*names have been changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent alike.
we decided that the other side of the dry-grassy park, the shady side with the concrete benches, would be a better place to take our party, out of the skin-charring sun. we gingerly took our 1400yen Home Wide special grill to the other side and set down all of the barbecue equipment, tennis balls, hula hoops, food and
"HAHAHA you guys look behind this bench! they've got porn!" we checked inside the box. "only chicks though. plus the DVD itself's gone."
in the tradition of *Melvin and Brendan naming Osaka parks after the activities that go on there (e.g. Blowjob Park and Sex Park), we dubbed the abandoned grassy area with its odd cylindrical sculptures with decades-abandoned colorful paint, Porno Park.
i hadn't played catch or used a hula hoop in 10 or maybe even 15 years, easily. but we brought them out for the day to try our luck through the haze of our hangovers.
we'd decided on this barbecue in a rather drunken state the night before; in fact i had to call Melvin in the morning and ask "so did i drunkenly hallucinate this, or is this barbecue thing really happening?" and it was. damn it to hell, it was even though the 1400yen Home Wide special grill and the mokutan charcoal that Mika, Hiro and Kenji had made me ask the saleslady for to practice my Japanese, wasn't taking to fire so well.
"Kenji, leave the grill alone! it'll heat up if you just leave it alone!" Linda let out a sigh of exasperation mixed with amusement at her new pyromaniacal friend. Kenji pretended not to understand and continued poking at the charcoals.
a cargo barge glided into the nearby harbor. "ooh" i hope it's Russians! hello, Russians!" Melvin waved to the boat. this degenerated into our bizarre habit of impersonating Russian lesbians from the TaTu song we're so fond of singing at karaoke.
the conversation veered to sex, as it often does. "you know..." Skywalker mused. "when you shave your nuts in the summer... there's nothing like it." in our loopy starving and hangover-cured-by-more alcohol states, this was hilarious. it still is.
the inevitable "i have never" drinking games commenced. the guy from the karaoke place the night before seriously creeped us the hell out. he hasn't called me again. thank god.
i plucked away at my guitar while Kenji talked on the phone to his girlfriend please don't stop being my friend i have obligations to her, you understand?. fireworks shot off in the distance, legit ones ignited by the city. i continued plucking and strumming, what else could i do while i was forced to disvow all of the knowing gazes and conversations of the past month...
when he finally hung up the phone, he sat down next to me.
"genki?" am i fine? for fuck's sake i have feelings for you, you know this, and yet you have "obligations" she's an angel with a harp and a halo well i have a sparkler and a guitar how's that? what the fuck do you think?
i smiled my best rueful smile. "mochiron, Ken-kun. why wouldn't i be?"
i sang the song i'd written in honor of Skywalker's departure. it was well-received by the departing one. it occurred to me at some point that this was the first time i'd be saying goodbye to someone who'd been with me for The Duration......
when the city fireworks ended, we lit sparklers and roman candles, the kind to which Kerouac likened the Mad Ones, the Mad Ones he loved and cherished so much the way i do.
i felt elated. i felt like shit. i felt alive. i raised my roman candle to the sky. "i'm the Statue of Fuckin' Liberty!"
eventually we attracted the attention of the police. they told us sparklers were ok, but not roman candles or anything that made a noise. whatever. we'd burned all the roman candles anyway.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
atmosphere
Author's note: this actually happened a really long time ago, Halloween maybe, but i just found the notebook i'd written it in. enjoy the anachronisms.
"CHRIS!!!!"
i glanced around, my neck muscles twitched, looking for the source of whatever voice had called my name, as the echo reverberated around the parking lot. "hi." finally i looked up and an odd little man with large headphones on waved down from the 5th floor.
"Dude, I gotta...." I searched for a reason to avoid the coming conversation i didn't really feel like having "go to work...." but he'd already headed for the elevator to come downstairs.
the door opened and he emerged with his guitar and ever-faithful street performing equipment. one of those carts employed by hunchbacked old ladies to aid their walking carried the yellow amplifier which, every Saturday night, blared the sounds of Hendrix's whammy-bar insanity across Miyako-machi.
"howreyouuuu?" the usually wide-eyed and alert fellow shifted his weight from foot to foot. if i didn't know better, i'd say he was drunk at 3pm or maybe even back on the junk again. i shrugged.
"fine i guess."
he sighed. "Jen is.... left. Sucks." he and my co-worker had been neighbours. he used to hit her up for cigarette money.
"yeah." Pause.
finally he made one of those random, inexplicable and yet somehow close-to-home comments he tends to make.
"your atmosphere is different."
"what?"
"atmosphere. it's different."
i snickered. "For good or bad?"
"for good."
"oh. well i guess that's--"
"you have terrible atmosphere!"
"huh??"
"but it's good. you understand what i mean?"
"no dude, i'm sure that i don't."
he left for his job ("a secret," he told me), and i stood there scratching my head over whatever the hell kind of ex-junkie Zen he was on about.
"CHRIS!!!!"
i glanced around, my neck muscles twitched, looking for the source of whatever voice had called my name, as the echo reverberated around the parking lot. "hi." finally i looked up and an odd little man with large headphones on waved down from the 5th floor.
"Dude, I gotta...." I searched for a reason to avoid the coming conversation i didn't really feel like having "go to work...." but he'd already headed for the elevator to come downstairs.
the door opened and he emerged with his guitar and ever-faithful street performing equipment. one of those carts employed by hunchbacked old ladies to aid their walking carried the yellow amplifier which, every Saturday night, blared the sounds of Hendrix's whammy-bar insanity across Miyako-machi.
"howreyouuuu?" the usually wide-eyed and alert fellow shifted his weight from foot to foot. if i didn't know better, i'd say he was drunk at 3pm or maybe even back on the junk again. i shrugged.
"fine i guess."
he sighed. "Jen is.... left. Sucks." he and my co-worker had been neighbours. he used to hit her up for cigarette money.
"yeah." Pause.
finally he made one of those random, inexplicable and yet somehow close-to-home comments he tends to make.
"your atmosphere is different."
"what?"
"atmosphere. it's different."
i snickered. "For good or bad?"
"for good."
"oh. well i guess that's--"
"you have terrible atmosphere!"
"huh??"
"but it's good. you understand what i mean?"
"no dude, i'm sure that i don't."
he left for his job ("a secret," he told me), and i stood there scratching my head over whatever the hell kind of ex-junkie Zen he was on about.
