extra baht. Tiger and San Miguel are more uncommon than the others, so I know very little about them except that San Miguel tastes a lot like Miller Lite. Chang, probably the most popular beer in Thailand, is quite possibly the worst, due to the fact that it tastes like formaldehyde…maybe because it’s made with formaldehyde. No, seriously.
As you may have seen in some of my pics, there are portraits of the King and Queen everywhere in Thailand, in all shapes, sizes, and styles. Every residence, business, hospital, school, venue, and of course government building has at least one picture of His Majesty on display, whether it be a tattered photo in a cracked frame in some dingy pool hall or greasy bike-shop, or a 20-foot gilded painting overlooking the plaza of Bangkok’s train-station, or just a modest photograph of the royal family hanging in the living-room. His regal visage graces bill-boards, building facades, street-signs, and murals on just about every corner of every main thoroughfare. You cannot escape his ubiquitous gaze. An example of how omnipresent his face actually is: I was on a scorpion-tail boat, cruising up the Mae Ping River, on my way to a local farm to spend the day harvesting fruit and vegetables (and to slaughter a pig). The boat picked me up from the Nawarat Bridge, very much near the center of the city, so for the first hour of the two-and-a-half hour boat ride, there was still quite a bit of urban presence on both banks of the river. As the commercial districts, and then residential districts, gradually gave way to farmland, the 21st century seemed to evaporate. There was hardly any hint of civilization anywhere for miles around. We had almost reached the farmhouse after rounding a large bend in the river, when out of nowhere appeared a huge painted sign, the size of two American bill-boards, with the King’s profile on it. It plainly said,”You may have left civilization, but here's a not-so-subtle reminder that you’re still in my mother-fuckin kingdom, sucka.”
Speaking of His Highness, certain days of the week have a designated color-coded shirt assigned to it; designed to show to society how much you love the King. It is not mandatory to wear these shirts in public, though it is strongly recommended that teachers and government employees do so. The shirts are standard polo-shirts, with the royal emblem over the left breast. On Monday, you wear a yellow shirt to honor the King’s birthday, which was on a Monday. Tuesday is "good health" day, and pink shirts are worn to wish good health upon everyone in the kingdom, but especially the King (I’m not sure of the specific origins of this day, and why the color pink was chosen, but Tuesdays in Thailand would make LJ very happy). And on Friday (I think, maybe it’s Thursday) you’re supposed to wear blue to honor the Queen’s birthday. Sometimes random-ass shit will happen, like the King will sign a very important treaty or something, and you’ll be asked to wear purple, or some shit. Just yesterday, they cremated the King’s sister (who died in July), and everyone wore black to school. It is effing hot here. There was some sweat poured.
Now, a little about Thai wildlife:
The snails in Thailand are like lightning in a shell. These are some fast fucking mollusks! One of my first nights in CM, I was out on my patio drinking a beer and I set the bottle down at my feet. Not a minute later, I grabbed the bottle and brought it up to my lips. I just about swallowed my tongue when I saw the largest snail I’ve ever seen, outside of my dreams, perched on the rim of the beer. Now, that sucker either fell directly on the lip of the bottle and had the dexterity to suck onto it (which I think I would’ve witnessed or at least heard), or it crawled up with a quickness the likes of which have never been seen in a Gastropod. (There’s a pic of said snail on my face book).
The bats in Thailand are straight out of the Temple of Doom. Remember when Kate Capshaw, sitting atop her elephant on their way to Pankot Palace, pointed to the sky and said, “Oooh! What big birds!” And Indiana Jones replies, “Those aren’t big birds, sweetheart. They’re giant, vampire bats.” Yeah. That’s what I’m dealing with.
In Chiang Mai, the most popular sport is not football (soccer). No, it’s beetle-fighting. I found this out when I was walking through Old Town and I saw a man behind a cart that had several strips of paper hanging from a wire. The paper was covered with sugar-cane juice, and slurping away on each piece was a gigantic, rhinoceros, stag beetle. The man pleaded with me to purchase one of his beetles, and I declined thinking that they were being sold as a snack. Later that week I read in the The Nation (Thailand’s English newspaper) an article on beetle-fighting, and I high-tailed my way back to the vendor to purchase my future champ. Beetle-fighting involves placing a female beetle within a hollowed-out piece of bamboo or wood, and then placing two male beetles on top, who are driven into a frenzy by the female’s scent and a beetle-battle shortly ensues. The beetles look to be about 3 or 4 inches long, with large horns on their heads (some with as many as five). I’ve witnessed a few fights, and the bets usually go for about 100 baht a round. While I didn’t get a chance to fight my beetle (his name’s Sid), I let him loose in the canopied courtyard of Santitham, so hopefully he’ll still be there when I go back come Christmas time.
That’s all for now. More nuggets later, and more about my first weeks in CM, my B-day week in Koh Tao (whalesharks!), and my new job down in Surat.
From what I can tell, there are only seven beers served regularly in Thailand, and when I say regularly I mean these are the only beers I’ve seen in all the 7-11’s, liquor stores, grocery stores, bars/restaurants, beaches, trains or ferries I’ve been in or on. These beers are Singha, Chang, Leo, Tiger, Cheers, San Miguel and Heineken. Leo is by far my favorite, as it is the most economical choice at around 37 Baht for 32 oz., and it doesn’t sacrifice quality, what little of it there is in Thai beer. Singha tastes much like Leo (they all taste much the same, actually), but it costs about 10 or 12 extra baht. Tiger and San Miguel are more uncommon than the others, so I know very little about them except that San Miguel tastes a lot like Miller Lite. Chang, probably the most popular beer in Thailand, is quite possibly the worst, due to the fact that it tastes like formaldehyde…maybe because it’s made with formaldehyde. No, seriously.
As you may have seen in some of my pics, there are portraits of the King and Queen everywhere in Thailand, in all shapes, sizes, and styles. Every residence, business, hospital, school, venue, and of course government building has at least one picture of His Majesty on display, whether it be a tattered photo in a cracked frame in some dingy pool hall or greasy bike-shop, or a 20-foot gilded painting overlooking the plaza of Bangkok’s train-station, or just a modest photograph of the royal family hanging in the living-room. His regal visage graces bill-boards, building facades, street-signs, and murals on just about every corner of every main thoroughfare. You cannot escape his ubiquitous gaze. An example of how omnipresent his face actually is: I was on a scorpion-tail boat, cruising up the Mae Ping River, on my way to a local farm to spend the day harvesting fruit and vegetables (and to slaughter a pig). The boat picked me up from the Nawarat Bridge, very much near the center of the city, so for the first hour of the two-and-a-half hour boat ride, there was still quite a bit of urban presence on both banks of the river. As the commercial districts, and then residential districts, gradually gave way to farmland, the 21st century seemed to evaporate. There was hardly any hint of civilization anywhere for miles around. We had almost reached the farmhouse after rounding a large bend in the river, when out of nowhere appeared a huge painted sign, the size of two American bill-boards, with the King’s profile on it. It plainly said,”You may have left civilization, but here's a not-so-subtle reminder that you’re still in my mother-fuckin kingdom, sucka.”
Speaking of His Highness, certain days of the week have a designated color-coded shirt assigned to it; designed to show to society how much you love the King. It is not mandatory to wear these shirts in public, though it is strongly recommended that teachers and government employees do so. The shirts are standard polo-shirts, with the royal emblem over the left breast. On Monday, you wear a yellow shirt to honor the King’s birthday, which was on a Monday. Tuesday is "good health" day, and pink shirts are worn to wish good health upon everyone in the kingdom, but especially the King (I’m not sure of the specific origins of this day, and why the color pink was chosen, but Tuesdays in Thailand would make LJ very happy). And on Friday (I think, maybe it’s Thursday) you’re supposed to wear blue to honor the Queen’s birthday. Sometimes random-ass shit will happen, like the King will sign a very important treaty or something, and you’ll be asked to wear purple, or some shit. Just yesterday, they cremated the King’s sister (who died in July), and everyone wore black to school. It is effing hot here. There was some sweat poured.
Now, a little about Thai wildlife:
The snails in Thailand are like lightning in a shell. These are some fast fucking mollusks! One of my first nights in CM, I was out on my patio drinking a beer and I set the bottle down at my feet. Not a minute later, I grabbed the bottle and brought it up to my lips. I just about swallowed my tongue when I saw the largest snail I’ve ever seen, outside of my dreams, perched on the rim of the beer. Now, that sucker either fell directly on the lip of the bottle and had the dexterity to suck onto it (which I think I would’ve witnessed or at least heard), or it crawled up with a quickness the likes of which have never been seen in a Gastropod. (There’s a pic of said snail on my face book).
The bats in Thailand are straight out of the Temple of Doom. Remember when Kate Capshaw, sitting atop her elephant on their way to Pankot Palace, pointed to the sky and said, “Oooh! What big birds!” And Indiana Jones replies, “Those aren’t big birds, sweetheart. They’re giant, vampire bats.” Yeah. That’s what I’m dealing with.
In Chiang Mai, the most popular sport is not football (soccer). No, it’s beetle-fighting. I found this out when I was walking through Old Town and I saw a man behind a cart that had several strips of paper hanging from a wire. The paper was covered with sugar-cane juice, and slurping away on each piece was a gigantic, rhinoceros, stag beetle. The man pleaded with me to purchase one of his beetles, and I declined thinking that they were being sold as a snack. Later that week I read in the The Nation (Thailand’s English newspaper) an article on beetle-fighting, and I high-tailed my way back to the vendor to purchase my future champ. Beetle-fighting involves placing a female beetle within a hollowed-out piece of bamboo or wood, and then placing two male beetles on top, who are driven into a frenzy by the female’s scent and a beetle-battle shortly ensues. The beetles look to be about 3 or 4 inches long, with large horns on their heads (some with as many as five). I’ve witnessed a few fights, and the bets usually go for about 100 baht a round. While I didn’t get a chance to fight my beetle (his name’s Sid), I let him loose in the canopied courtyard of Santitham, so hopefully he’ll still be there when I go back come Christmas time.
That’s all for now. More nuggets later, and more about my first weeks in CM, my B-day week in Koh Tao (whalesharks!), and my new job down in Surat.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Afternoon Uprising in the Park, and a Run-in with the Ratking
My second day on Siam soil I met a fellow American, walked over 15 miles, sweat half my body weight, nearly got tear-gassed, and ran into some of Thai‘s urban wildlife. Other than that, it was pretty uneventful, but only because I was already oversaturated with sensory overload. My culture coffer had been severely neglected over the past 29 years (other than a few jaunts cross-country, and abbreviated stays in ATL and Seattle, which turned out to be more distracting and detrimental than anything else), but it was busting at the seams after just one day in Chiang Mai…and all I had done was visit the mall and get a massage.
After 13 hours of strange dream-ridden slumber, I was awakened by the unmerciful sound of a miter-saw. I knew the satin sheets and plump pillows, and cheapness, of my king-size bed were too good to be true, hence the juxtaposition of comfort and construction sounds. But the last thing I wanted was to get in the habit of sleeping in, so I welcomed the wake-up call and dragged myself to the shower.
Luckily, the cold water woke me up enough to remember that the first presidential debate was about to start, so I quickly got dressed and headed over to the main house for some political banter and breakfast. I ran into one of the other guests on his way out. His name was Mike, a Californian, and he’d come to Thailand to learn Muy Thai kick-boxing, and from the looks of it, to find a little love as well. He introduced me to his Thai girlfriend, Ana, and asked if I’d like to join them for some beers later on. I told them I would if I didn’t get lost on my planned excursion that day. I then settled down to the food Neung had laid out for me, and turned on the tube to watch our boy kick some fundamental ass.
