Scaughty Thoughts on Thailand

#1 Blood Simple. Dead In The Heart Of Texas

2010-04-28T04:14:00.006+07:00

This being my first, fully fleshed movie review (besides the one for Watchmen that I video-taped for the Rotten Tomatoes Show that was almost aired on national television, and almost won me $100, but that they ultimately couldn't use because I taped and uploaded it in Thailand...and that I'm still bitter about), I wanted to run with the theme of 'firsts' and go with the first film from two of my, and now everyone's favorite filmmakers, the brothers Coen.

Blood Simple is old-school film noir spread unevenly over Texas toast with more than a few dollops of grisly, unflinching, comedic murder. It's a pathetic podunk love triangle gone rotten that only the Coens could make you care about. Fresh out of film school, the brothers brought every technique and trick they had learned to the table, and executed them with the taut precision of a Hollywood vet.

The title does not lend itself to the lack of a complex story, but is instead based on a phrase from the 'Dashiel Hammet' (The Maltese Falcon, The Thin Man) novel Red Harvest, in which "blood simple" is a term coined to describe the addled, fearful mindset people are in after a prolonged immersion in violent situations, and buddy, there is plenty of violent situation immersion in this here flick. The film stars John Getz (best known as Christina Applegate's scumbag co-worker in Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead) as Ray, a bartender who falls in love with Abby (Frances McDormand, in her feature film debut), who happens to be married to his boss, Marty (played by Dan Hedaya, better known as the dad in Clueless). Abby reciprocates Ray's affections when he helps her dip town and Marty's clutches, which leads Marty to hire P.I. Loren Visser (played by a diabolically sleazy M. Emmet Walsh , who would've stolen the show had it not been for Fran McDormand's adorable Texas twang), to kill the back-stabbing lovebirds.

In addition to the tangled narrative that is anything but simple, the film is filled with distinct, visual originality, and money-shots a film-school art-house maven might write a thesis about, but that the Coens use with the ease of a close-up: a tense conversation between Ray and Abbey halfway through the film is broken up with succinct and slow-motion suspense of a mere newspaper tossed at the screen door they're standing behind; a scene involving a dark stretch of highway, a stubborn corpse and a shovel, that no doubt inspired a much similar incident in Fargo; Visser, first shooting, then punching through a wall with his left hand, to pry loose the knife stuck in his right hand; the erratic manual track-and-zoom shot that Joel Coen picked up from his buddy Sam Raimi, after working as an editor on Evil Dead; and the funniest use of a cul-de-sac before The Burbs, all make for the most entertaining "art" film I've ever seen. If you've never seen it, or haven't in a long while like me, you have to queue this shit up. 5 out of 5.

Koh Tao, Part VI: Bloody Pancakes

2009-07-31T15:00:00.005+07:00

After my encounter with the canine crew, I had a pretty embarrassing spill on the scooter. I had just finished having a beer at a bar that provided an amazing view of a small cove. The place was literally at the end of the only road on the island, so there were very few travellers hanging about, mostly huts and their residents, which I was happy about, for I have no qualms about embarrassing myself in front of Thais, that's what I'm here for. Anyhow, I had just mounted my scooter and pulled out my camera to show you, Merica, a pleasant ride through the Koh Tao countryside, and as I began to accelerate, I noticed a couple of Thai kids on a scooter of their own about to pull in front of an oncoming truck. What ensued was nothing short of hilarious for the handful of Thai's that got to witness a tall goofy farang eat dirt road after valiantly, however unnecessarily, trying to save two kids who it turned out were actually driving up to meet the truck that I thought hastened their doom. I have footage of this crash, but it's stuck on my laptop which has been out of commission since December, so hopefully I can rescue it once I return Stateside.

When I got back to Ban's, I hooked up Yair, Laura and Amy and we took a stroll down the tree-shaded avenue that skirted the beach for miles, taking in the sights and smells. We passed several seafood joints with everything on that day's menu lavishly displayed on tables outside each restaurant; squid and octopus, snapper and shark and the like. After eating some savory shrimp and snapper kabobs and catching some of the World Series, we headed back to Ban's but agreed to say hello to a friend of ours and grab some dessert. Our friend was a little Burmese dude named Get, and he served some of the most delicious pancakes, of all different flavors, from his little cart, one of dozens that dotted the avenue.

As we chatted with Get and watched him cook and flip his little fruity delights, a truck full of very serious Thai dudes looking very much like the canine killers I saw earlier, rolled past behind us. Get immediately stopped talking and started looking extremely nervous. I asked him what was wrong and he uttered one word, "Police." He kept craning his neck in the direction the police had driven, and became very distracted from his pancake making. I began to assume that Get was not operating his pancake stand within the confines of the law. A few more minutes went by, when all of a sudden Get dropped his spatula and disappeared behind the house we were standing in front of, Laura's pancake still bubbling on the grill. Then from behind us a fist of surly "cops" punched their way through the small group of Get's customers in pursuit of Get. We soon heard shouting and scuffling coming from behind the house, and the cacophony soon turned very unsettling and down-right stomach-turning. I looked at my companions and their faces shared the same look of disbelief that I was feeling. In the middle of this Burmese beat down, one of the cops casually strolled out from the grisly scene and headed for the pancake cart. Without so much as a glance at the onlookers, the cop grabbed all of the cash in Get's money jar, pocketed it, scraped the now burning pancake off the griddle, set it on a plate, and walked off with a smile on his face and pancake in his mouth. I could not believe what had just transpired, but fearing the Thai police more than any force of curiosity or gallantry, I wisely decided not to get involved. I mean, seriously, what could I or any of my friends do anyway? For all we knew, Get was drug-dealing rapist without a green card, but the guy seemed pretty friendly and carefree the several times we bought pancakes from him, often chatting about how much he missed his family back home. We stood there for another minute or so, still in shock, the only words spoken were along the lines of, "What the fuck?", and then, with reluctant American indifference, I walked away and finished my pancake.

Koh Tao, Part V: The Island's Canine Problem

2009-07-03T14:04:00.009+07:00

Wow, been a long time. Seems like all of Surat Thani has the swine flu paranoia bug, so I got a six day weekend...time to catch up on this here sclog, if you're still reading that is...

On the Tuesday, another 6:ish wake up call from roosters, buffalo coitus, and Three Billy Goats Gruff: The Musical. I got out of bed and hit my head on the bathroom doorway a few times (I'm way too tall for this country), enhancing the already maddening array of hangover stars and colors cascading from my brain. After washing up, I headed down to the beach for breakfast and more scuba fun. It was pouring down rain, so we took a vote and dove in the rain. We had an uneventful dive (if you call a teeming coral feast for the eyes uneventful), but the dive-squadron was a little more tight-knit this time round, what after being responsible for each others lives on two occasions already, and there was of course the seven birthday fuck-buckets we all enjoyed together. So we all had a little more fun going through our bullshit little scuba maneuvers. (Fuck-buckets are Thai whiskey (which is actually rum, but everyone calls it whiskey), coke and redbull tossed into a bucket. The drink of choice for deuchebaggery)

We got back to the beach and decided to do our last two dives the next day, giving us the rest of the afternoon to relax, finally giving me a chance to rent my first scooter (ever!) and explore the island. Koh Tao's a small island, and I covered its expanse in less than an hour. It was a roly-poly little sea-mountain covered with goat farms and coconut groves, and dirt roads to nowhere in particular. It was on this little day-trip that I had the privilege of witnessing Koh Tao's finest and their methods of canine control in action. Just like every other part of Thailand, Koh Tao is crawling with dogs. But this being a resort island, mangy dogs are an unwelcome part of the scenery.

I was riding my motor-bike along a hilly stretch of road, when all of a sudden a pick-up full of Thai rough-necks and covered in mud pulled up along side of me. There were about six or seven of them piled in the bed, and a couple were brandishing pistols. These bruisers looked like they had just left a tea-party with some Malaysian guerrillas. They gave me some not-so-charming smiles, then suddenly their truck veered off the road at a clip and headed for some bungalows scattered over a field. I slowed down curiously, and noticed a pack of dogs about a hundred yards away, fighting and snarling around the small huts. The truck headed right for them. When they saw the truck careening its way towards them, the dogs immediately scattered, as if they knew what was about to ensue. I actually thought the men would whip out their pistols and start firing, but what they did was even worse/better/more bizarre? I don't know the right word for what I saw. One of the men hoisted a long length of pvc pipe up to his mouth and aimed it at a handful of dogs headed for the trees. One of the dogs let out a yelp, stumbled and continued into the trees. At this point I was stopped on the side of the road. The man with the pvc pipe leaped out of the truck and ran into the bush where the dogs had disappeared. He came back out a minute later carrying the limp body of the dog he had just shot with his plastic blowgun. I shit you not. One of the dudes in the cab of the truck yelled something at the man carrying the dog, who then turned around and threw the body back into the scrub. Something else was yelled at him, after which he fetched the body a second time and took it deeper into the woods, presumably so that the decomposition stench wouldn't reach the nearby bungalows. I had just witnessed Koh Tao's canine control unit in full force.

Hot Mushroomy Mess

2009-06-20T20:56:00.008+07:00

As you know, I was in quite a state last night, and due to the influx of respectable types who think it's funny to start a facebook profile, I'll have to tell you about it hear in ScaughtyThoughts. This state I speak of saw me at incredible highs, where every thought was one of awesomeness, and many times I picked up the phone to call each and every one of you to share that awesomeness, if only I could have figured out which one of the 13 fingers I sprouted was real enough to use the phone. Last night also had its lows, getting caught dancing naked to Fela Kuti in a gazebo being one of them. Yes, it was magic mushroom time again in Koh Phangnan.

Now I sit in the hazy after-birth of that psychedelic jaunt, gazing out at the Gulf of Thailand. It's rainy season and the sky is patched with grey and bedraggled, like the hair of an aging musician, but my surroundings are no less a paradise. I'm sitting on the porch of Big Blue resort, blogging and checking the stats of my fantasy baseball team on a stranger's computer, and eating quite simply one of the most delicious dishes to ever grace my palate: crunchy, spicy somtum with a gang of panang curry to help sweat out all the mushroomy miscreants flowing through my life-stream. How was your weekend?

Koh Tao, Part IV: Birthday

2009-06-11T18:57:00.002+07:00

That first night's sleep was pretty fitful. On top of the first day jitters, and still trying to get over the fact that I was about to scuba dive in fucking Thailand, it seemed also that I was not the only one inhabiting my room. The walls and ceilings came alive at night with shadowy movement; dark forms that could have been centipedes, scorpions, or whatever unseemly creepy crawly creature my mind could conjure. Having been in Thailand for quite some time now, I'm convinced they were most certainly geckos, but dammit if it wasn't unnerving. My room was also conveniently located next to the hotel generator, which made noises at night like water buffalo hate-sex. And just beyond that mechanical nightmare was a rooster/goat farm; the loudest, smelliest combination of livestock the agricultural gods could come up with. And when I was able to shut my eyes for half an anxious second, there were the skeet hordes waiting to sup on my tenderness. So sleep was fitful. In spite of my slumber-less night, I was raring to go come morning.

I'm not going to bore you with the minute details of every inch of reef or the color of stripes on every fish we saw, and certainly not with the humdrum of that first day of training in the pool, because I believe that a majority of you are certified divers and have been scuba-diving before; at the least snorkeling. For those of you who haven't, let it suffice to say that it's just as goddamn exciting as I'm sure you've imagined. Scuba-diving is an exhilarating balance between adapting, reacting and adjusting the life-supporting equipment strapped to your back, and taking in the amazing alien world around you that takes advantage of every opportunity to make your dive a permanent slumber-party with Davey Jones.

That second day on the island, a Sunday, I think we spent something like four hours in the pool, just getting used to the process of strapping, buckling, checking, wearing, swimming, and breathing all the gear. After that, it was our first lecture in the class-room; another two or three hours, I think. Lecture was boring, but broken up with several verbal jabs about my new Gestapo hair-cut. That night we all had dinner at Ban's restaurant, and got to know each other a little better. Our dive instructor, Alex, joined us, and I guess I should talk about him a little, being our instructor and all. Alex was from Germany; Bavaria, I think. He's in his mid-thirties, and has been living and diving in Koh Tao for several years. He looked like an amalgamation of David Hasselhoff and Chunk. Kinda of a douche, but he seemed to know what he was talking about scuba-wise.

We had some good conversation, the seven of us, some food and drink, then headed down the beach for one of those nightly fire-twirlings to the cadence of Kanye and Flo-rida. We played some pool, got a tad schwilly, and headed home early. Everyone seemed to get along and enjoy each other's company.

Monday was my birthday, and the first day we went to open water, so perfectly timed on my part. Pineapple smoothies for breakfast, then we picked up the gear a little before eight in the morning. A long-tail boat took us out to the two-story dive-boat which took us about five klicks around the NE coast. We were only a quarter-mile off shore when we got in the water. We descended the 12 meters (these numbers need to be checked in my dive book) to bottom, formed a circle in the sand, and took it all in. The visibility wasn't the greatest, I'd say about 15-20 meters (maybe because it was still rainy season), but that 20 meters wasn't short on things to look at. Everyone made it through the skills tests with no problems, we swam a figure-eight and surfaced. About 50 minutes underwater give or take. No incidents or accidents, hints or allegations. After a short debriefing on the boat, we headed back to Ban's for a few hours before our afternoon dive. The later dive was more of the same. A few skills tests, a short swim-about, then back to Ban's.

There had been little mention all day of it being my birthday except for a couple of well-wishes that morning from Amy and Laura and Yair, but that was fine with me. I had just met these people, and we were all scuba-diving which overshadows a lame 29th birthday. Which made it all the more awesome when I headed off to bed only to make it five steps before everyone started singing "Happy Birthday" at the bar as they brought in a candle-lit brownie from 7-11, the entirety of which you can see in my mouth in some picture floating around the cyberspace. Pretty damn pleasant ending to a damn awesome day.

Koh Tao, Part III: Dive Buddies and a Ladyboy Chop-Shop

2009-06-10T12:03:00.003+07:00

There were four others in my dive-class, and we were all from different parts of the world. Yair was from Israel, there was Sasha from Germany, Amy from England, and Laura from Switzerland.

Yair, a tall, gangly Jew was about 28, still at university and still serving the army. He didn't know it at the time, but his country was about to go to war, not that they haven't been at war since their birth as a nation. He was soon to be a busy man once he returned in November. He was certainly the most covivial of the dive squadron, not including myself, of course. Yair's a very intelligent guy, though quite self-concious when it came to his accent, which was funny because there were more Israelis on Koh Tao than there were English speakers, or Thais for that matter. That tiny island was a haven for Hebrews, for some strange reason. I spent most of my time, when not alone, with Yair over those six days on the island. Great conversationalist, if a little boisterous of his sexual escapades in Bangkok, and he was always up for some late-night billiards.

Sasha was in Thailand with his girlfriend, who was already certified and diving with another group. I can't remember her name at the moment, but she would join us on later dives and debauchery. Sasha was my usual dive-partner; we helped each other suit up, and were usually side-by-side underwater. Sasha and his lady were both very nice people, but I didn't spend too much time with them. Sasha was the first to see the whaleshark.

Amy from England. Amy was a blonde Mary Poppins, a sorority girl and a fuck-bucket rolled into one British burrito, and no I'm not being vulgar in my analogy of Amy. The fuck bucket is the drink of choice to all hedonists in Thailand, which is an overwhelming majority of the foreign population. It's Sangsom Thai rum, Caribou which is Thai redbull, and Coke, all tossed into a bucket. Fuck buckets play an integral part in my Koh Tao adventure. And Amy liked to drink them. But anyhow, Amy was a ray of British sunshine, which has got to be pretty rare. She always put a smile on our faces whether we were in the middle of a boring-ass lecture, or at the bottom of the sea.

And then there was Laura Heutschi. The Miss of the Swiss. Laura was an lovely little lady from Switzerland who had regulators busting valves all over the ocean floor. She made checking tank-straps and the pressure gauge an enjoyable experience. And she gets adorably nervous when she takes tests.

I met these four lovely people in the classroom on the second floor of Ban's Dive Shop while we were giving our divemaster all of our vital information, and signing a bunch of papers saying it was not Thailand's fault if one of us fucked up and got the bends out there in the deep, after which we watched a worthless video on how not to scuba-dive, the whole while sizing each other up.

After our two-hour introduction course, I took a nice long walk along the rocky forested shore-line in the balmy evening. I passed a lady-boy who had a little hair-cut hut set up on the beach, and decided to get my first Thai hair-cut, which was a normal Scott haircut but with about an inch and a half of bare scalp over both ears. I walked back to Ban's, embarrassed and ashamed of my new KMFDM look (ashamed because I think I unwittingly agreed to it, and didn't put a stop to it fast enough, but that ladyboy was fucking intimidating), looking like a German industrial-techno fan, choking down the bitter pill of absolutley no chance of getting what I ought to get on my birthday in the land of thighs.

