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.
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