After another light breakfast of coffee, yogurt, and strange fruit, and an Obama victory, I once again headed out in search of unknown sights and smells. Still zombiefied with jet-lag, I nevertheless passed up my bicycle and a tuk-tuk for a good old-fashioned walkabout. I felt I could absorb more of the city on foot, worry less about becoming a scooter smear on the sidewalk, and I didn’t even know where to tell a tuk-tuk to take me. It wouldn’t be my first mistake that day.
Staring is not a faux pas in this country, and is practiced quite regularly. I’ve endured much of it since I’ve been here, and fortunately have grown self-consciously numb because of it. But it being only my second day, walking amidst the Thai people on their turf, taking pictures left and right, my cultural sensitivities laid bare, I never felt more alienated. It was like that dream where you show up at school naked, except that everyone is laughing in a different language.
After wandering around aimlessly through the many sois of my neighborhood, I decided to head toward the hub of the city, the Old Town with it’s crumbling walls and stagnant moat. I knew that was where most of the farang hung out, and I also wanted to check out the Night Bazaar. By the time I made it there, my clothes and backpack were soaked through with sweat. As a result, I spent the better part of the remaining afternoon scrambling from shaded café to shaded café, drinking water and occasionally gambling on a menu. Wandering around Old Town, and the rest of the city, I began to realize that a vast majority of businesses were restaurants or roadside food-stalls, internet cafes or computer stores, guesthouses or tourist information, and scooter repair shops. Tourism really is the driving force behind Thailand’s economy. I honestly don’t know what they would do without it.
Evening had begun to settle in, so I decided to head for “home”. On the way, I passed a park across the street from a mental hospital, called Old Ram Park and Old Ram Hospital respectively. Everything was “Old Something or Other” in this town. I decided to check out the park, mostly for the hell of it, but particularly because I saw a group of men playing a game I had never seen before. The game was called Takro, and it looks like a cross between soccer and basketball. The ball is made of woven rattan (palm leaves), what they use to make canes (the whipping kind), and it is kicked around a circle of players, in the middle of which is a pole about 20 feet tall with a small hoop at the top. I don’t think I need to explain it anymore; needless to say it looked hard as hell. I vowed to master it. One of the players caught me sneaking some pictures of the game, and asked me if I wanted to join, and I readily accepted the invitation. If anyone has seen my hacky-sack skills, then you probably know the outcome of my first round of Takro. A lot of sand was kicked, but I did manage to get the ball through the hoop, albeit the wrong way.
Heading out of the east end of the park for Santitham, I passed a large open area with a large shrine-like structure in the middle. A throng of people had gathered around one side it, and they were shouting about something. I kept walking, but the cacophony had captured my curiosity. I was about to pass through the gates of the park when all of a sudden the shrine exploded amidst a bevy of fireworks. I quickly got out my camera, but as I took some pictures, the shrine became completely enveloped in smoke. I soon realized that the fireworks were not the smoke’s only source, and sure enough a wall of transparent riot shields emerged from the thick cloud accompanied by nightsticks and gas-masked faces. What I had initially thought to be a joyous July 4th-like celebration in the park, soon escalated to a stampede, during which I realized I could run as fast if not faster than any Thai. I never did find out the purpose of the demonstration and firework display. Nor have I figured out the motives of the Chiang Mai police, who on their worst days are nothing but complacent. I questioned Burm later that evening about the incident, but he clammed up quicker than my escape from the park. In fact, he looked a little offended that I even asked.
All the running had made me hungry, so I stopped by a restaurant called Lek’s Corner not too far from my place, and experienced some of the spiciest soup of my life. It’s called Tom-Yum soup, and it’s fucking spicy. But amazingly delicious. After about four eye-sweating sips, I asked the waiter for a doggie bag, and he gave me an understandable laugh. Walking home from Lek’s, I was accosted by the largest rat I’ve ever seen. It came out of nowhere, and nonchalantly ambled over my foot. I’ve seen about a handful of these suckers since that night, and they are not afraid of people. No joke, these mother-humpers have turned the tables on the age-old rivalry between feline and rodent.
Like I said, an uneventful day. I’m now gonna try and upload some pics, even though it takes for fucking ever. Hope to write again soon. Oh! And by the way. Congratu-fucking-lations America! We finally got it right! I’d love to hear from some of you about your election day experience. What was it like? What were the vibes? How did the Repubs handle it? Give me some feedback. Talk to you soon.
After 13 hours of strange dream-ridden slumber, I was awakened by the unmerciful sound of a miter-saw. I knew the satin sheets and plump pillows, and cheapness, of my king-size bed were too good to be true, hence the juxtaposition of comfort and construction sounds. But the last thing I wanted was to get in the habit of sleeping in, so I welcomed the wake-up call and dragged myself to the shower.
Luckily, the cold water woke me up enough to remember that the first presidential debate was about to start, so I quickly got dressed and headed over to the main house for some political banter and breakfast. I ran into one of the other guests on his way out. His name was Mike, a Californian, and he’d come to Thailand to learn Muy Thai kick-boxing, and from the looks of it, to find a little love as well. He introduced me to his Thai girlfriend, Ana, and asked if I’d like to join them for some beers later on. I told them I would if I didn’t get lost on my planned excursion that day. I then settled down to the food Neung had laid out for me, and turned on the tube to watch our boy kick some fundamental ass.
After another light breakfast of coffee, yogurt, and strange fruit, and an Obama victory, I once again headed out in search of unknown sights and smells. Still zombiefied with jet-lag, I nevertheless passed up my bicycle and a tuk-tuk for a good old-fashioned walkabout. I felt I could absorb more of the city on foot, worry less about becoming a scooter smear on the sidewalk, and I didn’t even know where to tell a tuk-tuk to take me. It wouldn’t be my first mistake that day.
Staring is not a faux pas in this country, and is practiced quite regularly. I’ve endured much of it since I’ve been here, and fortunately have grown self-consciously numb because of it. But it being only my second day, walking amidst the Thai people on their turf, taking pictures left and right, my cultural sensitivities laid bare, I never felt more alienated. It was like that dream where you show up at school naked, except that everyone is laughing in a different language.
After wandering around aimlessly through the many sois of my neighborhood, I decided to head toward the hub of the city, the Old Town with it’s crumbling walls and stagnant moat. I knew that was where most of the farang hung out, and I also wanted to check out the Night Bazaar. By the time I made it there, my clothes and backpack were soaked through with sweat. As a result, I spent the better part of the remaining afternoon scrambling from shaded café to shaded café, drinking water and occasionally gambling on a menu. Wandering around Old Town, and the rest of the city, I began to realize that a vast majority of businesses were restaurants or roadside food-stalls, internet cafes or computer stores, guesthouses or tourist information, and scooter repair shops. Tourism really is the driving force behind Thailand’s economy. I honestly don’t know what they would do without it.
Evening had begun to settle in, so I decided to head for “home”. On the way, I passed a park across the street from a mental hospital, called Old Ram Park and Old Ram Hospital respectively. Everything was “Old Something or Other” in this town. I decided to check out the park, mostly for the hell of it, but particularly because I saw a group of men playing a game I had never seen before. The game was called Takro, and it looks like a cross between soccer and basketball. The ball is made of woven rattan (palm leaves), what they use to make canes (the whipping kind), and it is kicked around a circle of players, in the middle of which is a pole about 20 feet tall with a small hoop at the top. I don’t think I need to explain it anymore; needless to say it looked hard as hell. I vowed to master it. One of the players caught me sneaking some pictures of the game, and asked me if I wanted to join, and I readily accepted the invitation. If anyone has seen my hacky-sack skills, then you probably know the outcome of my first round of Takro. A lot of sand was kicked, but I did manage to get the ball through the hoop, albeit the wrong way.
Heading out of the east end of the park for Santitham, I passed a large open area with a large shrine-like structure in the middle. A throng of people had gathered around one side it, and they were shouting about something. I kept walking, but the cacophony had captured my curiosity. I was about to pass through the gates of the park when all of a sudden the shrine exploded amidst a bevy of fireworks. I quickly got out my camera, but as I took some pictures, the shrine became completely enveloped in smoke. I soon realized that the fireworks were not the smoke’s only source, and sure enough a wall of transparent riot shields emerged from the thick cloud accompanied by nightsticks and gas-masked faces. What I had initially thought to be a joyous July 4th-like celebration in the park, soon escalated to a stampede, during which I realized I could run as fast if not faster than any Thai. I never did find out the purpose of the demonstration and firework display. Nor have I figured out the motives of the Chiang Mai police, who on their worst days are nothing but complacent. I questioned Burm later that evening about the incident, but he clammed up quicker than my escape from the park. In fact, he looked a little offended that I even asked.
All the running had made me hungry, so I stopped by a restaurant called Lek’s Corner not too far from my place, and experienced some of the spiciest soup of my life. It’s called Tom-Yum soup, and it’s fucking spicy. But amazingly delicious. After about four eye-sweating sips, I asked the waiter for a doggie bag, and he gave me an understandable laugh. Walking home from Lek’s, I was accosted by the largest rat I’ve ever seen. It came out of nowhere, and nonchalantly ambled over my foot. I’ve seen about a handful of these suckers since that night, and they are not afraid of people. No joke, these mother-humpers have turned the tables on the age-old rivalry between feline and rodent.
Like I said, an uneventful day. I’m now gonna try and upload some pics, even though it takes for fucking ever. Hope to write again soon. Oh! And by the way. Congratu-fucking-lations America! We finally got it right! I’d love to hear from some of you about your election day experience. What was it like? What were the vibes? How did the Repubs handle it? Give me some feedback. Talk to you soon.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Surat Thani (Oct. 28th-Nov.2nd)
Hey there, 'merica. I haven't talked or corresponded with anyone outside of Thailand for over a week now, and I'm missin y'all something fierce. I just finished my first week of teaching English, and it's been hectic as all get out. I've had very little time to get acclimated to my new surroundings, let alone find somewhere with internet access, so I apologize for the MIA, especially to Penny Saier who's had very little sleep in the past several days (I just called her for the first time on Friday).
I arrived this past Tuesday (Oct. 28th) at my new home in Surat Thani, a very uninspired port town on the southeastern coast of Siam. As blase as Surat may seem, it is the gateway to paradise on the eastern islands of Koh Samui, Pha-Ngan, and Tao in the Gulf of Thailand, and Krabi, Phuket (I can do without), and Phi-Phi on the Andaman Sea. The last stop on Thai Railway's southern line is also the center of the last foreigner-friendly province before you reach the political unrest of the Thai-Malay border (which I'll be taking a run through once I make my passport run to Butterworth).
My living situation has been severely down-scaled from my somewhat luxurious digs in Chiang Mai. I live in a three-story, four-bedroom dormish house about a mile or two from my school. My front door is sliding-glass behind a rolling garage panel that opens into the large living area which also serves as dining-room and kitchen. My bedroom and bathroom (the dish-washing room) are the only other rooms on the bottom floor. I have three other roommates, all American, who occupy the remaining floors of the house. There's Ryan and Katy from Chicago, and Claire from Memphis, and they're all nice enough, although I'm still getting to know them. What I know of them so far: Katy is an extremely active, fitness fanatic, who can't sit still even after a smoke (that's right, I finally found me some haha); Ryan is a freak in the classroom, screaming at the kids, jumping on desks, grunting and griping like a Thai cookie monster, and he takes on the exact same persona when he's drunk; Claire watches Chinese bootlegs of Gossip Girl...and that's pretty much it. Oh, and she pissed the bed the other night after getting stoned. And those are my flat-mates.
