Melbourne Movie theater, night.
Enter: KATY, all grins, as she is about to engage in a transaction with a person who speaks native English, for the first time in 2 months. She approaches TICKET CLERK, who looks incredibly bored.
KATY: Hello, I'd like one for Quantum of Solace, please (smiles genuinely).
TICKET CLERK: (unintelligible).
K: Hmm? (Slightly confused, but not deterred. After all, it is a bit loud).
TC: (louder) Any coupons or concessions?
K: Uh, no?
TC: Alright, that's one -
K: - Wait, I buy popcorn here?
TC: Coupons or concessions. You buy the popcorn inside.
K: (Still confused, but trying to pretend like it was misunderstood). Ooooooh, no. Well, I definitely want popcorn, but no.
TC: Alright (speaks through teeth), Where would you like to sit?
K: (Long pause, then) Wait, I can choose where I sit, here?
TC: Yes miss.
K: Uhm. OK... Isle? In the back?
TC: Alright. (Then. very slowly, with annoyingly dominant eye contact:) Your film is upstahs, take the lift on the left. (Hands ticket to visibly disturbed patron).
KATY takes the ticket and gets lost looking for the lift, which she knows to be an elevating mechanism of some sort or other, but only after she looks right does she find the elevator. Purchases popcorn and soda with minimal trouble, but for needing to repeat her order three times before the CONCESSIONS CLERK understands that she just wants a fucking diet coke and popcorn. Finally, ticket in one hand, and soda in the other with popcorn under the arm, KATY approaches the TICKET TAKER, and hands him her ticket for Quantum of Solace.
TT: Alright, Quant- oh, wait. This starts at eight THIRTY, miss.
K: Yes...
TT: It's only 8 o'clock.
K: Yes...
TT: (annoyed) The film isn't over yet, I'm sorry you'll have to wait.
KATY looks around to see there is no place to sit, let alone any place to stand without looking totally stupid standing there with her popcorn and soda and movie ticket in the middle of the empty lobby, and how much time do they allow to clean the place? When is a good time to come back? She decides to look around the lobby posters as though extremely interested, until trying again once a group leaves the theater, with 15 minutes before curtain.
NEW TT: Hello. Ah, theater on your left.
K: (Looking at ticket for the non existent seat assignment, and subsequently confused) Uh, sir?
NTT: Is there a problem?
K: Is there, an uh, seat assignment? (winces for fear of yet another crippling are-you-retarded-glare)
NTT: Ah, yea, I'm sorry, I ripped it. Here you are.
K: (relieved) Thanks!
NTT: No worries!
KATY sits in the theater to enjoy Quantum of Solace, from beginning to end, except for the song at the beginning, which totally sucked, and sounded worse than the alley cats in Bangkok fighting. Also was perplexed with the previews, which included one precautionary commercial depicting a girl cutting off her hand in a store because she didn't ask how to use the bread slicer, ending with "It Never Hurts To Ask." ; and a recruiting commercial for Massage Therapy School in Canada. Here KATY thought life and culture in Melbourne, Australia, would be un-interestingly similar to life in America. No extra credit given for figuring out what she thinks now.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Pics
Well here are some pictures I have finally been able to upload, I'm new to Picassa so we will see how it works. It took me three days (as my gchat buddies have seen) to upload, sort, and get these pictures in any sort of presentable order, so I hope they're not too redundant (some of the temple ones probably are, I couldn't stop taking pictures though, every corner I turned was more amazing). I will add more Bangkok pictures to the 2nd one. For the most part they are (should be) chronological, Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai, Meong River, Laos, Cambodia, Railay Beach, Bangkok. ENJOY!
 |
| KATY 1 -500 |
 |
| KATY last batch |
Friday, December 5, 2008
Thais - They're just like US!
This is something I've been wanting to do, but haven't been able to until I got to a place where I could upload photos. There are more, but I can only handle so much photo uploading in one day... so keep your eyes peeled for the installments to follow, of a little chapter I like to call :
They get bored at work!
<--- bubblewrap
They have a tough time spelling foreign words!
They have street carts with coffee! (The cans are used for shaking the milk and coffee and sugar together - yum.)
And they sell nuts on the street, too!
They have organized, clean subways, that run on time-- JUST LIKE NEW YORK!
AND they even commit a fashion faux-paux here and there. Looks like someone forgot his belt at home today, oops!
Thais - They're just like US!
They hang their clothes to dry!
They get bored at work!
<--- bubblewrap
They have a tough time spelling foreign words!
They have street carts with coffee! (The cans are used for shaking the milk and coffee and sugar together - yum.)
And they sell nuts on the street, too!
They have organized, clean subways, that run on time-- JUST LIKE NEW YORK!
AND they even commit a fashion faux-paux here and there. Looks like someone forgot his belt at home today, oops!
They value customer service...
("We Want You Be Happy" aw, shucks)
("We Want You Be Happy" aw, shucks)
And they're up to date on current affairs!
All in all, it's been an easy transition. Who would have guessed they'd be so much LIKE US?
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
fiction
He wasn't a particularly conscientious fellow, but he realized he had perhaps acted improperly when he could not successfully read a page from his novel without unintentionally replaying the events in his mind. Nobody knew about her, anyway, so it wasn't veritably a difficult issue to ignore. He could live the rest of his week as though nothing atypical had happened, which is how he had planned to do it, all along.
But it was the 11th hour, and he was alone in his house, having tea by the fire when the voices started to interrupt Mister Hemingway's. This was when the heaviness suppressed in his sternum crept and clawed it's way out; when the back of his dark heart became the foreground of his consciousness. It happened so slowly, so inching and creepy that he had almost reached the end of the story before realizing he hadn't in fact been reading at all, but listening to the voices, and watching the events unfold like clips of a movie. Random flashes, slowly becoming more prominent than the dream world of The Old Man And The Sea, like static from another channel superimposed over the one you're trying to watch, before it finally becomes the only thing you can see. His white knuckles and the Cuban fisherman; her salty tears came from the ocean. You did not do so badly for something so worthless, he said to his left hand. But there was a moment when I could not find you. Glass shattered, her futile pleadings, his resentment incarnated in his permanent sneer. Flashes. Removed. Watching it unfold between the font on the pages, as though it were another man, another woman, a familiar neighbor or a character on t.v., instead of her.
He shivered violently, as though waking from a dream. He craned his stiff neck toward the fireplace that stomached only embers. "Goddamnit," he whispered. His coughing voice broke the silence of his cabin, and he smirked as he recalled Genesis 1:3. He put down the paperback, and brought his now cold, over steeped mug of tea into the kitchen, turning on lights in each room on the way. When had it gotten dark? He wondered. The still semi-full kettle remained on the burner as he lit the gas stove, taking care to douse the match before disposing of the charcoal stick. She had taught him that. Douse the lit match, like spitting on a cigarette butt before tossing it. She had quit smoking, too. For him. For He spoke, and it was done; He commanded, and it stood fast. For Him. These were some of her last words. For you, she said. It's all for you. He had never seen her cry before that night. He had heard her weep before, in the dark, in bed, when she thought he was asleep. Or maybe she knew, passive aggressive bitch that she was probably did know. He had resented it before, before that night -- their last -- he had realized her big, blue eyes turned beautifully red, the passion behind them, the pink in her nose and the shimmer on her cheeks, she was electrified, and lovely. Beautiful. Begging him. Pleading. Trying to save her life, in his. He was fortunate to be able to tune her out, to better enjoy that picture, to be gazed upon in his mind forever. The kettle's whistle impatiently rose from quiet to loud -- he realized again he had granted her the power of his attention. Methodically, he removed the kettle from the ignited burner to the dead one, taking pleasure in eliminating the gas, and poured the hot water on the wet bag of leaves, releasing other worlds of aroma and pleasure.
The truly terrible thing about it was, he knew that what he did was wrong. He knew when he planned it. When he executed the plan, he even acknowledged his awareness to her as she dared challenge him. Yes, I know, he had said. Repeating mistakes. Perpetuating the bad. She hadn't expected him to realize the connection, the inheritance of habit, doing unto others what you suffered at the hands of another. She was dumbfounded, and even abruptly stopped crying as he was saying it. How could you? Intentionally? Accept it? The truth knocked the wind out of her. She didn't know how to play a game when the other played by different rules. He had always prided himself in being an honest guy. Her cliches annoyed him. It's not my fault you didn't ask the right questions, he said. In all honesty. Truth be told. Truly, madly, deeply. She hadn't deserved what he had to give, but it was out of his hands. Like watching a movie. Someone else. This is not my life. The teacup was full to the rim but too hot to drink, causing him to move with the intent of a tightrope walker back to his easychair. The silence was deafening, as he stared with each step at the trembling tension that threatened to break the water's surface. He could feel his body harden at the potential burns he would suffer with one, false, step.
Once in his chair, he looked at the dying fireplace. The smoking hot mug at his side, he settled in for the fight to finish. He would finish. You are killing me, fish, the old man though. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or calmer or more noble thing than you... he paused. Silence. No static, no pain where there should be none. Just the dying fire, the steaming cup of tea. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who. Everything in it's place. You must keep your head clear. Keep your head clear and know how to suffer like a man. {grin}
But it was the 11th hour, and he was alone in his house, having tea by the fire when the voices started to interrupt Mister Hemingway's. This was when the heaviness suppressed in his sternum crept and clawed it's way out; when the back of his dark heart became the foreground of his consciousness. It happened so slowly, so inching and creepy that he had almost reached the end of the story before realizing he hadn't in fact been reading at all, but listening to the voices, and watching the events unfold like clips of a movie. Random flashes, slowly becoming more prominent than the dream world of The Old Man And The Sea, like static from another channel superimposed over the one you're trying to watch, before it finally becomes the only thing you can see. His white knuckles and the Cuban fisherman; her salty tears came from the ocean. You did not do so badly for something so worthless, he said to his left hand. But there was a moment when I could not find you. Glass shattered, her futile pleadings, his resentment incarnated in his permanent sneer. Flashes. Removed. Watching it unfold between the font on the pages, as though it were another man, another woman, a familiar neighbor or a character on t.v., instead of her.
He shivered violently, as though waking from a dream. He craned his stiff neck toward the fireplace that stomached only embers. "Goddamnit," he whispered. His coughing voice broke the silence of his cabin, and he smirked as he recalled Genesis 1:3. He put down the paperback, and brought his now cold, over steeped mug of tea into the kitchen, turning on lights in each room on the way. When had it gotten dark? He wondered. The still semi-full kettle remained on the burner as he lit the gas stove, taking care to douse the match before disposing of the charcoal stick. She had taught him that. Douse the lit match, like spitting on a cigarette butt before tossing it. She had quit smoking, too. For him. For He spoke, and it was done; He commanded, and it stood fast. For Him. These were some of her last words. For you, she said. It's all for you. He had never seen her cry before that night. He had heard her weep before, in the dark, in bed, when she thought he was asleep. Or maybe she knew, passive aggressive bitch that she was probably did know. He had resented it before, before that night -- their last -- he had realized her big, blue eyes turned beautifully red, the passion behind them, the pink in her nose and the shimmer on her cheeks, she was electrified, and lovely. Beautiful. Begging him. Pleading. Trying to save her life, in his. He was fortunate to be able to tune her out, to better enjoy that picture, to be gazed upon in his mind forever. The kettle's whistle impatiently rose from quiet to loud -- he realized again he had granted her the power of his attention. Methodically, he removed the kettle from the ignited burner to the dead one, taking pleasure in eliminating the gas, and poured the hot water on the wet bag of leaves, releasing other worlds of aroma and pleasure.
The truly terrible thing about it was, he knew that what he did was wrong. He knew when he planned it. When he executed the plan, he even acknowledged his awareness to her as she dared challenge him. Yes, I know, he had said. Repeating mistakes. Perpetuating the bad. She hadn't expected him to realize the connection, the inheritance of habit, doing unto others what you suffered at the hands of another. She was dumbfounded, and even abruptly stopped crying as he was saying it. How could you? Intentionally? Accept it? The truth knocked the wind out of her. She didn't know how to play a game when the other played by different rules. He had always prided himself in being an honest guy. Her cliches annoyed him. It's not my fault you didn't ask the right questions, he said. In all honesty. Truth be told. Truly, madly, deeply. She hadn't deserved what he had to give, but it was out of his hands. Like watching a movie. Someone else. This is not my life. The teacup was full to the rim but too hot to drink, causing him to move with the intent of a tightrope walker back to his easychair. The silence was deafening, as he stared with each step at the trembling tension that threatened to break the water's surface. He could feel his body harden at the potential burns he would suffer with one, false, step.
Once in his chair, he looked at the dying fireplace. The smoking hot mug at his side, he settled in for the fight to finish. He would finish. You are killing me, fish, the old man though. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or calmer or more noble thing than you... he paused. Silence. No static, no pain where there should be none. Just the dying fire, the steaming cup of tea. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who. Everything in it's place. You must keep your head clear. Keep your head clear and know how to suffer like a man. {grin}
"A great way to start my day"
Courtesy of Katie O, but out there for the young Millers: Zach, Jess, Andrea, and Luke (even though he doesn't know it yet, this will be his favorite movie of all time).
Gratuitous, this one's on me:
Gratuitous, this one's on me:
I'm doinit
The following was taken from the http://www.dhamma.org/ website. This is something I have always wanted to do, and I think I'll make time to do it in either Aus or NZ... for some reason I have always associated this practice with these locations. Plus, it's free, good for you, and just really really cool.