Surat Sunday

2009-05-31T13:53:00.003+07:00

I love my scooter. And now that I've got my picnic backpack full of sammies and herb and massaman and ice cold beer and my little boombox and some good readin and a crossword, I'm gonna hop on that scooter and cross the river and just head north to the hills through the rubber tree groves til I run out of gas. Hope your Sunday is happy like mine.

Success!

2009-05-26T17:50:00.002+07:00

I am no longer in visa limbo! After three visits to the US Embassy, two of which were today (they're open from 7 till 11 in the morning, and again from 1 to 2 p.m.; I of course showed up at 11:15), and two visits to Immigration, all within 24 hours, and over 10,000 Baht give or take, I am once again an official non-immigrant class B, or in sane speak, I can legally teach again. Another frustrating visit to the Big Tiger, though not fruitless. On top of my visa luck, I also found a delicious new Mexican restaurant, the best used book store in town, and the Suk 11 guesthouse staff is now treating me like one of their own, so much so that I mustered some steel-ones to ask one of the girls on a date (her name of course is Jeab, what is it with me and Jeabs, or the letter J for that matter?; this is the third Jeab I've fancied), which was a trip upstairs to the guesthouse TV room where I introduced her to the glory of The Goonies. Sloth speaking Thai is a real treat. All in all, not a bad trip.

I have a nice little Tuesday planned, actually...

2009-05-26T10:12:00.003+07:00

gonna start off with a 6:45 morning call from my boss. Then a little of last night's papaya salad before 30 more minutes of Bangkok-infested slumber. Then it's off to the US embassy to kiss some ass for a possibly mythological stamp on my passport. After that, it's on back to Immigration to get the visa I had just months ago, but now need even more proof that I deserve it. Then I'm thinking maybe the Mo Shit market at Mo Chit at the end of the SkyTrain. Then two used bookstores I've been on the hunt for the past two days; I think I'm finally onto them. Then a new restaurant just opening in Siam Discovery called Outback Steakhouse (it's been since my birthday since I've had a decent steak). Then off to the train station to catch the 7:30 night train that will deliver me to Surat at the not-annoying-at-all hour of 6:30 in the a.m. Then it's off to Thida at 8 to teach some Thai buggers some English. Smiling all the way.

Bangkoked!

2009-05-25T21:36:00.007+07:00

I've now visited the Big Tiger (that's actually the name of the Bangkok Hilton, Thailand's main prison, located in Bangkok, because it devours its inhabitants, and I think the name is fitting for Thailand's capital as well) more times than any city outside the U.S., and more than most inside. I've visited Bangkok more times than I've visited the states of Maine, North Dakota, Idaho, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Delaware, Wisconsin, Rhode Island and Hawaii combined. When I walked back into the classroom for the first time in over two months, I said, "Good morning, class!", to which they replied, "You smell like Bangkok!" in unison. My dreams are filled with Bangkok. I exude Bangkok. When I clean my ears: Bangkok. When I brush my teeth: Bangkok. When I pick my nose: Bangkok. When I wipe my rash: Bangkok.

I've been to Bangkok three out of the last four weekends. All this Bangkok is exhausting. I'm up here because I fucked up and didn't get another reentry pass when Dave and I returned to Bangkok from Cambodia way back when for his root canal and then left the country again. That's the root of the problem; my absent-mindedness. But, I've been up here twice since then to take care of the problem, and both times left with my tail between my legs and my dick in my hands. I'm not blaming anyone. I realize that's the nature of the beast that is bureaucracy in Thailand. But Christ on a rubber cross.

So far, this time has not been all for naught. I discovered a new Tex Mex "Cantina" next to my home in the 'ol 'Kok, Suk 11 (best guesthouse ever!), that had some damn good food! Now I know how Thais feel when I stare at them stuffing their faces with squid or dried pork and beetle innards, after I slurped down eight quesadillas and licked the guacamole off my fingers next to a table of natives. And I paid almost six dollars for a Corona. But I deserved it. I then aroused the ire of the owner after unwittingly flirting with his girlfriend, but soon calmed him down by praising his food, and swapping Seattle stories, that being where he was from.

I don't really mind spending time in Bangkok, but every time I come here I leave a little piece of me behind. That little piece is almost always made out of Baht, but sometimes I leave a little of my sheltered American life, some of whatever innocence I have left, some common sense, naivete, respect for life, and certainly any thoughts I may have had that I'd seen almost everything (I swear I saw the elephant man at the post office yesterday. He looked just like Joseph Merrick, but much tanner, and in need of postage). So no, I don't mind coming to Bangkok, but three times in four weeks?! I'm over it.

Koh Tao, Part II : Ban's and Big Fish Murmurings

2009-05-15T16:57:00.004+07:00

We arrived at Koh Tao's dock and were immediately swarmed by tuk-tuk drivers asking us where we were staying and telling us that place was shit and that they knew of a much better place to stay. I waved them off, just like I was doing to the dockflies, and kept muttering, "Mei, mei, mei..." Luckily, Ban's Dive Shop came through this time and had a pick-up waiting for us for free. Another eight farang piled in and we headed for what would be home for the next week.

I got to Ban's place around two in the p.m. on Saturday the 11th. Dive lessons started at four. At checkin, I was a little apprehensive when it seemed that Amelie wanted to share a room. I quickly put the kibosh on that and headed to my room. It was a small deal with a single bed, small balcony, and a shower I couldn't stand up straight in, but it had HBO so I popped on Back to the Future 2 and collapsed on the bed. Two hours to look around, grab a bite, and take a nap, the latter of which I decided upon, but as I lay in my room and tried to stop sweating, sleep wouldn't come. So, I got up and decided to take a walk around the grounds. The resort was pretty impressive, considering the price (I paid 9,000 Baht but that included the PADI certification; six nights and scuba-diving for about $300, not including the cash that would eventually disappear by way of other means peripheral to the accomodation); covering 20 acres and settled on a lushly vegetated hillside that sloped directly into the sea, it was made up of two long dormitories on each side of a training pool/garden that ambled down to a boardwalk bar/restaurant/classroom. The bar/rest./class was the sturdiest structure I've ever seen made entirely of bamboo, and quite a comfortable little hang-out as well, situated right on the water with an intoxicating view of the bay and nearby Shark Island. I ordered a cold one and parked my ass on a pillow to watch a dozen or so Israelis just back from a dive washing their gear and boasting of the sights they saw, as I waited on my intro. class to start. There were a surprisingly large amount of Israelis on Koh Tao for a holiday. Many of the restaurants had Israeli food and Hebrew menus. I never did figure out this cultural phenomenon. Anyhow, the group of divers couldn't stop talking about what would prove to be a ubiquitous conversation all over the island. Seemed a boat they were diving in close proximity to just a few hours earlier was all aflutter with excitement after supposedly seeing a couple of whale sharks. Sitting there listening to the buzz, not once did I consider the possibility of such a privilege presenting itself to me over the next week.

After an hour or so of lounging around, it was finally time to head upstairs to the classroom above the bar, to meet my future dive buddies and to learn how to breathe oxygen at ambient pressure.

Koh Tao, Part I : Koh Tao

2009-05-05T14:45:00.016+07:00

I've been to the Samui islands at least a half-dozen times since my first trip down from Chiang Mai on my birthday seven months ago, but the awe in that initial jaw-dropping peek outside my plane porthole as I descended to paradise still hasn't and will never diminish. A 100-ft. tall, Indian-legged albino Buddha welcomes all travelers from the apex of a tall, slender limestone mountain overlooking the piers and airport. Just past his hospitable gaze and precipitous perch lies Samui, a jungle-covered nexus to white-sand beaches, swaying coconut trees, and coral reefs covered by liquid turquoise; an eye-friendly onslaught of blues and greens. I couldn't wait to get off the plane and frolic, but I still had the landing to get through.

I don't doubt the aptitude of Thai pilots up in the air, but when that landing gear comes down, all bets are off. It's like the landing strip becomes just another Thai highway, and the plane just another tuk-tuk. In other words, balls to the pedal, and very little brake until the very abrupt end. I don't think they even bother using those little flaps that come up on the wings to slow the descent. Anyhow, my bitching aside, we landed unsafely and sound.

I think I mentioned earlier that I was meeting a Spanish woman, named Amelie, who I met in Santitham. She's a thirty-something physical therapist from outside of Madrid, who was in Chiang Mai to get a leg up in the massage industry. She was a nice enough woman, though because of her all day classes at the massage school we didn't spend a whole lot of time together past chance encounters at the breakfast table and whenever she needed someone for homework. We took separate flights down to the islands, and as I saw her waiting at the taxi stand for me, I already regretted agreeing to accompany her. A few mornings before we flew south, we were eating breakfast together in Santitham's main house, watching the Presidential debates, and discussing our foreign thoughts on the state and future of the human plight. And as we talked at length, our conversation inevitably turned into a comparison of the American people with those of the rest of the world (namely Europeans), and her particular views seemed particularly callous towards Americans, despite the fact that there was a very polite and quite humble (if I do say so myself) American sitting right in front of her, who contradicted most, if not all, the negative things she had to say about America (disrespectful, self-righteous, pretentious). And as I came upon her at the airport, here she was spewing vehement Spanish and English with short, frustrated bursts of attempted Thai at the attendant, over something that seemed completely out of the attendant's control or concern. At this point, I don't remember thinking, "Let me go be of assistance," but instead that maybe I should've just kept walking by, uninterested in throwing in with a traveler who lost her cool so readily. But she caught sight of me and beckoned me over; I asked her what was up. Turns out the dive resort we had checked out online failed to send us the transportation it had promised on its website. I'm sure she thought my rolling eyes were intended for the missing cab, or maybe the attendant she just spit out of her mouth. "Well," I told her,"I'm sure they just haven't shown up yet. We can either wait or just grab one of these songtaews like everyone else." Then I asked the attendant how much they were to the pier.
"100 Baht."
"You're kidding? Well, I don't know about you, Amelie, but I can afford a ride for $3 right this second," I said, sweat already dripping down my butt-crack, just from standing out on that curb.

I started walking in the direction of the nearest truck, and she reluctantly followed. I slung my pack up to the driver on the roof and scrambled into the back with six other people. After a bumpy ride along a dirt-road that criss-crossed goat farms and coconut groves, we made it to the pier just in time to catch the boat to Koh Tao, about forty miles away from the main Samui island. An hour and a half later, as I stood at the bow of the belching ferry that took us that last stretch, cold can of Leo grasped firmly, and the much smaller island of Koh Tao came into view, I saw dozens and dozens of teak wood bungalows scattered slip shod over every jungle-covered hillside, overlooking tiny villages at every half-mile of beach, home to fire-twirlers who were starting to practice their ludicrous dance for bbq later that night, the huge fires from which they borrowed, at that moment grilling copious amounts of shrimp, tuna, serpent-fish, snapper, shark and New Zealand steak, multi-colored lanterns coming alight overhead and women frolicking in the lackadaisical surf below. But nothing from that sense-orgy could keep from looking straight down, at the wraith-like reefs and blue-green depths I would soon be plunging.

Sorry Sarah

2009-04-29T18:58:00.002+07:00

Out of respect to D-Mo's special lady friend down in Oz, I'm gonna go ahead and clarify which of the events in my last post did not happen. The story about our cave adventure was a complete fabrication. Just kidding. No, we did not participate in the ping pong exhibition at the world famous SuperPussy in Bangkok, even though Frodini did swear on a certain matriarch's anal virginity that he would. So, glad we got that cleared up. We were good boys, for the most part.

So Long Carlos sniff whimper

2009-04-27T15:20:00.003+07:00

Today I bid a fond farewell to my travelling companion of the past couple months, D-Mo, amidst a fitting torrential downpour in Bangkok. Hard to believe he was here for two months! Seems like just yesterday we were sharing a bedsheet back at my home in Surat Thani. In that time, we grueled it out together in a parched Surat; scaled the ancient steps of Angkor Wat; shared equally painful dental experiences (well, his was probably much worse, though mine is a work in progress); made equally embarrassing mistakes at several bars, harems, brothels, and other establishments of ill-fame; lolled in psychadelic-bliss on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world (maybe only one of us was induced); played ping-pong at SuperPussy in Bangkok; faced our inner and outer most demons in a subterranean nightmarish spelunk; serenaded the streets of Chiang Mai with a little water and a whole lotta handsome beard in the belly of a Burmese Army Jeep; and generally had an internationally awesome good time. Ok, a couple of those things were a little embellished, but I'll let y'all use your imaginations as to which. Needless to say, I'm a little misty-eyed to see my Colombian and newly-Castro-bearded friend leave, but I happen to think I'll see him again a lot sooner than expected. But I'll let him break that news to you on his own time. Take care, Carlos. We did good.

The Brevity Thing

2009-04-25T08:43:00.003+07:00

In the vein of the Twitter boom, I think I'm going to start leaving much shorter posts with more frequency. I still have a few big stories to tell, but there's a lot of little happenings that are falling through the cracks. For instance, right now I'm really worried about my bottom left wisdom tooth. It's rearing its unwelcome head in such a manner that the gum surrounding it has been mangled to the point where there's a flap of flesh dangling in a very annoying and inconvenient fashion, interfering with all kinds of chewing. And my jaw is kinda sore from all the tooth movement. I just arrived in Bangkok this morning, so I might take a visit to the dentist to check it out, but knowing me, probably not (don't tell mom, sis). I only have about 3 1/2 more months left, so I'm hoping I can just ride it out.

So yeah, a couple of days in BKK, meeting back up with D-Mo, and then back to Surat for the home stretch. A month of sight-seeing and debauchery is enough and starting to wear on the soul. I can't wait to get back to work!

Songkran! or How To Get Water Into Every Orifice

2009-04-25T07:23:00.004+07:00

Even if you've never been apart of New Years Eve in a big city, or a huge festive citywide celebration like, say, Mardi Gras, you've probably seen pictures or heard friends' stories of debaucherized revelry that would make Dionysus himself proud. So, imagine a scene like that, people swarming the streets, traffic backed up for miles down every street, music blasting, booze flowing, laughter and smiles abound. Now, imagine that scene taking place in a country whose national countenance, for the most part, could be called reserved or diffident at best. Now, imagine experiencing this festive scene from the cockpit of a 1969 Burmese Army Jeep, right-side steering wheel, left-side gear-stick, customized stereo system, no windshield, and all kinds of personality. Now, imagine this 3 DAY!! holiday scene with buckets upon buckets upon water-guns upon bottles upon hoses upon buckets of water coming at you non-stop from every which way, with every man, woman, child, monk, police-officer a fair target (no one is safe!), and you've just imagined my new favorite holiday: Songkran, the Thai New Year. If there's one thing I bring home from this trip, it will be the water-throwing ways of this crazy-ass holiday. America was made for this shit, what with our love of giant water-parks and slip-and-slides, and July 4th seems like the perfect holiday to add aquatic silliness into the mix. So, next 4th of July, if you get a bucket of ice-cold water down your previously dry backside, it's all out of love!

Scott and Dave in a Cave!

2009-04-07T18:18:00.005+07:00

Although the Ginny Springs-like Vang Vieng is known for it's river tubing and happy mushroom shakes, it's the panoramic view of huge, dollopy limestone mountains, like giant green, jungle-covered gumdrops, overlooking a wide open Mekong river valley that you'll remember of this place. The town is full of falang (Laos' version of farang) -catering bars showing endless episodes of Friends, Family Guy, and the Simpsons. But once you get past these annoying reminders of home, the country-side offers a breath-stealing landscape riddled with caves and cool mountain springs. It was one such cave that Modini and I almost didn't make it out of. We came upon this obscure cavern by chance, biking up a pebbly country-road on ill-equipped beach cruisers, following a jankity old sign that advertised the cave, a large Buddha statue and "a great adventure, and pointed to China. After an hour of bone-jarring bike-pedaling, we found the cave situated in a tangle of forest just off the rocky road. There was a small lean-to hut tucked into the thicket surrounding the cave’s entrance, where a woman and her two children were whiling away the day. It didn’t seem likely that they would be out here in the middle of the jungle, several kilometers away from town waiting for visitors to happen by, but sure enough there was a hand-painted sign perched on a pole that read, “Cave Crossing 10,000 Kip.” The cave must’ve had an average of two visitors a week, and we had just filled their quota. We assumed the 10,000 kip just an entrance fee and happily gave the woman our money, but we soon found out that entrance to the cave was free and we had just purchased the company of her teenage son as our minimal English-speaking tour guide. He gave me his name, which I had difficulty making out, but it sounded similar to Haha, so that's what I'll call him. His initially unwelcome accompaniment turned out quite necessary, as we had neglected to bring flashlights.