My school, Thaeda (which is short for who-knows-what), is based in the center of town and caters to some 5000 elementary, middle and high-school students. I teach two classes from all three levels, and I recently met a 60-year old hippie lady who wants me to take up a class at the local university as well. The kids, even with their loose knowledge of English, are smart little buggers, and never cease to put a smile on my face. The school itself is am impressive collection of large buildings with dirty exteriors (typical of most Thai structures outside of the Royal Palace), but overall it's a charming campus with large courtyards and lush gardens. I arrive there everyday at or around 8 a.m. on my pink, pedal-less bicycle, and leave at about 3 in the afternoon. I spend the rest of my day biking around town, playing basketball at a stadium not too far from my house, or reading in front of a fan. And that pretty much sums up my first week here in Surat.
I hope everyone is well. Happy Fest, you lucky motherfuckers, and happy belated Halloween! Sorry I missed out on the Clue party, someone please give me a recap. I'll try and write again soon, because I still have so much shit to tell y'all about my first weeks in Chiang Mai and my birthday week in Koh Tao. And I'll be sure to bring my camera next time so I can set up some Skype dates. Love you guys and can't wait to hear from you.
I arrived this past Tuesday (Oct. 28th) at my new home in Surat Thani, a very uninspired port town on the southeastern coast of Siam. As blase as Surat may seem, it is the gateway to paradise on the eastern islands of Koh Samui, Pha-Ngan, and Tao in the Gulf of Thailand, and Krabi, Phuket (I can do without), and Phi-Phi on the Andaman Sea. The last stop on Thai Railway's southern line is also the center of the last foreigner-friendly province before you reach the political unrest of the Thai-Malay border (which I'll be taking a run through once I make my passport run to Butterworth).
My living situation has been severely down-scaled from my somewhat luxurious digs in Chiang Mai. I live in a three-story, four-bedroom dormish house about a mile or two from my school. My front door is sliding-glass behind a rolling garage panel that opens into the large living area which also serves as dining-room and kitchen. My bedroom and bathroom (the dish-washing room) are the only other rooms on the bottom floor. I have three other roommates, all American, who occupy the remaining floors of the house. There's Ryan and Katy from Chicago, and Claire from Memphis, and they're all nice enough, although I'm still getting to know them. What I know of them so far: Katy is an extremely active, fitness fanatic, who can't sit still even after a smoke (that's right, I finally found me some haha); Ryan is a freak in the classroom, screaming at the kids, jumping on desks, grunting and griping like a Thai cookie monster, and he takes on the exact same persona when he's drunk; Claire watches Chinese bootlegs of Gossip Girl...and that's pretty much it. Oh, and she pissed the bed the other night after getting stoned. And those are my flat-mates.
My school, Thaeda (which is short for who-knows-what), is based in the center of town and caters to some 5000 elementary, middle and high-school students. I teach two classes from all three levels, and I recently met a 60-year old hippie lady who wants me to take up a class at the local university as well. The kids, even with their loose knowledge of English, are smart little buggers, and never cease to put a smile on my face. The school itself is am impressive collection of large buildings with dirty exteriors (typical of most Thai structures outside of the Royal Palace), but overall it's a charming campus with large courtyards and lush gardens. I arrive there everyday at or around 8 a.m. on my pink, pedal-less bicycle, and leave at about 3 in the afternoon. I spend the rest of my day biking around town, playing basketball at a stadium not too far from my house, or reading in front of a fan. And that pretty much sums up my first week here in Surat.
I hope everyone is well. Happy Fest, you lucky motherfuckers, and happy belated Halloween! Sorry I missed out on the Clue party, someone please give me a recap. I'll try and write again soon, because I still have so much shit to tell y'all about my first weeks in Chiang Mai and my birthday week in Koh Tao. And I'll be sure to bring my camera next time so I can set up some Skype dates. Love you guys and can't wait to hear from you.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Combobulated
I left the mall looking for a place called Old Medicine Hospital. It supposedly offered the cheapest massages in town, Baht 250 for 2 hours. I figured I'd pay 150 for 1 hour just to see what it was all about, and besides, it wouldn't take much to relax this dazed little farang because he was still struggling with some serious lag. I left my bike parked at the mall because according to my cryptic map the O.M.H. was only a block away. No sweat? Actually, a lot of sweat.
The map I had showed the OMH as a huge building, which is exactly what I pictured in my head: a large hospital. I had reservations about getting my first massage at a hospital; had reservations about visiting a hospital at all, especially on my first day. If anything I wanted to wait until I got malaria or bit by a cobra before I took a tour of the Thai medical facilities. But I didn't want to question the advice of my hosts, so I decided to at least check it out. This huge structure did not seem to exist, however. At least not on the main roads, where one would expect to find a hospital. I walked up and down the two large streets bordering the OMH's location on my map, but to no avail. I was just about to give up searching for the place (finding only a ginormous driving range enclosed by a net large enough to cover half the Swamp), when I happened to look down one of the side-streets (called sois) that connected the two roads I'd been combing. I hadn't thought to explore these sois, because they looked more like dark alleyways than any kind of thoroughfare. But as I glanced down a particularly filthy soi, infested with mange-bitten dogs, I noticed a building with a faded-looking sign that signaled I had found my destination.
Making my way through the pack of diseased canines, I realized I was treading on their turf, and it said so in their eyes. And Christ on a waffle cone, were there a lot of them! Dogs are to the cities of Thailand, what pigeons are to NYC. Thai pooches are a different kind of beast at night, as I would find out first hand later that week, but even in the daytime they have a look about them that says, "Fuck you and your uprightness. We're just two opposable-thumbs away from running these streets." I think the only thing preventing these dogs from showing me who's boss was that it was so fucking hot. Not all dogs are aggressive (i.e. domestic dogs, most little dogs, older and fatter dogs), but for the most part I would rather share a popsicle with a stray dog in Gainesville than pet any dog in Chiang Mai, not including Spot and Spot of course.
I have plenty more stories about Scott/canine relations in Thailand, and I'm sure I'll get to those at a later date, so enough about dogs. This post is titled "Combobulated" and at this point in my trip I was anything but. Now I know that combobulated isn't a word, but we're finally getting to the part of the story where I become...let us say...un-discombobulated.
The outside of the Old Medicine Hospital was very unimpressive. First off, it's in an alleyway surrounded by Cujos, and the building itself reminded me of the asylum in Kesey's One Flew... When I took my shoes off (which you're asked to do before walking into any house, establishment, and especially temple) and stepped into the lobby, I half expected an Asian Nurse Ratched to escort me to some whitewashed room where I was to be tied to some kind of massage-rack and pummeled into submission. I was more than a little nervous. The receptionist however, was a very timid and sweet young lady, and she told me to sit and wait for the next available Thai masseuse (I'm not sure if that's what they're called, but whatever). As I waited, I gathered through some of the waiting-room literature that the OMH was no hospital at all. I couldn't determine if it used to be a medical clinic at some point, but today it is solely a massage school and parlor (again, I don't know if the Thais would use the term parlor...there's a lot of things I don't know, yet). I was relieved.
I wasn't waiting long before a tiny old man about the size of my big toe walked through the front door, bowed deeply in my direction, raised his eyebrows, and said something like,"SawasdeekopenKRAPTUMTAAATEEDAAAAAmmmmditaamgaroonaaaa." I loosely translated that to be, "Hello thank you for coming to get massage HOLY ELEPHANT HAIR YOU ARE VERY LARGE follow me please." He then chuckled nervously at the receptionist and led me up a stairwell (in hindsight, I think the poor fellow was more nervous about having to communicate in English than having to massage a man of my height, because he was more than capable). While following the tiny Thai man, I asked him his name. Seeing that he didn't understand me, I gestured to myself and said,"Scott." He then promptly pointed to himself and said,"Turd." Knowing I misunderstood him, I said,"Really. Very nice to meet you, Turd," and we continued on (later on the phone, Noland confirmed that his name was indeed Turd).
Turd showed me to a dimly-lit room with some small corner fans, a few dressing rooms against one wall and a raised platform running alongside another wall. The platform had five bedrolls laid down about four feet from each other, with curtains separating each one. Four of the bedrolls were occupied by three Thai men, and one blond American-looking girl who looked to be in extreme pain. She managed an unconvincing smile, however, when she saw me. Turd then handed me what appeared to be hospital scrubs and gestured towards the dressing rooms. I put the scrubs on (the pants barely covered my knees) and walked over to my designated bedroll. I laid down, and Turd went right to work.
I can't go into too much detail about the actual massage because I was soon fast asleep. I do know that he started with the feet, worked his way up the legs (coming dangerously close to the crotch), then to the abdomen (where he kneaded my internal organs into a vichyssoise), and up to the shoulders, neck, head and back. There were some painful parts, but all-in-all I could see myself coming back for more just about every day of the week. In conjunction with yoga and meditation, this shit was going to change my life. I was so relaxed and limber after just one-hour of massage, that upon leaving the OMH, I jumped up, kicked my heels and farted a rainbow. The once putrid smell of polluted O2 now smelled sweeter than a plate of yams with extra syrup. My bike-ride home to Santitham was butter, like a hot comb through nappy-ass hair. I felt capital. I was finally ready for sleep.
The map I had showed the OMH as a huge building, which is exactly what I pictured in my head: a large hospital. I had reservations about getting my first massage at a hospital; had reservations about visiting a hospital at all, especially on my first day. If anything I wanted to wait until I got malaria or bit by a cobra before I took a tour of the Thai medical facilities. But I didn't want to question the advice of my hosts, so I decided to at least check it out. This huge structure did not seem to exist, however. At least not on the main roads, where one would expect to find a hospital. I walked up and down the two large streets bordering the OMH's location on my map, but to no avail. I was just about to give up searching for the place (finding only a ginormous driving range enclosed by a net large enough to cover half the Swamp), when I happened to look down one of the side-streets (called sois) that connected the two roads I'd been combing. I hadn't thought to explore these sois, because they looked more like dark alleyways than any kind of thoroughfare. But as I glanced down a particularly filthy soi, infested with mange-bitten dogs, I noticed a building with a faded-looking sign that signaled I had found my destination.
Making my way through the pack of diseased canines, I realized I was treading on their turf, and it said so in their eyes. And Christ on a waffle cone, were there a lot of them! Dogs are to the cities of Thailand, what pigeons are to NYC. Thai pooches are a different kind of beast at night, as I would find out first hand later that week, but even in the daytime they have a look about them that says, "Fuck you and your uprightness. We're just two opposable-thumbs away from running these streets." I think the only thing preventing these dogs from showing me who's boss was that it was so fucking hot. Not all dogs are aggressive (i.e. domestic dogs, most little dogs, older and fatter dogs), but for the most part I would rather share a popsicle with a stray dog in Gainesville than pet any dog in Chiang Mai, not including Spot and Spot of course.
I have plenty more stories about Scott/canine relations in Thailand, and I'm sure I'll get to those at a later date, so enough about dogs. This post is titled "Combobulated" and at this point in my trip I was anything but. Now I know that combobulated isn't a word, but we're finally getting to the part of the story where I become...let us say...un-discombobulated.
The outside of the Old Medicine Hospital was very unimpressive. First off, it's in an alleyway surrounded by Cujos, and the building itself reminded me of the asylum in Kesey's One Flew... When I took my shoes off (which you're asked to do before walking into any house, establishment, and especially temple) and stepped into the lobby, I half expected an Asian Nurse Ratched to escort me to some whitewashed room where I was to be tied to some kind of massage-rack and pummeled into submission. I was more than a little nervous. The receptionist however, was a very timid and sweet young lady, and she told me to sit and wait for the next available Thai masseuse (I'm not sure if that's what they're called, but whatever). As I waited, I gathered through some of the waiting-room literature that the OMH was no hospital at all. I couldn't determine if it used to be a medical clinic at some point, but today it is solely a massage school and parlor (again, I don't know if the Thais would use the term parlor...there's a lot of things I don't know, yet). I was relieved.