"Vipassana, which means to see things as they really are, is one of India's most ancient techniques of meditation. It was rediscovered by Gotama Buddha more than 2500 years ago and was taught by him as a universal remedy for universal ills, i.e., an Art Of Living.
This non-sectarian technique aims for the total eradication of mental impurities and the resultant highest happiness of full liberation. Healing, not merely the curing of diseases, but the essential healing of human suffering, is its purpose.
"Vipassana is a way of self-transformation through self-observation. It focuses on the deep interconnection between mind and body, which can be experienced directly by disciplined attention to the physical sensations that form the life of the body, and that continuously interconnect and condition the life of the mind. It is this observation-based, self-exploratory journey to the common root of mind and body that dissolves mental impurity, resulting in a balanced mind full of love and compassion.
"The scientific laws that operate one's thoughts, feelings, judgements and sensations become clear. Through direct experience, the nature of how one grows or regresses, how one produces suffering or frees oneself from suffering is understood. Life becomes characterized by increased awareness, non-delusion, self-control and peace."
Go ahead, say it. H-i-double-p, i-e! It's all good. I might be annoyed now, but after this retreat, I'll be so zen master you won't be able to tell between me and a grasshopper. SNAP!
"Vipassana, which means to see things as they really are, is one of India's most ancient techniques of meditation. It was rediscovered by Gotama Buddha more than 2500 years ago and was taught by him as a universal remedy for universal ills, i.e., an Art Of Living.
This non-sectarian technique aims for the total eradication of mental impurities and the resultant highest happiness of full liberation. Healing, not merely the curing of diseases, but the essential healing of human suffering, is its purpose.
"Vipassana is a way of self-transformation through self-observation. It focuses on the deep interconnection between mind and body, which can be experienced directly by disciplined attention to the physical sensations that form the life of the body, and that continuously interconnect and condition the life of the mind. It is this observation-based, self-exploratory journey to the common root of mind and body that dissolves mental impurity, resulting in a balanced mind full of love and compassion.
"The scientific laws that operate one's thoughts, feelings, judgements and sensations become clear. Through direct experience, the nature of how one grows or regresses, how one produces suffering or frees oneself from suffering is understood. Life becomes characterized by increased awareness, non-delusion, self-control and peace."
Go ahead, say it. H-i-double-p, i-e! It's all good. I might be annoyed now, but after this retreat, I'll be so zen master you won't be able to tell between me and a grasshopper. SNAP!
Monday, December 1, 2008
Nakhon Si Thammarat say what
Stuck inside a hostel with the Bangkok blues again.
14 hours by train, and I find myself back in the south. These ain't no euro-rail luxury trains, lemme tell ya. I think I saw a couple chicken on this particular overnighter. Ghe-tto. I paid next to nothing for the ticket though, and as the saying goes: you get what you pay for. The floors reminded me of a school bus -- blue linoleum-ish and sticky looking. The seats were deceitfully upholstered like an airport terminal, and harder than the ground. They came designed without the middle arm rest, too, meaning the person you end up sitting next to becomes your snuggle buddy for the night. The windows and doors all stay open the whole trip, and while seemingly unsafe it was better than smelling whatever it was that reeked. From the waist up or more is open air window, which made me wonder if Thailand ever has problems with banditos or thieves boarding the train in the night, since we're going so slowly that it wouldn't take an acrobat to hop on in through the window. But oh wait, the doors stay open too, so how silly of me- they can just walk on in. I'm pretty sure they do... Luckily, I met a couple of psychotic Canadian fellows who were more than entertaining for the night's trip, and they had a sleeper car with a table, couple bottles of thai whiskey, and a deck of cards. They were loud and kept pretending they were American when people would give us weird looks, but I was so bored and grossed out with my cattle car none of that mattered. I can't say I slept at all, but I also can't say I would have anyway. I can say it was WAY better than snuggling with the guy that stank like garbage and had never heard of "personal space" before. Plus, new people are always fun.
Alas, you'll have to pardon my cynicism. I was stuck in Bangkok for much much longer than I wanted to be, and man oh man AM I GLAD TO BE OUT. I assure you though that it was completely safe (probably safer than the train), and that all the tumultuousness was only occurring in the areas of protest, and while it's extremely inconvenient for travelers all over s.e.a., it should only be measured as such. So rest assured.
One perk of being stuck in Bangkok was that I could talk to some locals and get more information on what is going on with the protests. Here, in a nutshell, is what I've learned:
(1) Thailand is no stranger to coups, protests of government, or 'sit-ins'. This is how the people deal with government they do not agree with. The first Prime Minister was instated as a result of a coup, in 1932. I think there have been some 20 or so coups since, but only one has been, as they say, bloody.
(2) This is indeed the first occupation of an airport, but with protests going on more or less ignored for 6 months, who can blame them for wanting to take drastic measures? It seems to me this is an excellent way to get one's government to pay attention to you.
(2.a) IE: Ok fine, you don't want to listen to us? We occupy, and effectively close down the airport. Now, tourists + apathetic citizens + foreigners who depend on that airport to stay functional = angry, now are all calling upon the Prime Minister to do something about it. Whether or not the aforementioned give a shit about the PAD's cause, it's forcing the government to stop turning their backs and acknowledge those unhappy with the way things are going. Very smart strategy for the protesters, because they're insisting that they aren't leaving until the entire government (all of whom the protesters claim to be puppets/corrupt/affiliated with the old Prime Minister) step down and place their positions up for re-election. This process takes up to 60 days, but all they're asking for is new elections for all posts.
(3) This led me to wonder, what is so bad about the new Prime Minister, and why are they asking him to step down NOW, A.S.A.P., and the subject for the PAD is not up for negotiation. WELL I'll tell you. While Thais are no stranger to coups or protests against their government, they are IN LOVE with and utterly devoted to (perhaps to a fault) their King. There are pictures of him EVERYWHERE. You cannot go into a mall, walk down the block, come to an intersection, pretty much leave your hostel/hotel/house/apartment without seeing a picture of this guy. He is pretty sweet looking, he usually has a camera around his neck and wears spectacles. But he's getting very old. His birthday, in fact, is the first week in December* and it's a huge national celebration. Now, the old PM Thaksin Shinawatra was ousted a couple of years ago for corruption, and "replaced himself" first with a literal 'stand-in,' who resigned due to corruption charges in September, followed by this new guy, Somchai Wongsawat (in September), who also happens to be Thaksin's brother-in-law. (Well not technically "replaced himself," but the Parliament that elected Somchai is overwhelmingly made up of Thaksin appointees.) Well becasue the King is in his twilight years, there have been speculations of Somchai and Thaksin luring the young prince to their sympathies, and I'm exhausted just talking about it so I will stop there, allowing your imaginations to fill in why the protestors who don't like anything about these PMs would be upset with the notion that their beloved monarchy could be tampered with.
(4) Turns out the PAD chose yellow to show support for the Monarchy, and that their group consists mostly of the educated, the city-folk, the business men and women of Thailand, whereas the supporters for the current PM (s) are rural country folk.
(5) Most the people I spoke with were not at the Bangkok airport, so that means they aren't politically weighted necessarily one way or the other, because they weren't protesting, but they do live in the city and speak English, ergo are considered educated. These people also responded for the most part indifferently, more annoyed with the disturbance than worried or interested,
and I'm not sure if it's typical Thai-don't-tend-to-speak-out-against-authority (ha you wouldn't believe it, would you?), or that they indeed didn't care one way or the other.
So that is the information I have gathered regarding the protests. If I learn anything more of any interest, you can be sure I will pass it along. For now, I am enjoying this small little town and the relief from stinky & busy Bangkok. I am meeting some of Mac's friends tonight, we're making tortillas and having a little house party, so it'll be interesting to see some of their insights, although Mac seems just as indifferent as the Thai. I will stay here until I figure out where I can go next, without being on the accommodation clock (as he has graciously opened up his place for me until I get things sorted out or until the main airport opens, although now I'm near Phuket so I might head back over there for a bit).
Smooches, and keep the updates coming, I like hearing about what you all are up to. xx
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
FN*A lot of people are certain this protest will come to an end by the time the King's birthday comes around for the sake of preventing any embarrassment. It's spoken as fact, because it's beyond any Thai person's comprehension that any citizen would possibly risk embarrassing the King. As I mentioned in another post when I first got here, you can't put money (with the Kings image on it) in your back pocket or shoe, lest you insult Him or the Thais.
14 hours by train, and I find myself back in the south. These ain't no euro-rail luxury trains, lemme tell ya. I think I saw a couple chicken on this particular overnighter. Ghe-tto. I paid next to nothing for the ticket though, and as the saying goes: you get what you pay for. The floors reminded me of a school bus -- blue linoleum-ish and sticky looking. The seats were deceitfully upholstered like an airport terminal, and harder than the ground. They came designed without the middle arm rest, too, meaning the person you end up sitting next to becomes your snuggle buddy for the night. The windows and doors all stay open the whole trip, and while seemingly unsafe it was better than smelling whatever it was that reeked. From the waist up or more is open air window, which made me wonder if Thailand ever has problems with banditos or thieves boarding the train in the night, since we're going so slowly that it wouldn't take an acrobat to hop on in through the window. But oh wait, the doors stay open too, so how silly of me- they can just walk on in. I'm pretty sure they do... Luckily, I met a couple of psychotic Canadian fellows who were more than entertaining for the night's trip, and they had a sleeper car with a table, couple bottles of thai whiskey, and a deck of cards. They were loud and kept pretending they were American when people would give us weird looks, but I was so bored and grossed out with my cattle car none of that mattered. I can't say I slept at all, but I also can't say I would have anyway. I can say it was WAY better than snuggling with the guy that stank like garbage and had never heard of "personal space" before. Plus, new people are always fun.
Alas, you'll have to pardon my cynicism. I was stuck in Bangkok for much much longer than I wanted to be, and man oh man AM I GLAD TO BE OUT. I assure you though that it was completely safe (probably safer than the train), and that all the tumultuousness was only occurring in the areas of protest, and while it's extremely inconvenient for travelers all over s.e.a., it should only be measured as such. So rest assured.
One perk of being stuck in Bangkok was that I could talk to some locals and get more information on what is going on with the protests. Here, in a nutshell, is what I've learned:
(1) Thailand is no stranger to coups, protests of government, or 'sit-ins'. This is how the people deal with government they do not agree with. The first Prime Minister was instated as a result of a coup, in 1932. I think there have been some 20 or so coups since, but only one has been, as they say, bloody.
(2) This is indeed the first occupation of an airport, but with protests going on more or less ignored for 6 months, who can blame them for wanting to take drastic measures? It seems to me this is an excellent way to get one's government to pay attention to you.
(2.a) IE: Ok fine, you don't want to listen to us? We occupy, and effectively close down the airport. Now, tourists + apathetic citizens + foreigners who depend on that airport to stay functional = angry, now are all calling upon the Prime Minister to do something about it. Whether or not the aforementioned give a shit about the PAD's cause, it's forcing the government to stop turning their backs and acknowledge those unhappy with the way things are going. Very smart strategy for the protesters, because they're insisting that they aren't leaving until the entire government (all of whom the protesters claim to be puppets/corrupt/affiliated with the old Prime Minister) step down and place their positions up for re-election. This process takes up to 60 days, but all they're asking for is new elections for all posts.
(3) This led me to wonder, what is so bad about the new Prime Minister, and why are they asking him to step down NOW, A.S.A.P., and the subject for the PAD is not up for negotiation. WELL I'll tell you. While Thais are no stranger to coups or protests against their government, they are IN LOVE with and utterly devoted to (perhaps to a fault) their King. There are pictures of him EVERYWHERE. You cannot go into a mall, walk down the block, come to an intersection, pretty much leave your hostel/hotel/house/apartment without seeing a picture of this guy. He is pretty sweet looking, he usually has a camera around his neck and wears spectacles. But he's getting very old. His birthday, in fact, is the first week in December* and it's a huge national celebration. Now, the old PM Thaksin Shinawatra was ousted a couple of years ago for corruption, and "replaced himself" first with a literal 'stand-in,' who resigned due to corruption charges in September, followed by this new guy, Somchai Wongsawat (in September), who also happens to be Thaksin's brother-in-law. (Well not technically "replaced himself," but the Parliament that elected Somchai is overwhelmingly made up of Thaksin appointees.) Well becasue the King is in his twilight years, there have been speculations of Somchai and Thaksin luring the young prince to their sympathies, and I'm exhausted just talking about it so I will stop there, allowing your imaginations to fill in why the protestors who don't like anything about these PMs would be upset with the notion that their beloved monarchy could be tampered with.
(4) Turns out the PAD chose yellow to show support for the Monarchy, and that their group consists mostly of the educated, the city-folk, the business men and women of Thailand, whereas the supporters for the current PM (s) are rural country folk.
(5) Most the people I spoke with were not at the Bangkok airport, so that means they aren't politically weighted necessarily one way or the other, because they weren't protesting, but they do live in the city and speak English, ergo are considered educated. These people also responded for the most part indifferently, more annoyed with the disturbance than worried or interested,
and I'm not sure if it's typical Thai-don't-tend-to-speak-out-against-authority (ha you wouldn't believe it, would you?), or that they indeed didn't care one way or the other.