The cave entrance was deceptively modest, appearing at first glance as just a shallow pocket in the side of a hill. I expected to wander a few meters into a cool shelter of stone, take a few snapshots of a weathered Buddha statue, and then move on down the road. However, much to the chagrin of my flip-flops, we soon found ourselves descending a very steep and slippery slope through a hole to Hades. Very early on in our spelunk, we realized that both of our flashlights were absolute crap, and would provide just enough light to show us the sides of a bottomless pit on our way down, or the low-hanging stalactite only after the damage was done; shit, the stars in my eyes after hitting my head on just such a stalactite provided more light. Our best bet was to stick as close to our pint-sized tour-guide as possible, who seemed to need no light at all. After only a few minutes of pitch-black stumbling, our fearless leader told me to stop, turned my torso towards what I imagined was a wall, and told me to take a picture. I eagerly did as I was told, suddenly remembering the flash on my camera and the spatial enlightenment it would bring. As the first flickering of my camera commenced, I became immediately aware of large phantasmic toes not a few feet in front of me, and the ghostly statue of Buddha, carved right out of the cave wall, was revealed. I have to admit that it startled the shit out of me, as you’ll notice in my pictures that in the first one I took I dropped the camera. Just imagine seeing absolute pitch blackness, then all of a sudden, “Whoop, there’s God!”

Now that we had seen the Statue, and had been without light for several minutes now, I presumed that our journey was close to an end. We would soon find out that there was much more cave to not-see. On and on the cave went, twisting and turning, or for all I knew we were walking around the same stalagmite over and over; it was that dark. Not until we reached the darkest recesses of this hole-way to Hell did Haha reveal to us his sense of humor. We were led to one side of the “path”, as Dave and I lifted the weak beams of our flashlights to a rocky shelf where dwelt some cave spiders. Amazed that Haha knew exactly where to look for these arachnids, I was about to ask him if they were poisonous when his true intention in showing us the little beasts came to deafening realization. Our backs to him, distracted by the spiders, Haha came up behind us and began pounding on a nearby stalactite with a large loose rock. The reverberating clang sounded as if he'd struck a cast-iron pot with fire-place poker. I felt like we’d just stepped under the Liberty Bell and my brain had cracked open. Then Haha haha’d and continued on his way, with us biting the dust. I couldn’t blame him for taking advantage of a couple falang, but neither could I blame myself for wanting to wring his little neck.

After a few more minutes of sightless groping, we came upon a narrow passageway that required us to shuffle along side-step at a forty-five degree angle. It was at this point that Dave turned to me and said, “I don’t know about you man, but I’m starting to reach my limit.” Despite Haha's hijinx, I was doing fine, having visited caves in New Mexico, Arizona, and the Appalachian States that required much more of me. I was just a little perturbed at the sorry state of our torches, and that the only signs of human passage were an ancient statue that we'd passed eons ago and one or two hand-painted arrows on the wall that seemed to be leading us to America. However, I could soon hear the cave-gods laughing up at us from their subterranean realm as if to say, “Fuck your limits, Dave.” After our forty-five degree dance, Haha was suddenly nowhere to be found. After a few seconds of blind panic, his voice returned to us from somewhere around our ankles, beckoning to us to get on our bellies and follow him through a hole that was just wide enough to admit our beer-buoyed bellies. In fact, if we weren’t lubed up in nerve-induced sweat, we might not have been able to squeeze through. But down we went, sliding inch by inch on a combination of perspiration, cave-mud, and a healthy fear of dark, enclosed places. Judging from D-Mo’s heavy breathing, he was having a rough time, and I was proud and shocked at every second he soldiered on, with just a few encouraging words from me. I can’t possibly convey how claustrophobic this tunnel would make even the most diehard agoraphobe feel, but let’s just say we were reenacting that movie The Descent, minus the pigment-lacking, flesh-eating mutants, of course. At one point, he would tell me later after the whole ordeal had ended, Dave just wanted to stop crawling and take a nap, exhausted with fear, hoping that in his slumber Haha and I would just drag him out to freedom. After what seemed like an hour, Haha’s now angelic voice told us we had to endure only one-minute more of this hellish scrape through the bowels of the Earth. I started to count the seconds, Dave picked up his pace, and sure enough, 57 seconds later, we were able to stand on our knees. Having felt like we’d just crawled through the entrails of Beelzebub himself, we collapsed on a couple of rocks, wiped the sweat and grime from our faces and clothes, and took a well-deserved breather. After a few seconds, I looked over at D-Mo and offered him a hearty guffaw which he still wasn’t in the mood to return. So, I gave him a minute’s peace and clambered back down to the hole to take a few snapshots of our would-be tomb. Can’t wait to show them to you, though they won’t do a bit of justice to what we actually went through.

Lovely Laos

2009-04-05T21:24:00.007+07:00

Just a quick update on my whereabouts. If you were to tell me a year ago that I’d be visiting a Communist country, and that it would hold some of the most beautiful sights I would ever lay peepers on (and I ain’t just talking the landscape), and that that country wouldn’t be China or Vietnam, but a lesser known third world called Laos, I’d say, “Get the fuck outta here. What the fuck is a la-ow?” Alright, I’d heard of Laos, but only so much that its capital had a French sounding name, and that our government carpet-bombed the shit out of it in the late 60’s, and that it was wedged somewhere between Vietnam and the rest of Asia. But I tell ya, ever since I crossed that Friendship Bridge, from Nong Khai to Vientiane, and strolled down those tree-lined streets, and breathed that somewhat sweeter-smelling Laotian air, and wasn’t manhandled by the more laid-back Laotian lady-boys, I’ve got a new favorite special place.

Come to Laos! The old capital of Luong Prabang is the only place I’ve visited since I arrived in Bangkok over six months ago where I’ve seriously considered scrapping my current contract and starting over in a new location, but that’s just stupid-talk. Part of the tri-fecta of must-see cities along with Vientiane (for the history) and Vang Vieng (for the tubing and spelunking), Luong Prabang is a charming little town nestled at the bottom of the Nam Khan and Mekong river valley. The banks of the rivers and streets are peppered with frangipanis and scarlet-flowered trees, and the fragrance of coffee and spice permeates the air as you wander the handicraft and produce markets. Its outskirts are laced with caves and waterfalls, which I plan on checking out tomorrow, so can't wait to get back to y'all on those. It lacks the touristy turnoff of Vang Vieng, and the hustle and bustle of Vientiane. So far, possibly the most relaxing place I've ever had the privilege to visit.

As some of y’all have heard, I’ve run into a little hiccup involving my visa. Any time one of us English teachers plans on leaving Thailand, we’re required to pickup a reentry permit, so that our work permit isn’t dissolved and we have to apply for another one once we return. Well, I picked up the reentry permit once D-Mo and I left Thailand the first time; however we were forced to backtrack to Bangkok from Siem Reap for a small emergency, and upon returning I completely forgot to pick up a second reentry permit once we departed for Laos. Maybe I thought my first permit would still work, or maybe I just had a brain-fart and didn’t even think about it. Either way, I have much drama to look forward to once I fly into Chiang Mai and go through immigration this Friday. I expect my charming skills to be put to the ultimate test; I might even have to shave this bird’s nest of a beard I’ve acquired since school got out, and I was even thinking of showing the immigration official pictures of me and my kids, to show them that I’m really here for an admirable cause and not just to drink their beer and steal their women. So, everyone keep your fingers and toes crossed for ol’ Scooty Boot; otherwise, I might see you sooner then planned.

Thai Nuggets !!!

2009-04-05T14:00:00.001+07:00

Thai people use straws for everything: bottled water, coffee, booze. Any conveniance store you convene in will give you at least four straws for any one beverage you purchase; they insist.

One American snack they have plenty of in T-land is Lay's Potato Chips and Pringles, both of which are dominating the SE Asian chip market. They love them shits over here. But the flavors are just a tad different. The only three we have in common are Original, Sour Cream & Onion, and BBQ, although BBQ is actually Mexican BBQ over here. From there the flavors just get freaky: Nori Seaweed, Spicy Seafood, Squid Chili Paste, Garlic and Soft-Shell Crab, and my personal fave Double Cheese Pork Burger. Doritos are almost considered a luxury; you can only find them in big cities or at the movie theatre.

Swimming is a funny business in Thailand. Thais aren't big on exposure for two reasons. They hate being tan, and they also believe it's disrespectul to show skin. So, when most Thais go swimming, they're usually covered head to foot, even at the beach. All women, Thai and farang alike, must wear a swim cap. It's kind of adorable.

Fashion is an equally funny business. While there are certainly some fashionably savvy people in Thailand, the two most popular clothing styles are Playboy and a line of garments with a marijuana motif. I've seen 5 and 6-year olds running around with huge pot-leafs gregariously gracing their t-shirts and the Playboy Bunny prominently displayed on their baseball caps. Also, the length of clothing Thais generally wear is fever-inducing. In the middle of debilitating heat, just a cartographical inch from the equator, these people walk around in jeans, long-sleeve flannels, and head-wraps to keep out the sun, and hardly a bead of sweat to be found.

They don't really use chop-sticks in Thailand, as you might expect, or maybe you don't. The only time I ever see Thais use chop-sticks is when they're eating noodle soup. Thais use a fork and a spoon for almost every meal; no knives. However, the fork is not used to spear your food; it replaces the knife, and is then used to scoop your food onto the spoon. Weird.

Now a little Laos nugget. Laotians lack a certain spatial awareness. It's pretty common to see a Laotian catching a nap on some stranger's shoulder during a long bus-ride, slumber-slobber and all.

sorry for the history lesson

2009-04-03T13:33:00.009+07:00

Just a final thought on that last post, and the reason why I wanted to tell you about it in the first place. I remember sitting in a restaurant in Surat Thani watching the horrible events of Mumbai unfold on a television screen, when I struck up a conversation with a Thai woman sitting at the bar who looked particularly somber about the attack. I came to find out that she had some relatives living and working in Mumbai, and they were trying to get back home to Thailand but were unable to do so because of the PAD shutdowns of both BKK airports. India didn't have any other flights to Thai cities, though the Thai and Indian governments were trying to orchestrate something to fix this.

I then asked this woman, who I'll call Pui, what she thought about what was going on in her nation's capital, aside from the obvious effects it was having on her family.
"At first, I like what the PAD is trying to do. That they have the Royal Family's best interest in mind. But now that this business in India has been happening for three day's now, and they won't open up the airports to help their fellow Thais, it makes me feel as though they have only their best interests in mind." (This isn't verbatim, of course. I polished up the broken English for you)

Those were the same sentiments I was beginning to have. It was hard at first not to pull for a group that called themselves the People's Alliance for Democracy. But the more I found out about these people, the more I realized they were just a group with a large middle- and upper- class following that didn't have the power, and wanted to do so for mostly financial reasons.
"The thing that worries me the most is that they don't have a plan for government in case their mission succeeds," Pui told me.
This was clearly evident to most people, Thai and farang alike. The PAD knew who they wanted in the Prime Minister's office, but they had not told their countrymen how Thailand would be better off if their plans came to fruition.

After witnessing so much friction between the PPP and the PAD, what interests me most is how this country is going to survive once, Buddha forbid, the King is no longer with us (I mean, he's like 83 years old and has had some very recent health problems). I hope to all that is holy that such a thing does not come to pass during my stay in this country. I remember one week at school when every single normal routine came to a halt to honor the passing of the King's sister, and my school, Thidamaeprat, convened SOP a lot sooner than most schools and businesses, and this was only in honoring the sister's cremation (she had passed away a few months before my arrival). I truly believe this nation will be lost without their patriarchal figurehead. His son is widely regarded as an adulterating nimbus, and I'm not confident that the heads of state will allow his Queen or daughters to hold much sway in his absence, respected though they may be.

Sorry, I didn't mean to give anyone an international relations lecture, nor did I presume that anyone would really be interested. But I just wanted to let y'all know, because I hear about this shit every day, and it's so hard to relate to people who not only refuse to talk to me about it, but also refuse to try and better their country's future in the face of such imminent chaos.

Like I said, happier stories to follow, including scuba in Koh Tao and schooling in Surat.

Not All Smiles In The Land Of Smiles

2009-04-01T02:02:00.008+07:00

So it’s time to talk about the political atmosphere here before it becomes irrelevant. I became aware of a certain level of strife in Thailand not before I had decided to teach English abroad, not before I had narrowed my destinations down to Thailand and Croatia, not while researching what to expect once I got to Thailand (beyond what I already knew of the border skirmishes near Malaysia and Cambodia), not when I talked to my friend Noland in the few weeks leading up to my departure and arrival. Through my ignorance, not until reading a copy of the The Nation upon boarding my fourth plane on the way to Chiang Mai did I become aware of the alleged corruption and subsequent upheaval emanating from and directed at seats of power in Thailand, respectively.

For those of you who don’t know, as I didn’t: Thailand’s government is a constitutional monarchy, meaning that the King is head of state (the world’s longest reigning monarch), a figurehead with very little direct power, but one that commands the undying love and respect of the whole nation. The Prime Minister is the head of government.

The front page of The Nation, Friday 25 September, 2008, announced that recently elected Prime Minister Somchai Wongsawat of the People’s Power Party would be appointing his cabinet positions that day, many of which were publicly criticized, not unexpectedly, by the Democratic Party and the PAD, the People’s Alliance for Democracy. The PAD, or the Yellow-Shirts (yellow being the official color of the King), are not a political party, but more of a highly-coordinated group of protesters, originally formed in 2006 specifically to speak out against former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, who was exiled amidst allegations of corruption, treason, authoritarianism, and above all else, lese majeste, which was the PAD’s chief concern with Thaksin and his proxies; that they were trying to undermine the power of the King himself. The group has the support of some highly respected members of the Democratic Party, including co-leader and media-mogul Sondhi Limthongkul. Sondhi opposed Somchai, who happens to be Thaksin’s brother-in-law, in the recent elections, which only took place because another former Prime Minister Samak Sundaravej, Thaksin’s replacement, resigned after being found guilty by the Constitutional Court for “conflict of interest” after he hosted a cooking show without the Court’s permission. A cooking show.

So that’s what I was flying into, unbeknownst to me until it was too late. Government House had been usurped months ago by the PAD, who were now using it as their own base of operations, forcing the new PM to hole up in a vacant VIP lounge in the middle of an undisclosed airport, from which the executive decisions of the country were now being handed down. Most of the drama was limited to Bangkok, so I wasn’t too worried about my trip being affected, as I was to be living several hundred miles north of the unrest. Little did I know.

Those of you that have already read one of my earlier posts on my first couple of days in CM know that my trip was indeed affected by the political protesting and the government’s lashing out in response, though somewhat indirectly (see Afternoon Uprising…). But the incident in the park only intrigued me further, and prompted me to begin asking questions; questions that made a lot of people very uncomfortable. Questions like, “Who did you vote for?” or “Who do you support, the PPP or PAD?” While a lot of the locals were very forthcoming when it came to talking about issues of sex, sexual orientation, drugs, money, or the current affairs of just about anywhere other than Thailand, they got down-right spooked when I asked for their perspective on what was going on down south, to the point where more than one person walked away from me in the middle of a conversation. I attributed this to the proximity these discussions had to the Royal Family, and understood people’s unwillingness to take sides when it was so unclear which side had the monarchy’s best interests in mind, or that the ruling PPP was popular in the north region of Thailand, of which Chiang Mai was a part. Granted, the PAD’s primary criticism of all three of the former PMs (Thaksin, Samak, and Somchai) and the ruling political party, the PPP, was that they were becoming dangerously insubordinate to the King, their actions resembling those of a presidency, and a president in effect would replace the monarchy, heretical even to think about. However, one had to keep in mind that the main voice behind the PAD, Sondhi, could be considered the Rupert Murdoch of Thailand; all the press about both the PAD and PPP, positive and negative, went through him like a sieve. I’m not even sure if the King himself knows how loyal the PAD actually is, or if he’s just being used as the Father of all political tools. Sondhi and his media conglomerate have been under financial scrutiny long before Thaksin ever took office; nevertheless he’s been very successful in recruiting the middle- and upper-class to his cause, along with several highly respected Buddhist monks.