Monday, April 28, 2008
the only thing that sucks more than existence is....
we sat across from each other in the dingy izakaya, ice already melting off the frosted mugs. a group of businessmen's chatter at the next table grew louder and louder in their drunkenness. the salt clung to the soybean pods set out before us as a libation snack. i raised my mug. "kampai. to....."
well shit, i thought. what exactly do you toast to when you're sitting across from a guy who'd been threatening suicide all week?
when you'd spent 4 hours in the police station a few days before trying to track down someone who refused to answer any call, explain where he was, except in riddles and rhymes that the cops called a "cry for help" if he were actually going to do it he wouldn't have told you he would've just done it obviously he trusts you why do you think he called you? well goddamn it if it's help you want, you need to answer your fucking phone and tell me where the hell you are.... what do say a toast to?
he had a shopping bag with him, full to the brim of travel brochures weighed down by a hardcover Japanese copy of La Nausee.
i know why he called me. he called me because i get it. i'm not going to die over it, but i get it.
finally i had my kampai. i raised my glass, "to existence."
"to existence."
because really, it sucks and it's futile sometimes.... and the only thing that sucks more is the alternative....
well shit, i thought. what exactly do you toast to when you're sitting across from a guy who'd been threatening suicide all week?
when you'd spent 4 hours in the police station a few days before trying to track down someone who refused to answer any call, explain where he was, except in riddles and rhymes that the cops called a "cry for help" if he were actually going to do it he wouldn't have told you he would've just done it obviously he trusts you why do you think he called you? well goddamn it if it's help you want, you need to answer your fucking phone and tell me where the hell you are.... what do say a toast to?
he had a shopping bag with him, full to the brim of travel brochures weighed down by a hardcover Japanese copy of La Nausee.
i know why he called me. he called me because i get it. i'm not going to die over it, but i get it.
finally i had my kampai. i raised my glass, "to existence."
"to existence."
because really, it sucks and it's futile sometimes.... and the only thing that sucks more is the alternative....
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
that Kafka, what a little smartass
i considered driving to the city office because it was raining, only a little bit, but decided not to because it wasn't quite far away enough to make driving worthwhile. i considered just walking up Fujimi-dori, but decided to go through Beppu Park instead.
why, i wondered. what did it matter. what did anything matter? Sartre's novel La Nausee and an almost-but-not-quite-healed broken heart is a lethal combination. hey old guy, why are you bending down to exercise your knees? don't you know existence is futile and limber knee joints are impermanent, and therefore your efforts to preserve them are absurd? hey pidgeon, why are you scuttling across the dead squashed sakura blossoms made wet with rain and brown with decay..... through the fog i could almost make out the sickly obscene fake bright colors of the non-operational ferris wheel at the abandoned amusement park on the hill.
almost.
nausea.
and why was i even walking to the city office to sign up for health insurace that would probably end up being more expensive than just paying out of pocket for health checkups? the thought occurred to me, the only way health insurance to be worth its price is for whoever's paying for it to become really fucking sick like with a brain tumor or something.... a bitter snicker burst forth into the misty fog.
"Jaaaa, zat is pretty funny, nicht?" i looked to my left.
"Franz, what are you doing in Beppu Park?"
his expression didn't change from the picture you can find on Wikipedia, nor any color fill the black and white of his slightly stick-out ears and center part down his hair.
"I am not in zis Beppu Park, but merely in your existential qvandary."
"Alright fine. What are you doing in my existential quandary?"
"You didn't ask Freddie Mercury what he was doing in the Texas Instruments cafeteria last veek."
"Freddie didn't talk to me. He just danced around and sang "Another One Bites The Dust" so I'd feel better about getting my heart ripped out of my ass."
Franz took out a ratty hankerchief and coughed into it. He peered into the red substance he'd coughed up. "Sorry," he sighed. "Eet's ze tuberculosis, you see."
"Well the rain's probably not good for it. Here." He shrugged and ducked under the black umbrella. "I can't remember, did you speak English?"
"Nein. But you do. Und you can fake a good German akzent."
"Yeah." We kept walking. All of Beppu park is just this winding yellow pathway punctuated with too-beautiful flowers and man-made babbling brooks. "I don't know where I'm going anymore."
"Zen it does not matter which vay you go."
"You stole that from Alice in Wonderland."
"Nein. You did."
We came to one of the park exits. B-con Plaza loomed above in all its bubble economy era excess.
"Shit. This is not where I wanted to go."
Franz cackled and then hacked up another bloody phlegmwad into his handkerchief. "But you just said--"
"I know. I know. Shut up."
He shrugged again. "I just vanted to show you... if nossing matters und life is meaningless, zen you should not upset yourself so over such trifles of ssings. Like getting lost."
"Yeah...." I sighed. "Goddamn it Franz, I hope no one finds out about this conversation we had. They'll think I'm completely insane."
He shook his head. "Nein. You are not crazy. Crazy people do not ssink zey are crazy; razzer zey sink everyvahn ELSE is crazy, und zey are sane."
"You stole that from Lost."
"Nein. You did." He made another disgusting 30 seconds of wheezing and choking.
"They did cure that eventually, you know."
"Ja, und zey could also give me ze, how you say, Prozac fur meinen melancholia und anxieties.
But zen.... vhat vould I write about?"
He was gone. I stopped to smell a tulip. It was nice. And then I kept walking.
why, i wondered. what did it matter. what did anything matter? Sartre's novel La Nausee and an almost-but-not-quite-healed broken heart is a lethal combination. hey old guy, why are you bending down to exercise your knees? don't you know existence is futile and limber knee joints are impermanent, and therefore your efforts to preserve them are absurd? hey pidgeon, why are you scuttling across the dead squashed sakura blossoms made wet with rain and brown with decay..... through the fog i could almost make out the sickly obscene fake bright colors of the non-operational ferris wheel at the abandoned amusement park on the hill.
almost.
nausea.
and why was i even walking to the city office to sign up for health insurace that would probably end up being more expensive than just paying out of pocket for health checkups? the thought occurred to me, the only way health insurance to be worth its price is for whoever's paying for it to become really fucking sick like with a brain tumor or something.... a bitter snicker burst forth into the misty fog.
"Jaaaa, zat is pretty funny, nicht?" i looked to my left.
"Franz, what are you doing in Beppu Park?"
his expression didn't change from the picture you can find on Wikipedia, nor any color fill the black and white of his slightly stick-out ears and center part down his hair.
"I am not in zis Beppu Park, but merely in your existential qvandary."
"Alright fine. What are you doing in my existential quandary?"
"You didn't ask Freddie Mercury what he was doing in the Texas Instruments cafeteria last veek."
"Freddie didn't talk to me. He just danced around and sang "Another One Bites The Dust" so I'd feel better about getting my heart ripped out of my ass."
