Sunday, May 31, 2009
Surat Sunday
I love my scooter. And now that I've got my picnic backpack full of sammies and herb and massaman and ice cold beer and my little boombox and some good readin and a crossword, I'm gonna hop on that scooter and cross the river and just head north to the hills through the rubber tree groves til I run out of gas. Hope your Sunday is happy like mine.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Success!
I am no longer in visa limbo! After three visits to the US Embassy, two of which were today (they're open from 7 till 11 in the morning, and again from 1 to 2 p.m.; I of course showed up at 11:15), and two visits to Immigration, all within 24 hours, and over 10,000 Baht give or take, I am once again an official non-immigrant class B, or in sane speak, I can legally teach again. Another frustrating visit to the Big Tiger, though not fruitless. On top of my visa luck, I also found a delicious new Mexican restaurant, the best used book store in town, and the Suk 11 guesthouse staff is now treating me like one of their own, so much so that I mustered some steel-ones to ask one of the girls on a date (her name of course is Jeab, what is it with me and Jeabs, or the letter J for that matter?; this is the third Jeab I've fancied), which was a trip upstairs to the guesthouse TV room where I introduced her to the glory of The Goonies. Sloth speaking Thai is a real treat. All in all, not a bad trip.
I have a nice little Tuesday planned, actually...
gonna start off with a 6:45 morning call from my boss. Then a little of last night's papaya salad before 30 more minutes of Bangkok-infested slumber. Then it's off to the US embassy to kiss some ass for a possibly mythological stamp on my passport. After that, it's on back to Immigration to get the visa I had just months ago, but now need even more proof that I deserve it. Then I'm thinking maybe the Mo Shit market at Mo Chit at the end of the SkyTrain. Then two used bookstores I've been on the hunt for the past two days; I think I'm finally onto them. Then a new restaurant just opening in Siam Discovery called Outback Steakhouse (it's been since my birthday since I've had a decent steak). Then off to the train station to catch the 7:30 night train that will deliver me to Surat at the not-annoying-at-all hour of 6:30 in the a.m. Then it's off to Thida at 8 to teach some Thai buggers some English. Smiling all the way.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Bangkoked!
I've now visited the Big Tiger (that's actually the name of the Bangkok Hilton, Thailand's main prison, located in Bangkok, because it devours its inhabitants, and I think the name is fitting for Thailand's capital as well) more times than any city outside the U.S., and more than most inside. I've visited Bangkok more times than I've visited the states of Maine, North Dakota, Idaho, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Delaware, Wisconsin, Rhode Island and Hawaii combined. When I walked back into the classroom for the first time in over two months, I said, "Good morning, class!", to which they replied, "You smell like Bangkok!" in unison. My dreams are filled with Bangkok. I exude Bangkok. When I clean my ears: Bangkok. When I brush my teeth: Bangkok. When I pick my nose: Bangkok. When I wipe my rash: Bangkok.
I've been to Bangkok three out of the last four weekends. All this Bangkok is exhausting. I'm up here because I fucked up and didn't get another reentry pass when Dave and I returned to Bangkok from Cambodia way back when for his root canal and then left the country again. That's the root of the problem; my absent-mindedness. But, I've been up here twice since then to take care of the problem, and both times left with my tail between my legs and my dick in my hands. I'm not blaming anyone. I realize that's the nature of the beast that is bureaucracy in Thailand. But Christ on a rubber cross.
So far, this time has not been all for naught. I discovered a new Tex Mex "Cantina" next to my home in the 'ol 'Kok, Suk 11 (best guesthouse ever!), that had some damn good food! Now I know how Thais feel when I stare at them stuffing their faces with squid or dried pork and beetle innards, after I slurped down eight quesadillas and licked the guacamole off my fingers next to a table of natives. And I paid almost six dollars for a Corona. But I deserved it. I then aroused the ire of the owner after unwittingly flirting with his girlfriend, but soon calmed him down by praising his food, and swapping Seattle stories, that being where he was from.
I don't really mind spending time in Bangkok, but every time I come here I leave a little piece of me behind. That little piece is almost always made out of Baht, but sometimes I leave a little of my sheltered American life, some of whatever innocence I have left, some common sense, naivete, respect for life, and certainly any thoughts I may have had that I'd seen almost everything (I swear I saw the elephant man at the post office yesterday. He looked just like Joseph Merrick, but much tanner, and in need of postage). So no, I don't mind coming to Bangkok, but three times in four weeks?! I'm over it.