After several fruitless conversations (even Burm didn’t want to talk about it), I gave up on my inquiries and reluctantly relied on the media for news of any progress. Then, on the 7th of October, there was blood spilled in Bangkok. Thousands of PAD protesters filled the streets of the nation’s capital, attempting to shut-down the planned reopening of parliament. PM Somchai, who was already at parliament before the protesters formed en masse, was forced to escape via helicopter after climbing over a fence on the rear grounds of the building. The demonstration continued all day, prompting the police to use riot-gear and tear-gas, a force that resulted in two dead and 400 injured, and the whole nation would know. There was no rose-colored lens. The next day, newspaper photos and video-footage streamed unfiltered images of blood and dismemberment; carnage the likes of which you have never seen on a FOX newscast, no doubt due to the journalistic affiliations of the PAD. The coverage was effective. Later that week, the Police Commissioner in BKK, whose name I can’t recall, publicly refused to follow a direct order from PM Somchai, to use deadlier force for any future demonstrations; a decisive statement that made clear who the Commissioner’s sympathies sided with. “That is it!” I remember thinking to myself, after seeing the news finally hit CNN and the BBC, “I have got to get down to Bangkok!” The excitement was beyond palpable. The sights, sounds and smell of revolution, whether right or wrong, were unmistakable.

Two days after the riots, I decided to make my way to the train station for a quick jaunt down south. “If anything,” I thought to myself, “I could do a little job-hunting; as the pickings seemed a little slim in CM.” I talked to the house-mother of Santitham about arranging a ride over to the station, and she seemed aghast at my request.
“No, no, no!! You cannot go to train today!”
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
“Uhh, they…They mopping streets. Mopping streets!”
“They’re mopping the streets? Oh. Well, uh, when can I go?”
“Not today. Uh, I think not this week. Maybe next week.”
“Oh. Ok. Thanks, Nung.”
Something wasn’t right. Maybe it was the look of sheer terror that street-cleaning brought to Nung’s face, but something told me I didn’t quite understand what house-mom was trying to tell me. I needed to talk to someone else about this, and Berm wasn’t around, so I left Santitham for some lunch and a fresh interpretation.

As I walked around the neighborhood, there was a noticeable absence of street vendors. Several businesses were closed, including most of the restaurants I often visited for lunch. There were very few tuk-tuks and motorbikes about, shit even the dogs seemed to have disappeared. When I finally tracked Berm down later that afternoon, he told me that thousands of people all over the city were departing CM for Bangkok to either join in the protests or to visit family members they were concerned about. This is why house-mom had spurned me from the train-station. Not because they were mopping the streets, but because there were mobs in the streets. The trains, planes, and automobiles were making a mass exodus to BKK, so much so that many people were stranded in CM and had decided to hold there own demonstrations right there on the spot.

Events transpired against my leaving for BKK, and for weeks after the October violence, negotiation and compromise between the two warring factions hit a wall. Somchai did not back down, even after facing criticism within his own administration. Not until I had moved 700 miles south to Surat Thani about a month later did I give much thought to the matter; not until the PAD had effectively shut-down the entire country by cutting it off from the rest of the world, taking over both Bangkok airports and stemming the flow of the nation’s chief source of income, tourism (losses were estimated in the billions). Unfortunately, the PAD decided to launch their assault just days before the tragically infamous incident in Mumbai. I watched the news as several Thais, stranded in India after a nightmarish affair, having lost friends or family in the attacks on the Oberoi Trident, Taj Mahal and other Mumbai sites, trying to return home to Thailand, only to be thwarted by the now seemingly petty actions of the PAD, all flights home having been cut-off. I remember this day more vividly than any other that I’ve spent in SE Asia before or since. This was a day that I lived closer to a reality beyond my comprehension or control than any other day in my life. So, I suppose this story serves no better purpose than to show how little I know of the world I just recently began to live in, and how frustrating it can be to even try and figure it out.

Happier notes to come.

A Florida Cracker in King Bhumibol's Court, Part 3: Chiang Mai Daze, Chapter 2: Passing Time

2009-02-22T15:28:00.005+07:00

Gonna grease through the rest of my days in CM here right quick, so bear with me. This is long overdue.

I spent a total of three weeks in Chiang Mai, the first of which was ardently spent being turned down from job after job. There were a couple of days where I had the opportunity to revisit Wat Doi Suthep and offer my services to a monk friend of Berm’s, teaching English to the dek wat, or the children of the temple, little monk dudes between the ages of 8 and 12. Apparently, most Thai men serve some time in an ordained temple at some point in their life, usually at a young age. The duration of this service was traditionally 4 years, at which time they would be ordained nen, or novice monks, or return to their lay life, although that time has decreased recently. Most guys I talk to who have already served only do it for a week or two.

This was a damn unique experience, getting up to the temple around 4:30 in the a.m., chatting with some of the kids, following them around the temple grounds as they went about their chores, some of them armed with iPods, and attempting to sit in with them during their meditations, which lasted around 4 or 5 hours until about noon (I had to be gently nudged awake from my own meditations, but the monks were cool and didn’t judge). The lessons were simple conversational skills and a little writing, held in the afternoon, but a little difficult to get through since the dek wat weren’t allowed to eat any solid foods after twelve o’clock, which meant I couldn’t eat any solid foods, as I had promised to follow suit with their daily routine. After the two days were up, Berm’s friend told me he’d love to have me back on a regular basis, but the children would leaving the temple for a month on vacay. “So, could you come back at the end of October?”
“Yeesh! The end of October? I’m sorry, I would love to, but there’s no way I can go a whole month without some kind of income. I’ll probably need to find some other work,” I apologized to him.
“Oh, we wouldn’t be paying you. You’d stay up here on the mountain, and live off of the alms of the dek wat. But don’t worry; the donations are usually pretty generous, especially for Wat Doi Suthep.” I don’t think I need to tell you how this conversation ended. Let’s just say that I think they were looking for somebody who was a little more willing to adhere to the Ten Precepts.

My second week was spent making up for those rejections; plumbing the depths of pleasure and finding more and more creative ways to spend my money and numb the already growing sense of desperation at not being employed (“Jesus Chricycle, did I really come over here without a job? Was I just whistling Dixie, telling my mom she didn’t have to worry about me finding work once I got here?”) Standard outlets of leisure would not suffice in these circumstances; I mean I was in Thailand, dammit. I’d already visited most of the clubs, bars, and venues around town, treated myself to fine dinners at exotic restaurants, and exhausted the anticlimactic massage parlors. I’d fed elephants on the street, gazed out from the summit of Doi Suthep, and got my ass handed to me in takro. Naw, I needed an adventure; raw experience. And opium seemed like a good place to start.

A friend of Berm's agreed to take me up into the mountains to visit a few of the tribal villages populating the country-side, source of the hippity-hops I now sought. On the way up into the hillsides, we passed Doi Suthep and the winter palace residence of the King himself. Before we reached our destination however, we were deterred by herds of people headed the opposite direction, warning us of massive flooding and subsequent landslides that made travel, and thus opium smokage, impossible. Chiang Mai had been subject to a deluge of rainfall in recent days, so this was not unexpected, however unfortunate. So, I headed back downhill, empty-handed, unemployed, and agenda-less. I vowed not to waste any time moping around, and decided to bump-up a little trip I had planned to visit a farm on the Ping River, which runs through the heart of CM. I was to stay there a couple of days, earning my keep by helping to gather many of the fruits and vegetables that were sold to several riverside restaurants back in the city. I would also learn the ancient methods of harvesting that lifeblood of all Asia, the tiny grain that makes Uncle Ben smile so much: rice. I saw it as an opportunity to see some of the rural surroundings of CM, a little stroll back through time if you will, to see what life was like way back when. If anything, the trip would provide me a short break from the smothering, debris-layered CO2 of the city.

I arrived at the farm via scorpion-tail boat shortly after noon, with the sun at its apex and on a day when the gods ironically decided to turn off their torrential faucet, bringing the whole of their heliocentric fury down on my sweaty brow. It was my hottest day yet in Thailand, and a precursor to what I was in store for over the next year. The farm was a charming little plot, medieval though it was, situated right on the river with groves of trees and gardens spilling over every acre of land. I was the only guest which gave me ample time to myself, something I was looking forward to after my first week or so in the big city.

It was sweaty-balls hot out on that farm, and even without the opium I had planned to accompany me, it was mind-numbing work. Though after getting the initial morning-gripes out, and after finding my rhythm, mind-numbing turned into mind-cleansing, and at the end of each day I had a clearer head than I could remember ever having in recent years. I picked a plethora of fruits and vegetables: mangoes, apples, morning glory, lemongrass, papaya, finger-bananas, galangal, ginger, cashews, corn, carrots, onions, garlic, jackfruit, dragon fruit, star fruit, tamarind, guava, kiwi, rambutan, jujube, pomegranate, stinky durian and several others I’d never even heard of before. I was able to sample some of everything, either raw or in various noodle and rice dishes that were prepared for every meal. Unfortunately, the menu wasn’t without meat, and the meat came from the farm just like everything else. I say unfortunately, because just like all the fruits and vegetables I dined on, I was given the opportunity to harvest the pork that I ate as well. Not wanting to look squeamish in the eyes of the farm residents, I followed a smiling fellow into the yard behind the kitchen, where a little pen housed two little squealing bodies, looking more like pot-bellied pigs than the rotund, pink hogs I had envisioned (I think you can see a picture of one on my Facebook, poor little bastard). He was a hill pig; I was informed, and very common to northern Thai dishes calling for pork. The grim process I imagined was much more gruesome than what I was actually asked to do. I basically led the little guy over to a miniature-guillotine, secured his unsuspecting little noggin in place, and then brought the swift resolution of the French Revolution down upon his little hoggy head. Don’t worry, those are the only details you’re going to get, because I situated myself so that my farmer friend couldn’t see my face, and therefore couldn’t see that I had my eyes closed until all movement from the hog had ceased. My supper that night was bitter-sweetly delicious. The next day, after a fitful sleep full of dreams of talking pigs, I headed back up-river to CM and Santitham.

After a relaxing day and night back home, I attempted a jungle-trek, something Chiang Mai is famous for amongst backpackers. This excursion was cut short for the same reason my opium hunt was cut short. The stretch of jungle my troupe and I were set to visit was saturated with mud-slides, and after half a day on a two-day trek, the company was accosted. I don’t know where the little suckers came from; we’d only been in ankle-deep water, but all of a sudden we were laden with leeches of a large variety. They must’ve fallen out of the trees, or developed a wicked vertical; either way they were suddenly all up in our shit. I’ve never been sucked on by a leech, and while they didn’t hurt so much, it was pretty fucking disconcerting pulling the little bastards off your skin. I was tangling with an unreasonably large and stubborn leech, when a blood-curdling scream jolted the twelve or so trekkers I was joined with. Turns out one of the girls had discovered a leech in a very, shall I say, Stand By Me spot, after which she demanded that our guide return us to the base camp. Her hysterical insistence soon began to wear on several others of the group, especially her boyfriend, and that was the end of my jungle trek.

Back home at Santitham, I decided to lay low at the guest house for the next few days until my departure to Koh Tao, an island paradise I had planned a trip to as a birthday present to myself. Sitting around the guesthouse, I happened upon a Spanish lady by the name of Amelie. She was in CM attending ITM, one of the massage-training schools, and staying at Santitham. After a couple bottles of wine after dinner one evening, I convinced her to do her homework on me. During the massage, we planned on visiting the Night Safari together the next night. The so-called “Night Safari” was a bonafide zoo on the outskirts of town, the “Safari” consisting of an auto-piloted tram that drove visitors past several dismal-looking, artificial habitats, shining bright lights on the sleeping animals, all of which you can see at the SFCC training zoo. I assume the “Night” part of the Night Safari was devised to try and mask the very miserable lives these animals must lead. On the tuk-tuk drive home, after chastising the Thais for glorifying such a shitty “attraction” with elaborately ubiquitous advertisements, I convinced Amelie to join me on my trip south to Koh Tao that I would be taking in a few days. I told her it was a Mecca for scuba-divers the world over, and how cheap it was going to be to get certified, after which she happily signed on. We researched plane tickets together, and after a couple more days of preparation, we were off. I remember contentedly sitting on the plane, happy to have a travel companion, excited and a little jittery about my upcoming underwater adventures. How little did I know.

A Florida Cracker in King Bhumibol's Court, Part 3: Chiang Mai Daze , Chapter 1: Berm and I and the CM SlumDogs

2009-02-12T18:52:00.011+07:00

My time in Chiang Mai seems like ancient history, writing about it now after having been in Surat going on four months. The rest of my days were mostly spent hitting the pavement, peddling my teacher services to whoever would lend an ear, and avoiding the annoying mother-daughter duo from New York. My daily routine usually consisted of waking up at the crack of dawn (more from the constant hammering and drilling around the guesthouse than actual motivation), wolfing down some fruit and yogurt, hopping on my bicycle, knocking at the door of every school I stumbled upon, being turned down, and then drowning my disappointment in cheap beer and even cheaper whiskey whilst honing my already formidable people-watching skills. And let me tell you, there was some seriously interesting people-watching to be had in that northern Thai mecca of monks and missionaries, sex-patriats and lady-boys, thrill-seeking jungle-trekkers and fried-eyed opium denizens. I didn't make too many friends in Chiang Mai, not to my chagrin, and what few friends I did make were almost always Thai, not to my chagrin. The reason, and I'm a little embarrassed to say this, is that the overall representation of foreigners in Thailand seem to be cut from a seedier, sleazier, crustier cloth, and I'm not even referring solely to the old European/American scumbags who come over and buy a wife they can order around after shit goes wrong back home. Those guys are an apparently permanent fixture to the social landscape of Thailand, have been for generations, and unfortunately the Thais have grown accustomed to their presence, and more importantly, their money. No, I'm talking about the population of holiday-farang who seemingly flock to Thailand from all-parts Europe so that they can behave and dress as irresponsibly and disgustingly flamboyant as possible. I am by no means pigeon-holing the Europeans, its just that they outnumber all other travelers by a suffocating ratio (I've only met a handful of Americans, and almost all of them are teaching alongside me in Surat Thani, but rest assured, they usually fit the same despicable mold). I can think of only a few foreigners that I've met here in Siam that I would even consider striking up a conversation with back home, let alone a friendship.

One of the first friendships I formed was with the very first person I conversed with in Chiang Mai, and that's Berm, who I've already told you about. Berm is a very aloof, quirky yet capable little Thai dude. I don't read my old posts very much, so I'm not sure if I mentioned this, but Berm is the gay ex-boyfriend of a high school friend of my father's, whose guest house I was staying at. Berm doesn't seem gay upon first meeting him, and if that's an ignorant observation let me go on to say that he doesn't seem straight either. Like I said, he's an aloof character whose mind seems a million miles away, even in the deepest conversation, as if he's still got one foot sutck in the monastery where he spent his monk-hood. But before I elaborate on the platonic bond I formed with my host, let me expound upon some interesting things I learned about those people in Thailand who live what we might call, "alternative lifestyles."

Turns out that homosexuality is not all that alternative in this country. In fact, most families consider it a blessing to produce a homosexual male within the lineage. The sons that are born gay are usually designated caretakers of the family, as forming a marriage and new family are pretty much out of the question. Berm, being born to a small Hmong tribe in the hills outside of CM, does what is expected of him and every other week or so drives a pickup truck full of supplies and food back home for not just his family, but their whole village. Having done so, he then drives back to CM where he is free to live out his "sinful" life in the big city, away from the prying eyes of loved ones. We didn't spend a whole lot of time together; he was always preoccupied with the goings-on of the construction or he was out-of-town, but it was after one of these supply runs back home, a few weeks into my visit, that our friendship truly cemented.

I had just returned home to Santitham from a disturbing night about town, beginning with a stop at a rooftop bar called, lamely enough, THC. As tacky as it sounds, if I boycotted every cheesy sounding bar or club or hangout spot in Thailand, I'd more often than not spend a lonely night at home with only James Westfall and Dr. Kenneth Noisewater to keep me company. Anyhow, the disturbance began when believe it or not, the cops stopped by the bar to do a surprise search, seizure, manhandle, and drug-test on most of my fellow patrons. You read correctly; they performed actual drug-tests right there on the premises. For some reason or other I escaped their machinations, though I wasn't worried, having been unable to find any sign of my favorite vice (need I identify) in over two weeks on Thai soil. The guy standing next to me assured me that, had I been searched/tested, being a farang, it was just a simple matter of slipping the cop a few hundred Baht to turn the other cheek. "In fact," he went on,"they'll even escort you to the nearest ATM if you don't have the desired amount." The situation was disturbing nonetheless.

To compound my already considerable anxiety, I took a wrong turn on the way home and ended up riding my bicycle down CM's equivalent of Gainesville's Depot Ave. at around one in the a.m. I wasn't necessarily frightened of the neighborhood anything, it's just that areas like this become completely claimed by canines during late-night hours, and it takes nothing short of an escort by the Royal Guard to venture such neighborhoods unscathed. Mangy packs of these flea-bitten beasts patrolled the now-empty sidewalks and streets, and I was very much an unwelcome guest. I mean these motherfuckers chase cars and scooters that drive through on the late-night tip. And now here's some schwilly farang coming through on a damn bicycle that don't even ride right.