Franz took out a ratty hankerchief and coughed into it. He peered into the red substance he'd coughed up. "Sorry," he sighed. "Eet's ze tuberculosis, you see."
"Well the rain's probably not good for it. Here." He shrugged and ducked under the black umbrella. "I can't remember, did you speak English?"
"Nein. But you do. Und you can fake a good German akzent."
"Yeah." We kept walking. All of Beppu park is just this winding yellow pathway punctuated with too-beautiful flowers and man-made babbling brooks. "I don't know where I'm going anymore."
"Zen it does not matter which vay you go."
"You stole that from Alice in Wonderland."
"Nein. You did."
We came to one of the park exits. B-con Plaza loomed above in all its bubble economy era excess.
"Shit. This is not where I wanted to go."
Franz cackled and then hacked up another bloody phlegmwad into his handkerchief. "But you just said--"
"I know. I know. Shut up."
He shrugged again. "I just vanted to show you... if nossing matters und life is meaningless, zen you should not upset yourself so over such trifles of ssings. Like getting lost."
"Yeah...." I sighed. "Goddamn it Franz, I hope no one finds out about this conversation we had. They'll think I'm completely insane."
He shook his head. "Nein. You are not crazy. Crazy people do not ssink zey are crazy; razzer zey sink everyvahn ELSE is crazy, und zey are sane."
"You stole that from Lost."
"Nein. You did." He made another disgusting 30 seconds of wheezing and choking.
"They did cure that eventually, you know."
"Ja, und zey could also give me ze, how you say, Prozac fur meinen melancholia und anxieties.
But zen.... vhat vould I write about?"
He was gone. I stopped to smell a tulip. It was nice. And then I kept walking.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
first snowboarding day in 6 years
i can't even concretely remember the last time i went skiing. i want to say it was shortly after my aunt died and everyone gathered to have fun together in her memory. that was 6 years ago, and during that time i just didn't feel any desire to go out.
but after nearly 3 years of living in sub-tropical Kyushu, the winters (or lack of winter as i'd always known it) take their toll. i'd listen with a twinge of envy as my friends and family members relayed tales of this year's snowstorm, billions upon billions of intricate white crystals falling from the sky. the way they packed onto a hill underneath a pair of freshly sharpened K2s or a board.
so when an acquaintence of mine was organizing a "last chance" trip up to Hiroshima to indulge in the last vestiges of winter, i had 2 words: FUCK. YEAH.
the snow was very loose and granular like large grains of clear sand, but soft when you invariably fall down on your ass. i surprised the hell out of myself, mastering the basic snowboard move pretty quickly.
when you stare down a hill, barely able to gauge the grade and go anyway, and say to yourself "aww, this isn't so bad..." when your legs give out from holding the same beginner's position all day and cause you to fall on your ass.... when you have to stop all mental activity outside of getting down that damn hill.... almost falling down but finding your balance again and jerking yourself up... when you realize that sometimes falling failing can be more beautiful and artistic than sticking the landing...
god what a feeling.
but after nearly 3 years of living in sub-tropical Kyushu, the winters (or lack of winter as i'd always known it) take their toll. i'd listen with a twinge of envy as my friends and family members relayed tales of this year's snowstorm, billions upon billions of intricate white crystals falling from the sky. the way they packed onto a hill underneath a pair of freshly sharpened K2s or a board.
so when an acquaintence of mine was organizing a "last chance" trip up to Hiroshima to indulge in the last vestiges of winter, i had 2 words: FUCK. YEAH.
the snow was very loose and granular like large grains of clear sand, but soft when you invariably fall down on your ass. i surprised the hell out of myself, mastering the basic snowboard move pretty quickly.
when you stare down a hill, barely able to gauge the grade and go anyway, and say to yourself "aww, this isn't so bad..." when your legs give out from holding the same beginner's position all day and cause you to fall on your ass.... when you have to stop all mental activity outside of getting down that damn hill.... almost falling down but finding your balance again and jerking yourself up... when you realize that sometimes falling failing can be more beautiful and artistic than sticking the landing...
god what a feeling.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Fairytale of Thailand
shimmer and rot at the same time
if japan is the land of duality, then Bangkok is a surreal mental and sensory assault on multiple fronts. sparkling--literally iridescent monuments stand on grassy medians guarded by christmas-lighted avenues where people sleep on smog-choked and littered streets, Mercedes Benz roll down the street past child beggars with missing limbs everywhere are tailors hunting you down to sample their wares with the prowess of a shark, taxi drivers harass and so desperately try to make a decent living, it seems swindling is the only way. everywhere, everywhere, the smell of fish sauce and soot particulate, spices and diesel, coconut and puke. shimmer and rot at the same time. pictures of the much-venerated King are everywhere. in his numerous photos in full military regalia, he looks more like a kindly grandfather presiding over a stamp collection than a kingdom, a country.
How To Meet The Locals
i found myself wandering the streets of Bangkok alone on the 2nd night, due to my travelling companion finding (ahem) alternative companionship at a bar. i headed for the night markets; a lack of daylight never seems to stop commerce in Bangkok. i strolled past the watches and t-shirts and handcrafted souvenir incense holders and candles and
"hello ma'am, where you from?" shit, you're gonna try to sell me a suit aren't you
"Canada," i lied.
I spent the next few hours chatting with the night market workers. not one of them tried to sell me anything, although a few were clearly (but not aggressively) trying to pick me up. when they asked, i told them i had a Japanese boyfriend--my 2nd blatant lie of the night. while disappointed, they seemed impressed that a farang (foreigner) would have an Asian boyfriend.
my new friend was ethnic Chinese, and we talked a bit about the condition of Chinese people in Southeast Asia. about past jobs. normal things. there was a lot of silence, which didn't seem to phase my friend at all. that's something i've always enjoyed about Asia; there's no need to make random mindless chat for the sake of filling a silence. the other Thais at the noodle stand didn't seem at all concerned that a farang was sitting with them, on their turf. they didn't treat me in any kind of special way at all, i was allowed to just Be while i waited for my travel buddy to finish what he was doing.
my new friend negotiated the taxi fare for me, easily a quarter of what i would've been charged on my own. i returned to the room to find a 3rd roommate.