So that is the information I have gathered regarding the protests. If I learn anything more of any interest, you can be sure I will pass it along. For now, I am enjoying this small little town and the relief from stinky & busy Bangkok. I am meeting some of Mac's friends tonight, we're making tortillas and having a little house party, so it'll be interesting to see some of their insights, although Mac seems just as indifferent as the Thai. I will stay here until I figure out where I can go next, without being on the accommodation clock (as he has graciously opened up his place for me until I get things sorted out or until the main airport opens, although now I'm near Phuket so I might head back over there for a bit).
Smooches, and keep the updates coming, I like hearing about what you all are up to. xx
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
FN*A lot of people are certain this protest will come to an end by the time the King's birthday comes around for the sake of preventing any embarrassment. It's spoken as fact, because it's beyond any Thai person's comprehension that any citizen would possibly risk embarrassing the King. As I mentioned in another post when I first got here, you can't put money (with the Kings image on it) in your back pocket or shoe, lest you insult Him or the Thais.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Bangkok day 1+ x
The truth about the protests here in Bangkok:
While an ongoing and serious issue for the People's Alliance for Democracy (yellow) and the government they're opposing (red), the strife does not extend beyond the groups included. It'd be like living in Red Hook, and being told there was a "riot" on the uws, or being in Santa Monica and hearing of "protests" at Staples Center or the Rose Bowl. I mean yea, it's escalated, but from barely nothing to a blip on the radar. Plus, it's the people against the gov't, so nobody is targeted in particular, but more symbols of the government in place (unless you're one of the unlucky fellows put in place to subdue the protestors).
Don't believe me? These are a few of my favorite local media comments on the protest(er)s: "traffic nuisance", "Christmas carolers", "never-ending saga", "futile [...] drain on society" and, "political melodrama." The protesters, who are unhappy with the current PM, who is laterally related to the last ousted one (but they chose yellow for their color? Confusing because it's the color for the royalty around here, there are yellow flags all over the place because the King's birthday is coming up in the first week of December. Perhaps intentional politically, or maybe they're trying to boost their numbers?), are publicly insulting the gov't, with doozies like "monitor lizards." Apparently just the absolute worst, as far as Thai insults go. I gather it's akin to a slap in the face with a glove. SIRISAIDGOODDAY!
My favorite so far is the quote from a protest leader, who lays out his plan. "First, we will not let the cabinet use [Don Muang Airport] for their meetings anymore. Second, wherever they go for their meetings, we have our special troops that will follow them there." And then, once they get there, who knows? Maybe more insults. Maybe not. It's just too hard to tell, really.
So here I am for another few days. It's not so bad, I get to hang out and talk to some more travelers about places I want to go, in exchange for made up stories about places they want to go. The airports are closed down, so the hostel is getting crowded, i.e. more people to have fun with. I hope things are resolved by Friday, because that's when my flight is. I'm off to Bali at the end of the week (Protests allowing), where I will be through the end of the calendar year. From there I can visit Lombok, possibly Australia too... kinda just seeing where the wind takes me. As always, I'm open to any and all suggestions, those received thus far have been extremely helpful, so many thanks. And watch out for those monitor lizards, they might be able to travel through the series of tubes that make up the internets. I know that's old, but I just don't want to let that one die. That, and I'm like your (my) senile grandma: out of touch and eager to be in on the news.
While an ongoing and serious issue for the People's Alliance for Democracy (yellow) and the government they're opposing (red), the strife does not extend beyond the groups included. It'd be like living in Red Hook, and being told there was a "riot" on the uws, or being in Santa Monica and hearing of "protests" at Staples Center or the Rose Bowl. I mean yea, it's escalated, but from barely nothing to a blip on the radar. Plus, it's the people against the gov't, so nobody is targeted in particular, but more symbols of the government in place (unless you're one of the unlucky fellows put in place to subdue the protestors).
Don't believe me? These are a few of my favorite local media comments on the protest(er)s: "traffic nuisance", "Christmas carolers", "never-ending saga", "futile [...] drain on society" and, "political melodrama." The protesters, who are unhappy with the current PM, who is laterally related to the last ousted one (but they chose yellow for their color? Confusing because it's the color for the royalty around here, there are yellow flags all over the place because the King's birthday is coming up in the first week of December. Perhaps intentional politically, or maybe they're trying to boost their numbers?), are publicly insulting the gov't, with doozies like "monitor lizards." Apparently just the absolute worst, as far as Thai insults go. I gather it's akin to a slap in the face with a glove. SIRISAIDGOODDAY!
My favorite so far is the quote from a protest leader, who lays out his plan. "First, we will not let the cabinet use [Don Muang Airport] for their meetings anymore. Second, wherever they go for their meetings, we have our special troops that will follow them there." And then, once they get there, who knows? Maybe more insults. Maybe not. It's just too hard to tell, really.
So here I am for another few days. It's not so bad, I get to hang out and talk to some more travelers about places I want to go, in exchange for made up stories about places they want to go. The airports are closed down, so the hostel is getting crowded, i.e. more people to have fun with. I hope things are resolved by Friday, because that's when my flight is. I'm off to Bali at the end of the week (Protests allowing), where I will be through the end of the calendar year. From there I can visit Lombok, possibly Australia too... kinda just seeing where the wind takes me. As always, I'm open to any and all suggestions, those received thus far have been extremely helpful, so many thanks. And watch out for those monitor lizards, they might be able to travel through the series of tubes that make up the internets. I know that's old, but I just don't want to let that one die. That, and I'm like your (my) senile grandma: out of touch and eager to be in on the news.
Monday, November 24, 2008
And now for something completely unrelated:
So I saw, like, the last ten minutes of this movie, which was completely amazing, and if you knew about it, to hell with you for not telling me about it's glory; if you didn't know about it, then I think you should go to your little netflix cue or your video rental store or download off the internet the next time you're like, "hey, I feel like watching something awesome," and then thank me for it.
This little Canadian film gem is about zombies. I know. Awesome already, right?
Let me paint the picture of where I came in, late last night, flipping through channels, before I went to bed.
1950's neighborhood, all gaudy and pastel a la Edward Scissorhands. Boxy paddy wagon complete with bars on the back windows, slamming shut, we see blue faced FIDO (both literally and figuratively, as this particular zombie is bummed to be imprisoned) thrown in the slammer. Little Timmy runs across his perfectly manicured lawn to the street, screaming "FIDO! NOOO!" But it's too late. Fido is already being taken away.
Enter fedora capped trench coat donning government official. He's here to inform Timmy he's done a very bad thing, and dutifully scolds little Timmy that because of his carelessness people in the neighborhood have died. But, lucky for Timmy, his parents assured the government nothing like this will ever happen again, and Father appears in the street to subsequently send Timmy to his room.
Spoiler alert!
Fido is freed from the Zombie internment camp by shotgun wielding Mother, who turns out to be that black haired chick from House, and Father dies I think from the gun that he gave 9 year old Timmy, but I can't be sure. Then Fido marries mother and takes over as head of the household. The little neighbor girl gets her own zombie, who she carries around on a chain leash, whom she assertively and kinda masochistically calls "Daddy."
Favorite line: [mother to father]: "Bill, just because your father tried to eat you, does that mean we all have to be unhappy... forever?!"
I'm in love.
This little Canadian film gem is about zombies. I know. Awesome already, right?
Let me paint the picture of where I came in, late last night, flipping through channels, before I went to bed.
1950's neighborhood, all gaudy and pastel a la Edward Scissorhands. Boxy paddy wagon complete with bars on the back windows, slamming shut, we see blue faced FIDO (both literally and figuratively, as this particular zombie is bummed to be imprisoned) thrown in the slammer. Little Timmy runs across his perfectly manicured lawn to the street, screaming "FIDO! NOOO!" But it's too late. Fido is already being taken away.
Enter fedora capped trench coat donning government official. He's here to inform Timmy he's done a very bad thing, and dutifully scolds little Timmy that because of his carelessness people in the neighborhood have died. But, lucky for Timmy, his parents assured the government nothing like this will ever happen again, and Father appears in the street to subsequently send Timmy to his room.
Spoiler alert!
Fido is freed from the Zombie internment camp by shotgun wielding Mother, who turns out to be that black haired chick from House, and Father dies I think from the gun that he gave 9 year old Timmy, but I can't be sure. Then Fido marries mother and takes over as head of the household. The little neighbor girl gets her own zombie, who she carries around on a chain leash, whom she assertively and kinda masochistically calls "Daddy."
Favorite line: [mother to father]: "Bill, just because your father tried to eat you, does that mean we all have to be unhappy... forever?!"
I'm in love.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Bangkok - day one
Well I think I have found Los Angeles' equivalent, it's doppelganger city. Ironically, the original name for Bangkok translates to "city of angels." It's busy with business and tourists, the traffic is terrible, most the people who were born here live here their whole lives, a lot of people from satellite cities come here for work, a lot fo commuters, there is a huge disparity in social and economic class that is easily ignored by pretty much everyone because of how secluded each little "burrough" or community is from it's neighbor (think north vs south Pico Blvd in West LA, or the fashion district in downtown). There is everything from high fashion and huge hotels to homeless living in the back streets, a wide variety of culture and cuisine, and a huge tourist industry. The only main difference is the prominence of the river here, and it's use for travel. That, and all the squiggly writing (Arrested Development, anyone?) So far, the sights are enough to keep me interested (Emerald Buddah, Sukumvit, Johnson's house, Wat ARUN!!!).
I will spend the next few days here, until I have a sort of itinerary mapped out. I plan to visit Connie and Mac in the south/east, for a short while, so I can get my bearings (and of course see where Mac's been living and teaching). At that point I hope to have myself in the works for a travel to teach program (or something of the like) set for January-ish, which will allow me to travel for fun for the next month or so. I have a ticket back home that is good for the next 6 months, and can be changed within that time freely. It's currently set for February.
Which leaves me on my own for Thanksgiving (unless I'm with C&M), My 25th birthday, Hanukkah/Christmas (Luke's first!!), and New Year's eve. It will be tough, because this is the time of year we all spend time together, get to see one another and bond over how crazy everyone else is making us... but I assure you I'll be fine. I feel so blessed to be able to take this journey. The elements that equated to this situation were too "once in a lifetime" for me to pass up. And I have such strong connections with the towns I visit, and the people I meet along the way, I know I won't be "alone" for a minute of it.
Plus, you all know how much I like myself, who else would I want to spend this time with?
I'll be keeping you posted...
I will spend the next few days here, until I have a sort of itinerary mapped out. I plan to visit Connie and Mac in the south/east, for a short while, so I can get my bearings (and of course see where Mac's been living and teaching). At that point I hope to have myself in the works for a travel to teach program (or something of the like) set for January-ish, which will allow me to travel for fun for the next month or so. I have a ticket back home that is good for the next 6 months, and can be changed within that time freely. It's currently set for February.
Which leaves me on my own for Thanksgiving (unless I'm with C&M), My 25th birthday, Hanukkah/Christmas (Luke's first!!), and New Year's eve. It will be tough, because this is the time of year we all spend time together, get to see one another and bond over how crazy everyone else is making us... but I assure you I'll be fine. I feel so blessed to be able to take this journey. The elements that equated to this situation were too "once in a lifetime" for me to pass up. And I have such strong connections with the towns I visit, and the people I meet along the way, I know I won't be "alone" for a minute of it.
Plus, you all know how much I like myself, who else would I want to spend this time with?
I'll be keeping you posted...
Friday, November 21, 2008
Last Day!
I have been a bad blogger, and for that I should apologize. I admit it. Mea culpa. My bad. Whoopsie Daisy. Let's move on.
I'll catch up once my parents leave, but for now I am enjoying their company and our last few days together in this really sweet hotel before I'm on my own. That's right -- I have officially decided to stay a while longer, at least til after the New Year! Today we are going to a tennis match, and watch the greats John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg fight on the court ... I'm really looking forward to it. Dad loves tennis, and I was raised by a family who watched tennis a lot, which pretty much makes me a fan. A few sides to catch everyone up before I have more time to post something more specific:
-We went from Cambodia to Krabi, which was a beautiful island getaway. It's what dreams are made of, as lame as that sounds. Went snorkeling, saw some elephants, went on a hike, there is rock climbing and plenty of other activities. For some reason there more than anywhere else yet, I wished my brother was there with us, it would have been really fun to do some of those activites with him. I will have to settle with recommendations for when he comes next time.
--> We took a day and drove up to Khao Lak where the Tsunami hit a few years back, to see the final resting place of our dear dear friend Luke Scully. It was beautiful, and personally it made me a little happy to be there, to see that really there is no other place I would want to spend my last day on Earth. It was tough to not imagine a 40 foot wave on the horizon, and what that would look like, and they do little to try and deter you from being aware where you are. There are tsunami warning zone signs and evacuation route signs every 100 meters or so on your way in to the beach. A little much, and a little too late, but I guess it's better than nothing.
-Kho Poo Poo and Kho Phi Phi (pee pee) are two islands next to each other in the south, and Phuket is actually pronounced foo-kit (I thought it was poo - keht). No wonder Thailand is called the land of smiles...
We're in Bangkok now, as I mentioned, and it's very busy here. We've been enjoying the hotel and it's perks, it's almost comical how attentive the staff is here. You can't think of something you want before they're getting it for you. Every floor has a butler. They have complimentary champagne waiting for you in your room, the good stuff. When you walk into breakfast, and give them your room number, they know your name by the time you've reached the table (I think I've figured out how they do it, but I was dumbfounded the first time). I haven't ever stayed any place with better customer service. They even picked us up in a BMW from the airport! Needless to say it will be a bit of an adjustment once the parents leave. Haha. I'm looking forward to it!!