I made it through the first wave ok; it had only been three or four smaller dogs, outcasts probably, and they quickly dispersed when I raised my hand and voice in a menacing manner. Congratulating myself, not realizing that I had only survived the phalanx battalion of an ensuing onslaught, I pedaled onward. The only thing that saved me from a middle-of-the-night trip to the hospital was what seemed like a turf battle between two larger packs of dogs, each platooning from used-car dealerships on opposite sides of the street, and me cycling right through the crossfire, drunker than ten long-necked Thais.

The two armies were so embroiled in their battle, that they hardly noticed me before I had time to u-turn the shit out of there. But when they finally noticed, all inter-species animosity was forgotten. They joined forces en masse; one giant cohesive, frothing organism intent on one purpose: bite the shit out of that thing with two legs. This is where I thank my nonsensical ass for buying that no-brakes-having track bike I rode around town for a year before my departure, because I pedaled up all the cartilage in my knees getting away from those damn dogs.

The snarling beasts soon remembered their previous quarrel, and gave up on chasing me to continue tearing each others throats out. Having at last gained some breathing room, I slowed down enough to realize that I had no choice but to slow down. My bike was busted up; groaning in response to the torture I had just put it through, and to top it off, I had a flat tire. Flatter than a piece of hammered shit, to quote Whitney Ellsworth. I must've run over a broken bottle or something in my frenzied retreat. Or maybe one of the dogs had actually gotten a piece, and I'd find a tooth embedded in the rubber later on. Either way, I calculated that I had about a three-mile walk home. So I got to walkin. Of course, I had to pass through that first pack of upstarts, and it seemed that they had formed a new strategy. One of the dogs appeared in the middle of the street directly in front of me, forcing me to either side. When I pulled my broken bicycle up the sidewalk to drift around the dog, who appeared to be paying me no attention, his fellow soldiers flanked me from behind a dumpster. These pooches were only intent on scaring the shit out of me, they had no real bite, but after what I had just been through, I was pretty goddamn frayed. I tell you, these streets breed dogs with balls worthy of velociraptors.

I finally arrived home, and ran into Berm who had just pulled into town from his village run. I told him about my whole night's debacle, and he just laughed and said, "Mai pehn rai" which is basically Thai for, "Fuck it." (not really, it means never mind or no problem, but that's how I interpreted it at that point). Then he said three words that made it all worth it, or at least a lot better. "You want smoke?" We preceded to smoke some silly mountain skunk out of a make-shift bong that made my eyes turn yellow. Hanging out in the tranquil Santitham courtyard, mumbling and giggling to each other in equal parts broken-English/Thai, me berating him for not asking me to smoke sooner, him berating me for not having asked, having been just a few weeks before culturally and geographically, and still sexually thousands of miles apart, my first Thai friendship was formed.

A Florida Cracker in King Bhumibol's Court, Part 2: Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep, or Buddha's Shoulder Blade and the Legend of the White Elephant

2009-02-06T18:36:00.008+07:00

Legend has it that a Buddhist monk, sometime in the 14th Century, found a relic in Pang Cha that was believed to be the shoulder blade of none other than Buddha himself. After taking the bone to Northern Thailand and presenting it to King Nu Naone of the Lannas, it was placed on the back of a white elephant that was then released into the jungle somewhere around present-day Lamphun, not far from Chiang Mai. The albino pachyderm eventually wandered up to the summit of Doi Suthep, trumpeted three times and then collapsed in death at the site of which is now Wat Phrathat, one of the holiest temples in Thailand.

On my first trip up to the magical mountain, that first week in Thailand, I didn't expect to be accompanied by two rude, loud-mouth Americans from NYC, but even their constant jibber-jabbering could not tarnish the mystical air that surrounded the temple upon our approach. A friend of Berm's had agreed to take the three of us up in his car for a small sum, and after 30-minutes of winding mountain road, we arrived at the base of the temple. It was early in the evening, around six o'clock, but most of the visitors and tourists had already dispersed for the day. The temple had not closed, in fact I don't think it ever closes, and our late arrival proved to be the perfect opportunity to witness the monks in their normal evening routines, without the distraction of crowds of onlookers.

The long and steep stair-case from the parking lot to the golden pagodas of the temple-proper gave me ample time to distance myself from my annoying companions, as they repeatedly had to stop for breath. I told them I'd see them at the summit and left them behind. As I climbed the 300-and-some stone steps with the help of what looked like ivory hand-rails, a steady and serene hum filled the air, slowly drowning out the drone of cicadas, or whatever Thailand's equivalent is to that loud-ass bug. When I finally reached the top, what little air I still had in my lungs was immediately robbed by the utterly staggering pulchritude of the temple grounds, particularly the large phallic pagoda of gold (or golden chedi, as they're referred to in Thailand) protruding from the center. It was certainly unlike anything I had ever seen in my sheltered American life.

I wandered the grounds for a little while, basking in the spiritually-charged, mountain-cool evening air. I discovered a roomful of meditating monks as the source of the serendipitous hum, and another breath-taking sight: an extensive balcony with a stunning overlook view of Chiang Mai; the city lit up in the early evening and pulsating with life. I must have been some 6000 feet elevated with an entity of over one-million people at my feet. I couldn't fucking wait to take pictures in the daytime, as my puny camera only came up blurs. With the monks slowly making their way to bed, I realized I'd have to come back some other time to get the full Doi Suthep experience, so I met up with the wenches from New York and we made our way to the exit. On our way out, one more surreal sight, this one a little contradictory to everything preceding it. A couple of younger monks, late-teens, sitting off to the side in the dark, with a small hand-held radio in their hands listening to the sultry sounds of Celine Dion. Fucking Thailand, man. Still, I couldn't wait to return.

Thai Nuggets !!

2009-01-22T16:09:00.006+07:00

More randomness from across the world:

There's a salutatory/farewell gesture in Thailand called the wai (rhymes with sigh). I'm a big fan of it, though I've been very confused as to when and how to perform it. It's basically a simple bow, with your hands placed, palms-together, in front of you, although exactly where in front of you is where it gets tricky. If you're wai-ing a monk or, Buddha-be-blessed, the King, then you want your hands in front of your face, thumbs touching your nose, and you bow, and I mean seriously bow; let the blood rush to the noggin a little. I also give these head-rush wais to the Catholic sister-nuns at my school (yes, Scooter Boot works at a Catholic school. more on the irony of that later.). Wais are generally given as a sign of heart-felt thanks, and can be given casually to anyone on the street or in a shop, though you should lower the hands a little, so as not to make a false idol out of your waitress. One thing you must never do, and I found this out amidst a bevy of laughter, is wai someone younger than you, especially if you're a teacher wai-ing a student. I was told by a particularly peeved little girl that I had just wai-ed a year off of her life (her explanation of this was classic; some people actually believe that if you wai a younger person, they lose a year of their life; some believe it's seven years of life). She wasn't the first child I had wai-ed, and it soon dawned on me that I had done more damage to the lives of Thai children, with my well-intentioned wais, than second-hand smoke.

Seems there's no copyright enforcement over here in the Eastern Hemisphere (shit, I'm in the Eastern Hemisfuckinphere! That still boggles the mind). You can find carts at any major night-market filled to the brim with the most recent blockbusters. Or you can walk into an iPod shop and choose from thousands of albums and movies to download for less than $3 each. I'm talking about shit that's still in theatres. I bought DVD's of Quantum of Solace, Benjamin Button, The Dark Knight, Iron Man, and the like for about $7 a pop. Luckily I have a few friends who are downloading fiends, so I've been able to see films that way as well. My two recent faves are Gran Turino (could be Clint's last film, and it's a fucking gem), and Slumdog Millionaire, a movie brilliant beyond description. It takes place in Mumbai, but reminds me very much of Thai people and locales. Just see it.

Remember those big glass soda pop bottles from back in the day? We got those over here. Damn I missed those.

Thai people love the shit out of some Cranberries. I catch my students singing "Zombie" in the class-room all the live long day. That and Flo Rida's "Low" are currently the two most popular Western songs in Thai existence. Another funny story featuring "Low" coming soon.

Chickens and roosters are abundant in this country. They're everywhere, from the sparsely populated countrysides to the seedy back-alleys of Bangkok. But there's something wrong with these fowl, and I ain't talking about Avian Flu. It's obvious that they're not eating well, and the roosters boast the most pathetic doodle-doo's I've ever heard. If there is such a thing as a chain-smoking chicken, with tuberculosis, then Thailand's got loads. I've got a family of them living quite literally outside of my bedroom window, and every morning I wake up to the scratching chalkboard of their cock-a-doodles. It's very painful to listen to, but a great deterrent for over-sleeping. One night, I decided to fuck with their poultry little heads, and I set my cell-phone alarm clock ring to rooster. It sounds more like a rooster then the poor bastards outside my house, and it's pretty loud at that. So the next morning, seven o'clock rolls around and off goes my alarm clock. I held the phone up to the window to demonstrate a proper cock-call. I think it blew their tiny little minds, but soon only incensed them to try harder. Kinda felt bad after that. Can't believe I just wrote a whole paragraph on roosters. Don't even get me started on the ducks.

Tan skin is a blemish in the eyes of Thais. Men and women alike are constantly trying to make their appearance whiter. I'll even see little kids walking around with white powder smeared all over their face. At first I thought it was some religious thing that I didn't understand. Turns out it's some cosmetic thing I don't understand. My friend Jeab and her girlfriends weren't convinced when I told them that people in the Western Hem (the very people they try to emulate) all want to be tan as can be, and would envy the color of their skin. They just dismissed me and threw more baby powder on their faces.

Best way to pass the time in Thailand is to read. Best way to pass the time anywhere actually. Books are hard to come by though, outside of BKK, Chiang Mai, and the resort towns. And they're not nearly as cheap as movies. Most used copies cost more than a new edition back home. Copyright infringement doesn't really hold sway over literature in this country as well. I recently bought a copy of Breakfast of Champions that had been completely photocopied and pasted to a mock jacket. Still reads well though. Books I currently have my eye on are White Tiger by Aravind Adiga, recent winner of the Booker Prize, and Obama's book, but not the new one Audacity of Hope; the one he wrote in the nineties whose title I can't remember at the moment.

Lese-Majeste

2009-01-20T17:59:00.003+07:00

Liz Reilly-Brown left a very interesting, and disturbing link on my Facebook page that all of you should check out. It tells the account of a man who was recently apprehended by the Thai police while trying to exit the country. It seems the man made some disparaging remarks about the Thai monarchy in a book he that he wrote. He was sentenced to six years, cut-down to three after he pled guilty. The book he wrote wasn't even widely read, in fact it sold just seven copies.

I would not like this to happen to me. I'm currently reading a book called Damage Done, about a drug traffiker's 12 years in the Bangkok Hilton, the name given lovingly by the inmates of Thailand's capital prison. So, if I've written anything derogatory about the King, of which I'm certain I have not, please let me know. Same goes for future posts. Did I mention that I absolutely love His Majesty, the King of Thailand?

Rice Boogers

2009-01-14T15:45:00.007+07:00

There's a definite texture to the air here in Thailand. You can really feel it when riding around on an open-air tuk-tuk or scooter; tiny particles stinging the cheeks. I wondered how long I was going to last in a country where you can actually touch the pollution, as opposed to just seeing, smelling, and tasting it; where it is highly recommended to wear a breathing-mask if you plan on staying outdoors for extended periods of time; where inhalers sell like hot-cakes in every 7-11. Of course poor sewage-systems and a lack of efficient waste disposal have a lot to do with it, especially in the big cities, but they only account for the god-awful smells you encounter here, more often than not. The real culprit behind the tangibleness of the air is the burning fields of rice.

Thailand is the world's largest rice exporter. Throw a rock anywhere in Thailand, and you'll probably hit a rice-farmer. Rice paddies produce a lot of methane, one of those gases turning our planet into a glacier-melting greenhouse. In fact, there is no other crop on the planet that emits more methane than rice paddies. A lot of water is used for the irrigation of rice-crops, to the point where the entire field is flooded over. Bacteria thrive in these saturated fields, feeding off of the manure used for fertilizer, and it's these bacteria that produce the methane. Farmers have been urged by the government to drain their fields from time to time, but many just ignore these requests. Recently, farmers began burning empty rice-husks instead of letting them rot out in the fields to create more rotten gas. In the farm regions surrounding Bangkok, this practice has been both economically and environmentally beneficial. The burning of leftover husks creates a more climate-friendly power source than coal or oil, decreasing the amount of imported oil. But in other regions, particularly the mountainous north, the fields are burned directly into the air, the resulting power not used as an alternative energy source. Mountains surround the northern cities, trapping the sooty air in like a flue. And this my dear friends, is why the air clogs my nose and stings my face.

Keep in mind that this was in September, October, and November, well after the close of the burning season, which ends sometime in the spring. So I can't imagine how thick and dirty the air is going to be come April. It's quite a Catch 22 the Asians are faced with. They can't possibly consider not producing rice. But if they continue to grow it in the traditional manner of flooding the fields, global methane emissions will continue to grow, and if they continue the slash-and-burn technique without transferring the fallout to reusable energy, it will soon become very uncomfortable to breathe in this country. I'm already getting way more boogers than I care to pick.

Make Mine Choo-Choo

2009-01-13T17:39:00.004+07:00

I've experienced about all the transportation Thailand has to offer. From the soi-ways of Chiang Mai to the shore-ways of Samui, I've white-knuckled 'em all. Been tossed around on a tuk-tuk, and found religion on an airplane. I've gone cross-country in a car, mosied up-river in a scopion-tail, got sun-burnt and beer-drunk on a ferry-boat, pooped on a bus, and t-boned on a bicycle. Sheeit, I even crashed a scooter (I even got that one on film). But at the end of the day, my absolute favorite mode of traversing A to B has got to be through the Royal State Railway of Siam. There is no more comfortable, affordable, or scenic way to get around Thailand.

Other than my flight into Thailand, I've flown twice since arriving here, on my way to and from Samui the week of my birthday. And if I can help it, I won't step foot on another plane until I leave this country. The pilots are adept enough in the air, but they land their planes with the deftness of a bumper-car. It's also expensive as hell, at least as far as the Baht goes.

I just recently took a VIP bus up from Surat to BKK, and then over to the Killing Fields of Cambodia and back again. The bus is ok for short day trips of four to six hours, but becomes a little intolerable at night, especially for us tall folk. When I first saw one of these cross-country buses I was floored. These buses are behemoths standing at an easy 15-20 feet. They look like double-deckers, but passengers only sit on the top floor. I'm not sure what goes on in the bottom-half, other than a small room for the toilet. Maybe crew quarters? There are two seats at the very front right of the bus that provide ample leg room and a panoramic view of the road ahead, and though I did snag one of these seats, like a damn fool gentleman I gave it up to two lovely Thai girls who knew exactly how to bat their eyelashes at me. The bus isn't awful, but at the same price for a 2nd class sleeper on a train, I'm going with the train.

If I had my druthers, I would love to have an car for the remainder of my stay here, if only for cross-country trips. As it stands, I never again want to sit in the passenger seat of another Thai automobile. Fuck the Autobahn, the Thais have rewritten the book on no-holds-barred, balls-to-the-wall driving. I've taken two trips outside of the city in a car: one to the Burmese border in a small hatch-back with a hired driver, and the other with my friend Nung on an eight-hour trek to BKK. The speedometer never dipped below 120 km/h on either trip, unless we were pulling over that is, and that includes going over hills and around mountain curves, Buddha bless any pedestrian or chicken that got in our way. And I don't blame them. If I were driving, with absolutely no fear of being pulled over, you're damn right I'm bringing the lead-foot. So, it's probably a good thing that I won't be driving a car of my own over here. For the chickens. I do however have a motor-scooter that I swapped my friend Jaeb a brand-new bicycle for a few weeks ago, but that's only good for day excursions to the surrounding countryside.

So, other than the occasional ferry ride to the outlying islands, those are the primary forms of transportation for getting across Thailand. And they don't hold a candle to RSRS. There's nothing like falling asleep after decent meal and a few beers in the dining-car, in your very own cozy, little curtained bed to the comforting clickity-clack of the tracks beneath you. And it's so economical. I can traverse a couple thousand miles for under 1000 Baht ($30), and arrive rested and refreshed and ready to face whatever hell Thai urban transportation has waiting for me. And I haven't even tried 1st class yet. I'll be sure to let you know how that goes come March.

