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.