I wasn't waiting long before a tiny old man about the size of my big toe walked through the front door, bowed deeply in my direction, raised his eyebrows, and said something like,"SawasdeekopenKRAPTUMTAAATEEDAAAAAmmmmditaamgaroonaaaa." I loosely translated that to be, "Hello thank you for coming to get massage HOLY ELEPHANT HAIR YOU ARE VERY LARGE follow me please." He then chuckled nervously at the receptionist and led me up a stairwell (in hindsight, I think the poor fellow was more nervous about having to communicate in English than having to massage a man of my height, because he was more than capable). While following the tiny Thai man, I asked him his name. Seeing that he didn't understand me, I gestured to myself and said,"Scott." He then promptly pointed to himself and said,"Turd." Knowing I misunderstood him, I said,"Really. Very nice to meet you, Turd," and we continued on (later on the phone, Noland confirmed that his name was indeed Turd).
Turd showed me to a dimly-lit room with some small corner fans, a few dressing rooms against one wall and a raised platform running alongside another wall. The platform had five bedrolls laid down about four feet from each other, with curtains separating each one. Four of the bedrolls were occupied by three Thai men, and one blond American-looking girl who looked to be in extreme pain. She managed an unconvincing smile, however, when she saw me. Turd then handed me what appeared to be hospital scrubs and gestured towards the dressing rooms. I put the scrubs on (the pants barely covered my knees) and walked over to my designated bedroll. I laid down, and Turd went right to work.
I can't go into too much detail about the actual massage because I was soon fast asleep. I do know that he started with the feet, worked his way up the legs (coming dangerously close to the crotch), then to the abdomen (where he kneaded my internal organs into a vichyssoise), and up to the shoulders, neck, head and back. There were some painful parts, but all-in-all I could see myself coming back for more just about every day of the week. In conjunction with yoga and meditation, this shit was going to change my life. I was so relaxed and limber after just one-hour of massage, that upon leaving the OMH, I jumped up, kicked my heels and farted a rainbow. The once putrid smell of polluted O2 now smelled sweeter than a plate of yams with extra syrup. My bike-ride home to Santitham was butter, like a hot comb through nappy-ass hair. I felt capital. I was finally ready for sleep.
Culture Lesson at the C.A.P.
After finishing breakfast, I was eager to explore the city a little while I still had a few coffee fumes left in me. The night before I left the States I had talked to Noland on the phone and he told me what I should do and expect on my first day. He said it would be a good idea to go ahead and buy a phone, so as to make cheaper calls, and that the best place to do that would be the mall, and after that I should get a Thai massage and call it a day. Now, I'm certainly not the biggest fan of a trip to the mall, and I certainly wasn't in the mindset to go to a mall inChiang Mai, surrounded by Thai urban and pop culture in its most intensely concentrated form. Not when I could barely keep my eyes open. But I certainly didn't have anything better to do, since I had forbidden myself to sleep.
I asked Berm how to get to the mall, and where I could get a massage. He pulled out a half-ass map that didn't even list street names, and his directions instilled no confidence. I was not deterred, in fact the potential to get lost only added to my excitement. So, I hopped on my borrowed bicycle that I'm sure most of you have seen me almost crash, with my little backpack strapped tight and headed out onto the streets.
Right away, I knew something was wrong. I had forgotten that Thailand was one of those wacky, left-side-driving countries. After shakily correcting my mistake of riding into oncoming traffic, I headed onward. Berm's directions essentially took me back the same route we took from the airport, so it was pretty difficult for me to get lost, but somehow I managed. Riding through town, as dazed as I was from air-travel, I couldn't really take in the sights as much as I hoped (I just remember hundreds of billboards, and scooters, and massage parlors, and 7-11's, andtuk-tuk's , and dogs! Stray dogs are fucking everywhere! More on that later). But I did take in the smells. Man do the municipalities of Thailand stink. Although the air pollution is bad, I don't think it's wholly to blame for the incredible stenches that wait around every corner. Thailand's sewage system seems to be completely neglected. It's as if the city began digging sewage tunnels and gave up after about 2 or 3 feet, because walking down any given sidewalk, you are literally walking directly on top of raw sewage. They've even cut little slits in the pavement every few feet, so that you can see what you're smelling. Anyhow, I made a point to look into the drainage situation at some point just to see where all this shit is flowing, although I gathered that a lot of it was flowing directly into that moat surrounding Old Town that I mentioned earlier.
I finally made it to my destination after about a 3 mile trek on a bike with shitty gears and squeaky brakes through hellacious traffic, only to realize that in true Scott Saier-fashion I'd forgotten my bike lock. Without even pausing to berate myself, I made the ride back to Santitham and grabbed the lock, then biked my ass back to the mall. I was too tired and confused to make any alternate plans. The Chiang Mai mall is a massive, 5-story building called Central Airport Plaza. Noland told me that all electronics stores were on the 3rd floor, and that was where I'd find my new Thai cell-phone.
As I made my way to the elevators, I confirmed what I had only sensed on my bike-rides to the C.A.P.: I was getting some stares, and not necessarily friendly ones, if there is such a thing. Before I even left the States, having talked to people who had traveled in Asia, I knew I was going to garner some strange looks, if not for my tallness or the shape of my eyes, then for my obscure American clothes or my unkempt facial-hair. I certainly didn't expect to be treated as the second coming of the King, but shit, this was the Land of Smiles! I wanted to see some happy fucking faces, no matter how sheepish. I sure as shit didn't expect the demeanor I was receiving at the mall that day. I felt like shitty-Smitty at a wine and cheese party, or an Obama rally, bless his red neck. The general mien of the crowd bordered on antipathy, if not only blatant indifference. It would take several more days of interaction with the denizens of Chiang Mai and its neighboring provinces before I realized that this was not rudeness en masse , in fact it was far from it. I was beholding a collective pride of a people who, for over eight centuries, have never been colonized or consumed by foreign influence, all while Western imperialism has raked the rest of the world, including their southeast Asian neighbors. Sure they've adopted some of our customs, like fashion and food, but not nearly at the rate that we've acquired theirs. In a town of 1.6 million people, there is one McDonald's, one Burger-King, and a very small handful of Starbucks, maybe three or four. These people were looking at me with faces that told me we were equals, and that I was not blessing them with my American airs. I would soon find out that Thais truly are a laid-back, good-natured people who lavish their hospitality if you show just the slightest interest in them, and that the awkwardness I experienced in those initial stares at the mall that first day were most certainly due to the fact that I was staring my damn self, and not smiling. Probably trying to look cool, and instead looking like an asshole. But to my credit, I felt like a damn zombie.
After my lesson in countenance, I was completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of cellphones for sale on the 3rd floor. Some were new, but most were used, ranging from Baht 800-10,000 (f.y.i.-I think the current exchange rate is USD 1-Baht 33.33, or some shit). After browsing for a short while, I lost interest and decided to treat myself to a Thai massage, then head home to bed. On my way out of the C.A.P., I noticed that 711 wasn't the only floundering American business to find new life in Thailand. I passed a few prehistoric faves like Sizzler, and Swenson's, and a very elegant looking Pizza Hut. I left the mall with a chuckle, and headed to the Old Medicine Hospital.
I asked Berm how to get to the mall, and where I could get a massage. He pulled out a half-ass map that didn't even list street names, and his directions instilled no confidence. I was not deterred, in fact the potential to get lost only added to my excitement. So, I hopped on my borrowed bicycle that I'm sure most of you have seen me almost crash, with my little backpack strapped tight and headed out onto the streets.
Right away, I knew something was wrong. I had forgotten that Thailand was one of those wacky, left-side-driving countries. After shakily correcting my mistake of riding into oncoming traffic, I headed onward. Berm's directions essentially took me back the same route we took from the airport, so it was pretty difficult for me to get lost, but somehow I managed. Riding through town, as dazed as I was from air-travel, I couldn't really take in the sights as much as I hoped (I just remember hundreds of billboards, and scooters, and massage parlors, and 7-11's, andtuk-tuk's , and dogs! Stray dogs are fucking everywhere! More on that later). But I did take in the smells. Man do the municipalities of Thailand stink. Although the air pollution is bad, I don't think it's wholly to blame for the incredible stenches that wait around every corner. Thailand's sewage system seems to be completely neglected. It's as if the city began digging sewage tunnels and gave up after about 2 or 3 feet, because walking down any given sidewalk, you are literally walking directly on top of raw sewage. They've even cut little slits in the pavement every few feet, so that you can see what you're smelling. Anyhow, I made a point to look into the drainage situation at some point just to see where all this shit is flowing, although I gathered that a lot of it was flowing directly into that moat surrounding Old Town that I mentioned earlier.
I finally made it to my destination after about a 3 mile trek on a bike with shitty gears and squeaky brakes through hellacious traffic, only to realize that in true Scott Saier-fashion I'd forgotten my bike lock. Without even pausing to berate myself, I made the ride back to Santitham and grabbed the lock, then biked my ass back to the mall. I was too tired and confused to make any alternate plans. The Chiang Mai mall is a massive, 5-story building called Central Airport Plaza. Noland told me that all electronics stores were on the 3rd floor, and that was where I'd find my new Thai cell-phone.
As I made my way to the elevators, I confirmed what I had only sensed on my bike-rides to the C.A.P.: I was getting some stares, and not necessarily friendly ones, if there is such a thing. Before I even left the States, having talked to people who had traveled in Asia, I knew I was going to garner some strange looks, if not for my tallness or the shape of my eyes, then for my obscure American clothes or my unkempt facial-hair. I certainly didn't expect to be treated as the second coming of the King, but shit, this was the Land of Smiles! I wanted to see some happy fucking faces, no matter how sheepish. I sure as shit didn't expect the demeanor I was receiving at the mall that day. I felt like shitty-Smitty at a wine and cheese party, or an Obama rally, bless his red neck. The general mien of the crowd bordered on antipathy, if not only blatant indifference. It would take several more days of interaction with the denizens of Chiang Mai and its neighboring provinces before I realized that this was not rudeness en masse , in fact it was far from it. I was beholding a collective pride of a people who, for over eight centuries, have never been colonized or consumed by foreign influence, all while Western imperialism has raked the rest of the world, including their southeast Asian neighbors. Sure they've adopted some of our customs, like fashion and food, but not nearly at the rate that we've acquired theirs. In a town of 1.6 million people, there is one McDonald's, one Burger-King, and a very small handful of Starbucks, maybe three or four. These people were looking at me with faces that told me we were equals, and that I was not blessing them with my American airs. I would soon find out that Thais truly are a laid-back, good-natured people who lavish their hospitality if you show just the slightest interest in them, and that the awkwardness I experienced in those initial stares at the mall that first day were most certainly due to the fact that I was staring my damn self, and not smiling. Probably trying to look cool, and instead looking like an asshole. But to my credit, I felt like a damn zombie.
After my lesson in countenance, I was completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of cellphones for sale on the 3rd floor. Some were new, but most were used, ranging from Baht 800-10,000 (f.y.i.-I think the current exchange rate is USD 1-Baht 33.33, or some shit). After browsing for a short while, I lost interest and decided to treat myself to a Thai massage, then head home to bed. On my way out of the C.A.P., I noticed that 711 wasn't the only floundering American business to find new life in Thailand. I passed a few prehistoric faves like Sizzler, and Swenson's, and a very elegant looking Pizza Hut. I left the mall with a chuckle, and headed to the Old Medicine Hospital.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Santitham Part Sorng (2)
Hello there, 'merica. I hope none of you have given up on following this here sclog due to my absence of writing over the past week. I just recently returned from a trip to south Thailand, specifically an island called Koh Tao. When in paradise, it is nigh impossible to find the time to sit down and record one's exploits and experiences, let alone find the patience to sit down in one of the excruciatingly slow Internet cafes that dot the tiny island (I have a sneaking suspicion that the proprietors of these hot-spots often pull the plug for a few minutes on their modems just to milk the customers a little more, but that's just me being cynical). And on top of that, the book that I've been keeping my long-hands in was left out in the rain, so I've lost a dozen or so pages of truly memorable shit and have to start over using just the old noggin. As for my week-long excursion south, let's just say this Gainesville boy's eyes have been opened to the many beautiful and terrible things Thailand has to offer. I know I've only just begun to describe my first days in this country, but if I keep writing at my current pace, I'll never catch up to the present where my memories are still fresh. So, I'm going to pick up where I left off on my first day in Chiang Mai, but I'll try and focus on just the pertinent observations and encounters. Sorry if it's a little scattered (that being said, scattered writing is seemingly inspired by Bill Burrough's cut-up technique. He suggested re-arranging words and images to evade rational analysis, allowing subliminal hints of the future to leak through. That's about the only thing I've learned from his writing; that and heroin's a helluva drug).