Chomp Triple-Up Chomp Chomp Chomp

2009-01-09T15:05:00.003+07:00

My sunovabitch visa and back to school sickness has been keeping me from the computer, but I just wanted to drop a line and say me some, "Gooo motherfuckin Gators!!" I love me some Percy! And Timmy T. too of course. Can't wait to hear about all the game-watchin parties and what not. Y'all shoulda seen me at school after I checked the score. If those kids thought their tall-ass farang teacher was ting-tong* before, imagine what they think after I walked through Exercise Day** doing the Chomp, hootin and hollerin on the phone to LJ. It's three in the pm here, which means shit on Uni. Av. is probably just winding down. Enjoy my friends. And fuck you to all you Trojans, Utes and Longhorns who think you deserve a piece! Want to write more, but I gotta catch a bus to Cambodia.

*Ting-tong is Thai for crazy. And maybe something a little more scandalous.
**Exercise Day (Friday) is when my school gathers a couple thousand kids at once into the huge central courtyard, where they do these silly ass exercises to some pretty hilarious music played over a very loud speaker. More guffaw-inducing stories on that later.

A Florida Cracker in King Bhumibol's Court, Part One: Not So Fellow Farang

2009-01-08T16:13:00.014+07:00

"Why are you going to Thailand?" or "How did you decide on Thailand?" were the two most frequently asked questions of me in the several weeks leading up to my departure. In fact, people still ask me that question on Facebook and shit when they find out I'm here. I'm never quite satisfied with the answers I give, and neither are the askers of said questions. I usually tell them that I've always wanted to visit the Far East, but I've always wanted to visit anywhere outside of the States, so that's misleading. Or I'll sometimes say that I've always felt some strange attraction to the land of Siam, but that's just ethereal bullshit. The most accurate answer given is that a family acquaintance has set up shop in Chiang Mai, and I was offered cheap room and board at his immaculate guest house. This is indeed true, but a poor factor in deciding where to spend the next year of my life teaching. The truth is that although Thailand was and is in dire need of competent teachers, and that it is a popular destination for cheap thrill-seekers, I didn't know the truth. But I think that I've discovered it post-facto, on many seperate occasions, and this next set of stories is indeed about me wondering why, exactly, am I in Thailand and getting to the bottom of that quandry.

I still want to tell y'all about everything I did in my few weeks in Chiang Mai leading up to the migration south to Surat Thani, and there are so many little stories that I've all but forgotten by now, that I haven't a clue where to begin. So, I'll just tell my 'big fish' tale, and everything culminating up to it, and hopefully the juicy tidbits will fall into place along the way.

I remember my third day in Chiang Mai deciding that I wanted to make the trip up to the mystical mountain temple of Doi Suthep. The majestic, cloud-shrouded hilltop had been overshadowing my travels throughout the city thus-far, its eastern summit calling out to me on every trip home to Santitham, as though the faint chanting of the monks at dusk were rolling down the mountainside like some benevolent banshee call. So I planned on renting a bicycle the next morning (only 60 Baht a day!; that's less than $2.00), and making the climb.

That afternoon, however, Santitham received two unexpected visitors. I was upstairs enjoying a late afternoon nap, when my slumber stirred with some very loud, very New York-sounding English. I looked out of my window down into the courtyard to see two ladies unloading there luggage from a tuk-tuk. Spying from the second-floor window, I tried to make out if they looked interesting enough to come down and introduce myself to, but soon said, "Fuck it", they're Americans and after only two days in this strange land, I was already chomping at the bit for some familiarity. So I threw some clothes on and headed down to say hello.

This turned out to be not the first, and certainly not the last social mistake I would make on my travels. Two lessons would be learned: 1) do not expect comfort from your fellow farang, and 2) never follow a hippie to a second location, especially a self-proclaimed, pompous New Age hippie. The two ladies from New York were a mother and daughter; both so-worth-forgetting that I can't remember their names, so I'll name the mom Blannie and the daughter Sylvia. Blannie, because she reminds me of my friend Steve's hippie mom, but with a lot less tact; one of those paradoxically pretentious hippies. And Sylvia because I just realized that the daughter gave me her "Free-lance Writer" business card before she left and it identifies her as such.

Right away I could tell that I wouldn't mesh well with the new guests. They were handing their bags off to Burm and his friend Don as if it were a privelege to handle such precious cargo, and they were speaking fast, New York English and becoming frustrated and huffy when the Thais had trouble understanding them. We exchanged some forced pleasantries, forced on my end anyhow, discussed where we came from and how both Sylvia and I were in Thailand to hopefully teach English. I immediately sympathized with any potential students she might have, having already witnessed this girl's impatience at the slightest bit of miscommunication. We talked about our plans for the next several days, and I told them I was planning a visit up to Doi Suthep the following morning. Upon hearing this they insisted that we go up there that very moment to watch the sunset and hear the monks chant. I tried to sound inconvenianced, but they wouldn't hear it. Thinking I could save a little money by carpooling and possibly lose them once we got there, I reluctantly agreed to join them. The subsequent experiences I shared with them gave me subjective insight in to how Americans abroad are sometimes (if not often) viewed. Not too kindly.

Sa Wat Dee Bee Mai 'Merica!

2009-01-04T09:44:00.002+07:00

That's a big 'ol Happy New Year in Thai-speak. I'm just now heading home from a hectic holiday hoo-ha up in Chiang Mai, and I'm anxious to get back to work and get on with my routine. I've got a lot of stories to tell, and now that my computer's fixed I'll be able to tell them more often, so I hope I didn't lose all of y'all with my blog-less December. Right now I'm sitting bleary-eyed in Bangkok, people-watching at the train station, after a 16-hour trip on 3rd-class seating...they had me sitting with a sack of potatoes. I should get back to Surat around midnight tonight, and then it's a full day of school tomorrow. I can't wait to show the kids my thickish, holiday beard. They're gonna go apeshit. I'm not allowed to have a beard, but I'll just blame it on the water going out, which it often does. And then, after school, I'll sit down for a nice long session of Thai nuggetry, of the smoked and written kind. Can't wait to fill you all in on all the mishaps and mayhem. Hope everyone had a wonderful New Year celebration, and that no one was maimed by a firecracker, like me. I love all you sons-a-bitches! Check back tomorrow for more posts. Scooter

Fear and Sobriety in Surat (Still Smiling Though)

2008-11-29T17:50:00.006+07:00

The mood here is somber and sobering, to say the least. A couple of countries away, the devastation in Mumbai is making the violent protests here in BKK look like a fart in the wind. I don't know enough about the disturbing events in India yet to opine any educated words about it, but needless to say that hearing those accounts, talking to Thai residents who know people involved, on top of the closing of all airports in Thailand due to the scuffle between the PAD (People's Alliance for Democracy) and the corrupt-ass Thai govt., I'm starting to feel a little claustrophobic. I'm supposed to stop through Bangkok over X-mas break to update my visa. I have mixed feelings about that. I'm not worried about being a foreigner in that situation, as the tension is between the PAD and Thailand's Prime Minister, but the potential for violence is a little nerve-wracking, even here in Surat, about 450 miles from the scene. So, I hope they resolve this shit come X-mas time.

To make things worse, it hasn't stopped raining for three weeks (the rainy season supposedly ended at the end of Oct.) which means all the scorpions and centipedes and millipedes are seeking shelter indoors, a vicious species of mold has begun to colonize my clothes and pillows, my only form of transportation has no pedals, and my computer is kaput. That last piece of news means that I won't be able to keep up with this here blog as much. From here on out I'll have to write everything short-hand, and then find some Internet cafe to transfer the words. But I've decided to breeze through my time in Chiang Mai, my B-day sojourn to Koh Tao, emphasizing the highlights and omitting the bullshit, or else I'll never catch up.

With all this drama, it mind sound like I'm not having any fun, but make no mistake, this has so far been the most fulfilling experience of my life, and that has everything to do with the kids I teach. They are, quite simply, a-may-zing. As soon as I walk into that classroom (just wait till you see my classroom videos, coming-soon I hope), I forget about all the strife going on around me. I forget about the sweltering heat (yes, it's hotter than FL); I forget about the prehistoric bugs haunting my bedsheets; I forget about lady-boys who try to manhandle my man-marbles every time I go to a bar/club; I forget about all the fantastic fucking football I'm missing; I forget about how much I miss my family and friends. I seriously want to smuggle these Thai kids back to America with me. As much as I love their country and culture, I want to show these kids a life they deserve. These kids are budding geniuses; they have a thirst for knowledge the likes of which I've never seen in an American classroom. And it's going unnoticed and unappreciated. So this post is a long overdue tribute to the reason why I'm here. My students. I hope that I'm teaching them a fraction of what I've already learned from them.

Shots Fired!

2008-11-21T16:47:00.002+07:00

Shit got hairy last Thursday. It was certainly a day of reflection. It's days like last Thursday when I ask myself, "What the fuck am I doing here? What the fuck am I trying to prove? Do I really want to go through with this teaching thing for a year or more, and if so, do I really want to do it in Thailand?" I've heard people say how much safer a country Thailand is than the States; how much less crime there is. And for the most part, from what I can tell so far, that statement is pretty accurate. But there's a misconception in that thinking. There are certainly more dangerous, deranged, and generally fucked-up people in America, but we have a much better system of keeping those people in check. When something illegal happens in Thailand, it usually goes unreported by any witnesses, and unnoticed by any police. And this isn't a presumptuous, half-cocked theory that I've formed after being here for less than two months; this is a wide-spread attitude that I've picked up on after talking to many people, both native and farang, who have lived here for quite some time. What incident inspired these insights, you might be asking? Well, nothing I could write or say could possibly convey how close my pants came to being soiled, but I'll try.

Thursday evening I decided to be a good roommate and take out the garbage. The only other person home at the time was Katy. Ryan and Claire were still teaching. When Katy saw me struggling with the large garbage can, she offered her assistance. I declined, thus losing my only English-speaking eyewitness to the events that were about to unfold. But she did hear the events. Feigning gentlemanliness, I hoisted the can over my back and exited the apartment.

The two street-cans that we dump our garbage into are about 50 yards up the street from our front door. As I approached the trash barrels and began to unload my load, I heard a loud report. Being used to such startling noises in Chiang Mai, be it arrant fireworks or back-firing scooters or exploding transformers, I thought nothing of it. I attributed it to being the day after Loy Kratong, a festival giving tribute to the goddess of water, and some rappscallions setting off left-over black-cats. Then I heard five or six more loud shots, and I knew something was rotten in Surat. As I began to turn around, the first thing I noticed was a little boy riding by me on his bicycle. I looked over his head and in the middle of the street, about half way between me and my apartment (about 20 yards away), was a clusterfuck of three cars and two scooters and about three men on foot. The men on foot were each holding guns, .38 specials which I figured out from the shell-casing I found later that evening, and they were firing them haphazardly into the air.

For some reason, my first instinct was to pretend like none of it was actually happening. I turned around and continued dumping my garbage. That's when I saw that the little boy on his bicycle was cowering behind me, and when our eyes met he actually grabbed me, his eyes pleading for me not to expose him. That's when I realized that this shit was really happening. I turned my head one more time for some validation, and saw one of the gunmen point in my direction. I'm quite sure, only in hindsight, that he was in no way interested in me. But that finger falling anywhere in my vicinity got my blood a boiling. The scooter, with two Thai dudes on it, hauled ass towards me and my little compadre, followed shortly by a very expensive looking car the likes of which you don't see in Surat. That's when I grabbed my tiny friend by the shirt and ran for the cover of a nearby fence. The car and scooter drove by us, without a glance in our direction no doubt, and we waited for what seemed like ten minutes (in reality 30 seconds) before emerging.

Thai people live in complete denial of anything awkward or embarrassing. "Save face" is the motto of the entire country. Soon after the incident that nearly shook my pants, the once trembling little boy was calling across the field we were in to some friends, with a huge smile on his face, regaling the now laughable events that had just transpired. He ran off with out even so-much as a, "Kopen Kup (thank you)." Returning to the street from behind my fence, I saw that all the neighbors and store-owners had come out to the street to see what all the hubbub was about. I was greeted with Thai gufaws and gibberish (one woman actually mocked me by mimicking me holding up my garbage can in front of me like a shield). I didn't mind the laughs so much, being thankful that I walked away unscathed, but I was fucking disturbed that these people seemed so un-fazed by what had happened, and I was quite sure that none of them were attempting to contact the authorities. Walking down the street in my new-found glory and celebritay, my walk soon became a fast trot when I realized that those bullets had to fall somewhere.

And that's it. Guess you had to be there. I still don't know what exactly transpired, but there's a shop-keeper on our block that speaks pretty good English, so I'll try and get the scoop soon. Christ on a waffle-cone.

Random Thai Nuggets

2008-11-15T18:50:00.003+07:00

The Thai people don’t refrigerate their eggs. In the household they sit right out on the counter with the fruit and the bread, and in the supermarket you can find them in any dry goods aisle.

From what I can tell, there are only seven beers served regularly in Thailand, and when I say regularly I mean these are the only beers I’ve seen in all the 7-11’s, liquor stores, grocery stores, bars/restaurants, beaches, trains or ferries I’ve been in or on. These beers are Singha, Chang, Leo, Tiger, Cheers, San Miguel and Heineken. Leo is by far my favorite, as it is the most economical choice at around 37 Baht for 32 oz., and it doesn’t sacrifice quality, what little of it there is in Thai beer. Singha tastes much like Leo (they all taste much the same, actually), but it costs about 10 or 12 extra baht. Tiger and San Miguel are more uncommon than the others, so I know very little about them except that San Miguel tastes a lot like Miller Lite. Chang, probably the most popular beer in Thailand, is quite possibly the worst, due to the fact that it tastes like formaldehyde…maybe because it’s made with formaldehyde. No, seriously.

As you may have seen in some of my pics, there are portraits of the King and Queen everywhere in Thailand, in all shapes, sizes, and styles. Every residence, business, hospital, school, venue, and of course government building has at least one picture of His Majesty on display, whether it be a tattered photo in a cracked frame in some dingy pool hall or greasy bike-shop, or a 20-foot gilded painting overlooking the plaza of Bangkok’s train-station, or just a modest photograph of the royal family hanging in the living-room. His regal visage graces bill-boards, building facades, street-signs, and murals on just about every corner of every main thoroughfare. You cannot escape his ubiquitous gaze. An example of how omnipresent his face actually is: I was on a scorpion-tail boat, cruising up the Mae Ping River, on my way to a local farm to spend the day harvesting fruit and vegetables (and to slaughter a pig). The boat picked me up from the Nawarat Bridge, very much near the center of the city, so for the first hour of the two-and-a-half hour boat ride, there was still quite a bit of urban presence on both banks of the river. As the commercial districts, and then residential districts, gradually gave way to farmland, the 21st century seemed to evaporate. There was hardly any hint of civilization anywhere for miles around. We had almost reached the farmhouse after rounding a large bend in the river, when out of nowhere appeared a huge painted sign, the size of two American bill-boards, with the King’s profile on it. It plainly said,”You may have left civilization, but here's a not-so-subtle reminder that you’re still in my mother-fuckin kingdom, sucka.”

Speaking of His Highness, certain days of the week have a designated color-coded shirt assigned to it; designed to show to society how much you love the King. It is not mandatory to wear these shirts in public, though it is strongly recommended that teachers and government employees do so. The shirts are standard polo-shirts, with the royal emblem over the left breast. On Monday, you wear a yellow shirt to honor the King’s birthday, which was on a Monday. Tuesday is "good health" day, and pink shirts are worn to wish good health upon everyone in the kingdom, but especially the King (I’m not sure of the specific origins of this day, and why the color pink was chosen, but Tuesdays in Thailand would make LJ very happy). And on Friday (I think, maybe it’s Thursday) you’re supposed to wear blue to honor the Queen’s birthday. Sometimes random-ass shit will happen, like the King will sign a very important treaty or something, and you’ll be asked to wear purple, or some shit. Just yesterday, they cremated the King’s sister (who died in July), and everyone wore black to school. It is effing hot here. There was some sweat poured.

Now, a little about Thai wildlife:

The snails in Thailand are like lightning in a shell. These are some fast fucking mollusks! One of my first nights in CM, I was out on my patio drinking a beer and I set the bottle down at my feet. Not a minute later, I grabbed the bottle and brought it up to my lips. I just about swallowed my tongue when I saw the largest snail I’ve ever seen, outside of my dreams, perched on the rim of the beer. Now, that sucker either fell directly on the lip of the bottle and had the dexterity to suck onto it (which I think I would’ve witnessed or at least heard), or it crawled up with a quickness the likes of which have never been seen in a Gastropod. (There’s a pic of said snail on my face book).

The bats in Thailand are straight out of the Temple of Doom. Remember when Kate Capshaw, sitting atop her elephant on their way to Pankot Palace, pointed to the sky and said, “Oooh! What big birds!” And Indiana Jones replies, “Those aren’t big birds, sweetheart. They’re giant, vampire bats.” Yeah. That’s what I’m dealing with.