"is it OK if he crashes here tonight?"
i yawned. "yeah sure. just uh, stay on your side, alright?"
i suppose that's another way to meet the locals.
and the boys of the NYPD Choir were singing Galway Bay
"this is where we spent Christmas Eve 2 years ago, and it was awesome," Luke said as we climbed the stairs to Gulliver's Irish Pub. there were maybe 5 other customers and a band playing early 90s soft rock favourites. "hm. it was a lot different 2 years ago," he remarked.
i hadn't really expected a trip down someone else's Memory Lane anyway. it seemed our best option was the pool table.
the table was occupied by Matt and Lenny, and Englishman and Irishman respectively. both of them were "legally, technically, on paper English teachers" in Bangkok. i didn't ask any questions.
after getting trounced at pool (or snooker, as they seemed to call it in Bangkok), Matt suggested that we all go see his buddy's indie band play at some hole-in-the-wall club.
it was already an etheral song to my ears.
The Standards, a local indie/punk outfit comprised of 3 Thais and 2 Brits played a pretty decent set. the lead singer was a classic showman and performed George Michael's "Last Christmas" song in a very Sex Pistols-esque fashion. normally i fucking hate that song, and they made me love it. THAT is talent, my friends.
as the lead singer took over DJ duties after the band's set ended, Luke and i approached him with a request--was it possible, just maybe, that they had the song "Fairy Tale of New York" by the Pogues? it seemed too much to hope for, but didn't hurt to ask. the singer/DJ beamed and assured us, "later."
the clock struck midnight. we counted down. and then, to our delight-- Fairy Tale of New York blared out into the night!
we drank and danced and hugged and took our pictures with drunken expatriate strangers, all bonded together in dulling the guilt of not being with our blood families on Christmas Eve.
Matt, a quintessentially garrulous expat remarked at one point, "you know Chris-" he's one of those people who uses your name a lot "you seem a bit serious and reserved" shit here we go with the whole you need to loosen up and be 'normal' spiel "but in a good way."
"well," i shrugged, "that's something i've always struggled with. sometimes i can fake it, but it just gets exhausting. plus i don't like being fake. people seem to think there's something weird about being 'quiet.'" i paused. "but i've accepted it as part of my personality" sort of "and others can just take it or leave it."
"take it." he said.
as the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day.....
Ko Samet
fuck, where is that bus. Fuck FUCK!! where is that bus?!!?
it arrived 30 minutes late.i had a passing wistfulness for the anal-retentivene punctuality of Japan, then chalked it up to cultural difference (at the time. i would later come to curse the day we booked with this infernal company).
the bungalows of Ko Samet, Bangkok's backyard, were adorned with Christmas lights, paper lanterns, coconut palms and slow-roasting farang tourists of every nationality on the beach. at night they sipped on Singha, Tiger and Chang Beer, while the wait staff simultaneously played soccer, flirted and still managed to stay attentive to their customers. at breakfast, they seemed quite hung-over.
Thai waiters and salespeople are like cats. cats can wake with a start from an absolutely stone-cold sleep and pounce into action. there's no need to "look busy" when there's no legitimate work to be done. or to create it where none exists. i think we could all learn something from them.
our 3 days in Samet were a languid blur of turquoise water, dust-fine sand, people touting sarongs, bananas, massages, barbecued crab and dive trips. every night there were guys playing with fire on the beach.
it was a show, but it wasn't the most tightly rehearsed show by any means. the resorts even brought in a few fire show guys from Krabi or Cambodia for the show. but unlike most other tourist-oriented performances i've seen, it didn't look contrived at all. there was a certain endearing quality to their lack of professionalism; they were just cute pyromaniacal guys in sarongs, playing with fire. genuinely having fun regardless of how many times they've done the show. nothing to complain about there....
but even paradise on earth can get a bit dull. on to Phuket.
Kafkaesque Bus Ride from Hell
the bus to Phuket was on time. a surreal start to what turned out to be one of the greatest tests of endurance and sanity in my entire life. a ride on a Highway to Hell of which even the great ACDC could not have conceived.
the bus looked nice enough from the outside, with Finding Nemo characters painted on the sides. waiting for it in the choking pollution of Bangkok reminded me that i'd had my fill of the "City of Angels." that is, until we drove through places in the city that i hadn't seen, the world beyond the palace and Khao San Road, and i realized that i hadn't seen shit in Bangkok.
an annoying kissy couple sat in front of me, the whole time making audible lip and tongue smacking sounds with their snogging. an equally annoying couple of British girls were across the aisle from me with their feet practically in my lap. a big group in the front found their conversation so stimulating that they had to enlighten the whole bus at 1 in the morning.
but that ride would come to seem like a transport paradise in a mere 12 hours.
3 or 4am: maybe an hour after i'd finally fallen asleep they dumped us off in the middle of fucking nowhere outside of Surrathani city for 3 hours. my companion's inexhaustible good humor was really starting to piss me off.
sometimes i wish i were more "fun." sanuk. tanoshii. whatever you want to call it. you know, the kind of irritatingly sunny type who'd whip out a guitar and lead everyone in a singing of Koom Ba Ya or some shit like that and make the best of things.
but that's also a good way to get smacked around. and it's comfy in my cynical spiderhole.
7am: finally, after about 4 hours they loaded about 10 of us on a truck and drove us to (what we were led to believe was) the Surrathani bus centre. "Orange bus please," the shifty-looking sharky guy told us. in our bleary state, we all did.
we would all come to regret that decision most egregiously.
the flower garland on the rearview mirror jerked and swayed with the jerky motions of the bus, every time the tires on one side allllmost seemed to leave the ground on a turn. an air vent, leaked out a rather pitiful stream of air from outside, cooling only in the fact that it was moving air. every 500 metres or so we'd stop at a bus stop, or for any random pedestrian who motioned for the bus to stop. from what i understand, it's illegal in Thailand for a bus driver not to stop at a designated bus stop.
10am on and on they piled. after the seats were taken, they crammed into the aisle. an angry German couple in front of us implored the driver to stop taking passengers in a tone of righteous tourist indignation mixed with plea for mercy. in English, now the international language of complaint.
11:30 at one point the driver popped in some saccharin Thai pop CD to entertain the bus. the singer's sweet voice and semi-traditional sounding instruments escalates my desire to hurt someone.
12:00 i think Grandma in the next aisle pissed her pants. at least i have Mario Puzo's "The Last Don" to entertain me. it's a Mafia novel. about killing people.
Fuck Knows What Time: flat tire. i get out of the bus to pee on the side of the road in the bushes. can't bring myself to do it.
no food. no water. no toilet break. how long have i been on this fucking bus? my ass hurts. my neck hurts. my soul hurts.
i died. i caught bird flu. or maybe a firecracker blew up near me. maybe it was a killer jellyfish or some undercooked crab or dengue fever. either way i died and i am in travel hell. or maybe this is the way you get there. this dirt road is the river Styx. i bet you could get to Hell in like 2 hours on the Shinkansen. the supernatural Powers could learn a lot from the Japanese, really.
my friend is swearing under his breath. for some reason his frustration, together with mine, brings me comfort.