So if anyone wants to come spend the holidays out here, let me know, I am going to either be volunteering or working, but I haven't planned that far ahead. On my list of places to visit (might I mention it's extremely ambitious?):
Bali
India
NZ
Aus
Laos (again)
Do-able, right? ;)
I'll catch up once my parents leave, but for now I am enjoying their company and our last few days together in this really sweet hotel before I'm on my own. That's right -- I have officially decided to stay a while longer, at least til after the New Year! Today we are going to a tennis match, and watch the greats John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg fight on the court ... I'm really looking forward to it. Dad loves tennis, and I was raised by a family who watched tennis a lot, which pretty much makes me a fan. A few sides to catch everyone up before I have more time to post something more specific:
-We went from Cambodia to Krabi, which was a beautiful island getaway. It's what dreams are made of, as lame as that sounds. Went snorkeling, saw some elephants, went on a hike, there is rock climbing and plenty of other activities. For some reason there more than anywhere else yet, I wished my brother was there with us, it would have been really fun to do some of those activites with him. I will have to settle with recommendations for when he comes next time.
--> We took a day and drove up to Khao Lak where the Tsunami hit a few years back, to see the final resting place of our dear dear friend Luke Scully. It was beautiful, and personally it made me a little happy to be there, to see that really there is no other place I would want to spend my last day on Earth. It was tough to not imagine a 40 foot wave on the horizon, and what that would look like, and they do little to try and deter you from being aware where you are. There are tsunami warning zone signs and evacuation route signs every 100 meters or so on your way in to the beach. A little much, and a little too late, but I guess it's better than nothing.
-Kho Poo Poo and Kho Phi Phi (pee pee) are two islands next to each other in the south, and Phuket is actually pronounced foo-kit (I thought it was poo - keht). No wonder Thailand is called the land of smiles...
We're in Bangkok now, as I mentioned, and it's very busy here. We've been enjoying the hotel and it's perks, it's almost comical how attentive the staff is here. You can't think of something you want before they're getting it for you. Every floor has a butler. They have complimentary champagne waiting for you in your room, the good stuff. When you walk into breakfast, and give them your room number, they know your name by the time you've reached the table (I think I've figured out how they do it, but I was dumbfounded the first time). I haven't ever stayed any place with better customer service. They even picked us up in a BMW from the airport! Needless to say it will be a bit of an adjustment once the parents leave. Haha. I'm looking forward to it!!
So if anyone wants to come spend the holidays out here, let me know, I am going to either be volunteering or working, but I haven't planned that far ahead. On my list of places to visit (might I mention it's extremely ambitious?):
Bali
India
NZ
Aus
Laos (again)
Do-able, right? ;)
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
mekong youkong
Well this is a bit late, and while I worte it long after the fact, I thought I published it way back when. Anyway, here 'tis:
We went from Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai, spent the day in the outskirts of Chiang Rai, then the following day drove to the river to get on this boat that Mom swore up and down was not going to be uncomfortable or affected by the rainy weather, because : "my 80 year old friends recommended it to me, so how bad could it be?" She said it like that is a good thing. Attempting to communicate reassurance, I was not comforted.
So it was not surprising that once we crossed the river to Laos in the rain on a tiny little long boat to get our visas, that the hot frenchmen who I had been chatting with kept going straight when we stopped in to our check in to our tour. There were a group of older white haired Brits, who wore socks with sandals and took turns while speaking. "By golly George," Blanche said while checking her timepiece, "it's nearly time for a snackie, wouldn't you say?" It was 9am. George said something in an accent so thick I couldn't tell what he responded, but apparently it was hil-ar-ious, because they all laughed in unison. Cue iPod.
Once we got our visas and our luggage on the boat, we got comfortable. I of course chose the table with the guys who were under 40, mom went for comfort over company, and Sarah bee lined to the front of the boat where she could smoke. Cue Don DeLillo.
I must admit, I immediately stereotyped everyone one the boat within the first few hours. What else are you going to do for 7+ hours on a boat? Mountain scenery and trees only entertains you for so long. The interesting part is not that my preconceptions were shattered by the end of day 2 (they in some cases were), but that for the most part were spot on: each person fit into his or her regional stereotype perfectly... with we Americans headlining the playbill.
Canadians (4): A 30 something woman traveling with her elderly father, who I think was only there to amuse his daughter. She had a nose ring and a short man haircut circa 1990, and wore socks with her tivas. She had one diamond ring on her left ring finger, and it looked like it was either from HSN or Debeers. She dressed for comfort and practically, and had a fanny pack that she never took off, even when she was wearing her backpack - which was always. Her dad was old and distinguished, and neither spoke to the other for the entire two day trip. They just sat on different benches, near but never across from one another, and read books that they admitted to having read before. But not to each other. They were traveling with another Canadian couple, a retired couple of childless teachers who seemed to have come to Asia to document their benevolence. Because, you know, it isn't good unless you can show your friends back home how philanthropic you are. When scouring one of two scheduled stops at hill tribe villages, the husband actually had his wife re-walk the path from the boat with candy in hand to give to the begging children, because his camcorder wasn't on the first time. Day 2 this man bought whiskey from the 2nd scheduled hill tribe and got hammered before noon. "We're Canadian, this is how we stay warm," he breathed. Touche.
Swiss (4): 2 interracial couples, and none of them from Switzerland, all of them men. One from Holland, one from Germany, one from Belgium, and the last one from the Czech Republic. 3 lawyers, one anesthesiologist. The German was extremely interested in American politics, and was happy to inform us of the world's view of America, which I will spare you (this was pre-election, by the way). They all also loved to talk about chocolate, and were happy to break their diets when we shared our Sees candies.
Young British guys (2): Very pale. Lawyer, AdMan. Made extremely dry, sarcastic and snarky comments aloud and unabashedly about most everyone and everything, but no matter how funny they were I'm pretty sure they were the only two in on the jokes. Became weak in the knees when I mentioned "fish and chips."
Northern Californians (2): A recent college grad traveling with his very hip and worldly mother. She looked very bohemian and all her clothes were native to somewhere far away and probably one of a kind. She had really chunky jewelry that I was envious of, and she had a lot of good information on places in s.e. asia to visit. He was a good source of info for places where backpackers liked to party.
You can imagine where we (3) fit into all this, and that by the end of day one, at the river lodge, mom and I were sitting with the Swiss dudes sharing wine and sticking our noses in the air at the stiff old Brits who otherwise stayed in a completely isolated part of the boat. By the time we got to Laos, we had exchanged emails, phone numbers, and home addresses with nearly all of them, with open house policies instated across the board. Interlaken, anyone?
We went from Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai, spent the day in the outskirts of Chiang Rai, then the following day drove to the river to get on this boat that Mom swore up and down was not going to be uncomfortable or affected by the rainy weather, because : "my 80 year old friends recommended it to me, so how bad could it be?" She said it like that is a good thing. Attempting to communicate reassurance, I was not comforted.
So it was not surprising that once we crossed the river to Laos in the rain on a tiny little long boat to get our visas, that the hot frenchmen who I had been chatting with kept going straight when we stopped in to our check in to our tour. There were a group of older white haired Brits, who wore socks with sandals and took turns while speaking. "By golly George," Blanche said while checking her timepiece, "it's nearly time for a snackie, wouldn't you say?" It was 9am. George said something in an accent so thick I couldn't tell what he responded, but apparently it was hil-ar-ious, because they all laughed in unison. Cue iPod.
Once we got our visas and our luggage on the boat, we got comfortable. I of course chose the table with the guys who were under 40, mom went for comfort over company, and Sarah bee lined to the front of the boat where she could smoke. Cue Don DeLillo.
I must admit, I immediately stereotyped everyone one the boat within the first few hours. What else are you going to do for 7+ hours on a boat? Mountain scenery and trees only entertains you for so long. The interesting part is not that my preconceptions were shattered by the end of day 2 (they in some cases were), but that for the most part were spot on: each person fit into his or her regional stereotype perfectly... with we Americans headlining the playbill.
Canadians (4): A 30 something woman traveling with her elderly father, who I think was only there to amuse his daughter. She had a nose ring and a short man haircut circa 1990, and wore socks with her tivas. She had one diamond ring on her left ring finger, and it looked like it was either from HSN or Debeers. She dressed for comfort and practically, and had a fanny pack that she never took off, even when she was wearing her backpack - which was always. Her dad was old and distinguished, and neither spoke to the other for the entire two day trip. They just sat on different benches, near but never across from one another, and read books that they admitted to having read before. But not to each other. They were traveling with another Canadian couple, a retired couple of childless teachers who seemed to have come to Asia to document their benevolence. Because, you know, it isn't good unless you can show your friends back home how philanthropic you are. When scouring one of two scheduled stops at hill tribe villages, the husband actually had his wife re-walk the path from the boat with candy in hand to give to the begging children, because his camcorder wasn't on the first time. Day 2 this man bought whiskey from the 2nd scheduled hill tribe and got hammered before noon. "We're Canadian, this is how we stay warm," he breathed. Touche.
Swiss (4): 2 interracial couples, and none of them from Switzerland, all of them men. One from Holland, one from Germany, one from Belgium, and the last one from the Czech Republic. 3 lawyers, one anesthesiologist. The German was extremely interested in American politics, and was happy to inform us of the world's view of America, which I will spare you (this was pre-election, by the way). They all also loved to talk about chocolate, and were happy to break their diets when we shared our Sees candies.
Young British guys (2): Very pale. Lawyer, AdMan. Made extremely dry, sarcastic and snarky comments aloud and unabashedly about most everyone and everything, but no matter how funny they were I'm pretty sure they were the only two in on the jokes. Became weak in the knees when I mentioned "fish and chips."
Northern Californians (2): A recent college grad traveling with his very hip and worldly mother. She looked very bohemian and all her clothes were native to somewhere far away and probably one of a kind. She had really chunky jewelry that I was envious of, and she had a lot of good information on places in s.e. asia to visit. He was a good source of info for places where backpackers liked to party.
You can imagine where we (3) fit into all this, and that by the end of day one, at the river lodge, mom and I were sitting with the Swiss dudes sharing wine and sticking our noses in the air at the stiff old Brits who otherwise stayed in a completely isolated part of the boat. By the time we got to Laos, we had exchanged emails, phone numbers, and home addresses with nearly all of them, with open house policies instated across the board. Interlaken, anyone?
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Cambodia
I have trouble reconciling my excitement with my guilt. On the one hand, I love being in new places and learning about new cultures, but on the other, it's almost impossible, knowing how fortunate you are for being able to travel to places of such economic and political ruin, to do so with a clean conscience. It's appropriate, then, that I see Siem Reap, Cambodia, as a place in the midst of a severe straddle: between the old, blatantly corrupt land of civil strife -- and the new, secretly (but not well disguised) corrupt land in the process of building up tourism.
It was dark when we landed in Siem Reap. Pang, our driver who is cartoonish in his enthusiasm and frequently laughs backward, told us it means "Thai defeated." He says everything with a smile and anticipation for a reaction, followed by another smile. Having just researched the history of the Khmer Rouge the night before (call me naive, but I had no idea), I am skeptical of this place. It was only thirty years ago, and it was bloody. Not to mention the current PM muscled his way in, and is an ex- Khmer Rouge guerrilla. The main strip (only strip?) consists of hotels and casinos, lit with cheap lights and flimsy flash, effectively distracting you from the side streets where most the locals live in poverty. Even in the dark, the carts selling food and trinkets clearly aren't the same as in other towns we've visited: they are run down, over stuffed with poor quality, and surrounded not with patrons but with kids selling more junk, and they all look hungry.
I observed, somewhat stupidly and aloud, that it's kinda like Back to the Future 2. Nobody argued. I think Biff would have gotten along with Pol Pot.
Hotel, hotel, hotel, casino, hotel/casino... built on Killing Fields. Pang tells us that the owner of one hotel is friends with the current PM. This is nothing like my beloved Laos. I wish Marty McFly were here.
Day 2: Temples. Angkor Thom, Ta Prohm, and Angkor Wat. The first two are beautiful, absolutely, but Angkor Wat is severely under maintained and in dire need of restoration. The other two will be too, I have a feeling, because there was absolutely no limits to what you could climb on, touch, take with you... plus only 10% of your entrance fee goes back into the temples, if at all -- they openly tell you the percentage, which leads me to believe it's even less.
The country does a nice job of assisting you in escapism: they have plenty of sights and shops and things to do, and look over here at this neat temple, and here are some things to keep you from thinking about the mass exodus that occurred not so long ago. It's just that I don't buy what the government is selling. Compared to the Laotians, who also were subjected to hardships during and after the Vietnam war, and even directly at the hands of the USA, the Cambodians just seem hardened. USA bombed little Laos more than anywhere else during Vietnam or World War II per capita, and 30% of bombs dropped remain unexploded in many regions of the countryside that are populated by hill tribes. But here much of the war was within. Laos could unify against the outside. As a result, I think, the people in Laos are so gentle, lovely, and easy going. The people here have been nothing but nice, but I just can't seem to get past the vibes here. Maybe it's spiritual, maybe I'm reading too deeply between the lines. I know absolutely it's unfair to compare Luang Prabang city to Siem Reap, or to let one city represent an entire country, but these two are all I have to go by, and by golly it's my blog and I'll compare if I want to.