I've been to Bangkok three out of the last four weekends. All this Bangkok is exhausting. I'm up here because I fucked up and didn't get another reentry pass when Dave and I returned to Bangkok from Cambodia way back when for his root canal and then left the country again. That's the root of the problem; my absent-mindedness. But, I've been up here twice since then to take care of the problem, and both times left with my tail between my legs and my dick in my hands. I'm not blaming anyone. I realize that's the nature of the beast that is bureaucracy in Thailand. But Christ on a rubber cross.
So far, this time has not been all for naught. I discovered a new Tex Mex "Cantina" next to my home in the 'ol 'Kok, Suk 11 (best guesthouse ever!), that had some damn good food! Now I know how Thais feel when I stare at them stuffing their faces with squid or dried pork and beetle innards, after I slurped down eight quesadillas and licked the guacamole off my fingers next to a table of natives. And I paid almost six dollars for a Corona. But I deserved it. I then aroused the ire of the owner after unwittingly flirting with his girlfriend, but soon calmed him down by praising his food, and swapping Seattle stories, that being where he was from.
I don't really mind spending time in Bangkok, but every time I come here I leave a little piece of me behind. That little piece is almost always made out of Baht, but sometimes I leave a little of my sheltered American life, some of whatever innocence I have left, some common sense, naivete, respect for life, and certainly any thoughts I may have had that I'd seen almost everything (I swear I saw the elephant man at the post office yesterday. He looked just like Joseph Merrick, but much tanner, and in need of postage). So no, I don't mind coming to Bangkok, but three times in four weeks?! I'm over it.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Koh Tao, Part II : Ban's and Big Fish Murmurings
We arrived at Koh Tao's dock and were immediately swarmed by tuk-tuk drivers asking us where we were staying and telling us that place was shit and that they knew of a much better place to stay. I waved them off, just like I was doing to the dockflies, and kept muttering, "Mei, mei, mei..." Luckily, Ban's Dive Shop came through this time and had a pick-up waiting for us for free. Another eight farang piled in and we headed for what would be home for the next week.
I got to Ban's place around two in the p.m. on Saturday the 11th. Dive lessons started at four. At checkin, I was a little apprehensive when it seemed that Amelie wanted to share a room. I quickly put the kibosh on that and headed to my room. It was a small deal with a single bed, small balcony, and a shower I couldn't stand up straight in, but it had HBO so I popped on Back to the Future 2 and collapsed on the bed. Two hours to look around, grab a bite, and take a nap, the latter of which I decided upon, but as I lay in my room and tried to stop sweating, sleep wouldn't come. So, I got up and decided to take a walk around the grounds. The resort was pretty impressive, considering the price (I paid 9,000 Baht but that included the PADI certification; six nights and scuba-diving for about $300, not including the cash that would eventually disappear by way of other means peripheral to the accomodation); covering 20 acres and settled on a lushly vegetated hillside that sloped directly into the sea, it was made up of two long dormitories on each side of a training pool/garden that ambled down to a boardwalk bar/restaurant/classroom. The bar/rest./class was the sturdiest structure I've ever seen made entirely of bamboo, and quite a comfortable little hang-out as well, situated right on the water with an intoxicating view of the bay and nearby Shark Island. I ordered a cold one and parked my ass on a pillow to watch a dozen or so Israelis just back from a dive washing their gear and boasting of the sights they saw, as I waited on my intro. class to start. There were a surprisingly large amount of Israelis on Koh Tao for a holiday. Many of the restaurants had Israeli food and Hebrew menus. I never did figure out this cultural phenomenon. Anyhow, the group of divers couldn't stop talking about what would prove to be a ubiquitous conversation all over the island. Seemed a boat they were diving in close proximity to just a few hours earlier was all aflutter with excitement after supposedly seeing a couple of whale sharks. Sitting there listening to the buzz, not once did I consider the possibility of such a privilege presenting itself to me over the next week.
After an hour or so of lounging around, it was finally time to head upstairs to the classroom above the bar, to meet my future dive buddies and to learn how to breathe oxygen at ambient pressure.