Me: Luke?
Luke: yeah?
Me: i hate this god-forsaken country and i want to go back to Japan.
Luke: yeah i'm not a big fan right now.
Eternity: god i have to piss like a racehorse. i wonder if it's possible for piss to go backwards and recirculate in your body. that wouldn't feel too good.
i'm thirsty. and i don't have to piss anymore. that can't be good.
we will indeed be on this bus for all eternity. i've accepted it. you've accepted it. we all just need to accept. and i think i'm coming down with gout.
4pm: arrive in Phuket. use toilet at travel agency. get a posh-ish hotel in downtown Phuket. we fucking deserve it. i take a 20-minute shower.
7pm: we find a Pizza Hut ripoff type restaraunt. it's clean. it's gorgeous. its pristine convenience makes me want to cry.
we devour our pizza like ex-convicts exonerated from Death Row. it's fucking ethereal. it gives me the worst case of the shits i am ever to get during my Thailand trip.
New Year in Patong
last year i spent the New Year falling asleep on my mom's couch with a bottle of Yellowtail in front of the Twilight Zone marathon on the SciFi channel. i vaguely remember cracking my eyes open for the ball drop, duly noting a meaningless change of calendar as i had 24 times before.
this year was spent in a Patong gay go-go bar.
as Luke had spent his day chatting up the staff of various clubs, we got invited to a barbecue at Hotel Spartacus. being the only straight woman at a Thai gay bar is a bit like being lactose intolerant at a cheese factory.
we went to a bar that L had promised a certain guy he'd go to. i found it a bit sad. granted i'm not a gay man, but the sight of guys in jockey-shorts with numbers attatched standing on stage, staring blankly, waiting for someone to come along and request their company didn't do a whole lot for me.
L's "friend" immediately rushed over and adhered himself to his side. an associate wandered over to keep me company.
i don't quite remember what his name was. he was every bit as charming with me as he'd be with any lecherous elderly foreign customer. we pored over my recently-acquired "Lonely Planet Phrasebooks: Southeast Asia" and he helped me with my dismal Thai pronunciation.
finally i asked him, "so you're actually gay, right?"
"yes, yes. i like boy." he emphatically nodded.
"yeah well... i'm a girl. you don't have to sit here and talk to me or anything, seriously...." he laughed and gave my knee a friendly slap as though i'd said the most ridiculous thing ever. "you my sisterrrr!!"
but things turned rather unbrotherly when we tried to leave. the bill arrived with a round of beer that the go-go boys had ordered and we were expected to pay for. we flatly refused, and i tried to give my "brother" a hug to show there were no hard feelings about it. all i got was a glare of bitter disappointment.
now for the record, a couple of guys who are into each other really doesn't upset me in the least (especially if they're hot). but outside i was surrounded with falsity, which in my mind came from the superficiality of the whole gay gogo scene, Thai culture shock and human nature itself.
"goddamn it...." my voice wavered with my eyesight, "i just want to talk to someone who won't try to sell me something, you know? it's here and in america and in japan, it's fucking everywhere... why can't anything just be real??" my friend tried to comfort my slightly depressive/tipsy/neurotic state, and i can't remember what he said anymore but i'm sure it was encouraging and supportive.
at some point i suppose the earth passed its median point in the orbit; there was no ball-drop or countdown no concept of time and firecrackers rang out like gunshots, fireworks detonated and paper fire luftballoons were launched up into the sky. people danced and hugged.
that was also the time when Don Clericuzio chose to show himself, his voice inside my head: "the world is what it is. and you are what you are."
i sat down on the ground in seiza, unable to process the staggering squalid beauty of a New Year, a new year in the sordid go-go district of schlocky Patong Beach.
a woman came by selling roses. i pointed to the half-dozen. "how much?" "100baht."
i took my time removing the plastic from their long, thorny stems. they were dark and velvety. Luke, followed by the next 5 strangers i saw, all got roses. no more questions asked.
the jungle
despite my brush with satori on the New Year, the glitz and overwhelm of Phuket left me feeling empty, aching for more and less at the same time.
after a 2-hour van ride, i found it at Chao Leung reservoir.
a 45-minute longboat ride is your passage to this remote paradise. our guide is genial in nature, but his amicability gives way to steely, stoic concentration when he skippers a longboat.
my accomodation is quite literally a rattan and plywood shack held together by rope, sitting on bamboo which floats upon the clear, warm water. there is no cell phone reception or running water, and electricity is run on a generator. all of this nestled in limestone rock formations that vault over the deep liquid emerald water.
i love everything about it.
and the really curious thing about it is that, in Bangkok (or any other city), this would be called a shanty town, urban squalor, poverty. here it's a sacred retreat from the outside world.
but the night is hell. hadean darkness. the creaking of the bamboo is magnified in the deathly stillness of the night. the movie The Evil Dead keeps springing to mind. somehow reading Isaac Asimov's novel "Nightfall," about the collapse of an alien civilization during their first period of darkness in millennia, does little to comfort me. i crept out of my shack and over to Luke's. the nightlights have been extinguished and there are no stars that night. no moon, just an almost tangible blackness that seems to stain your hands with ink.
"Luke...." i wished i could shout and whisper at the same time. "Luke?" this time a little louder.
fuck. everyone's asleep. everyone except for me... i'm the only conscious person for MILES. as a panic-induced pain set into my stomach and lower back, all i could do was ruminate on just how remote this place was, and how it would take at least 2 hours to get to the (probably) substandard Surrat Thani hospital from here.....
i don't know when sweet Somnus finally decided to show up, but he did. i think it was sometime after i'd realized that the wind that rocked the rafthouses was probably a wind of change, promise of better weather at dawn, of the coming sun.
i awoke to a painless back, sunlight and shorelines to be explored via kayak, limestone caves to climb into, and friendly (honest!) guides who made the most fantastic food i'd had on the entire trip.
breakfast--
me: hey, how'd you sleep?
Luke: fucking horrible. you?
me: same. i kept thinking about how much this place looks like the beginning of a zombie movie at night.
Luke: (*thinks for a second) no, zombies usually stick to big cities.
me: ..... yeah, you're probably right.