Anyway. The place we are staying has a vibe all it's own, largely due to various community outreach programs the hotel funds and operates. It helps keep people off the streets by providing opportunities for education, then going a step further to employ many of the graduates. Begging is a huge problem, and tourists actually contribute and enable almost wholly, albeit unknowingly. Often times tourists will bring candy for the local children, with the best of intentions at heart. But when the children don't eat a balanced diet, or brush their teeth, or have regular doctors, it's extremely unhealthy. Seems obvious, I know... But it's not uncommon for children by the time they reach 6 or 7 to have lost all their baby teeth before they fall out naturally, from all the sugar they consume.
ALLRIGHT. I realize I went on a little rant there. It's tough though, not to get caught in this web of "where do I fit in?" You see the differences, separate the menial from the manageable, try to filter it into comprehension, but you never stop feeling like "your halo's pinching," as I liked to hear Connie say. Who am I to preach? I guess this is where the "it's my blog and I can rant if I want to" comes in, but even that emotion seems confusing. I *get* to sit here at a computer and talk about it. But what does that do? What am I even discussing that hasn't been said before?
Tomorrow I hit the market and try to ignore the signs of the Khmer, both hidden and blatant. Because I haven't reconciled with myself, I'll revert to habit. Cog in the machine, kind of thing. Will try to post more often, but it's been difficult -- by the time I feel comfortable enough to make observations, it's time to move on. It's like mom says Kesey used to say, that the hardest part about writing is the not living while you're doing the writing. Living in the past instead of making more memories to write about. I'll figure it out. But until then, enjoy the stocked up, only now published post below from the past.
It was dark when we landed in Siem Reap. Pang, our driver who is cartoonish in his enthusiasm and frequently laughs backward, told us it means "Thai defeated." He says everything with a smile and anticipation for a reaction, followed by another smile. Having just researched the history of the Khmer Rouge the night before (call me naive, but I had no idea), I am skeptical of this place. It was only thirty years ago, and it was bloody. Not to mention the current PM muscled his way in, and is an ex- Khmer Rouge guerrilla. The main strip (only strip?) consists of hotels and casinos, lit with cheap lights and flimsy flash, effectively distracting you from the side streets where most the locals live in poverty. Even in the dark, the carts selling food and trinkets clearly aren't the same as in other towns we've visited: they are run down, over stuffed with poor quality, and surrounded not with patrons but with kids selling more junk, and they all look hungry.
I observed, somewhat stupidly and aloud, that it's kinda like Back to the Future 2. Nobody argued. I think Biff would have gotten along with Pol Pot.
Hotel, hotel, hotel, casino, hotel/casino... built on Killing Fields. Pang tells us that the owner of one hotel is friends with the current PM. This is nothing like my beloved Laos. I wish Marty McFly were here.
Day 2: Temples. Angkor Thom, Ta Prohm, and Angkor Wat. The first two are beautiful, absolutely, but Angkor Wat is severely under maintained and in dire need of restoration. The other two will be too, I have a feeling, because there was absolutely no limits to what you could climb on, touch, take with you... plus only 10% of your entrance fee goes back into the temples, if at all -- they openly tell you the percentage, which leads me to believe it's even less.
The country does a nice job of assisting you in escapism: they have plenty of sights and shops and things to do, and look over here at this neat temple, and here are some things to keep you from thinking about the mass exodus that occurred not so long ago. It's just that I don't buy what the government is selling. Compared to the Laotians, who also were subjected to hardships during and after the Vietnam war, and even directly at the hands of the USA, the Cambodians just seem hardened. USA bombed little Laos more than anywhere else during Vietnam or World War II per capita, and 30% of bombs dropped remain unexploded in many regions of the countryside that are populated by hill tribes. But here much of the war was within. Laos could unify against the outside. As a result, I think, the people in Laos are so gentle, lovely, and easy going. The people here have been nothing but nice, but I just can't seem to get past the vibes here. Maybe it's spiritual, maybe I'm reading too deeply between the lines. I know absolutely it's unfair to compare Luang Prabang city to Siem Reap, or to let one city represent an entire country, but these two are all I have to go by, and by golly it's my blog and I'll compare if I want to.
Anyway. The place we are staying has a vibe all it's own, largely due to various community outreach programs the hotel funds and operates. It helps keep people off the streets by providing opportunities for education, then going a step further to employ many of the graduates. Begging is a huge problem, and tourists actually contribute and enable almost wholly, albeit unknowingly. Often times tourists will bring candy for the local children, with the best of intentions at heart. But when the children don't eat a balanced diet, or brush their teeth, or have regular doctors, it's extremely unhealthy. Seems obvious, I know... But it's not uncommon for children by the time they reach 6 or 7 to have lost all their baby teeth before they fall out naturally, from all the sugar they consume.
ALLRIGHT. I realize I went on a little rant there. It's tough though, not to get caught in this web of "where do I fit in?" You see the differences, separate the menial from the manageable, try to filter it into comprehension, but you never stop feeling like "your halo's pinching," as I liked to hear Connie say. Who am I to preach? I guess this is where the "it's my blog and I can rant if I want to" comes in, but even that emotion seems confusing. I *get* to sit here at a computer and talk about it. But what does that do? What am I even discussing that hasn't been said before?
Tomorrow I hit the market and try to ignore the signs of the Khmer, both hidden and blatant. Because I haven't reconciled with myself, I'll revert to habit. Cog in the machine, kind of thing. Will try to post more often, but it's been difficult -- by the time I feel comfortable enough to make observations, it's time to move on. It's like mom says Kesey used to say, that the hardest part about writing is the not living while you're doing the writing. Living in the past instead of making more memories to write about. I'll figure it out. But until then, enjoy the stocked up, only now published post below from the past.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Kuang Si - Waterfall
It is difficult to find fresh words to describe something that has existed long before there were eyes to witness, but if it can repeatedly disturb dormant emotions, then it's worth a try.
Walking upstream throughout the forest is absolutely necessary. In doing so, it dutifully works you up: bit by bit, teasing you with small trickles that will grow into little falls. The pools get prettier as the sound gets louder. Winding up the muddy paths, you take great care to step over roots, puddles, and vegetation. You pause for pictures. You look around, to absorb your surroundings. With every turn, more depth is revealed behind the blankets of thick brush. Layers upon layers of feral flora and fauna. You're continually surprised, this next landing could not possibly be prettier than the last, but here they are: bigger lagoons, bluer waters, louder falls. You rest. Leisurely indulge in a dip. With every step, as you wade in, you become awakened by the clean water. You expect it to be cold but it's only crisp. It's pure, here. The falling water causes currents and they're strong, but playful as you embrace them. You become comfortable. Once you're dry, you feel centered.
You move forward. The sound is louder, the turns are teasing now because right when you think you've reached there, you haven't. It is still getting better with every surge, you feel progress, you've moved forward, but it's less rewarding, you just want to be at the top already, the sound coaxing you to come hither, you're almost there. You realize your pace has quickened, and you find you're nearly running through the final stretch throughout the thick vines and leaves and around the trees, you hop over creeks instead of crossing the bridges because you can hear the pounding force of God's green earth under duress, Newtons 3rd law in effect, creating the sound that absorbs you to the point of asphyxiation, you want to be right there, and the turns and plants seem less alluring because it's only a side to the main event, it's not as important because you've seen it a hundred times already and who really cares about another tree or plant or whatever, until up ahead you catch a glimpse of what you've come to see, and when you finally get there, oh, my, God. The final pay off. It's a heart stopping invigoration, thrust upon you, and you're nearly knocked over by the sheer force of it's size -- the casual spilling over as though on a whim, the power of free falling water completely suspended, touching nothing but itself for one-one thousand, two-two thousand, three-three thousand...the tiers of surrounding life that is overripe, dripping wet and thriving, heavy under it's own, you don't even matter because even if you wanted to you couldn't do anything of consequence, here you can't even say so because being drowned out by this pure power is part of the deal, your sacrifice for being allowed to witness the dynamic state of perpetual unfolding, you're a little fleck of nothing, you run around the base trying to capture it's essence, take something with you, you don't want to let go of this magnificence, but it's futile. It is so much bigger than you. You realize that water always has, and always will continue to fall, and it does so entirely independent of your existence. It is then you are able to be electrified by something, in a way that you will never fully understand.
You move forward. The sound is louder, the turns are teasing now because right when you think you've reached there, you haven't. It is still getting better with every surge, you feel progress, you've moved forward, but it's less rewarding, you just want to be at the top already, the sound coaxing you to come hither, you're almost there. You realize your pace has quickened, and you find you're nearly running through the final stretch throughout the thick vines and leaves and around the trees, you hop over creeks instead of crossing the bridges because you can hear the pounding force of God's green earth under duress, Newtons 3rd law in effect, creating the sound that absorbs you to the point of asphyxiation, you want to be right there, and the turns and plants seem less alluring because it's only a side to the main event, it's not as important because you've seen it a hundred times already and who really cares about another tree or plant or whatever, until up ahead you catch a glimpse of what you've come to see, and when you finally get there, oh, my, God. The final pay off. It's a heart stopping invigoration, thrust upon you, and you're nearly knocked over by the sheer force of it's size -- the casual spilling over as though on a whim, the power of free falling water completely suspended, touching nothing but itself for one-one thousand, two-two thousand, three-three thousand...the tiers of surrounding life that is overripe, dripping wet and thriving, heavy under it's own, you don't even matter because even if you wanted to you couldn't do anything of consequence, here you can't even say so because being drowned out by this pure power is part of the deal, your sacrifice for being allowed to witness the dynamic state of perpetual unfolding, you're a little fleck of nothing, you run around the base trying to capture it's essence, take something with you, you don't want to let go of this magnificence, but it's futile. It is so much bigger than you. You realize that water always has, and always will continue to fall, and it does so entirely independent of your existence. It is then you are able to be electrified by something, in a way that you will never fully understand.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I went to Chiang Rai, and all I got ... was attacked by a monkey.
When I last wrote, we were leaving Chiang Mai by car, and headed to Chiang Rai, which is north a few hours, closer to the border of Myanmar. Unfortunately I can't upload pictures here at this internet cafe, so you will just have to let me try to describe the experience, and I can load pictures later. It'll be kinda like reading the book, and seeing the movie after the fact, hopefully your imaginations will sustain you til then.
Our first (and only) full day in Chiang Rai was to be spent driving to the Golden Triangle, and making stops along the way. The golden triangle is a spot that looks over the Mekong River, from where Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, and China can all be seen. SNOOZE ALERT! I mean, it's cool and all, but it takes a whole day and we had planned on stopping at more wats to make the trip more interesting. "We" as in Mom, and "planned" as in hell no give me that Lonely Planet. I saw immediately something way cooler and what would make the trip to the Four Corners equivalent worth while: CAVES. Awesome, I think. This will be cool: Stalagmites and stalactites, underground lakes and crystals, and, let's face it: Manbearpig central. I point it out to the driver, who, with a wince and alternate suggestion, would change my life as I know it. "No good, rain make no drive. Monkey cave is better, I show you." Little did I know, who would show whom.
The drive through the mountains was incredible, the northern parts of Thailand are so green and tropical, not much unlike Hawaii. The humidity, the random rains, the incredible variations of green, the low fog that looks like mold on the crevices of far off tree covered mountains, endless rice fields and banana trees (plants? I'm too lazy and it's costing me kip to write this so I'm not going to fact check this one)... it really is a beautiful country. Then the urban aspects of Thailand remind me much of Mexico: the cars, 8 people in the back of pick up trucks or just as many on one motor bike, the buildings and carts selling food in the streets. Thailand has many more reminders, though, of their culture and government. You'll be driving down the road and all of a sudden there will be a huge billboard of their King. Or, several km down the same road, there will be a big sparkly red and gold ornamented gate, that looks more Chinese than Thai.
Anyway. It was one of these random towns where we finally stopped, we were let out to walk across this 2 plank, rickety makeshift bridge that was placed more than built, because the mud from the rain was so eroded that there was no more bridge to drive across. It was only a km or two down to the cave anyway, so we walked. The people were going about their merry business, and as has been consistent throughout our travels, they were extremely friendly but indifferent enough so that it didn't seem superficial. They pointed us in the direction of the cliffs, where the monkeys were. Sure enough, at the end of the road, there was a wooden cut out in the shape of a monkey, with a big stick figure smiley face painted on. This is where I made my mistake, my guard was down because of this false advertising. Smiling monkeys! Wow we must be in luck, I thought as I walked toward the big lake, where I saw other locals.
I was so not prepared for this many monkeys. They were everywhere: in the trees. On the roof of the public bathroom. On the ground running by my feet. On the bridge by the monks who brought school children there to see the Koi and monkeys up close. The locals were selling buckets of bananas and peanuts for people to hand to the monkeys themselves. Sarah bought two buckets and went to the task of distributing to those most worthy, after long discussions and instructions to those that gathered 'round her. I started snapping away. Then I noticed the locals had slingshots, and long pole vaulting bamboo sticks... but why? How dare they try to abuse these poor little innocents, who just wanted to come smile at the curious. I have my iphone (yes, I still have it), so I kneel down to get up close and personal. The sweetest monkey comes shyly up to me and even reaches his hand out to touch my bag (I know, aaaaawwwwwww). Then, like a bat out of hell, this guy selling bananas and koi food grabs his bamboo stick and runs at my monkey with aspirations of impalement. My little friend runs away screaming, and I stand up frustrated that I only got a profile shot. I look over at Sarah who is surrounded, talking with her monkey entourage, while they greedily grab her bananas. It's monkeypalooza over there. I decide to get away from these trigger happy Thai and go a little closer to where some cars are parked, near the trees and away from the koi lake and mountainside.