I believe I was last telling you all about my arrival to Santitham, and what a quaint little guest-house it is in a very chunky part of Chiang Mai. It's certainly an oasis amidst a bevy of slum-bitten Siamese and 7-11's. That's right, 7-11's. We've all noticed the mass-disappearance of the classic convenience store in Florida and almost every part of America, but those oddly aesthetic green, orange, and red signs are thriving like mosquitoes at fat camp over here. There's at least two to every block, and you can even find them out in the jungle or on the tiny islands that freckle the Gulf of Thailand and Andaman Sea.
After I unfolded myself from the tiny Honda hatchback Berm picked me up in and unloaded my bags, I walked through the sliding wrought-iron gate into the shady copse of trees and bamboo that sheltered Santitham's courtyard. The area was littered with construction materials: piles of tile, stacks of lumber, and power tools. These didn't mar my welcoming party, as I was fully aware that it wasn't tourist season and my friend Noland and his partner (yes, that kind of partner, and more on that later) were trying to get as much renovation done as possible before November, and the construction was the reason why I was getting such a great deal on accommodation (150 baht a night; that's like $4.50).
There are two, two-story houses within the walled compound, but there are at least three more structures being built behind these. Between the original houses is a covered patio with two finished teak wood couches that look as if they were literally pulled off the side of a tree and given legs. I envisioned many nights hangin on that patio. The buildings themselves--you know what, just look at the photos I posted earlier so I don't have to pretentiously pretend to know anything about the architecture of this place and I'll move right along.
We walked into the main house and were greeted by a large, dopey Dalmatian with a lacerated tail, and a small, Scottish looking, black and white dog. Both dogs' names, I'm told, are Spot. I bit my tongue wanting to ask what was wrong with the Dalmatian's tail, knowing there would be some mis-communication, and I was too tired for that. I was also introduced to a small, Thai woman name Neung (pro. Nyong) who would be looking after, cleaning after, and feeding me every day of my stay in Santitham, much to my dismay. She's very sweet, but she's ubiquitous in her servitude.
After some stumbled pleasantries, I took my bags to the opposite house, which I had to myself for the time being, and went up the stairs to my room. Opening the door, I said to myself,"You really don't deserve this much comfort for $5 a night." Beyond the luxurious sitting room, dining room and kitchen, my room had an extravagance all its own. It seemed out-of-place in this ramshackle part of town. There was a king-size bed with satin comforter, a large wardrobe, a desk and two night stands. It was really more than I needed or imagined enjoying. Having been traveling for over 24 hours, sleeping on greasy airport benches, and suffering serious, weed-less jet-lag, the bed looked mighty inviting. But I had promised myself that I would struggle through the day without shut-eye, so as to acclimate myself to a proper sleep schedule. I didn't want to take a nap and wake up at 11 that night, wired and raring to go. So I decided to give myself a much-needed shower and eat some food before I figured out what to do with my exhausted self.
Upon entering the bathroom, I noticed a dish-washing hose propped up next to the toilet. Without going into too much detail, let's just say,"Way to go, Thailand." It might waste a tiny bit of water, but it saves a whole lotta toilet paper. I gotta hand it to 'em. After admiring the facilities, I turned on the shower. Nothing. Not being surprised, I gave it some time, and turned to brushing my teeth. The water took a little time coming out of the sink as well, and it took a little time to lose it's brownish color, too. Luckily I had some bottled water with me. By the time I finished brushing, the shower head had started to release a small drizzle, and it was far from warm. I got in with a forced smile, telling myself I had asked for all of this and hey, at least this might kick my notoriously long-shower habit.
After washing up, I headed back to the main house for a late breakfast, it being a little past 11 in the morning at this point. I sat down in the little breakfast nook, and waited to see what Neung had prepared for me. She brought me three large bowls and a rectangular platter. In one of the bowls was an assortment of fruits; bananas, apples, large purple grapes, pineapple, mangoes, and a variety of melons. In another was a dried cereal of some sort, what looked like various grains and oats, but I didn't see any milk. The third bowl had raspberry yogurt; this was to be my staple. On the rectangular dish were two bundles of something wrapped in large green leaves of some kind and held together with toothpicks. There was also a large pot of coffee, another staple. After finishing the bowl of fruit and yogurt, and washing down some of the dried cereal with two cups of coffee, I turned my attention to the leaf packages. Neung noticed my hesitation, and promptly told me that it was sticky rice (I think she called it suysong) and that I would love it. I believed her. She was only half correct in her assumption. I eagerly opened the first bundle, because I love rice, even for breakfast, and was surprised to find that not only was the rice colored a shade of dark indigo, almost purple, but it was covered in a custard-like glob the color of---well, man-custard. I know, I'm sorry. I warmed to the challenge, thinking that, for all I knew, and that wasn't much, it tasted delicious. I've never felt more betrayed by my taste-buds than at that very moment. I figured it was only some kind of coconut-milk concoction, but who the fuck was I to know. The rice itself was sweet and tasted fine, but there was no way I could swallow any more of that coconut-custard shit without losing the rest of my breakfast. Luckily, Neung left the room for a second, giving me time to run over to the trash can and camouflage what I couldn't finish.
Shit, look at me go; doing exactly what I promised I wouldn't do. I just wrote 7 lengthy paragraphs about a period of 30 minutes. Well, I'm gonna go grab a Leo (my beer of choice in Thailand) and lube the mind a little. I know you're thinking that I'll never get to the good shit, the juicy shit, of which there is plenty. But I promise I'm working on it, so bear with me. If you are still with me, that is. Coming up next: my first solo venture into the streets, a Thai massage from Turd, the fucking mall, and finally sleep.
I believe I was last telling you all about my arrival to Santitham, and what a quaint little guest-house it is in a very chunky part of Chiang Mai. It's certainly an oasis amidst a bevy of slum-bitten Siamese and 7-11's. That's right, 7-11's. We've all noticed the mass-disappearance of the classic convenience store in Florida and almost every part of America, but those oddly aesthetic green, orange, and red signs are thriving like mosquitoes at fat camp over here. There's at least two to every block, and you can even find them out in the jungle or on the tiny islands that freckle the Gulf of Thailand and Andaman Sea.
After I unfolded myself from the tiny Honda hatchback Berm picked me up in and unloaded my bags, I walked through the sliding wrought-iron gate into the shady copse of trees and bamboo that sheltered Santitham's courtyard. The area was littered with construction materials: piles of tile, stacks of lumber, and power tools. These didn't mar my welcoming party, as I was fully aware that it wasn't tourist season and my friend Noland and his partner (yes, that kind of partner, and more on that later) were trying to get as much renovation done as possible before November, and the construction was the reason why I was getting such a great deal on accommodation (150 baht a night; that's like $4.50).
There are two, two-story houses within the walled compound, but there are at least three more structures being built behind these. Between the original houses is a covered patio with two finished teak wood couches that look as if they were literally pulled off the side of a tree and given legs. I envisioned many nights hangin on that patio. The buildings themselves--you know what, just look at the photos I posted earlier so I don't have to pretentiously pretend to know anything about the architecture of this place and I'll move right along.
We walked into the main house and were greeted by a large, dopey Dalmatian with a lacerated tail, and a small, Scottish looking, black and white dog. Both dogs' names, I'm told, are Spot. I bit my tongue wanting to ask what was wrong with the Dalmatian's tail, knowing there would be some mis-communication, and I was too tired for that. I was also introduced to a small, Thai woman name Neung (pro. Nyong) who would be looking after, cleaning after, and feeding me every day of my stay in Santitham, much to my dismay. She's very sweet, but she's ubiquitous in her servitude.
After some stumbled pleasantries, I took my bags to the opposite house, which I had to myself for the time being, and went up the stairs to my room. Opening the door, I said to myself,"You really don't deserve this much comfort for $5 a night." Beyond the luxurious sitting room, dining room and kitchen, my room had an extravagance all its own. It seemed out-of-place in this ramshackle part of town. There was a king-size bed with satin comforter, a large wardrobe, a desk and two night stands. It was really more than I needed or imagined enjoying. Having been traveling for over 24 hours, sleeping on greasy airport benches, and suffering serious, weed-less jet-lag, the bed looked mighty inviting. But I had promised myself that I would struggle through the day without shut-eye, so as to acclimate myself to a proper sleep schedule. I didn't want to take a nap and wake up at 11 that night, wired and raring to go. So I decided to give myself a much-needed shower and eat some food before I figured out what to do with my exhausted self.
Upon entering the bathroom, I noticed a dish-washing hose propped up next to the toilet. Without going into too much detail, let's just say,"Way to go, Thailand." It might waste a tiny bit of water, but it saves a whole lotta toilet paper. I gotta hand it to 'em. After admiring the facilities, I turned on the shower. Nothing. Not being surprised, I gave it some time, and turned to brushing my teeth. The water took a little time coming out of the sink as well, and it took a little time to lose it's brownish color, too. Luckily I had some bottled water with me. By the time I finished brushing, the shower head had started to release a small drizzle, and it was far from warm. I got in with a forced smile, telling myself I had asked for all of this and hey, at least this might kick my notoriously long-shower habit.
After washing up, I headed back to the main house for a late breakfast, it being a little past 11 in the morning at this point. I sat down in the little breakfast nook, and waited to see what Neung had prepared for me. She brought me three large bowls and a rectangular platter. In one of the bowls was an assortment of fruits; bananas, apples, large purple grapes, pineapple, mangoes, and a variety of melons. In another was a dried cereal of some sort, what looked like various grains and oats, but I didn't see any milk. The third bowl had raspberry yogurt; this was to be my staple. On the rectangular dish were two bundles of something wrapped in large green leaves of some kind and held together with toothpicks. There was also a large pot of coffee, another staple. After finishing the bowl of fruit and yogurt, and washing down some of the dried cereal with two cups of coffee, I turned my attention to the leaf packages. Neung noticed my hesitation, and promptly told me that it was sticky rice (I think she called it suysong) and that I would love it. I believed her. She was only half correct in her assumption. I eagerly opened the first bundle, because I love rice, even for breakfast, and was surprised to find that not only was the rice colored a shade of dark indigo, almost purple, but it was covered in a custard-like glob the color of---well, man-custard. I know, I'm sorry. I warmed to the challenge, thinking that, for all I knew, and that wasn't much, it tasted delicious. I've never felt more betrayed by my taste-buds than at that very moment. I figured it was only some kind of coconut-milk concoction, but who the fuck was I to know. The rice itself was sweet and tasted fine, but there was no way I could swallow any more of that coconut-custard shit without losing the rest of my breakfast. Luckily, Neung left the room for a second, giving me time to run over to the trash can and camouflage what I couldn't finish.