In Chiang Mai, the most popular sport is not football (soccer). No, it’s beetle-fighting. I found this out when I was walking through Old Town and I saw a man behind a cart that had several strips of paper hanging from a wire. The paper was covered with sugar-cane juice, and slurping away on each piece was a gigantic, rhinoceros, stag beetle. The man pleaded with me to purchase one of his beetles, and I declined thinking that they were being sold as a snack. Later that week I read in the The Nation (Thailand’s English newspaper) an article on beetle-fighting, and I high-tailed my way back to the vendor to purchase my future champ. Beetle-fighting involves placing a female beetle within a hollowed-out piece of bamboo or wood, and then placing two male beetles on top, who are driven into a frenzy by the female’s scent and a beetle-battle shortly ensues. The beetles look to be about 3 or 4 inches long, with large horns on their heads (some with as many as five). I’ve witnessed a few fights, and the bets usually go for about 100 baht a round. While I didn’t get a chance to fight my beetle (his name’s Sid), I let him loose in the canopied courtyard of Santitham, so hopefully he’ll still be there when I go back come Christmas time.

That’s all for now. More nuggets later, and more about my first weeks in CM, my B-day week in Koh Tao (whalesharks!), and my new job down in Surat.

Afternoon Uprising in the Park, and a Run-in with the Ratking

2008-11-09T17:13:00.002+07:00

My second day on Siam soil I met a fellow American, walked over 15 miles, sweat half my body weight, nearly got tear-gassed, and ran into some of Thai‘s urban wildlife. Other than that, it was pretty uneventful, but only because I was already oversaturated with sensory overload. My culture coffer had been severely neglected over the past 29 years (other than a few jaunts cross-country, and abbreviated stays in ATL and Seattle, which turned out to be more distracting and detrimental than anything else), but it was busting at the seams after just one day in Chiang Mai…and all I had done was visit the mall and get a massage.

After 13 hours of strange dream-ridden slumber, I was awakened by the unmerciful sound of a miter-saw. I knew the satin sheets and plump pillows, and cheapness, of my king-size bed were too good to be true, hence the juxtaposition of comfort and construction sounds. But the last thing I wanted was to get in the habit of sleeping in, so I welcomed the wake-up call and dragged myself to the shower.

Luckily, the cold water woke me up enough to remember that the first presidential debate was about to start, so I quickly got dressed and headed over to the main house for some political banter and breakfast. I ran into one of the other guests on his way out. His name was Mike, a Californian, and he’d come to Thailand to learn Muy Thai kick-boxing, and from the looks of it, to find a little love as well. He introduced me to his Thai girlfriend, Ana, and asked if I’d like to join them for some beers later on. I told them I would if I didn’t get lost on my planned excursion that day. I then settled down to the food Neung had laid out for me, and turned on the tube to watch our boy kick some fundamental ass.

After another light breakfast of coffee, yogurt, and strange fruit, and an Obama victory, I once again headed out in search of unknown sights and smells. Still zombiefied with jet-lag, I nevertheless passed up my bicycle and a tuk-tuk for a good old-fashioned walkabout. I felt I could absorb more of the city on foot, worry less about becoming a scooter smear on the sidewalk, and I didn’t even know where to tell a tuk-tuk to take me. It wouldn’t be my first mistake that day.

Staring is not a faux pas in this country, and is practiced quite regularly. I’ve endured much of it since I’ve been here, and fortunately have grown self-consciously numb because of it. But it being only my second day, walking amidst the Thai people on their turf, taking pictures left and right, my cultural sensitivities laid bare, I never felt more alienated. It was like that dream where you show up at school naked, except that everyone is laughing in a different language.

After wandering around aimlessly through the many sois of my neighborhood, I decided to head toward the hub of the city, the Old Town with it’s crumbling walls and stagnant moat. I knew that was where most of the farang hung out, and I also wanted to check out the Night Bazaar. By the time I made it there, my clothes and backpack were soaked through with sweat. As a result, I spent the better part of the remaining afternoon scrambling from shaded café to shaded café, drinking water and occasionally gambling on a menu. Wandering around Old Town, and the rest of the city, I began to realize that a vast majority of businesses were restaurants or roadside food-stalls, internet cafes or computer stores, guesthouses or tourist information, and scooter repair shops. Tourism really is the driving force behind Thailand’s economy. I honestly don’t know what they would do without it.

Evening had begun to settle in, so I decided to head for “home”. On the way, I passed a park across the street from a mental hospital, called Old Ram Park and Old Ram Hospital respectively. Everything was “Old Something or Other” in this town. I decided to check out the park, mostly for the hell of it, but particularly because I saw a group of men playing a game I had never seen before. The game was called Takro, and it looks like a cross between soccer and basketball. The ball is made of woven rattan (palm leaves), what they use to make canes (the whipping kind), and it is kicked around a circle of players, in the middle of which is a pole about 20 feet tall with a small hoop at the top. I don’t think I need to explain it anymore; needless to say it looked hard as hell. I vowed to master it. One of the players caught me sneaking some pictures of the game, and asked me if I wanted to join, and I readily accepted the invitation. If anyone has seen my hacky-sack skills, then you probably know the outcome of my first round of Takro. A lot of sand was kicked, but I did manage to get the ball through the hoop, albeit the wrong way.

Heading out of the east end of the park for Santitham, I passed a large open area with a large shrine-like structure in the middle. A throng of people had gathered around one side it, and they were shouting about something. I kept walking, but the cacophony had captured my curiosity. I was about to pass through the gates of the park when all of a sudden the shrine exploded amidst a bevy of fireworks. I quickly got out my camera, but as I took some pictures, the shrine became completely enveloped in smoke. I soon realized that the fireworks were not the smoke’s only source, and sure enough a wall of transparent riot shields emerged from the thick cloud accompanied by nightsticks and gas-masked faces. What I had initially thought to be a joyous July 4th-like celebration in the park, soon escalated to a stampede, during which I realized I could run as fast if not faster than any Thai. I never did find out the purpose of the demonstration and firework display. Nor have I figured out the motives of the Chiang Mai police, who on their worst days are nothing but complacent. I questioned Burm later that evening about the incident, but he clammed up quicker than my escape from the park. In fact, he looked a little offended that I even asked.

All the running had made me hungry, so I stopped by a restaurant called Lek’s Corner not too far from my place, and experienced some of the spiciest soup of my life. It’s called Tom-Yum soup, and it’s fucking spicy. But amazingly delicious. After about four eye-sweating sips, I asked the waiter for a doggie bag, and he gave me an understandable laugh. Walking home from Lek’s, I was accosted by the largest rat I’ve ever seen. It came out of nowhere, and nonchalantly ambled over my foot. I’ve seen about a handful of these suckers since that night, and they are not afraid of people. No joke, these mother-humpers have turned the tables on the age-old rivalry between feline and rodent.

Like I said, an uneventful day. I’m now gonna try and upload some pics, even though it takes for fucking ever. Hope to write again soon. Oh! And by the way. Congratu-fucking-lations America! We finally got it right! I’d love to hear from some of you about your election day experience. What was it like? What were the vibes? How did the Repubs handle it? Give me some feedback. Talk to you soon.

Surat Thani (Oct. 28th-Nov.2nd)

2008-11-01T20:07:00.007+07:00

Hey there, 'merica. I haven't talked or corresponded with anyone outside of Thailand for over a week now, and I'm missin y'all something fierce. I just finished my first week of teaching English, and it's been hectic as all get out. I've had very little time to get acclimated to my new surroundings, let alone find somewhere with internet access, so I apologize for the MIA, especially to Penny Saier who's had very little sleep in the past several days (I just called her for the first time on Friday).

I arrived this past Tuesday (Oct. 28th) at my new home in Surat Thani, a very uninspired port town on the southeastern coast of Siam. As blase as Surat may seem, it is the gateway to paradise on the eastern islands of Koh Samui, Pha-Ngan, and Tao in the Gulf of Thailand, and Krabi, Phuket (I can do without), and Phi-Phi on the Andaman Sea. The last stop on Thai Railway's southern line is also the center of the last foreigner-friendly province before you reach the political unrest of the Thai-Malay border (which I'll be taking a run through once I make my passport run to Butterworth).

My living situation has been severely down-scaled from my somewhat luxurious digs in Chiang Mai. I live in a three-story, four-bedroom dormish house about a mile or two from my school. My front door is sliding-glass behind a rolling garage panel that opens into the large living area which also serves as dining-room and kitchen. My bedroom and bathroom (the dish-washing room) are the only other rooms on the bottom floor. I have three other roommates, all American, who occupy the remaining floors of the house. There's Ryan and Katy from Chicago, and Claire from Memphis, and they're all nice enough, although I'm still getting to know them. What I know of them so far: Katy is an extremely active, fitness fanatic, who can't sit still even after a smoke (that's right, I finally found me some haha); Ryan is a freak in the classroom, screaming at the kids, jumping on desks, grunting and griping like a Thai cookie monster, and he takes on the exact same persona when he's drunk; Claire watches Chinese bootlegs of Gossip Girl...and that's pretty much it. Oh, and she pissed the bed the other night after getting stoned. And those are my flat-mates.

My school, Thaeda (which is short for who-knows-what), is based in the center of town and caters to some 5000 elementary, middle and high-school students. I teach two classes from all three levels, and I recently met a 60-year old hippie lady who wants me to take up a class at the local university as well. The kids, even with their loose knowledge of English, are smart little buggers, and never cease to put a smile on my face. The school itself is am impressive collection of large buildings with dirty exteriors (typical of most Thai structures outside of the Royal Palace), but overall it's a charming campus with large courtyards and lush gardens. I arrive there everyday at or around 8 a.m. on my pink, pedal-less bicycle, and leave at about 3 in the afternoon. I spend the rest of my day biking around town, playing basketball at a stadium not too far from my house, or reading in front of a fan. And that pretty much sums up my first week here in Surat.

I hope everyone is well. Happy Fest, you lucky motherfuckers, and happy belated Halloween! Sorry I missed out on the Clue party, someone please give me a recap. I'll try and write again soon, because I still have so much shit to tell y'all about my first weeks in Chiang Mai and my birthday week in Koh Tao. And I'll be sure to bring my camera next time so I can set up some Skype dates. Love you guys and can't wait to hear from you.

Combobulated

2008-10-21T21:05:00.009+07:00

I left the mall looking for a place called Old Medicine Hospital. It supposedly offered the cheapest massages in town, Baht 250 for 2 hours. I figured I'd pay 150 for 1 hour just to see what it was all about, and besides, it wouldn't take much to relax this dazed little farang because he was still struggling with some serious lag. I left my bike parked at the mall because according to my cryptic map the O.M.H. was only a block away. No sweat? Actually, a lot of sweat.

The map I had showed the OMH as a huge building, which is exactly what I pictured in my head: a large hospital. I had reservations about getting my first massage at a hospital; had reservations about visiting a hospital at all, especially on my first day. If anything I wanted to wait until I got malaria or bit by a cobra before I took a tour of the Thai medical facilities. But I didn't want to question the advice of my hosts, so I decided to at least check it out. This huge structure did not seem to exist, however. At least not on the main roads, where one would expect to find a hospital. I walked up and down the two large streets bordering the OMH's location on my map, but to no avail. I was just about to give up searching for the place (finding only a ginormous driving range enclosed by a net large enough to cover half the Swamp), when I happened to look down one of the side-streets (called sois) that connected the two roads I'd been combing. I hadn't thought to explore these sois, because they looked more like dark alleyways than any kind of thoroughfare. But as I glanced down a particularly filthy soi, infested with mange-bitten dogs, I noticed a building with a faded-looking sign that signaled I had found my destination.

Making my way through the pack of diseased canines, I realized I was treading on their turf, and it said so in their eyes. And Christ on a waffle cone, were there a lot of them! Dogs are to the cities of Thailand, what pigeons are to NYC. Thai pooches are a different kind of beast at night, as I would find out first hand later that week, but even in the daytime they have a look about them that says, "Fuck you and your uprightness. We're just two opposable-thumbs away from running these streets." I think the only thing preventing these dogs from showing me who's boss was that it was so fucking hot. Not all dogs are aggressive (i.e. domestic dogs, most little dogs, older and fatter dogs), but for the most part I would rather share a popsicle with a stray dog in Gainesville than pet any dog in Chiang Mai, not including Spot and Spot of course.

I have plenty more stories about Scott/canine relations in Thailand, and I'm sure I'll get to those at a later date, so enough about dogs. This post is titled "Combobulated" and at this point in my trip I was anything but. Now I know that combobulated isn't a word, but we're finally getting to the part of the story where I become...let us say...un-discombobulated.

The outside of the Old Medicine Hospital was very unimpressive. First off, it's in an alleyway surrounded by Cujos, and the building itself reminded me of the asylum in Kesey's One Flew... When I took my shoes off (which you're asked to do before walking into any house, establishment, and especially temple) and stepped into the lobby, I half expected an Asian Nurse Ratched to escort me to some whitewashed room where I was to be tied to some kind of massage-rack and pummeled into submission. I was more than a little nervous. The receptionist however, was a very timid and sweet young lady, and she told me to sit and wait for the next available Thai masseuse (I'm not sure if that's what they're called, but whatever). As I waited, I gathered through some of the waiting-room literature that the OMH was no hospital at all. I couldn't determine if it used to be a medical clinic at some point, but today it is solely a massage school and parlor (again, I don't know if the Thais would use the term parlor...there's a lot of things I don't know, yet). I was relieved.

I wasn't waiting long before a tiny old man about the size of my big toe walked through the front door, bowed deeply in my direction, raised his eyebrows, and said something like,"SawasdeekopenKRAPTUMTAAATEEDAAAAAmmmmditaamgaroonaaaa." I loosely translated that to be, "Hello thank you for coming to get massage HOLY ELEPHANT HAIR YOU ARE VERY LARGE follow me please." He then chuckled nervously at the receptionist and led me up a stairwell (in hindsight, I think the poor fellow was more nervous about having to communicate in English than having to massage a man of my height, because he was more than capable). While following the tiny Thai man, I asked him his name. Seeing that he didn't understand me, I gestured to myself and said,"Scott." He then promptly pointed to himself and said,"Turd." Knowing I misunderstood him, I said,"Really. Very nice to meet you, Turd," and we continued on (later on the phone, Noland confirmed that his name was indeed Turd).

Turd showed me to a dimly-lit room with some small corner fans, a few dressing rooms against one wall and a raised platform running alongside another wall. The platform had five bedrolls laid down about four feet from each other, with curtains separating each one. Four of the bedrolls were occupied by three Thai men, and one blond American-looking girl who looked to be in extreme pain. She managed an unconvincing smile, however, when she saw me. Turd then handed me what appeared to be hospital scrubs and gestured towards the dressing rooms. I put the scrubs on (the pants barely covered my knees) and walked over to my designated bedroll. I laid down, and Turd went right to work.

I can't go into too much detail about the actual massage because I was soon fast asleep. I do know that he started with the feet, worked his way up the legs (coming dangerously close to the crotch), then to the abdomen (where he kneaded my internal organs into a vichyssoise), and up to the shoulders, neck, head and back. There were some painful parts, but all-in-all I could see myself coming back for more just about every day of the week. In conjunction with yoga and meditation, this shit was going to change my life. I was so relaxed and limber after just one-hour of massage, that upon leaving the OMH, I jumped up, kicked my heels and farted a rainbow. The once putrid smell of polluted O2 now smelled sweeter than a plate of yams with extra syrup. My bike-ride home to Santitham was butter, like a hot comb through nappy-ass hair. I felt capital. I was finally ready for sleep.

Culture Lesson at the C.A.P.

2008-10-21T13:50:00.004+07:00

After finishing breakfast, I was eager to explore the city a little while I still had a few coffee fumes left in me. The night before I left the States I had talked to Noland on the phone and he told me what I should do and expect on my first day. He said it would be a good idea to go ahead and buy a phone, so as to make cheaper calls, and that the best place to do that would be the mall, and after that I should get a Thai massage and call it a day. Now, I'm certainly not the biggest fan of a trip to the mall, and I certainly wasn't in the mindset to go to a mall inChiang Mai, surrounded by Thai urban and pop culture in its most intensely concentrated form. Not when I could barely keep my eyes open. But I certainly didn't have anything better to do, since I had forbidden myself to sleep.

I asked Berm how to get to the mall, and where I could get a massage. He pulled out a half-ass map that didn't even list street names, and his directions instilled no confidence. I was not deterred, in fact the potential to get lost only added to my excitement. So, I hopped on my borrowed bicycle that I'm sure most of you have seen me almost crash, with my little backpack strapped tight and headed out onto the streets.