I got to Ban's place around two in the p.m. on Saturday the 11th. Dive lessons started at four. At checkin, I was a little apprehensive when it seemed that Amelie wanted to share a room. I quickly put the kibosh on that and headed to my room. It was a small deal with a single bed, small balcony, and a shower I couldn't stand up straight in, but it had HBO so I popped on Back to the Future 2 and collapsed on the bed. Two hours to look around, grab a bite, and take a nap, the latter of which I decided upon, but as I lay in my room and tried to stop sweating, sleep wouldn't come. So, I got up and decided to take a walk around the grounds. The resort was pretty impressive, considering the price (I paid 9,000 Baht but that included the PADI certification; six nights and scuba-diving for about $300, not including the cash that would eventually disappear by way of other means peripheral to the accomodation); covering 20 acres and settled on a lushly vegetated hillside that sloped directly into the sea, it was made up of two long dormitories on each side of a training pool/garden that ambled down to a boardwalk bar/restaurant/classroom. The bar/rest./class was the sturdiest structure I've ever seen made entirely of bamboo, and quite a comfortable little hang-out as well, situated right on the water with an intoxicating view of the bay and nearby Shark Island. I ordered a cold one and parked my ass on a pillow to watch a dozen or so Israelis just back from a dive washing their gear and boasting of the sights they saw, as I waited on my intro. class to start. There were a surprisingly large amount of Israelis on Koh Tao for a holiday. Many of the restaurants had Israeli food and Hebrew menus. I never did figure out this cultural phenomenon. Anyhow, the group of divers couldn't stop talking about what would prove to be a ubiquitous conversation all over the island. Seemed a boat they were diving in close proximity to just a few hours earlier was all aflutter with excitement after supposedly seeing a couple of whale sharks. Sitting there listening to the buzz, not once did I consider the possibility of such a privilege presenting itself to me over the next week.
After an hour or so of lounging around, it was finally time to head upstairs to the classroom above the bar, to meet my future dive buddies and to learn how to breathe oxygen at ambient pressure.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Koh Tao, Part I : Koh Tao
I've been to the Samui islands at least a half-dozen times since my first trip down from Chiang Mai on my birthday seven months ago, but the awe in that initial jaw-dropping peek outside my plane porthole as I descended to paradise still hasn't and will never diminish. A 100-ft. tall, Indian-legged albino Buddha welcomes all travelers from the apex of a tall, slender limestone mountain overlooking the piers and airport. Just past his hospitable gaze and precipitous perch lies Samui, a jungle-covered nexus to white-sand beaches, swaying coconut trees, and coral reefs covered by liquid turquoise; an eye-friendly onslaught of blues and greens. I couldn't wait to get off the plane and frolic, but I still had the landing to get through.
I don't doubt the aptitude of Thai pilots up in the air, but when that landing gear comes down, all bets are off. It's like the landing strip becomes just another Thai highway, and the plane just another tuk-tuk. In other words, balls to the pedal, and very little brake until the very abrupt end. I don't think they even bother using those little flaps that come up on the wings to slow the descent. Anyhow, my bitching aside, we landed unsafely and sound.
I think I mentioned earlier that I was meeting a Spanish woman, named Amelie, who I met in Santitham. She's a thirty-something physical therapist from outside of Madrid, who was in Chiang Mai to get a leg up in the massage industry. She was a nice enough woman, though because of her all day classes at the massage school we didn't spend a whole lot of time together past chance encounters at the breakfast table and whenever she needed someone for homework. We took separate flights down to the islands, and as I saw her waiting at the taxi stand for me, I already regretted agreeing to accompany her. A few mornings before we flew south, we were eating breakfast together in Santitham's main house, watching the Presidential debates, and discussing our foreign thoughts on the state and future of the human plight. And as we talked at length, our conversation inevitably turned into a comparison of the American people with those of the rest of the world (namely Europeans), and her particular views seemed particularly callous towards Americans, despite the fact that there was a very polite and quite humble (if I do say so myself) American sitting right in front of her, who contradicted most, if not all, the negative things she had to say about America (disrespectful, self-righteous, pretentious). And as I came upon her at the airport, here she was spewing vehement Spanish and English with short, frustrated bursts of attempted Thai at the attendant, over something that seemed completely out of the attendant's control or concern. At this point, I don't remember thinking, "Let me go be of assistance," but instead that maybe I should've just kept walking by, uninterested in throwing in with a traveler who lost her cool so readily. But she caught sight of me and beckoned me over; I asked her what was up. Turns out the dive resort we had checked out online failed to send us the transportation it had promised on its website. I'm sure she thought my rolling eyes were intended for the missing cab, or maybe the attendant she just spit out of her mouth. "Well," I told her,"I'm sure they just haven't shown up yet. We can either wait or just grab one of these songtaews like everyone else." Then I asked the attendant how much they were to the pier.
"100 Baht."
"You're kidding? Well, I don't know about you, Amelie, but I can afford a ride for $3 right this second," I said, sweat already dripping down my butt-crack, just from standing out on that curb.