Shit, look at me go; doing exactly what I promised I wouldn't do. I just wrote 7 lengthy paragraphs about a period of 30 minutes. Well, I'm gonna go grab a Leo (my beer of choice in Thailand) and lube the mind a little. I know you're thinking that I'll never get to the good shit, the juicy shit, of which there is plenty. But I promise I'm working on it, so bear with me. If you are still with me, that is. Coming up next: my first solo venture into the streets, a Thai massage from Turd, the fucking mall, and finally sleep.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Maybe just a little reservation
Obviously, I've been taking a little timeout from following the chronological order of my mishaps and meditations over here in the land of Siam and sex-pats (disgusting sons a bitches), so in keeping with that spirit I thought I'd tell you a little about what I've been stuffing my face with in these past two weeks. Inspired by my dear friend Joanna's love affair (and now my love affair) with Anthony Bourdain's show No Reservations, I made sure to place myself as far away from the creature comforts that most farang (Caucasian tourists) enjoy when visiting Chiang Mai (actually I had no idea that my guest house's location within the city would be similar to that of Chiefland's to Gainesville). That being said, the restaurants and food stalls in my section of town offer a much more regional flavor; a much more authentic Thai flavor, if you will. And I would. While the touristy areas do have their share of local cuisine, they are cushioned by such global favorites as McDonald's, Burgerking, Starbucks, Duke's (which I'd never heard of), and KFC. Thankfully, I have no such luxuries. Here's just a sample of some of the local menus that I've been ordering from, specifically Lek's Corner which is the establishment I frequent the most:
Popular appetizers include:
Fried peanuts and cashews
French fries (the only familiar item, and they taste a lot like GyroPlus'...pretty effin good)
Chicken Sinew
Fried Tendons (animal not specified)
Hot or Cold meat, Chinese style (again, animal not specified)
Fried Meat Beef (verbatim)
Fried Ball of Fish or Squid
Garlic Fried Frog
1000 yeares egg w/salad (not a typo on my part)
Now some entrees:
Tom-yum soup with flog
Tom-yum soup with all seafood (apparently every type of seafood is included)
Sour soup with snakefish
Hot and sour dried fish salad (the fish is hardly ever identified, so I just assume or hope that it's either catfish or seabass)
White jilly mushroom salad
Assorted seafood salad
Fried cocktail salad
Tub-tim fish
Fried omelet with pickled sausage (they fuckin love sausage over here)
Fried jungle pork
Fried 8 kinds of meat with vegetable (again, verbatim)
Shrimp fish mew with egg
Boiled in galingale root (exactly what is boiled in said root is not specified)
If this post sounds in any way condescending, then I apologize because that was not my intention. In fact, I've tried several of these menu items, and many of them are quite delicious, those that I could keep down. These dishes might sound awful, but that's certainly more due to the fact that these people take great pains in attempting to translate their menus for us English-speaking, self-righteous bastards. And hey, if I really need some American food I can always stop by one of the 30 or so 711's in the two blocks between Lek's and my place and pick up some shrimp-flavored Pringles or a bag of seafood chili-paste Combos. But I think I'll stick with my 1000-yeare old egg with salad.
Popular appetizers include:
Fried peanuts and cashews
French fries (the only familiar item, and they taste a lot like GyroPlus'...pretty effin good)
Chicken Sinew
Fried Tendons (animal not specified)
Hot or Cold meat, Chinese style (again, animal not specified)
Fried Meat Beef (verbatim)
Fried Ball of Fish or Squid
Garlic Fried Frog
1000 yeares egg w/salad (not a typo on my part)
Now some entrees:
Tom-yum soup with flog
Tom-yum soup with all seafood (apparently every type of seafood is included)
Sour soup with snakefish
Hot and sour dried fish salad (the fish is hardly ever identified, so I just assume or hope that it's either catfish or seabass)
White jilly mushroom salad
Assorted seafood salad
Fried cocktail salad
Tub-tim fish
Fried omelet with pickled sausage (they fuckin love sausage over here)
Fried jungle pork
Fried 8 kinds of meat with vegetable (again, verbatim)
Shrimp fish mew with egg
Boiled in galingale root (exactly what is boiled in said root is not specified)
If this post sounds in any way condescending, then I apologize because that was not my intention. In fact, I've tried several of these menu items, and many of them are quite delicious, those that I could keep down. These dishes might sound awful, but that's certainly more due to the fact that these people take great pains in attempting to translate their menus for us English-speaking, self-righteous bastards. And hey, if I really need some American food I can always stop by one of the 30 or so 711's in the two blocks between Lek's and my place and pick up some shrimp-flavored Pringles or a bag of seafood chili-paste Combos. But I think I'll stick with my 1000-yeare old egg with salad.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Nothing but Nets
I saved lives today, and so can you! I was sitting up in my room here at Santitham during the wee hours of the morning, wrapping up my studies for the GRE and the mandatory culture course every prospective English teacher must take before accepting any positions here in Thailand, and I decided I'd watch a little Colbert Report before sleep. Both the Report and Daily Show are shown for free on Comedy Central's website in any foreign country, so Jon and Steve often tuck me into bed during these restless Siamese nights.
Anyhow, I was watching an old episode from early September that featured an interview with Rick Reilly, one of my favorite journalists and columnist for ESPN magazine. He was discussing a charity he helped found that was helping to fight malaria in countries all over Africa, and which was now starting to spread its support to other countries in the world, such as Thailand. On the charity's website, NothingButNets.net, you can donate $10 to buy a mosquito net for some poor kid in Africa to sleep under at night. In fact, the nets are so big they could probably cover an entire family of Africans. The $10 also pays for someone to come to the home and install the net, and it only took me about 30 seconds to do. You see, 3000 Africans a day, mostly children, are dying from this disease, and let me tell you, I'm starting to feel the fear. I wake up every day over here to dozens of satiated mosquitos buzzing around my guest house, and the only thing I have to protect myself is this little mosquito trap that you plug into the wall, looks almost like a smoke alarm. I don't know what it does or how it works, but hopefully it's keeping me out of the malaria clinic. I don't seem to be getting bit too much, but I'd feel a lot safer with one of those big ass nets over my bed. I donated $30, so maybe one of those three nets will show up at my door. If not, oh well, I saved three Ethiopians. You should, too!
Anyhow, I was watching an old episode from early September that featured an interview with Rick Reilly, one of my favorite journalists and columnist for ESPN magazine. He was discussing a charity he helped found that was helping to fight malaria in countries all over Africa, and which was now starting to spread its support to other countries in the world, such as Thailand. On the charity's website, NothingButNets.net, you can donate $10 to buy a mosquito net for some poor kid in Africa to sleep under at night. In fact, the nets are so big they could probably cover an entire family of Africans. The $10 also pays for someone to come to the home and install the net, and it only took me about 30 seconds to do. You see, 3000 Africans a day, mostly children, are dying from this disease, and let me tell you, I'm starting to feel the fear. I wake up every day over here to dozens of satiated mosquitos buzzing around my guest house, and the only thing I have to protect myself is this little mosquito trap that you plug into the wall, looks almost like a smoke alarm. I don't know what it does or how it works, but hopefully it's keeping me out of the malaria clinic. I don't seem to be getting bit too much, but I'd feel a lot safer with one of those big ass nets over my bed. I donated $30, so maybe one of those three nets will show up at my door. If not, oh well, I saved three Ethiopians. You should, too!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Fundamentals...better than mavericks
I hope everybody watched the fundamentally important second Presidential debate tonight. It touched on the fundamental issues central to this election and the next four years, and Obama fundamentally kicked McCain's ass. His fundamentals were more sound and fundamentally on point, and in case you didn't notice the fundamentally squiggly lines that gauged the viewers reactions, Obama's reactions were fundamentally higher than those of "that other one", in fact McCain's squiggly lines weren't squiggly at all. They reminded me of his fundamental heart rate if he wins the election: a fundamental flat-line. And we know what that means: 4 years of President Palin. It's all about fundamentals. They're so fun!
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Chiang Mai Traffic
Before leaving the airport, before even getting in the car, I took in a hearty breath of what I expected to be Buddha-blessed fresh Chiang Mai air, after coughing out the toxic stew I'd inhaled in my brief stay at the nation's capital of course. However, my nostrils were greeted with the same polluted perfume as that of Bangkok. And I was soon to find out why.
The traffic in Chiang Mai is crazier than a snake's armpit. And I'm sure it's the same all over Thailand. Finally, a country I can relate to in terms of transportation; I'm sure you're all aware of my disregard for traffic law. As Berm drove me to Santitham Guest House, the first thing I noticed is that there were scooters fucking EVERYWHERE! There are about twenty to thirty scooters to every car in Thailand. Beyond those, there are several three-wheeled open-air tuk-tuks and sawngthaews, red covered pick-up trucks that act as the primary taxi service in town. These are both un-metered, leaving the fare up to the discretion of the driver. Most of my rides have cost me between 40 and 100 baht, or no more than three USD's. A lot of people hitch-hike when travelling to sections outside the city limits, offering only food or cigarettes as payment, although I have yet to try this. There are also a small handful of metered-taxis, called thaeksii miitoe, which are relatively new to Thailand, but I haven't tried any of these opting instead to bargain with the tuk-tuk and sawngthaew drivers who take me for a thin-skinned farang. But for the most part I've just used a bicycle that I've borrowed from Noland, the owner of Santitham who is still over in the States. My most used Thai expression is mai, or mai cab, which means no cab. It's saved me a lot of money and hassle.
As we entered the insane flow of traffic, I noticed there were many traffic-lights and signs but almost all are ignored, as is the right of way at intersections and oncoming traffic. Thais don't give two shits about driving on the wrong side of the road. Despite all this, I have yet to see one traffic accident in the two weeks I've been here. Incredible.
About halfway to Santitham, towards the middle of Chiang Mai, is a square section of city called Old Town; about two miles long on each side and surrounded by a dilapidated brick wall and a murky-ass moat which were built some 600 years ago to keep the Burmese out. I would spend much of my time in Chiang Mai hanging out within this walled square, not counting my excursions outside of the city.
Back to the traffic. I have no idea where all these people were going, but there weren't nothing gonna stop em. There's about 1.6 million people residing in Chiang Mai, and about 1.5 million of them are driving at all times, day or night. And back to the scooters, I mean Christ on a scooter I can't get over them! I've seen maybe three helmets since I've been here, and some of these people drive their entire families around on one scooter; we're talking three or four heads deep! And apparently the only function of the traffic police in this country is to distribute wheel-boots to whoever parks in front of a temple or 7-11, of which there are thousands of both, but I'll get to that in a later post.
After an eye-opening and nostril-soiling drive to my guest house, which is in a very un-touristy part of town, of which I am thankful, Berm and I unpacked my bags and headed inside. More about my Santitham and the rest of my first days in Chiang Mai next post.
On a side-note, I know I've posted very little about my time in Chiang Mai, but Berm just came to my house to inform me that his monk friend from Wat Doi Suthep, the mountainside monastery, would be coming down into town tomorrow to pick up some cement, and that I would be joining him on his trip back to begin my first english lesson. I should be up there at least a couple of days, so I'll try and finish as many posts tonight as possible. Kinda nervous about the solitude, but at least I'll fuckin learn how to levitate!
The traffic in Chiang Mai is crazier than a snake's armpit. And I'm sure it's the same all over Thailand. Finally, a country I can relate to in terms of transportation; I'm sure you're all aware of my disregard for traffic law. As Berm drove me to Santitham Guest House, the first thing I noticed is that there were scooters fucking EVERYWHERE! There are about twenty to thirty scooters to every car in Thailand. Beyond those, there are several three-wheeled open-air tuk-tuks and sawngthaews, red covered pick-up trucks that act as the primary taxi service in town. These are both un-metered, leaving the fare up to the discretion of the driver. Most of my rides have cost me between 40 and 100 baht, or no more than three USD's. A lot of people hitch-hike when travelling to sections outside the city limits, offering only food or cigarettes as payment, although I have yet to try this. There are also a small handful of metered-taxis, called thaeksii miitoe, which are relatively new to Thailand, but I haven't tried any of these opting instead to bargain with the tuk-tuk and sawngthaew drivers who take me for a thin-skinned farang. But for the most part I've just used a bicycle that I've borrowed from Noland, the owner of Santitham who is still over in the States. My most used Thai expression is mai, or mai cab, which means no cab. It's saved me a lot of money and hassle.