Power Outages, Jenga and Kittens
i think if human society collapsed and aliens came to excavate the earth, they'd think Bob Marley is some kind of deity. he's everywhere, all over the world.
a sort of tourist paradise has grown up around the Khao Sok park headquarters. it's wall to wall rasta bars, massage places, restaraunts and forest hotels.
we fumble through the dark to the Funky Monkey Bar, as the generators have all blown out. the staff is sitting around smoking. "how long until the power comes back on?" we ask the boy in the hammock, a white kitten asleep on his chest. he yawns. "don't know, 3 hour maybe?" his friend grins and holds up a Singha. "nothing to do but drink!"
and the workers here seem to lead such ethereally simple lives, lives that foreign tourists secretly envy and spend a lot of money to experience for even a short time. i can't help but wonder how the feel about that. do they want to leave? are they envious? do they thank their lucky stars that they aren't a part of the rat race that is Western culture?
i don't know the answer to those questions. the bar workers and i just played Jenga, pet kittens and played guitar for hours on end together.
Surrat Thani, revisited
after the experience with the bus, Surrat Thani was one of the last places on this earth that i ever wanted to go back to. but, we ended up there for a day waiting for passage to Bangkok and Japan.
beyond the bogus "bus terminal," there are little restaraunts, net cafes, schools, temples, mosques. it's a city. people live here. it's not a tourist construction, and i enjoyed the reality of it for the day, feeling as though i was finally experiencing the real Thailand beyond Patong and Khao San.
we were grossly overcharged at a restaraunt, but i didn't care. the guy needed to feed his family. his daughter took great pains to write English messages on the blackboard at the end of the restaraunt, great messages, that she felt the need to wipe away before anyone could see.
The Thai government bus is FANTASTIC. honest, punctual, cheap, and they provide food and water. that ride, from Surrat Thani to Bangkok, redeemed every horrible thought i'd had on that other bus.
All in All
i had been aching for a sort of intense spiritual experience for the months leading up to this trip. at the time, i sort of tacitly accepted that this wasn't it... or was it? perhaps Zen didn't come to me in the face of a giant Golden Buddha, but in the paper lanterns on New Year, in Don Clericuzio and Asimov, in caves and jungles and kayaks and elephants, in dirty local buses and dingy hotel rooms, in pizza joints and lemongrass. shimmer and rot at the same time.
if japan is the land of duality, then Bangkok is a surreal mental and sensory assault on multiple fronts. sparkling--literally iridescent monuments stand on grassy medians guarded by christmas-lighted avenues where people sleep on smog-choked and littered streets, Mercedes Benz roll down the street past child beggars with missing limbs everywhere are tailors hunting you down to sample their wares with the prowess of a shark, taxi drivers harass and so desperately try to make a decent living, it seems swindling is the only way. everywhere, everywhere, the smell of fish sauce and soot particulate, spices and diesel, coconut and puke. shimmer and rot at the same time. pictures of the much-venerated King are everywhere. in his numerous photos in full military regalia, he looks more like a kindly grandfather presiding over a stamp collection than a kingdom, a country.
How To Meet The Locals
i found myself wandering the streets of Bangkok alone on the 2nd night, due to my travelling companion finding (ahem) alternative companionship at a bar. i headed for the night markets; a lack of daylight never seems to stop commerce in Bangkok. i strolled past the watches and t-shirts and handcrafted souvenir incense holders and candles and
"hello ma'am, where you from?" shit, you're gonna try to sell me a suit aren't you
"Canada," i lied.
I spent the next few hours chatting with the night market workers. not one of them tried to sell me anything, although a few were clearly (but not aggressively) trying to pick me up. when they asked, i told them i had a Japanese boyfriend--my 2nd blatant lie of the night. while disappointed, they seemed impressed that a farang (foreigner) would have an Asian boyfriend.
my new friend was ethnic Chinese, and we talked a bit about the condition of Chinese people in Southeast Asia. about past jobs. normal things. there was a lot of silence, which didn't seem to phase my friend at all. that's something i've always enjoyed about Asia; there's no need to make random mindless chat for the sake of filling a silence. the other Thais at the noodle stand didn't seem at all concerned that a farang was sitting with them, on their turf. they didn't treat me in any kind of special way at all, i was allowed to just Be while i waited for my travel buddy to finish what he was doing.
my new friend negotiated the taxi fare for me, easily a quarter of what i would've been charged on my own. i returned to the room to find a 3rd roommate.
"is it OK if he crashes here tonight?"
i yawned. "yeah sure. just uh, stay on your side, alright?"
i suppose that's another way to meet the locals.
and the boys of the NYPD Choir were singing Galway Bay
"this is where we spent Christmas Eve 2 years ago, and it was awesome," Luke said as we climbed the stairs to Gulliver's Irish Pub. there were maybe 5 other customers and a band playing early 90s soft rock favourites. "hm. it was a lot different 2 years ago," he remarked.
i hadn't really expected a trip down someone else's Memory Lane anyway. it seemed our best option was the pool table.
the table was occupied by Matt and Lenny, and Englishman and Irishman respectively. both of them were "legally, technically, on paper English teachers" in Bangkok. i didn't ask any questions.
after getting trounced at pool (or snooker, as they seemed to call it in Bangkok), Matt suggested that we all go see his buddy's indie band play at some hole-in-the-wall club.
it was already an etheral song to my ears.
The Standards, a local indie/punk outfit comprised of 3 Thais and 2 Brits played a pretty decent set. the lead singer was a classic showman and performed George Michael's "Last Christmas" song in a very Sex Pistols-esque fashion. normally i fucking hate that song, and they made me love it. THAT is talent, my friends.
as the lead singer took over DJ duties after the band's set ended, Luke and i approached him with a request--was it possible, just maybe, that they had the song "Fairy Tale of New York" by the Pogues? it seemed too much to hope for, but didn't hurt to ask. the singer/DJ beamed and assured us, "later."
the clock struck midnight. we counted down. and then, to our delight-- Fairy Tale of New York blared out into the night!
we drank and danced and hugged and took our pictures with drunken expatriate strangers, all bonded together in dulling the guilt of not being with our blood families on Christmas Eve.
Matt, a quintessentially garrulous expat remarked at one point, "you know Chris-" he's one of those people who uses your name a lot "you seem a bit serious and reserved" shit here we go with the whole you need to loosen up and be 'normal' spiel "but in a good way."
"well," i shrugged, "that's something i've always struggled with. sometimes i can fake it, but it just gets exhausting. plus i don't like being fake. people seem to think there's something weird about being 'quiet.'" i paused. "but i've accepted it as part of my personality" sort of "and others can just take it or leave it."
"take it." he said.
as the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day.....