That's where I see him: huddled in the back of a pick up truck. I walk over to the other side and aim my camera. He isn't distracted by his new audience, so I do what you're supposed to do. "Hey, you monkey!" I suggest. "Look over here. Hey!" Nothing. Kiss kiss, click click. Let me tell you, if you ever want to get a monkey's attention, hit something hollow and made from tin or metal, like the back of a pick up truck. In one swift movement, the stupid jerk turns and one-two steps to slam dunk my head with his fangs bared and a taste for blood in his eyes.
Now, this is where my spider senses, cat like reflexes and overall grasshopper agility kicked in: I serenely focused on my assailant, crouched down and leaped to karate chop that monkey fucker right down the middle. At which point, the evil spell he had on the other monkeys was instantly broken, and everyone cheered because I saved the day. Eyewitness accounts might suggest I simply flinched, squealed, and ran away in hysterical laughter for fear of bursting into tears, but they don't speak a word of english so you won't be hearing any eyewitness accounts.
We did hike to the cave, 200 meters up and literally the steepest stairs I've ever climbed. Worse than the bell tower in Sienna, worse than the most difficult in Cinque Terre. No Joke. But it was worth it, it was like Indiana Jones up there, exposed tree roots and winding paths into the dark dark cave with bats inside. The rest of the day was spent pulling the "leave me alone I was attacked by a monkey" card. The Golden Triangle, in all fairness to the event coordinator aka momma Jean, was actually kinda cool. Plus we got to drink from a coconut, which was appropriately and symbolically tribal. We got to go to the border of Myanmar (much like the border towns in Mexico), and buy a whole bunch of stuff that was later shipped home. I think nearly every town we've stopped in, mom sent home a box :) ok ok exaggeration, but barely. So don't be surprised if you get something Asian for Christmas!
I'll have to save the river trip for another post, because it's time to go. It was fun, over all. Met some cool people, talked some politics. Luang Prabang is so small we have already run into most of them and we just got here last night. Mom and Connie and I met some of our river cruise companions and watched the CNN polls come in while eating breakfast at a place downtown, and as it got closer to lunch and closer to conclusion time, the place was pretty full. Once it was announced Obama won, everyone -- an old Chinese couple, a table of Aussie backpackers, the Laotian workers, and many more -- in unison all cheered and clapped for America's choice in the President elect. I even spilled a little water from my eyeballs. I know, I'm cheesy, but I was proud.
Our first (and only) full day in Chiang Rai was to be spent driving to the Golden Triangle, and making stops along the way. The golden triangle is a spot that looks over the Mekong River, from where Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, and China can all be seen. SNOOZE ALERT! I mean, it's cool and all, but it takes a whole day and we had planned on stopping at more wats to make the trip more interesting. "We" as in Mom, and "planned" as in hell no give me that Lonely Planet. I saw immediately something way cooler and what would make the trip to the Four Corners equivalent worth while: CAVES. Awesome, I think. This will be cool: Stalagmites and stalactites, underground lakes and crystals, and, let's face it: Manbearpig central. I point it out to the driver, who, with a wince and alternate suggestion, would change my life as I know it. "No good, rain make no drive. Monkey cave is better, I show you." Little did I know, who would show whom.
The drive through the mountains was incredible, the northern parts of Thailand are so green and tropical, not much unlike Hawaii. The humidity, the random rains, the incredible variations of green, the low fog that looks like mold on the crevices of far off tree covered mountains, endless rice fields and banana trees (plants? I'm too lazy and it's costing me kip to write this so I'm not going to fact check this one)... it really is a beautiful country. Then the urban aspects of Thailand remind me much of Mexico: the cars, 8 people in the back of pick up trucks or just as many on one motor bike, the buildings and carts selling food in the streets. Thailand has many more reminders, though, of their culture and government. You'll be driving down the road and all of a sudden there will be a huge billboard of their King. Or, several km down the same road, there will be a big sparkly red and gold ornamented gate, that looks more Chinese than Thai.
Anyway. It was one of these random towns where we finally stopped, we were let out to walk across this 2 plank, rickety makeshift bridge that was placed more than built, because the mud from the rain was so eroded that there was no more bridge to drive across. It was only a km or two down to the cave anyway, so we walked. The people were going about their merry business, and as has been consistent throughout our travels, they were extremely friendly but indifferent enough so that it didn't seem superficial. They pointed us in the direction of the cliffs, where the monkeys were. Sure enough, at the end of the road, there was a wooden cut out in the shape of a monkey, with a big stick figure smiley face painted on. This is where I made my mistake, my guard was down because of this false advertising. Smiling monkeys! Wow we must be in luck, I thought as I walked toward the big lake, where I saw other locals.
I was so not prepared for this many monkeys. They were everywhere: in the trees. On the roof of the public bathroom. On the ground running by my feet. On the bridge by the monks who brought school children there to see the Koi and monkeys up close. The locals were selling buckets of bananas and peanuts for people to hand to the monkeys themselves. Sarah bought two buckets and went to the task of distributing to those most worthy, after long discussions and instructions to those that gathered 'round her. I started snapping away. Then I noticed the locals had slingshots, and long pole vaulting bamboo sticks... but why? How dare they try to abuse these poor little innocents, who just wanted to come smile at the curious. I have my iphone (yes, I still have it), so I kneel down to get up close and personal. The sweetest monkey comes shyly up to me and even reaches his hand out to touch my bag (I know, aaaaawwwwwww). Then, like a bat out of hell, this guy selling bananas and koi food grabs his bamboo stick and runs at my monkey with aspirations of impalement. My little friend runs away screaming, and I stand up frustrated that I only got a profile shot. I look over at Sarah who is surrounded, talking with her monkey entourage, while they greedily grab her bananas. It's monkeypalooza over there. I decide to get away from these trigger happy Thai and go a little closer to where some cars are parked, near the trees and away from the koi lake and mountainside.
That's where I see him: huddled in the back of a pick up truck. I walk over to the other side and aim my camera. He isn't distracted by his new audience, so I do what you're supposed to do. "Hey, you monkey!" I suggest. "Look over here. Hey!" Nothing. Kiss kiss, click click. Let me tell you, if you ever want to get a monkey's attention, hit something hollow and made from tin or metal, like the back of a pick up truck. In one swift movement, the stupid jerk turns and one-two steps to slam dunk my head with his fangs bared and a taste for blood in his eyes.
Now, this is where my spider senses, cat like reflexes and overall grasshopper agility kicked in: I serenely focused on my assailant, crouched down and leaped to karate chop that monkey fucker right down the middle. At which point, the evil spell he had on the other monkeys was instantly broken, and everyone cheered because I saved the day. Eyewitness accounts might suggest I simply flinched, squealed, and ran away in hysterical laughter for fear of bursting into tears, but they don't speak a word of english so you won't be hearing any eyewitness accounts.
We did hike to the cave, 200 meters up and literally the steepest stairs I've ever climbed. Worse than the bell tower in Sienna, worse than the most difficult in Cinque Terre. No Joke. But it was worth it, it was like Indiana Jones up there, exposed tree roots and winding paths into the dark dark cave with bats inside. The rest of the day was spent pulling the "leave me alone I was attacked by a monkey" card. The Golden Triangle, in all fairness to the event coordinator aka momma Jean, was actually kinda cool. Plus we got to drink from a coconut, which was appropriately and symbolically tribal. We got to go to the border of Myanmar (much like the border towns in Mexico), and buy a whole bunch of stuff that was later shipped home. I think nearly every town we've stopped in, mom sent home a box :) ok ok exaggeration, but barely. So don't be surprised if you get something Asian for Christmas!
I'll have to save the river trip for another post, because it's time to go. It was fun, over all. Met some cool people, talked some politics. Luang Prabang is so small we have already run into most of them and we just got here last night. Mom and Connie and I met some of our river cruise companions and watched the CNN polls come in while eating breakfast at a place downtown, and as it got closer to lunch and closer to conclusion time, the place was pretty full. Once it was announced Obama won, everyone -- an old Chinese couple, a table of Aussie backpackers, the Laotian workers, and many more -- in unison all cheered and clapped for America's choice in the President elect. I even spilled a little water from my eyeballs. I know, I'm cheesy, but I was proud.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Rabbit rabbit!
Happy Halloween! My Jamaican cab driver, leaving New York, said the most frightening costume he could think to dress up as would be the US Economy. I wonder if mrc will do it... I hope so! Even thought it's the first here, I didn't want to pass up the chance to wish you all a good time tonight. AND, I might add to cdr: I totally beat you this month, even if time is on my side :0)
I'm trying to absorb the tranquility offered here in Bor Sang today, since I know the rest of the trip will be much more action packed. Amongst the myriad birds and jungle sounds I can't help but indulge in some Wordsworth, I'll share the two I enjoy here and here.
Leaving here also means that I won't have easy or free internet access, so I will be on more sparsely... probably not until after the election! We will be in Laos by then, and are hoping to be up early Wednesday morning to watch it live. I've been reading a few papers, usually a day late, including The Bangkok Post, and the Herald Tribune. Yesterday, in the latter, there was an article about an anti-pornography bill passed in Indonesia that limits any act that could be interpreted as arousing, including public gestures, poetry, and drawings.
Also, in the same issue, an article noted that this week in South Korea a bill passed making adultery a jailable offense; on the same day a bill passed upholding the current law that only the legally blind can be practising masseuers. These two articles, while not surprising, made me think about how fortunate we are in the United States to have our freedoms, to speech and pursuit of happiness without the governement dictating what that can mean. It also made me all the more concerned about certain laws posing a threat to our freedoms as American citizens, and the importance of the seperation between church and state. We are so fortunate to have these rights, and the right to say we want a change is priceless in itself. Nothing new, but continually resonant, regardless.
Happy November, be safe tonight, and I'll be thinking of you on the Mekong.
I'm trying to absorb the tranquility offered here in Bor Sang today, since I know the rest of the trip will be much more action packed. Amongst the myriad birds and jungle sounds I can't help but indulge in some Wordsworth, I'll share the two I enjoy here and here.
Leaving here also means that I won't have easy or free internet access, so I will be on more sparsely... probably not until after the election! We will be in Laos by then, and are hoping to be up early Wednesday morning to watch it live. I've been reading a few papers, usually a day late, including The Bangkok Post, and the Herald Tribune. Yesterday, in the latter, there was an article about an anti-pornography bill passed in Indonesia that limits any act that could be interpreted as arousing, including public gestures, poetry, and drawings.
Also, in the same issue, an article noted that this week in South Korea a bill passed making adultery a jailable offense; on the same day a bill passed upholding the current law that only the legally blind can be practising masseuers. These two articles, while not surprising, made me think about how fortunate we are in the United States to have our freedoms, to speech and pursuit of happiness without the governement dictating what that can mean. It also made me all the more concerned about certain laws posing a threat to our freedoms as American citizens, and the importance of the seperation between church and state. We are so fortunate to have these rights, and the right to say we want a change is priceless in itself. Nothing new, but continually resonant, regardless.
Happy November, be safe tonight, and I'll be thinking of you on the Mekong.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
this&that
Here are a few things I've learned since I have been here:
- The amount of timezones you jump is equivalent to the amount of days it takes you to adjust from jetlag.
- In Thailand, the spoon is used as a fork and the fork is used as a knife. It is just as strange to put a fork in your mouth in Thai culture as it would be for someone to eat with their knife. Also, chopsticks are only used with noodle soups.
- They are very proud of their king. You can't put currency with his image on it in your back pocket, nor should you lick a stamp with his image on it. There are sponges for that.
- On the other hand, some Thai ambassador's wife who is a famous socialite and is considered a beauty, looks like this:
- It is entirely possible that God likes Thai food best because He made it the tastiest.
- Traditional Thai massage is unlike any massage I have ever had (and I have been around the massage block a few times). You lay on a mat on the floor, and are dressed in silk garments they provide. There are no pretensions: no music or aroma therapy, no fancy sitting rooms or procedure. They do, however, put their fingers in your ears at one point. And it helps if you're flexible.
- There are numerous opportunities to volunteer: their environment needs lots of help and they are desperate for teachers, who are much more highly respected than in the states (read: volunteer/job opportunities for Katy)!
- Many Europeans question the life expectancy of the dollar, since our economy is crap and we export next to nothing, those we import from are less likely to give the dollars back to us and instead put them in other investments.
- I also wonder why we think our government (who imposed the Patriot Act and was compliant with the Chinese in censoring the people's access to the internet) wouldn't censor our online accessibility. Limiting foreign criticisms and overall information about the U.S., like a reverse propaganda. Would it be so far fetched, when the majority of the internet developed under this administration? I mean China did it, why wouldn't G.W.? Even the BBC is totally watered down, American BBC. After learning what is common knowledge from a foreigner's point of view about our policies and politics, it seems more and more likely. I guess I'll find out soon enough...
Not bad for only leaving the premises once since I've been here... Pi cooks for us every night and every morning, with leftovers for lunch, and it is incredible. We ate in town once yesterday, but were sure to make it home by 7 in time for dinner!