I started walking in the direction of the nearest truck, and she reluctantly followed. I slung my pack up to the driver on the roof and scrambled into the back with six other people. After a bumpy ride along a dirt-road that criss-crossed goat farms and coconut groves, we made it to the pier just in time to catch the boat to Koh Tao, about forty miles away from the main Samui island. An hour and a half later, as I stood at the bow of the belching ferry that took us that last stretch, cold can of Leo grasped firmly, and the much smaller island of Koh Tao came into view, I saw dozens and dozens of teak wood bungalows scattered slip shod over every jungle-covered hillside, overlooking tiny villages at every half-mile of beach, home to fire-twirlers who were starting to practice their ludicrous dance for bbq later that night, the huge fires from which they borrowed, at that moment grilling copious amounts of shrimp, tuna, serpent-fish, snapper, shark and New Zealand steak, multi-colored lanterns coming alight overhead and women frolicking in the lackadaisical surf below. But nothing from that sense-orgy could keep from looking straight down, at the wraith-like reefs and blue-green depths I would soon be plunging.
I don't doubt the aptitude of Thai pilots up in the air, but when that landing gear comes down, all bets are off. It's like the landing strip becomes just another Thai highway, and the plane just another tuk-tuk. In other words, balls to the pedal, and very little brake until the very abrupt end. I don't think they even bother using those little flaps that come up on the wings to slow the descent. Anyhow, my bitching aside, we landed unsafely and sound.
I think I mentioned earlier that I was meeting a Spanish woman, named Amelie, who I met in Santitham. She's a thirty-something physical therapist from outside of Madrid, who was in Chiang Mai to get a leg up in the massage industry. She was a nice enough woman, though because of her all day classes at the massage school we didn't spend a whole lot of time together past chance encounters at the breakfast table and whenever she needed someone for homework. We took separate flights down to the islands, and as I saw her waiting at the taxi stand for me, I already regretted agreeing to accompany her. A few mornings before we flew south, we were eating breakfast together in Santitham's main house, watching the Presidential debates, and discussing our foreign thoughts on the state and future of the human plight. And as we talked at length, our conversation inevitably turned into a comparison of the American people with those of the rest of the world (namely Europeans), and her particular views seemed particularly callous towards Americans, despite the fact that there was a very polite and quite humble (if I do say so myself) American sitting right in front of her, who contradicted most, if not all, the negative things she had to say about America (disrespectful, self-righteous, pretentious). And as I came upon her at the airport, here she was spewing vehement Spanish and English with short, frustrated bursts of attempted Thai at the attendant, over something that seemed completely out of the attendant's control or concern. At this point, I don't remember thinking, "Let me go be of assistance," but instead that maybe I should've just kept walking by, uninterested in throwing in with a traveler who lost her cool so readily. But she caught sight of me and beckoned me over; I asked her what was up. Turns out the dive resort we had checked out online failed to send us the transportation it had promised on its website. I'm sure she thought my rolling eyes were intended for the missing cab, or maybe the attendant she just spit out of her mouth. "Well," I told her,"I'm sure they just haven't shown up yet. We can either wait or just grab one of these songtaews like everyone else." Then I asked the attendant how much they were to the pier.
"100 Baht."
"You're kidding? Well, I don't know about you, Amelie, but I can afford a ride for $3 right this second," I said, sweat already dripping down my butt-crack, just from standing out on that curb.
I started walking in the direction of the nearest truck, and she reluctantly followed. I slung my pack up to the driver on the roof and scrambled into the back with six other people. After a bumpy ride along a dirt-road that criss-crossed goat farms and coconut groves, we made it to the pier just in time to catch the boat to Koh Tao, about forty miles away from the main Samui island. An hour and a half later, as I stood at the bow of the belching ferry that took us that last stretch, cold can of Leo grasped firmly, and the much smaller island of Koh Tao came into view, I saw dozens and dozens of teak wood bungalows scattered slip shod over every jungle-covered hillside, overlooking tiny villages at every half-mile of beach, home to fire-twirlers who were starting to practice their ludicrous dance for bbq later that night, the huge fires from which they borrowed, at that moment grilling copious amounts of shrimp, tuna, serpent-fish, snapper, shark and New Zealand steak, multi-colored lanterns coming alight overhead and women frolicking in the lackadaisical surf below. But nothing from that sense-orgy could keep from looking straight down, at the wraith-like reefs and blue-green depths I would soon be plunging.
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