Ko Samet
fuck, where is that bus. Fuck FUCK!! where is that bus?!!?
it arrived 30 minutes late.i had a passing wistfulness for the anal-retentivene punctuality of Japan, then chalked it up to cultural difference (at the time. i would later come to curse the day we booked with this infernal company).
the bungalows of Ko Samet, Bangkok's backyard, were adorned with Christmas lights, paper lanterns, coconut palms and slow-roasting farang tourists of every nationality on the beach. at night they sipped on Singha, Tiger and Chang Beer, while the wait staff simultaneously played soccer, flirted and still managed to stay attentive to their customers. at breakfast, they seemed quite hung-over.
Thai waiters and salespeople are like cats. cats can wake with a start from an absolutely stone-cold sleep and pounce into action. there's no need to "look busy" when there's no legitimate work to be done. or to create it where none exists. i think we could all learn something from them.
our 3 days in Samet were a languid blur of turquoise water, dust-fine sand, people touting sarongs, bananas, massages, barbecued crab and dive trips. every night there were guys playing with fire on the beach.
it was a show, but it wasn't the most tightly rehearsed show by any means. the resorts even brought in a few fire show guys from Krabi or Cambodia for the show. but unlike most other tourist-oriented performances i've seen, it didn't look contrived at all. there was a certain endearing quality to their lack of professionalism; they were just cute pyromaniacal guys in sarongs, playing with fire. genuinely having fun regardless of how many times they've done the show. nothing to complain about there....
but even paradise on earth can get a bit dull. on to Phuket.
Kafkaesque Bus Ride from Hell
the bus to Phuket was on time. a surreal start to what turned out to be one of the greatest tests of endurance and sanity in my entire life. a ride on a Highway to Hell of which even the great ACDC could not have conceived.
the bus looked nice enough from the outside, with Finding Nemo characters painted on the sides. waiting for it in the choking pollution of Bangkok reminded me that i'd had my fill of the "City of Angels." that is, until we drove through places in the city that i hadn't seen, the world beyond the palace and Khao San Road, and i realized that i hadn't seen shit in Bangkok.
an annoying kissy couple sat in front of me, the whole time making audible lip and tongue smacking sounds with their snogging. an equally annoying couple of British girls were across the aisle from me with their feet practically in my lap. a big group in the front found their conversation so stimulating that they had to enlighten the whole bus at 1 in the morning.
but that ride would come to seem like a transport paradise in a mere 12 hours.
3 or 4am: maybe an hour after i'd finally fallen asleep they dumped us off in the middle of fucking nowhere outside of Surrathani city for 3 hours. my companion's inexhaustible good humor was really starting to piss me off.
sometimes i wish i were more "fun." sanuk. tanoshii. whatever you want to call it. you know, the kind of irritatingly sunny type who'd whip out a guitar and lead everyone in a singing of Koom Ba Ya or some shit like that and make the best of things.
but that's also a good way to get smacked around. and it's comfy in my cynical spiderhole.
7am: finally, after about 4 hours they loaded about 10 of us on a truck and drove us to (what we were led to believe was) the Surrathani bus centre. "Orange bus please," the shifty-looking sharky guy told us. in our bleary state, we all did.
we would all come to regret that decision most egregiously.
the flower garland on the rearview mirror jerked and swayed with the jerky motions of the bus, every time the tires on one side allllmost seemed to leave the ground on a turn. an air vent, leaked out a rather pitiful stream of air from outside, cooling only in the fact that it was moving air. every 500 metres or so we'd stop at a bus stop, or for any random pedestrian who motioned for the bus to stop. from what i understand, it's illegal in Thailand for a bus driver not to stop at a designated bus stop.
10am on and on they piled. after the seats were taken, they crammed into the aisle. an angry German couple in front of us implored the driver to stop taking passengers in a tone of righteous tourist indignation mixed with plea for mercy. in English, now the international language of complaint.
11:30 at one point the driver popped in some saccharin Thai pop CD to entertain the bus. the singer's sweet voice and semi-traditional sounding instruments escalates my desire to hurt someone.
12:00 i think Grandma in the next aisle pissed her pants. at least i have Mario Puzo's "The Last Don" to entertain me. it's a Mafia novel. about killing people.
Fuck Knows What Time: flat tire. i get out of the bus to pee on the side of the road in the bushes. can't bring myself to do it.
no food. no water. no toilet break. how long have i been on this fucking bus? my ass hurts. my neck hurts. my soul hurts.
i died. i caught bird flu. or maybe a firecracker blew up near me. maybe it was a killer jellyfish or some undercooked crab or dengue fever. either way i died and i am in travel hell. or maybe this is the way you get there. this dirt road is the river Styx. i bet you could get to Hell in like 2 hours on the Shinkansen. the supernatural Powers could learn a lot from the Japanese, really.
my friend is swearing under his breath. for some reason his frustration, together with mine, brings me comfort.
Me: Luke?
Luke: yeah?
Me: i hate this god-forsaken country and i want to go back to Japan.
Luke: yeah i'm not a big fan right now.
Eternity: god i have to piss like a racehorse. i wonder if it's possible for piss to go backwards and recirculate in your body. that wouldn't feel too good.
i'm thirsty. and i don't have to piss anymore. that can't be good.
we will indeed be on this bus for all eternity. i've accepted it. you've accepted it. we all just need to accept. and i think i'm coming down with gout.
4pm: arrive in Phuket. use toilet at travel agency. get a posh-ish hotel in downtown Phuket. we fucking deserve it. i take a 20-minute shower.
7pm: we find a Pizza Hut ripoff type restaraunt. it's clean. it's gorgeous. its pristine convenience makes me want to cry.
we devour our pizza like ex-convicts exonerated from Death Row. it's fucking ethereal. it gives me the worst case of the shits i am ever to get during my Thailand trip.
New Year in Patong
last year i spent the New Year falling asleep on my mom's couch with a bottle of Yellowtail in front of the Twilight Zone marathon on the SciFi channel. i vaguely remember cracking my eyes open for the ball drop, duly noting a meaningless change of calendar as i had 24 times before.
this year was spent in a Patong gay go-go bar.
as Luke had spent his day chatting up the staff of various clubs, we got invited to a barbecue at Hotel Spartacus. being the only straight woman at a Thai gay bar is a bit like being lactose intolerant at a cheese factory.
we went to a bar that L had promised a certain guy he'd go to. i found it a bit sad. granted i'm not a gay man, but the sight of guys in jockey-shorts with numbers attatched standing on stage, staring blankly, waiting for someone to come along and request their company didn't do a whole lot for me.