We leave Saturday afternoon for Chiang Rai. Sunday we tour the Golden Triangle, on the Burmese border. Mai Sae, I think it's called. I guess it used to be the capital for opium production, which seems appropriate because I watched American Gangster on the way over here (which was Vietnam, I know, but still). Then we go down the Mekong!
Tonight we go to the night bazaar in Chiang Mai, which is about 20 minutes outside of Bor Sang (where we're staying). Peter takes us into town whenever we need to go... I have never had more gracious hosts in all of my travels. They are so incredibly helpful, and informative, always ready to assist -- call a friend to find out where to buy the best umbrellas or how to send packages, we mention once we like Tom Yum soup and it's homemade fresh by dinnertime. Granted we are paying them to stay here, but their kindness and generosity is above and beyond, to say the least. I am excited for the adventures to come, but I'll be sad to leave The Secret Garden.
- The amount of timezones you jump is equivalent to the amount of days it takes you to adjust from jetlag.
- In Thailand, the spoon is used as a fork and the fork is used as a knife. It is just as strange to put a fork in your mouth in Thai culture as it would be for someone to eat with their knife. Also, chopsticks are only used with noodle soups.
- They are very proud of their king. You can't put currency with his image on it in your back pocket, nor should you lick a stamp with his image on it. There are sponges for that.
- On the other hand, some Thai ambassador's wife who is a famous socialite and is considered a beauty, looks like this:
- It is entirely possible that God likes Thai food best because He made it the tastiest.
- Traditional Thai massage is unlike any massage I have ever had (and I have been around the massage block a few times). You lay on a mat on the floor, and are dressed in silk garments they provide. There are no pretensions: no music or aroma therapy, no fancy sitting rooms or procedure. They do, however, put their fingers in your ears at one point. And it helps if you're flexible.
- There are numerous opportunities to volunteer: their environment needs lots of help and they are desperate for teachers, who are much more highly respected than in the states (read: volunteer/job opportunities for Katy)!
- Many Europeans question the life expectancy of the dollar, since our economy is crap and we export next to nothing, those we import from are less likely to give the dollars back to us and instead put them in other investments.
- I also wonder why we think our government (who imposed the Patriot Act and was compliant with the Chinese in censoring the people's access to the internet) wouldn't censor our online accessibility. Limiting foreign criticisms and overall information about the U.S., like a reverse propaganda. Would it be so far fetched, when the majority of the internet developed under this administration? I mean China did it, why wouldn't G.W.? Even the BBC is totally watered down, American BBC. After learning what is common knowledge from a foreigner's point of view about our policies and politics, it seems more and more likely. I guess I'll find out soon enough...
Not bad for only leaving the premises once since I've been here... Pi cooks for us every night and every morning, with leftovers for lunch, and it is incredible. We ate in town once yesterday, but were sure to make it home by 7 in time for dinner!
We leave Saturday afternoon for Chiang Rai. Sunday we tour the Golden Triangle, on the Burmese border. Mai Sae, I think it's called. I guess it used to be the capital for opium production, which seems appropriate because I watched American Gangster on the way over here (which was Vietnam, I know, but still). Then we go down the Mekong!
Tonight we go to the night bazaar in Chiang Mai, which is about 20 minutes outside of Bor Sang (where we're staying). Peter takes us into town whenever we need to go... I have never had more gracious hosts in all of my travels. They are so incredibly helpful, and informative, always ready to assist -- call a friend to find out where to buy the best umbrellas or how to send packages, we mention once we like Tom Yum soup and it's homemade fresh by dinnertime. Granted we are paying them to stay here, but their kindness and generosity is above and beyond, to say the least. I am excited for the adventures to come, but I'll be sad to leave The Secret Garden.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Tangible Surrealism, aka: This Can't Be Real
Peter picks them up in his 2 seater, beater BMW from the 2 terminal airport outside of Chiang Mai. It was only a one hour flight from Bangkok, but they are still jet-lagged from the travels of the past 3 days.
The air is Hawaii-humid. Not the kind of dirty hot, makes you sweat to be outside city-humid, but the thick, moisture seems suspended mid-air humid, just like it seems in those movies about 'Nam.
When Peter picks them up, they're ready for him.
Not that Bangkok wasn't interesting, a fact neither was lucid enough to confirm, but they surmised after less than 24 hours in that anthill of city that they were made for something more, which of course meant something less.
Silently, he loads their bags in the back as they awkwardly thank him, and try to get in the drivers seat. He glares. They realize their mistake, and embarrassed at how American they seem, laugh too loud while correcting their mistake. Looking much like l'inspecteur Cousteau, but with the desire Albert Camus, he is not amused. He watches as they fumble first with the door and then the seat, until everyone is in and ready to go. So, they say. You're Peter. How long have you lived here? They begin with a question to which they already know the answer. He doesn't seem to notice, or else doesn't care to. Too long, he says. He shifts gears in the silence. Twenty five years. They do the math in their heads, 1982-1983. His answer goes unremarked. Shift. It was Mexico before this, and Spain before Mexico. Guadalara. He speaks as though reading a recipe: Start with a quiet land, with native peoples, add small amounts of tourists. Give it time. Years. The natives realize what is in demand, and figure out to make it for cheap, quickly. Eventually the people who know the trade, any trade, they die, and the young ones grow tired of the now tourist-run economy. They leave. Children never learned a craft, just to make money off the foreigners. What's left is a land raped and pregnant, wondering what the fuck just happened, how did I get here and who are you?
They have Guadalajara in common.
In the '70's, it's fresh and green and welcoming, now it's Hooters and Made In China and that's progress.
The road gets smaller like a car antennae erecting, each length smaller, thinner than the stretch before it. He tells them of his property, and becomes more animated as he does so. Slowly over many years, he and his wife Pi added plots of land when they got the money to add, and continued to build bungalows from local hand made materials, down to the individual tiles in the communal kitchen.
It pours rain.
Peter doesn't seem to notice. Even when they reach the Secret Garden, he gets out of the car without consequence, and if you think about the things that matter most, a little rain never hurt anybody.
The property is insular and safe, on the outskirt of the small town of the same quality. In the midst of overripe jungle overgrowth, it's not consumed by it's surroundings. The bungalows are made of dark wood, with beautiful ornate hand carved detail on the furniture and decks, further camouflaging the Secret. The ornaments that style each are completely unique, no two items were bought at the same time or place, making it feel like someone's home. In a way, they realize, it is. Immediately calmed upon entry, they feel they have been here before, but exhilleration and awe suggest otherwise. It's only after they run to take shelter from the rain under the gazebo that the loving nuance, the leftover travel tokens, a compiled shmorgasborg of antiques, culture, and influence are noticed. They now can see why he so passionately discussed the loss of culture in other countries he's lived. He may have added to this land, but he hasn't detracted. Assimilation is key.
They follow the lead of the 3 resident dogs, and get comfortable under the frond roof gazebo. It's not built to look like a palm frond roof, it legitimately is. It's not a manicured, man-made pond with lillypads and frogs, they were here long before Peter and Pi. It's not imported tile that makes the kitchen, designed by a hired professional, the people in town made them by hand and Peter placed them there himself. The octagonal entertainment center is where the eating, drinking, philosophizing, reading, and rumination takes place. For as rustic as this garden oasis is, they barely notice the surround sound Bose speakers that add jazz music as an afterthought. The music does not compete with the birds and insects who take the lead, and can only be heard in lulls. It's probably the only plastic on the property.
There are no more than 10 other bungalows, three of which are currently occupied and two by friends of the newly arrived. Sarah is garrulous, and can't resist explaining, in depth, the obvious: that this place is so unique in it's authenticity that it feels like being at home. She feels this so thoroughly she unintentionally refers to her rented bungalow as "her house."
It's good to be home.
Pi cooks everyday at 5:15, and serves diner at 7:30. Everything is made from local and organic ingredients, and it's obvious this would be the case even if Pi had the choice.
Compared to the 7/11 infestation in Bangkok, this place is outright rural.
Don't think Frances Hodgson Burnett had this in mind.
A breath of fresh air, with plenty more where that came from.
Peter pours them wine.
The only other two occupants are a couple who live here 6 month out of the year, from Europe. He from Holland, she from Belgium. Peter and Benny are drinking buddies, but they aren't even close to a perfect match: Benny drinks during the day, and Peter by night. This poses a problem and each provokes the other throughout the meal they all share. The travelers finally feel settled in. Family style servings lead to family style bickering, discussion, and comradery, and by the time coffee is ready, they're exchanging food and sharing life stories.
It's hard to believe it can get better than this.
The air is Hawaii-humid. Not the kind of dirty hot, makes you sweat to be outside city-humid, but the thick, moisture seems suspended mid-air humid, just like it seems in those movies about 'Nam.
When Peter picks them up, they're ready for him.
Not that Bangkok wasn't interesting, a fact neither was lucid enough to confirm, but they surmised after less than 24 hours in that anthill of city that they were made for something more, which of course meant something less.
Silently, he loads their bags in the back as they awkwardly thank him, and try to get in the drivers seat. He glares. They realize their mistake, and embarrassed at how American they seem, laugh too loud while correcting their mistake. Looking much like l'inspecteur Cousteau, but with the desire Albert Camus, he is not amused. He watches as they fumble first with the door and then the seat, until everyone is in and ready to go. So, they say. You're Peter. How long have you lived here? They begin with a question to which they already know the answer. He doesn't seem to notice, or else doesn't care to. Too long, he says. He shifts gears in the silence. Twenty five years. They do the math in their heads, 1982-1983. His answer goes unremarked. Shift. It was Mexico before this, and Spain before Mexico. Guadalara. He speaks as though reading a recipe: Start with a quiet land, with native peoples, add small amounts of tourists. Give it time. Years. The natives realize what is in demand, and figure out to make it for cheap, quickly. Eventually the people who know the trade, any trade, they die, and the young ones grow tired of the now tourist-run economy. They leave. Children never learned a craft, just to make money off the foreigners. What's left is a land raped and pregnant, wondering what the fuck just happened, how did I get here and who are you?
They have Guadalajara in common.
In the '70's, it's fresh and green and welcoming, now it's Hooters and Made In China and that's progress.
The road gets smaller like a car antennae erecting, each length smaller, thinner than the stretch before it. He tells them of his property, and becomes more animated as he does so. Slowly over many years, he and his wife Pi added plots of land when they got the money to add, and continued to build bungalows from local hand made materials, down to the individual tiles in the communal kitchen.
It pours rain.
Peter doesn't seem to notice. Even when they reach the Secret Garden, he gets out of the car without consequence, and if you think about the things that matter most, a little rain never hurt anybody.
The property is insular and safe, on the outskirt of the small town of the same quality. In the midst of overripe jungle overgrowth, it's not consumed by it's surroundings. The bungalows are made of dark wood, with beautiful ornate hand carved detail on the furniture and decks, further camouflaging the Secret. The ornaments that style each are completely unique, no two items were bought at the same time or place, making it feel like someone's home. In a way, they realize, it is. Immediately calmed upon entry, they feel they have been here before, but exhilleration and awe suggest otherwise. It's only after they run to take shelter from the rain under the gazebo that the loving nuance, the leftover travel tokens, a compiled shmorgasborg of antiques, culture, and influence are noticed. They now can see why he so passionately discussed the loss of culture in other countries he's lived. He may have added to this land, but he hasn't detracted. Assimilation is key.
They follow the lead of the 3 resident dogs, and get comfortable under the frond roof gazebo. It's not built to look like a palm frond roof, it legitimately is. It's not a manicured, man-made pond with lillypads and frogs, they were here long before Peter and Pi. It's not imported tile that makes the kitchen, designed by a hired professional, the people in town made them by hand and Peter placed them there himself. The octagonal entertainment center is where the eating, drinking, philosophizing, reading, and rumination takes place. For as rustic as this garden oasis is, they barely notice the surround sound Bose speakers that add jazz music as an afterthought. The music does not compete with the birds and insects who take the lead, and can only be heard in lulls. It's probably the only plastic on the property.There are no more than 10 other bungalows, three of which are currently occupied and two by friends of the newly arrived. Sarah is garrulous, and can't resist explaining, in depth, the obvious: that this place is so unique in it's authenticity that it feels like being at home. She feels this so thoroughly she unintentionally refers to her rented bungalow as "her house."
It's good to be home.Pi cooks everyday at 5:15, and serves diner at 7:30. Everything is made from local and organic ingredients, and it's obvious this would be the case even if Pi had the choice.
Compared to the 7/11 infestation in Bangkok, this place is outright rural.
Don't think Frances Hodgson Burnett had this in mind.
A breath of fresh air, with plenty more where that came from.
Peter pours them wine.
The only other two occupants are a couple who live here 6 month out of the year, from Europe. He from Holland, she from Belgium. Peter and Benny are drinking buddies, but they aren't even close to a perfect match: Benny drinks during the day, and Peter by night. This poses a problem and each provokes the other throughout the meal they all share. The travelers finally feel settled in. Family style servings lead to family style bickering, discussion, and comradery, and by the time coffee is ready, they're exchanging food and sharing life stories.
It's hard to believe it can get better than this.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
First* stop: Manila!