As we entered the insane flow of traffic, I noticed there were many traffic-lights and signs but almost all are ignored, as is the right of way at intersections and oncoming traffic. Thais don't give two shits about driving on the wrong side of the road. Despite all this, I have yet to see one traffic accident in the two weeks I've been here. Incredible.
About halfway to Santitham, towards the middle of Chiang Mai, is a square section of city called Old Town; about two miles long on each side and surrounded by a dilapidated brick wall and a murky-ass moat which were built some 600 years ago to keep the Burmese out. I would spend much of my time in Chiang Mai hanging out within this walled square, not counting my excursions outside of the city.
Back to the traffic. I have no idea where all these people were going, but there weren't nothing gonna stop em. There's about 1.6 million people residing in Chiang Mai, and about 1.5 million of them are driving at all times, day or night. And back to the scooters, I mean Christ on a scooter I can't get over them! I've seen maybe three helmets since I've been here, and some of these people drive their entire families around on one scooter; we're talking three or four heads deep! And apparently the only function of the traffic police in this country is to distribute wheel-boots to whoever parks in front of a temple or 7-11, of which there are thousands of both, but I'll get to that in a later post.
After an eye-opening and nostril-soiling drive to my guest house, which is in a very un-touristy part of town, of which I am thankful, Berm and I unpacked my bags and headed inside. More about my Santitham and the rest of my first days in Chiang Mai next post.
On a side-note, I know I've posted very little about my time in Chiang Mai, but Berm just came to my house to inform me that his monk friend from Wat Doi Suthep, the mountainside monastery, would be coming down into town tomorrow to pick up some cement, and that I would be joining him on his trip back to begin my first english lesson. I should be up there at least a couple of days, so I'll try and finish as many posts tonight as possible. Kinda nervous about the solitude, but at least I'll fuckin learn how to levitate!
Monday, October 6, 2008
Scathed in Chiang Mai
Chiang Mai. Finally. Flying in I couldn't see much of the city or surrounding countryside, as I had to look over this douche-bag who didn't even look out the window, he just kept writing shit in his Bible. What I did see looked to be rolling orange groves and rice-fields, and it kind of reminded me of the hills of California. Touching down at Chiang Mai Int., I was so goddamn relieved to be stepping off my last plane-ride, at least for awhile. Everything had gone very smoothly up until this point, but I had to know that I wouldn't make it through four flights completely unscathed, and this is where I got scathed. Forgetting that I had purchased a separate, domestic flight out of Bangkok, I mistakenly went to the international baggage claim and waited like an asshole till the very last suitcase had been picked up and the carousel stopped moving; not-so-subtley voicing my frustration at airport personnel and thinking out loud that my bags were still in Seoul or Atlanta or fucking Djibouti for all I knew. Luckily I wasn't the only one who seemed to be missing luggage, so me and my fellow idiots wandered around looking for our village when finally some airport staff, laughing at us from the sidelines I'm sure, came over and checked our papers and told us we were at the wrong claim.
On my way over to domestic, which was on the complete opposite end of the airport, I passed a bald little Thai with tattoos on his skull wearing a wife-beater, sweating to meet the man and holding a jasmine necklace and a sign that said, "Welcome Scott!" Already feeling the lag, I of course walked right past him about ten steps when it hit me. I turned around and yelled, "BERM!! (which is pronounced Bum)", but he had already turned around to follow me, being informed of how tall I was. We shook hands and exchanged a few shaky phrases in both English and Thai, and he led me to where he had been waiting for the past 45 minutes and my luggage. We grabbed my bags and wheeled them out to the scorching humidity of the parking lot. After loading up his brand-new Honda hatchback we took off for Santitham (pronounced Santy-tam) Guest House.
Coming up next: Chiang Mai traffic. It deserves it's very own blog.
On my way over to domestic, which was on the complete opposite end of the airport, I passed a bald little Thai with tattoos on his skull wearing a wife-beater, sweating to meet the man and holding a jasmine necklace and a sign that said, "Welcome Scott!" Already feeling the lag, I of course walked right past him about ten steps when it hit me. I turned around and yelled, "BERM!! (which is pronounced Bum)", but he had already turned around to follow me, being informed of how tall I was. We shook hands and exchanged a few shaky phrases in both English and Thai, and he led me to where he had been waiting for the past 45 minutes and my luggage. We grabbed my bags and wheeled them out to the scorching humidity of the parking lot. After loading up his brand-new Honda hatchback we took off for Santitham (pronounced Santy-tam) Guest House.
Coming up next: Chiang Mai traffic. It deserves it's very own blog.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
My Abbrieviated Stay in Bangkok
Welcome to “Land of Smiles”
That’s what the sign said passing through customs at SuvarnabhumI International Airport in Bangkok, and yes I meant to exclude the word “the”. I haven’t found it to be that so much; not just yet. More like “land of indifference“, or “land of how to make a quick buck.” Unless the sign meant “Land of People Smiling at some huge inside joke directed towards farang (which is basically the Thai word for Caucasian, though it also means mango. I‘ve heard a lot of farang eating farang jokes, some directed at me)”. Granted I’ve only been here less than a few hours, and I’ve only spoken to a handful of people, but every one of them has said something to me in Thai, knowing full well that I don’t understand them, and then had a chuckle to themselves or shared with a buddy. I find it pretty amusing myself.
Recalling all the horror stories about Thai law-enforcement and their massive campaign against drug traffickers, I assumed customs would be a nightmare, especially if I looked as uncouth and bedraggled as I felt. Uh-uh. They only checked one mother-fuckin bag! I couldn’t believe it. It lasted all of 3 minutes or so, including the line to get through. Amazing. While standing in the queue, wearing my Big Sky Coffee shirt that I acquired from Jules and Peter Nesmith (I’m sure she wants it back), I was surprised to hear a very familiar and friendly Southern drawl speak up behind me, “Oh my Gawd! You’re from Athens?!! I’m from Russell!” Russell, Georgia I presumed. I turned around and found a tall, dreaded Georgia girl gawking back at me. I corrected her, and told her that, “No, I’m actually from Gainesville.” “Oh my Gawd, Gainesville, Georgia?!? My mom’s from Gainesville.” I again corrected her mistake, but it was still such a small-world sensation running into somebody like that at the airport in Bangkok, as she probably wouldn’t have said anything to me had I not been wearing that shirt.
The airport in Bangkok is not that large, although the ceilings reach up into the friggin heavens. Since I was going to be spending the next 7 or so hours here, I figured I might as well find a suitable nesting spot and make myself comfortable. On the way to the departure area I was harangued by several tuk-tuk drivers insisting that I allow them to take me to a hotel of their choosing. I told them that I was spending the night at the airport, and of course they thought that was a horrible idea. They were probably right, but I anticipated all manner of cluster-fucks had I decided to rent a room for the night. I could even see a large hotel, called Novotel, about a half-mile away outside the airport entrance, but knowing my luck and ability to sleep in, I didn’t want to chance it.
After making my way through the cut-throat cab drivers, I passed small food-court area. I decided to grab a bite before settling down for the next several hours, and though I was tempted to try some of the Thai food, I didn’t want my first Thai meal from the Bangkok airport. So, locating the most Western looking restaurant, I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with fries and a coke. Not the most delectable GC in the world, in fact I’m sure Cecil could make a better one, but the fries were tolerable and the coke helped it go down easier.
Found a comfortable bench next to an Asian man on his way to Kiev. We kept each other company through the limited communication we could muster. It was bright as all get out in that airport, so it was difficult falling asleep. Woke up around 6 a.m. to go get my final plane ticket, and after securing my bags I went and brushed my teeth and washed my face in the bathroom near my gate. The flight up to Chiang Mai was a cinch after all that I’d already been through, but once again no window seat so I wasn’t able to see any of the city as we descended, except that there was a huge mountain overlooking the entire town, called Doi Suthep as I was soon to find out.
Getting rained on right now, so I’m going to make a dash for home, but as soon as I get there I’ll post some shit about my first days in Chiang Mai. Finally.
That’s what the sign said passing through customs at SuvarnabhumI International Airport in Bangkok, and yes I meant to exclude the word “the”. I haven’t found it to be that so much; not just yet. More like “land of indifference“, or “land of how to make a quick buck.” Unless the sign meant “Land of People Smiling at some huge inside joke directed towards farang (which is basically the Thai word for Caucasian, though it also means mango. I‘ve heard a lot of farang eating farang jokes, some directed at me)”. Granted I’ve only been here less than a few hours, and I’ve only spoken to a handful of people, but every one of them has said something to me in Thai, knowing full well that I don’t understand them, and then had a chuckle to themselves or shared with a buddy. I find it pretty amusing myself.
Recalling all the horror stories about Thai law-enforcement and their massive campaign against drug traffickers, I assumed customs would be a nightmare, especially if I looked as uncouth and bedraggled as I felt. Uh-uh. They only checked one mother-fuckin bag! I couldn’t believe it. It lasted all of 3 minutes or so, including the line to get through. Amazing. While standing in the queue, wearing my Big Sky Coffee shirt that I acquired from Jules and Peter Nesmith (I’m sure she wants it back), I was surprised to hear a very familiar and friendly Southern drawl speak up behind me, “Oh my Gawd! You’re from Athens?!! I’m from Russell!” Russell, Georgia I presumed. I turned around and found a tall, dreaded Georgia girl gawking back at me. I corrected her, and told her that, “No, I’m actually from Gainesville.” “Oh my Gawd, Gainesville, Georgia?!? My mom’s from Gainesville.” I again corrected her mistake, but it was still such a small-world sensation running into somebody like that at the airport in Bangkok, as she probably wouldn’t have said anything to me had I not been wearing that shirt.
The airport in Bangkok is not that large, although the ceilings reach up into the friggin heavens. Since I was going to be spending the next 7 or so hours here, I figured I might as well find a suitable nesting spot and make myself comfortable. On the way to the departure area I was harangued by several tuk-tuk drivers insisting that I allow them to take me to a hotel of their choosing. I told them that I was spending the night at the airport, and of course they thought that was a horrible idea. They were probably right, but I anticipated all manner of cluster-fucks had I decided to rent a room for the night. I could even see a large hotel, called Novotel, about a half-mile away outside the airport entrance, but knowing my luck and ability to sleep in, I didn’t want to chance it.
After making my way through the cut-throat cab drivers, I passed small food-court area. I decided to grab a bite before settling down for the next several hours, and though I was tempted to try some of the Thai food, I didn’t want my first Thai meal from the Bangkok airport. So, locating the most Western looking restaurant, I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with fries and a coke. Not the most delectable GC in the world, in fact I’m sure Cecil could make a better one, but the fries were tolerable and the coke helped it go down easier.
Found a comfortable bench next to an Asian man on his way to Kiev. We kept each other company through the limited communication we could muster. It was bright as all get out in that airport, so it was difficult falling asleep. Woke up around 6 a.m. to go get my final plane ticket, and after securing my bags I went and brushed my teeth and washed my face in the bathroom near my gate. The flight up to Chiang Mai was a cinch after all that I’d already been through, but once again no window seat so I wasn’t able to see any of the city as we descended, except that there was a huge mountain overlooking the entire town, called Doi Suthep as I was soon to find out.
Getting rained on right now, so I’m going to make a dash for home, but as soon as I get there I’ll post some shit about my first days in Chiang Mai. Finally.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Sorry
I know I haven't posted a damn thing about Thailand yet, but check out my bike-ride through the streets of Chiang Mai on Facebook. More to come...