L's "friend" immediately rushed over and adhered himself to his side. an associate wandered over to keep me company.
i don't quite remember what his name was. he was every bit as charming with me as he'd be with any lecherous elderly foreign customer. we pored over my recently-acquired "Lonely Planet Phrasebooks: Southeast Asia" and he helped me with my dismal Thai pronunciation.
finally i asked him, "so you're actually gay, right?"
"yes, yes. i like boy." he emphatically nodded.
"yeah well... i'm a girl. you don't have to sit here and talk to me or anything, seriously...." he laughed and gave my knee a friendly slap as though i'd said the most ridiculous thing ever. "you my sisterrrr!!"
but things turned rather unbrotherly when we tried to leave. the bill arrived with a round of beer that the go-go boys had ordered and we were expected to pay for. we flatly refused, and i tried to give my "brother" a hug to show there were no hard feelings about it. all i got was a glare of bitter disappointment.
now for the record, a couple of guys who are into each other really doesn't upset me in the least (especially if they're hot). but outside i was surrounded with falsity, which in my mind came from the superficiality of the whole gay gogo scene, Thai culture shock and human nature itself.
"goddamn it...." my voice wavered with my eyesight, "i just want to talk to someone who won't try to sell me something, you know? it's here and in america and in japan, it's fucking everywhere... why can't anything just be real??" my friend tried to comfort my slightly depressive/tipsy/neurotic state, and i can't remember what he said anymore but i'm sure it was encouraging and supportive.
at some point i suppose the earth passed its median point in the orbit; there was no ball-drop or countdown no concept of time and firecrackers rang out like gunshots, fireworks detonated and paper fire luftballoons were launched up into the sky. people danced and hugged.
that was also the time when Don Clericuzio chose to show himself, his voice inside my head: "the world is what it is. and you are what you are."
i sat down on the ground in seiza, unable to process the staggering squalid beauty of a New Year, a new year in the sordid go-go district of schlocky Patong Beach.
a woman came by selling roses. i pointed to the half-dozen. "how much?" "100baht."
i took my time removing the plastic from their long, thorny stems. they were dark and velvety. Luke, followed by the next 5 strangers i saw, all got roses. no more questions asked.
the jungle
despite my brush with satori on the New Year, the glitz and overwhelm of Phuket left me feeling empty, aching for more and less at the same time.
after a 2-hour van ride, i found it at Chao Leung reservoir.
a 45-minute longboat ride is your passage to this remote paradise. our guide is genial in nature, but his amicability gives way to steely, stoic concentration when he skippers a longboat.
my accomodation is quite literally a rattan and plywood shack held together by rope, sitting on bamboo which floats upon the clear, warm water. there is no cell phone reception or running water, and electricity is run on a generator. all of this nestled in limestone rock formations that vault over the deep liquid emerald water.
i love everything about it.
and the really curious thing about it is that, in Bangkok (or any other city), this would be called a shanty town, urban squalor, poverty. here it's a sacred retreat from the outside world.
but the night is hell. hadean darkness. the creaking of the bamboo is magnified in the deathly stillness of the night. the movie The Evil Dead keeps springing to mind. somehow reading Isaac Asimov's novel "Nightfall," about the collapse of an alien civilization during their first period of darkness in millennia, does little to comfort me. i crept out of my shack and over to Luke's. the nightlights have been extinguished and there are no stars that night. no moon, just an almost tangible blackness that seems to stain your hands with ink.
"Luke...." i wished i could shout and whisper at the same time. "Luke?" this time a little louder.
fuck. everyone's asleep. everyone except for me... i'm the only conscious person for MILES. as a panic-induced pain set into my stomach and lower back, all i could do was ruminate on just how remote this place was, and how it would take at least 2 hours to get to the (probably) substandard Surrat Thani hospital from here.....
i don't know when sweet Somnus finally decided to show up, but he did. i think it was sometime after i'd realized that the wind that rocked the rafthouses was probably a wind of change, promise of better weather at dawn, of the coming sun.
i awoke to a painless back, sunlight and shorelines to be explored via kayak, limestone caves to climb into, and friendly (honest!) guides who made the most fantastic food i'd had on the entire trip.
breakfast--
me: hey, how'd you sleep?
Luke: fucking horrible. you?
me: same. i kept thinking about how much this place looks like the beginning of a zombie movie at night.
Luke: (*thinks for a second) no, zombies usually stick to big cities.
me: ..... yeah, you're probably right.
Power Outages, Jenga and Kittens
i think if human society collapsed and aliens came to excavate the earth, they'd think Bob Marley is some kind of deity. he's everywhere, all over the world.
a sort of tourist paradise has grown up around the Khao Sok park headquarters. it's wall to wall rasta bars, massage places, restaraunts and forest hotels.
we fumble through the dark to the Funky Monkey Bar, as the generators have all blown out. the staff is sitting around smoking. "how long until the power comes back on?" we ask the boy in the hammock, a white kitten asleep on his chest. he yawns. "don't know, 3 hour maybe?" his friend grins and holds up a Singha. "nothing to do but drink!"
and the workers here seem to lead such ethereally simple lives, lives that foreign tourists secretly envy and spend a lot of money to experience for even a short time. i can't help but wonder how the feel about that. do they want to leave? are they envious? do they thank their lucky stars that they aren't a part of the rat race that is Western culture?
i don't know the answer to those questions. the bar workers and i just played Jenga, pet kittens and played guitar for hours on end together.
Surrat Thani, revisited
after the experience with the bus, Surrat Thani was one of the last places on this earth that i ever wanted to go back to. but, we ended up there for a day waiting for passage to Bangkok and Japan.
beyond the bogus "bus terminal," there are little restaraunts, net cafes, schools, temples, mosques. it's a city. people live here. it's not a tourist construction, and i enjoyed the reality of it for the day, feeling as though i was finally experiencing the real Thailand beyond Patong and Khao San.
we were grossly overcharged at a restaraunt, but i didn't care. the guy needed to feed his family. his daughter took great pains to write English messages on the blackboard at the end of the restaraunt, great messages, that she felt the need to wipe away before anyone could see.
The Thai government bus is FANTASTIC. honest, punctual, cheap, and they provide food and water. that ride, from Surrat Thani to Bangkok, redeemed every horrible thought i'd had on that other bus.
All in All
i had been aching for a sort of intense spiritual experience for the months leading up to this trip. at the time, i sort of tacitly accepted that this wasn't it... or was it? perhaps Zen didn't come to me in the face of a giant Golden Buddha, but in the paper lanterns on New Year, in Don Clericuzio and Asimov, in caves and jungles and kayaks and elephants, in dirty local buses and dingy hotel rooms, in pizza joints and lemongrass. shimmer and rot at the same time.
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