Well, here we are with 6 + hours to kill in Manila airport. The lounge has free wifi, so I thought I'd take advantage! Here is a run down of the last 22 hours. Apologies in advance if it's loopy, but aside from it being 8 something AM local time, I think you'll relate by the end. And keep in mind, there is only so much you can do on a 22 hour flight, especially being a repeat victim of elevation induced insomnia... Heregoes:
Friday 10/24, 6:30 pm: after reading on the e-ticket that it is recommended that all passengers arrive 3hrs prior to departure, dad rallies us an hour early to go to the airport. Good thing I packed that morning!
7:30 pm: arrive at LAX Bradley terminal, to hoards of people waiting to check in. I'm talking worse-than-the-line-for-Supreme-Scream-during-Knotts-Scary-Farm-crowded (lex, andrea and joc know what I'm talkin' 'bout!)... Heart momentarily stops before mom reminds me are flying business class. THANK GOD.
7:45: sipping champagne in "lounge," which is the rough equivalent to an office lobby - with lower ceilings (the one here in Manila is more like a glorified cafeteria). As for the food: I've seen better munchie selections at Chevron minimarts. But in all fairness, those places are extraordinary. Plus, hey- free champagne! We toast.
9:40: get ready to board, til it's announced that the flight is delayed an hour. Literally every review of PAL complained about delays, so I'm more amused than annoyed. Every time! They're late. Every Time. Ha. Must be the free champagne talking.
11:00: seated! Plane is 2 stories, and we're up top! Another first for me. This calls for more champagne. Start to wonder if I could smuggle some onto my next jet blue flight...
2:23 am: post dinner, pre-in flight entertainment, PA speaker: "now paging any passenger who is a doctor or medic. Please contact crew member immediately." See several people rush to front of our section. Great. I had chicken AND fish. Jiveassturkeys. Try to nonchalantly eavesdrop.
3am: ask for earplugs cause *someone* (names withheld) expected to snore.
3:08: Flight Attendant profusely apologizes for taking so long, but "someone else was sick downstairs." She lingers. I casually ask if it was something she ate, to which FA replies, "No. She is just on the verge of a heart attack. But way worse than the other one." She scuttles off. Cause that's what FAs do. Scuttle.
4:00 am: bypassed Hawaii... They must not be dead.
4:15 am: watch a passenger in front of me turn pink to red to purple struggling to get his seat to recline. Momentarily amused.
4:38 am: can still see Hawaii on the livemap, this is the longest flight ever.
4:41am: wonder if maybe earplugs and eye mask are in fact hindering my date with Mr. Sandman, since cloth clamped to my face and rubber shoved in my ears aren't typically conducive to a restful night's sleep, for me anyway.
4:45 am: revelation: airplanes are just time capsules in which it's occupants continually produce more CO2 to the already stale, recycled air, over the course of 22 hours. This thought has always kept me from sleeping comfortably on airplanes. Because, well, let's face it: people don't control their bodily functions when they sleep. Just one of them thangs. Confirmed by the gentleman to my left. Repeatedly.
7am: finally fell asleep, only after sleeping beauty to my left woke up and started talking to the FAs. Loudly. Up after 2.5 hrs.
*9:10: surprise! Before our scheduled stop in Manila, we're stopping in Guam for an "electrical layover" where we get to stay on the plane an hour, THEN to Manila. Sweet.
9:06 - 11:00 am: I see the equator on livemap, cool. Rotate between trashy magazines, Fight Club, and Don DeLilo... like changing channels. Land in Guam. Wonder if the "electrical layover" was more for the weak hearted ladies. Really, really glad we didn't have to turn around. Oh, and that they were ok, and whatnot.
12:10: turns out it's the 26th! October 25th, 2008 was spent entirely in the air. A first for me. Kinds neat. Wake up mom by *accidentally* elbowing her, feign surprise that she's up, then tell her about October 25th. We watch Hancock, where they replace "asshole" with "weirdo" and cut out not the fight scenes, but just the shots of physical contact. Really odd. Eat breakfast. First good meal of trip.
3:00 pm: final descent! Into our second layover, but first stop where we can get out and stretch. See a rainbow on way in, against the sunrise.
3:01 pm: it finally hits me that I'm beginning the trip of a lifetime.
Friday 10/24, 6:30 pm: after reading on the e-ticket that it is recommended that all passengers arrive 3hrs prior to departure, dad rallies us an hour early to go to the airport. Good thing I packed that morning!
7:30 pm: arrive at LAX Bradley terminal, to hoards of people waiting to check in. I'm talking worse-than-the-line-for-Supreme-Scream-during-Knotts-Scary-Farm-crowded (lex, andrea and joc know what I'm talkin' 'bout!)... Heart momentarily stops before mom reminds me are flying business class. THANK GOD.
7:45: sipping champagne in "lounge," which is the rough equivalent to an office lobby - with lower ceilings (the one here in Manila is more like a glorified cafeteria). As for the food: I've seen better munchie selections at Chevron minimarts. But in all fairness, those places are extraordinary. Plus, hey- free champagne! We toast.
9:40: get ready to board, til it's announced that the flight is delayed an hour. Literally every review of PAL complained about delays, so I'm more amused than annoyed. Every time! They're late. Every Time. Ha. Must be the free champagne talking.
11:00: seated! Plane is 2 stories, and we're up top! Another first for me. This calls for more champagne. Start to wonder if I could smuggle some onto my next jet blue flight...
2:23 am: post dinner, pre-in flight entertainment, PA speaker: "now paging any passenger who is a doctor or medic. Please contact crew member immediately." See several people rush to front of our section. Great. I had chicken AND fish. Jiveassturkeys. Try to nonchalantly eavesdrop.
3am: ask for earplugs cause *someone* (names withheld) expected to snore.
3:08: Flight Attendant profusely apologizes for taking so long, but "someone else was sick downstairs." She lingers. I casually ask if it was something she ate, to which FA replies, "No. She is just on the verge of a heart attack. But way worse than the other one." She scuttles off. Cause that's what FAs do. Scuttle.
4:00 am: bypassed Hawaii... They must not be dead.
4:15 am: watch a passenger in front of me turn pink to red to purple struggling to get his seat to recline. Momentarily amused.
4:38 am: can still see Hawaii on the livemap, this is the longest flight ever.
4:41am: wonder if maybe earplugs and eye mask are in fact hindering my date with Mr. Sandman, since cloth clamped to my face and rubber shoved in my ears aren't typically conducive to a restful night's sleep, for me anyway.
4:45 am: revelation: airplanes are just time capsules in which it's occupants continually produce more CO2 to the already stale, recycled air, over the course of 22 hours. This thought has always kept me from sleeping comfortably on airplanes. Because, well, let's face it: people don't control their bodily functions when they sleep. Just one of them thangs. Confirmed by the gentleman to my left. Repeatedly.
7am: finally fell asleep, only after sleeping beauty to my left woke up and started talking to the FAs. Loudly. Up after 2.5 hrs.
*9:10: surprise! Before our scheduled stop in Manila, we're stopping in Guam for an "electrical layover" where we get to stay on the plane an hour, THEN to Manila. Sweet.
9:06 - 11:00 am: I see the equator on livemap, cool. Rotate between trashy magazines, Fight Club, and Don DeLilo... like changing channels. Land in Guam. Wonder if the "electrical layover" was more for the weak hearted ladies. Really, really glad we didn't have to turn around. Oh, and that they were ok, and whatnot.
12:10: turns out it's the 26th! October 25th, 2008 was spent entirely in the air. A first for me. Kinds neat. Wake up mom by *accidentally* elbowing her, feign surprise that she's up, then tell her about October 25th. We watch Hancock, where they replace "asshole" with "weirdo" and cut out not the fight scenes, but just the shots of physical contact. Really odd. Eat breakfast. First good meal of trip.
3:00 pm: final descent! Into our second layover, but first stop where we can get out and stretch. See a rainbow on way in, against the sunrise.
3:01 pm: it finally hits me that I'm beginning the trip of a lifetime.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Tonight's the night!
Here is our general itinerary, as I know it:
-Starting in Bangkok, for a few days, to sleep off jet lag and get acquainted.
-Then traveling up to Chiang Mai/Rai;
-Traveling down the Mekong River to Laos via boat, making stops in small villages along the way;
-Spend some time in Cambodia in Angkor Wat;
-Railay beach and Krabby, which both share the same coast as Ko Phi Phi (where Leo DiCaprio's movie The Beach was filmed);
-Back up to Bangkok, to end the trip before we fly back to LAX.
Sounds like a month's worth, but I know it will fly by! We're going to be near Phuket, where a dear family friend of ours was in 2004 when the Tsunami hit the coast (I use the term family friend so to speak, because the term doesn't quite translate the close relationship he and his family has to ours). It will be nice that we will be able to pay our respects. We will also be working with the Green Gecko Project for a couple days in Cambodia, and organization I am really looking forward to being a part of.
AND, just in case I decide to stay a little longer for any reason (heh heh), I am bringing only my trusty backpack... the very same one I used when traveling Europe, oh so long ago:
See you on the other side! xo
Endorsement
Since I will be gone November 4th, most of you will be happy to hear that this is the last thing I have to say about the upcoming election:
Thursday, October 23, 2008
ToDo
A list of things I still need to do in the 11th hour, in no particular order:
1. Buy brother birthday present;
2. Go to Target for random last minute purchases (tank tops, toothpaste, things to do on the plane such as this and this);
3. Go to In n' Out sometime between now and when I leave;
4. Take passport pictures for some reason that my mom can't explain because she's too exasperated from planning this whole trip by herself while I languorously watch tivo'd reruns of Colbert Report;
5. Make sure before completing #4 that I ask about it as though for the first time, preferably when she is a) on the phone, and b) in the other room;
6. Find out when my flight leaves tomorrow;
7. Give brother birthday present;
8. Find passport;
9. Ask my dad if I can borrow his car today;
10. Get on plane.
I think it's totally doable.
1. Buy brother birthday present;
2. Go to Target for random last minute purchases (tank tops, toothpaste, things to do on the plane such as this and this);
3. Go to In n' Out sometime between now and when I leave;
4. Take passport pictures for some reason that my mom can't explain because she's too exasperated from planning this whole trip by herself while I languorously watch tivo'd reruns of Colbert Report;
5. Make sure before completing #4 that I ask about it as though for the first time, preferably when she is a) on the phone, and b) in the other room;
6. Find out when my flight leaves tomorrow;
7. Give brother birthday present;
8. Find passport;
9. Ask my dad if I can borrow his car today;
10. Get on plane.
I think it's totally doable.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
literal splashdown
There are many apps ilike on my iphone, hicon is tops.
Made the decision to bring my iphone on my trip, hope I come back with it... it'll act as an ipod, and make it easier to take pictures (since I don't have my own camera). Most of you know how I have *impeccable* luck with technology. WE SHALL SEE!
& See we shall.
Monday, October 20, 2008
OPEN
Well I just started this and I am already behind ... typical.
Family was in New York visiting this last week, which allowed me to interact with the city in a new way...and now I'm much more OPEN!!!
Every night was booked. Highlighting the week of course were those events close to our collective family heart: The Calder exhibit opening at the Whitney, Dok and Raine's photography opening
at the Morrison Hotel Gallery in SoHo, and g-pa's Broadway revival opening. Openopenopen. Unfortunately the de Wilde's and gramps' were on the same night, so the photog show had to be put on hold until the the day after the theater. Fine by me, because it felt more personal with our own "private" screening and we were able to take up a significant part of the gallery, freely. The Morrison Hotel Gallery is a lovely loft space in the village, not to mention the pictues that fill it. I recognized family friends in some of the photos from the '60's ... and meekly peeked/voraciously scanned each "Love-In" and concert picture to make sure my parents weren't in them. They weren't... I don't think. The collection was incredible, and the photographs nicely intertwined helixically in theme and feeling, despite their obvious linear progression in time. Guess apples really don't fall far from their tree :)
All in all, a terrific week, a nice and high note to end on in New York. Saw family & friends, and as always, not enough of each. I am really glad that everyone was able to come hang out, because even though I am only gone for a handful of weeks, I always want to see as much of you guys as I can. And, if I have to bribe with a bon voyage, so be it. So WEST COAST: ready or not, here I am.
Family was in New York visiting this last week, which allowed me to interact with the city in a new way...and now I'm much more OPEN!!!
Every night was booked. Highlighting the week of course were those events close to our collective family heart: The Calder exhibit opening at the Whitney, Dok and Raine's photography opening
at the Morrison Hotel Gallery in SoHo, and g-pa's Broadway revival opening. Openopenopen. Unfortunately the de Wilde's and gramps' were on the same night, so the photog show had to be put on hold until the the day after the theater. Fine by me, because it felt more personal with our own "private" screening and we were able to take up a significant part of the gallery, freely. The Morrison Hotel Gallery is a lovely loft space in the village, not to mention the pictues that fill it. I recognized family friends in some of the photos from the '60's ... and meekly peeked/voraciously scanned each "Love-In" and concert picture to make sure my parents weren't in them. They weren't... I don't think. The collection was incredible, and the photographs nicely intertwined helixically in theme and feeling, despite their obvious linear progression in time. Guess apples really don't fall far from their tree :)All in all, a terrific week, a nice and high note to end on in New York. Saw family & friends, and as always, not enough of each. I am really glad that everyone was able to come hang out, because even though I am only gone for a handful of weeks, I always want to see as much of you guys as I can. And, if I have to bribe with a bon voyage, so be it. So WEST COAST: ready or not, here I am.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