Seoul Shock
Let me just say that flying on Korean Airlines is an institution. If my whole trip consisted of flying KA around the world and ending up right back where I started, then it would have been well worth it. The jet was huge, like the Titanic with wings and a stronger hull, and the service was exquisite. Korean versions of Heidi Klum dressed as a stewardess and minus the annoying banter, patrolled the aisles awaiting my beckon-call, and though there were some several hundred passengers, it seemed like they were all there exclusively for yours truly. And they all smelled really good, too.
I thought I'd get some much needed sleep on this 15+ hour flight, but I probably slept less than an hour the whole way. Every seat had a tv on the back of it, with an endless selection of movies, video games, and a GPS system that let me track what part of the stratosphere I was in. I watched Iron Man (twice), Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Stupid-Ass Monkey Scene, and oddly enough The Graduate. After gorging myself on movies and and Tetris, I went and explored the rest of the Enterprise, including the second floor.
I've been exceedingly lucky when it comes to who I've had to sit next to on the few flights that I've been on, and this trip was no exception. The lady I sat next to on my flight to Seoul did not utter one word the entire 15+ hours, even when I offered her a Spree. She did offer me a stick of gum during our descent, but again, silence. She didn't even get up to go to the bathroom. It was kinda unnerving.
My flight left Atlanta at around 1:30 in the afternoon on Tuesday, and we landed in Seoul sometime after noon on Wednesday. I've tried to figure out the time difference several times, and it boggles the mind. Anyhow, we descended into South Korea amidst a dense, foggy afternoon sky, so I couldn't make out much of the country-side, and my stoic co-passenger had the window seat with the shade drawn the whole time, so sight-seeing was futile.
My first impressions of Asia were completely odoriferous. It just smelled completely different from America, the whole Korean airport and even now at my base in Chiang Mai. Sort of a sour odor that I can't really compare to any other I've experienced. But I'm sure I'll get used to it. Beyond that, my time in Seoul was pretty uneventful up until boarding my Bangkok flight three and a half hours later. Customs was a breeze, and after that I pretty much wandered around, dragging my lower-jaw on the ground, gawking at all the Koreans. After finding my departure gate, I once again searched for a secluded bench to ease my back-pack onto for a little shut-eye.
There is nothing I've ever experienced more disconcerting than waking up from a 1 hour power nap in an airport in Seoul, South Korea. Before I even opened my eyes, the chaotic Korean speak that had been plagueing my dreams threw me for such a loop and caused me to sit up with such acceleration that the crackers resting on my tummy flew off and struck a Pakistani man sitting next to me. My panic was well-founded though, as I realized that my flight was boarding without me. Alls well that ends well, as I found my way safely onto the plane for the final leg of my journey.
I thought I'd get some much needed sleep on this 15+ hour flight, but I probably slept less than an hour the whole way. Every seat had a tv on the back of it, with an endless selection of movies, video games, and a GPS system that let me track what part of the stratosphere I was in. I watched Iron Man (twice), Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Stupid-Ass Monkey Scene, and oddly enough The Graduate. After gorging myself on movies and and Tetris, I went and explored the rest of the Enterprise, including the second floor.
I've been exceedingly lucky when it comes to who I've had to sit next to on the few flights that I've been on, and this trip was no exception. The lady I sat next to on my flight to Seoul did not utter one word the entire 15+ hours, even when I offered her a Spree. She did offer me a stick of gum during our descent, but again, silence. She didn't even get up to go to the bathroom. It was kinda unnerving.
My flight left Atlanta at around 1:30 in the afternoon on Tuesday, and we landed in Seoul sometime after noon on Wednesday. I've tried to figure out the time difference several times, and it boggles the mind. Anyhow, we descended into South Korea amidst a dense, foggy afternoon sky, so I couldn't make out much of the country-side, and my stoic co-passenger had the window seat with the shade drawn the whole time, so sight-seeing was futile.
My first impressions of Asia were completely odoriferous. It just smelled completely different from America, the whole Korean airport and even now at my base in Chiang Mai. Sort of a sour odor that I can't really compare to any other I've experienced. But I'm sure I'll get used to it. Beyond that, my time in Seoul was pretty uneventful up until boarding my Bangkok flight three and a half hours later. Customs was a breeze, and after that I pretty much wandered around, dragging my lower-jaw on the ground, gawking at all the Koreans. After finding my departure gate, I once again searched for a secluded bench to ease my back-pack onto for a little shut-eye.
There is nothing I've ever experienced more disconcerting than waking up from a 1 hour power nap in an airport in Seoul, South Korea. Before I even opened my eyes, the chaotic Korean speak that had been plagueing my dreams threw me for such a loop and caused me to sit up with such acceleration that the crackers resting on my tummy flew off and struck a Pakistani man sitting next to me. My panic was well-founded though, as I realized that my flight was boarding without me. Alls well that ends well, as I found my way safely onto the plane for the final leg of my journey.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Cobra Juice and Jumbo Jets in Atlanta
Arrived in Atlanta around 8:30 in the a.m. Immediately headed for my departure gate, even though I had 5 hours to kill before heading for Seoul, in order to get some prime napping bench. Fell asleep to heated talks of the looming financial bailout on CNN, as the news was just breaking. Couldn't sleep too much, as I kept thinking of my oncoming 15 hour flight, mistakenly thinking I would get much of my sleep on the plane. Got restless, so I headed to the bar (TGI Friday's, the best ATL INT had to offer) for a couple of Bloody Mary's with some friendly Pakistani's. Made sure not to make the mistake of leaving my bags unattended, as I did in the very same airport in 2006. We are on Orange Alert, of course. Y'all wouldn't believe the swarm of airport personnel surrounding my backpack after returning from the bathroom two years ago. On the way back from the bar I passed a display of items not allowed through customs, coming from some of the very countries I was on my way to visit. Items included Burmese Bear tear ducts (considered to have high medicinal value, these tear ducts are obtained from the wholesale harvesting of Burmese Bears, much like American pigs) and fermented cobra juice, literally whole cobras soaking in a tequila-colored liquid contained in large bottles.
Back at my gate-post, I tried to get comfortable again amidst more news of international and domestic turmoil. Couldn't wait to get the flight underway and overwith. Was finally starting to fall asleep in my chair with my back to the window, when I was awakened by several dozen people or so frantically flashing their cameras at something behind me, and jibber-jabbering in several different languages. Dazed and confused, I turned around expecting to see the Hindenberg falling in flames. But it turned out to be my ride pulling in to port. The plane was fucking massive. Hopefully, I'll have some pics up soon, but the shit had two stories! The wheels were as wide as that Chrysler Concord boat I used to drive around. I couldn't wait to board, and my usual pre-flight jitters were assuaged, knowing that I'd be flying in the Korean equivalent of Airforce One, I mean nothing short of Everest was gonna bring this sucker down. When the boarding annoucement finally came, I of course decided to make two final phone calls, including one to my mom which almost caused me to miss the flight altogther. But after one final free phone call, I was finally on my way off this island. Next stop: Seoul.
Back at my gate-post, I tried to get comfortable again amidst more news of international and domestic turmoil. Couldn't wait to get the flight underway and overwith. Was finally starting to fall asleep in my chair with my back to the window, when I was awakened by several dozen people or so frantically flashing their cameras at something behind me, and jibber-jabbering in several different languages. Dazed and confused, I turned around expecting to see the Hindenberg falling in flames. But it turned out to be my ride pulling in to port. The plane was fucking massive. Hopefully, I'll have some pics up soon, but the shit had two stories! The wheels were as wide as that Chrysler Concord boat I used to drive around. I couldn't wait to board, and my usual pre-flight jitters were assuaged, knowing that I'd be flying in the Korean equivalent of Airforce One, I mean nothing short of Everest was gonna bring this sucker down. When the boarding annoucement finally came, I of course decided to make two final phone calls, including one to my mom which almost caused me to miss the flight altogther. But after one final free phone call, I was finally on my way off this island. Next stop: Seoul.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Onward to Expatriatism
Alrighty, I've got a little bit of time to write down some words before I'm off to dinner with my new friends from New York. I don't think the blog site is displaying the correct time for my posts, but right now it's about 6:15 in the p.m., which means y'all are just about to wake up on Monday morning over there in the States. I started writing shit down the day before I left Gainesville, but I don't think anybody gives a shit about the last moments of my much-maligned, and less than bitter-sweet return to Hogtown, so I'll just tell you briefly about my trip over here and then I'll get to what I'm really supposed to be talking about: Siam.
The voyage started off with a restless night tossing and turning at Penny and Papa Saier's house, sharing a bed with Maxwell the Schnauser, sneaking out to the porch to smoke the occasional bowl. I have to admit, I was getting pretty fuckin nervous about traveling to the opposite side of the earth by myself, and Penny's constant worry-fits weren't helping a damn sight. My last night basically consisted of me getting stoned and wondering if I was doing the right thing (I am), my mom running around spouting nonsense about Thai prisons and malaria, and my Dad sitting indifferently on the couch watching Monday Night Football with his hand down his pants. Wasn't the most relaxing evening, and the fact that I didn't even start packing until 10 o'clock at night for a flight that left at 7 the next morning didn't make things any smoother. Anyhow, long story short, we got up the next morning around 5, drove to the Gainesville Airport, said our goodbyes, and I was off.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Blog Schmog
How the hell am I supposed to keep a blog when I'm having so much friggity FUN!!! Bear with me folks, haven't had time to sit down long enough to write anything of substance, but soon to come: thai massages, traffic you wouldn't believe, sweaty balls, the mall, whiskey, New Yorkers, Scots and some Dutch, THC, monks, rats, white elephants, malaria, and opium!!! Stay tuned!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Give 'em hell, son!
That's what Papa Saier said to me as we parted ways with a brief man-hug and some hearty pats on the back at the airport in Gainesville. Best advice he ever gave me. Welcome to my Sklog. Feels a little silly caving in to the obsessive phenomenon that is blogging, but at several people’s insistence, I’m giving it a shot. I have to admit, though, it is a little therapeutic getting some thoughts down after the overwhelming experience of the last coupla days, what with the thirty-odd hours in four different planes over 12 different time-zones, an onslaught of bloody marys and old-fashioneds, sleeping in strange airports, mother-fucking customs, discovering new smells and stenches, having my innards raped by spicy foods I thought I could handle, spraying my butt with a sink-hose (I know I’m fucking crude, and if you plan on reading anymore get used to it), never-ending jetlag with no marijuana, tuk-tuks (or, as I mistakenly referred to them my first day to Berm's amusement, hyuk-hyuks) and over-all, being the minority after 28 years of comfortable majority-ness, and a tall minority at that. I swear, I'm the tallest human being in this country.
I’ve been here in Chiang Mai, Thailand’s proclaimed intellectual and cultural capital, for a little over two days now, and needless to say I’ve barely scratched the surface. So, where to fucking begin, indeed. Some of these entries will be a couple of days dated, because although I’ve been writing since I left the States, I just now got my interweb up and running. So, enjoy these thoughts; I hope they entice you to come join me, and if you’ve been here already (Stu, Jody, Mike, whomever) feel free to add your insight or interpret/correct my observations. Oh, and pics are soon to come, as soon as I figure it out, so for now just use those imaginations.
I’ve been here in Chiang Mai, Thailand’s proclaimed intellectual and cultural capital, for a little over two days now, and needless to say I’ve barely scratched the surface. So, where to fucking begin, indeed. Some of these entries will be a couple of days dated, because although I’ve been writing since I left the States, I just now got my interweb up and running. So, enjoy these thoughts; I hope they entice you to come join me, and if you’ve been here already (Stu, Jody, Mike, whomever) feel free to add your insight or interpret/correct my observations. Oh, and pics are soon to come, as soon as I figure it out, so for now just use those imaginations.
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