Right away, I knew something was wrong. I had forgotten that Thailand was one of those wacky, left-side-driving countries. After shakily correcting my mistake of riding into oncoming traffic, I headed onward. Berm's directions essentially took me back the same route we took from the airport, so it was pretty difficult for me to get lost, but somehow I managed. Riding through town, as dazed as I was from air-travel, I couldn't really take in the sights as much as I hoped (I just remember hundreds of billboards, and scooters, and massage parlors, and 7-11's, andtuk-tuk's , and dogs! Stray dogs are fucking everywhere! More on that later). But I did take in the smells. Man do the municipalities of Thailand stink. Although the air pollution is bad, I don't think it's wholly to blame for the incredible stenches that wait around every corner. Thailand's sewage system seems to be completely neglected. It's as if the city began digging sewage tunnels and gave up after about 2 or 3 feet, because walking down any given sidewalk, you are literally walking directly on top of raw sewage. They've even cut little slits in the pavement every few feet, so that you can see what you're smelling. Anyhow, I made a point to look into the drainage situation at some point just to see where all this shit is flowing, although I gathered that a lot of it was flowing directly into that moat surrounding Old Town that I mentioned earlier.

I finally made it to my destination after about a 3 mile trek on a bike with shitty gears and squeaky brakes through hellacious traffic, only to realize that in true Scott Saier-fashion I'd forgotten my bike lock. Without even pausing to berate myself, I made the ride back to Santitham and grabbed the lock, then biked my ass back to the mall. I was too tired and confused to make any alternate plans. The Chiang Mai mall is a massive, 5-story building called Central Airport Plaza. Noland told me that all electronics stores were on the 3rd floor, and that was where I'd find my new Thai cell-phone.

As I made my way to the elevators, I confirmed what I had only sensed on my bike-rides to the C.A.P.: I was getting some stares, and not necessarily friendly ones, if there is such a thing. Before I even left the States, having talked to people who had traveled in Asia, I knew I was going to garner some strange looks, if not for my tallness or the shape of my eyes, then for my obscure American clothes or my unkempt facial-hair. I certainly didn't expect to be treated as the second coming of the King, but shit, this was the Land of Smiles! I wanted to see some happy fucking faces, no matter how sheepish. I sure as shit didn't expect the demeanor I was receiving at the mall that day. I felt like shitty-Smitty at a wine and cheese party, or an Obama rally, bless his red neck. The general mien of the crowd bordered on antipathy, if not only blatant indifference. It would take several more days of interaction with the denizens of Chiang Mai and its neighboring provinces before I realized that this was not rudeness en masse , in fact it was far from it. I was beholding a collective pride of a people who, for over eight centuries, have never been colonized or consumed by foreign influence, all while Western imperialism has raked the rest of the world, including their southeast Asian neighbors. Sure they've adopted some of our customs, like fashion and food, but not nearly at the rate that we've acquired theirs. In a town of 1.6 million people, there is one McDonald's, one Burger-King, and a very small handful of Starbucks, maybe three or four. These people were looking at me with faces that told me we were equals, and that I was not blessing them with my American airs. I would soon find out that Thais truly are a laid-back, good-natured people who lavish their hospitality if you show just the slightest interest in them, and that the awkwardness I experienced in those initial stares at the mall that first day were most certainly due to the fact that I was staring my damn self, and not smiling. Probably trying to look cool, and instead looking like an asshole. But to my credit, I felt like a damn zombie.

After my lesson in countenance, I was completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of cellphones for sale on the 3rd floor. Some were new, but most were used, ranging from Baht 800-10,000 (f.y.i.-I think the current exchange rate is USD 1-Baht 33.33, or some shit). After browsing for a short while, I lost interest and decided to treat myself to a Thai massage, then head home to bed. On my way out of the C.A.P., I noticed that 711 wasn't the only floundering American business to find new life in Thailand. I passed a few prehistoric faves like Sizzler, and Swenson's, and a very elegant looking Pizza Hut. I left the mall with a chuckle, and headed to the Old Medicine Hospital.

Santitham Part Sorng (2)

2008-10-20T18:43:00.005+07:00

Hello there, 'merica. I hope none of you have given up on following this here sclog due to my absence of writing over the past week. I just recently returned from a trip to south Thailand, specifically an island called Koh Tao. When in paradise, it is nigh impossible to find the time to sit down and record one's exploits and experiences, let alone find the patience to sit down in one of the excruciatingly slow Internet cafes that dot the tiny island (I have a sneaking suspicion that the proprietors of these hot-spots often pull the plug for a few minutes on their modems just to milk the customers a little more, but that's just me being cynical). And on top of that, the book that I've been keeping my long-hands in was left out in the rain, so I've lost a dozen or so pages of truly memorable shit and have to start over using just the old noggin. As for my week-long excursion south, let's just say this Gainesville boy's eyes have been opened to the many beautiful and terrible things Thailand has to offer. I know I've only just begun to describe my first days in this country, but if I keep writing at my current pace, I'll never catch up to the present where my memories are still fresh. So, I'm going to pick up where I left off on my first day in Chiang Mai, but I'll try and focus on just the pertinent observations and encounters. Sorry if it's a little scattered (that being said, scattered writing is seemingly inspired by Bill Burrough's cut-up technique. He suggested re-arranging words and images to evade rational analysis, allowing subliminal hints of the future to leak through. That's about the only thing I've learned from his writing; that and heroin's a helluva drug).

I believe I was last telling you all about my arrival to Santitham, and what a quaint little guest-house it is in a very chunky part of Chiang Mai. It's certainly an oasis amidst a bevy of slum-bitten Siamese and 7-11's. That's right, 7-11's. We've all noticed the mass-disappearance of the classic convenience store in Florida and almost every part of America, but those oddly aesthetic green, orange, and red signs are thriving like mosquitoes at fat camp over here. There's at least two to every block, and you can even find them out in the jungle or on the tiny islands that freckle the Gulf of Thailand and Andaman Sea.

After I unfolded myself from the tiny Honda hatchback Berm picked me up in and unloaded my bags, I walked through the sliding wrought-iron gate into the shady copse of trees and bamboo that sheltered Santitham's courtyard. The area was littered with construction materials: piles of tile, stacks of lumber, and power tools. These didn't mar my welcoming party, as I was fully aware that it wasn't tourist season and my friend Noland and his partner (yes, that kind of partner, and more on that later) were trying to get as much renovation done as possible before November, and the construction was the reason why I was getting such a great deal on accommodation (150 baht a night; that's like $4.50).

There are two, two-story houses within the walled compound, but there are at least three more structures being built behind these. Between the original houses is a covered patio with two finished teak wood couches that look as if they were literally pulled off the side of a tree and given legs. I envisioned many nights hangin on that patio. The buildings themselves--you know what, just look at the photos I posted earlier so I don't have to pretentiously pretend to know anything about the architecture of this place and I'll move right along.

We walked into the main house and were greeted by a large, dopey Dalmatian with a lacerated tail, and a small, Scottish looking, black and white dog. Both dogs' names, I'm told, are Spot. I bit my tongue wanting to ask what was wrong with the Dalmatian's tail, knowing there would be some mis-communication, and I was too tired for that. I was also introduced to a small, Thai woman name Neung (pro. Nyong) who would be looking after, cleaning after, and feeding me every day of my stay in Santitham, much to my dismay. She's very sweet, but she's ubiquitous in her servitude.

After some stumbled pleasantries, I took my bags to the opposite house, which I had to myself for the time being, and went up the stairs to my room. Opening the door, I said to myself,"You really don't deserve this much comfort for $5 a night." Beyond the luxurious sitting room, dining room and kitchen, my room had an extravagance all its own. It seemed out-of-place in this ramshackle part of town. There was a king-size bed with satin comforter, a large wardrobe, a desk and two night stands. It was really more than I needed or imagined enjoying. Having been traveling for over 24 hours, sleeping on greasy airport benches, and suffering serious, weed-less jet-lag, the bed looked mighty inviting. But I had promised myself that I would struggle through the day without shut-eye, so as to acclimate myself to a proper sleep schedule. I didn't want to take a nap and wake up at 11 that night, wired and raring to go. So I decided to give myself a much-needed shower and eat some food before I figured out what to do with my exhausted self.

Upon entering the bathroom, I noticed a dish-washing hose propped up next to the toilet. Without going into too much detail, let's just say,"Way to go, Thailand." It might waste a tiny bit of water, but it saves a whole lotta toilet paper. I gotta hand it to 'em. After admiring the facilities, I turned on the shower. Nothing. Not being surprised, I gave it some time, and turned to brushing my teeth. The water took a little time coming out of the sink as well, and it took a little time to lose it's brownish color, too. Luckily I had some bottled water with me. By the time I finished brushing, the shower head had started to release a small drizzle, and it was far from warm. I got in with a forced smile, telling myself I had asked for all of this and hey, at least this might kick my notoriously long-shower habit.

After washing up, I headed back to the main house for a late breakfast, it being a little past 11 in the morning at this point. I sat down in the little breakfast nook, and waited to see what Neung had prepared for me. She brought me three large bowls and a rectangular platter. In one of the bowls was an assortment of fruits; bananas, apples, large purple grapes, pineapple, mangoes, and a variety of melons. In another was a dried cereal of some sort, what looked like various grains and oats, but I didn't see any milk. The third bowl had raspberry yogurt; this was to be my staple. On the rectangular dish were two bundles of something wrapped in large green leaves of some kind and held together with toothpicks. There was also a large pot of coffee, another staple. After finishing the bowl of fruit and yogurt, and washing down some of the dried cereal with two cups of coffee, I turned my attention to the leaf packages. Neung noticed my hesitation, and promptly told me that it was sticky rice (I think she called it suysong) and that I would love it. I believed her. She was only half correct in her assumption. I eagerly opened the first bundle, because I love rice, even for breakfast, and was surprised to find that not only was the rice colored a shade of dark indigo, almost purple, but it was covered in a custard-like glob the color of---well, man-custard. I know, I'm sorry. I warmed to the challenge, thinking that, for all I knew, and that wasn't much, it tasted delicious. I've never felt more betrayed by my taste-buds than at that very moment. I figured it was only some kind of coconut-milk concoction, but who the fuck was I to know. The rice itself was sweet and tasted fine, but there was no way I could swallow any more of that coconut-custard shit without losing the rest of my breakfast. Luckily, Neung left the room for a second, giving me time to run over to the trash can and camouflage what I couldn't finish.

Shit, look at me go; doing exactly what I promised I wouldn't do. I just wrote 7 lengthy paragraphs about a period of 30 minutes. Well, I'm gonna go grab a Leo (my beer of choice in Thailand) and lube the mind a little. I know you're thinking that I'll never get to the good shit, the juicy shit, of which there is plenty. But I promise I'm working on it, so bear with me. If you are still with me, that is. Coming up next: my first solo venture into the streets, a Thai massage from Turd, the fucking mall, and finally sleep.

Maybe just a little reservation

2008-10-11T02:02:00.003+07:00

Obviously, I've been taking a little timeout from following the chronological order of my mishaps and meditations over here in the land of Siam and sex-pats (disgusting sons a bitches), so in keeping with that spirit I thought I'd tell you a little about what I've been stuffing my face with in these past two weeks. Inspired by my dear friend Joanna's love affair (and now my love affair) with Anthony Bourdain's show No Reservations, I made sure to place myself as far away from the creature comforts that most farang (Caucasian tourists) enjoy when visiting Chiang Mai (actually I had no idea that my guest house's location within the city would be similar to that of Chiefland's to Gainesville). That being said, the restaurants and food stalls in my section of town offer a much more regional flavor; a much more authentic Thai flavor, if you will. And I would. While the touristy areas do have their share of local cuisine, they are cushioned by such global favorites as McDonald's, Burgerking, Starbucks, Duke's (which I'd never heard of), and KFC. Thankfully, I have no such luxuries. Here's just a sample of some of the local menus that I've been ordering from, specifically Lek's Corner which is the establishment I frequent the most:

Popular appetizers include:

Fried peanuts and cashews
French fries (the only familiar item, and they taste a lot like GyroPlus'...pretty effin good)
Chicken Sinew
Fried Tendons (animal not specified)
Hot or Cold meat, Chinese style (again, animal not specified)
Fried Meat Beef (verbatim)
Fried Ball of Fish or Squid
Garlic Fried Frog
1000 yeares egg w/salad (not a typo on my part)

Now some entrees:

Tom-yum soup with flog
Tom-yum soup with all seafood (apparently every type of seafood is included)
Sour soup with snakefish
Hot and sour dried fish salad (the fish is hardly ever identified, so I just assume or hope that it's either catfish or seabass)
White jilly mushroom salad
Assorted seafood salad
Fried cocktail salad
Tub-tim fish
Fried omelet with pickled sausage (they fuckin love sausage over here)
Fried jungle pork
Fried 8 kinds of meat with vegetable (again, verbatim)
Shrimp fish mew with egg
Boiled in galingale root (exactly what is boiled in said root is not specified)

If this post sounds in any way condescending, then I apologize because that was not my intention. In fact, I've tried several of these menu items, and many of them are quite delicious, those that I could keep down. These dishes might sound awful, but that's certainly more due to the fact that these people take great pains in attempting to translate their menus for us English-speaking, self-righteous bastards. And hey, if I really need some American food I can always stop by one of the 30 or so 711's in the two blocks between Lek's and my place and pick up some shrimp-flavored Pringles or a bag of seafood chili-paste Combos. But I think I'll stick with my 1000-yeare old egg with salad.

Santitham

2008-10-10T19:08:00.001+07:00

Photobucket Album

Nothing but Nets

2008-10-10T12:40:00.002+07:00

I saved lives today, and so can you! I was sitting up in my room here at Santitham during the wee hours of the morning, wrapping up my studies for the GRE and the mandatory culture course every prospective English teacher must take before accepting any positions here in Thailand, and I decided I'd watch a little Colbert Report before sleep. Both the Report and Daily Show are shown for free on Comedy Central's website in any foreign country, so Jon and Steve often tuck me into bed during these restless Siamese nights.
Anyhow, I was watching an old episode from early September that featured an interview with Rick Reilly, one of my favorite journalists and columnist for ESPN magazine. He was discussing a charity he helped found that was helping to fight malaria in countries all over Africa, and which was now starting to spread its support to other countries in the world, such as Thailand. On the charity's website, NothingButNets.net, you can donate $10 to buy a mosquito net for some poor kid in Africa to sleep under at night. In fact, the nets are so big they could probably cover an entire family of Africans. The $10 also pays for someone to come to the home and install the net, and it only took me about 30 seconds to do. You see, 3000 Africans a day, mostly children, are dying from this disease, and let me tell you, I'm starting to feel the fear. I wake up every day over here to dozens of satiated mosquitos buzzing around my guest house, and the only thing I have to protect myself is this little mosquito trap that you plug into the wall, looks almost like a smoke alarm. I don't know what it does or how it works, but hopefully it's keeping me out of the malaria clinic. I don't seem to be getting bit too much, but I'd feel a lot safer with one of those big ass nets over my bed. I donated $30, so maybe one of those three nets will show up at my door. If not, oh well, I saved three Ethiopians. You should, too!

Fundamentals...better than mavericks

2008-10-08T17:14:00.001+07:00

I hope everybody watched the fundamentally important second Presidential debate tonight. It touched on the fundamental issues central to this election and the next four years, and Obama fundamentally kicked McCain's ass. His fundamentals were more sound and fundamentally on point, and in case you didn't notice the fundamentally squiggly lines that gauged the viewers reactions, Obama's reactions were fundamentally higher than those of "that other one", in fact McCain's squiggly lines weren't squiggly at all. They reminded me of his fundamental heart rate if he wins the election: a fundamental flat-line. And we know what that means: 4 years of President Palin. It's all about fundamentals. They're so fun!

Chiang Mai Traffic

2008-10-07T17:37:00.003+07:00

Before leaving the airport, before even getting in the car, I took in a hearty breath of what I expected to be Buddha-blessed fresh Chiang Mai air, after coughing out the toxic stew I'd inhaled in my brief stay at the nation's capital of course. However, my nostrils were greeted with the same polluted perfume as that of Bangkok. And I was soon to find out why.

The traffic in Chiang Mai is crazier than a snake's armpit. And I'm sure it's the same all over Thailand. Finally, a country I can relate to in terms of transportation; I'm sure you're all aware of my disregard for traffic law. As Berm drove me to Santitham Guest House, the first thing I noticed is that there were scooters fucking EVERYWHERE! There are about twenty to thirty scooters to every car in Thailand. Beyond those, there are several three-wheeled open-air tuk-tuks and sawngthaews, red covered pick-up trucks that act as the primary taxi service in town. These are both un-metered, leaving the fare up to the discretion of the driver. Most of my rides have cost me between 40 and 100 baht, or no more than three USD's. A lot of people hitch-hike when travelling to sections outside the city limits, offering only food or cigarettes as payment, although I have yet to try this. There are also a small handful of metered-taxis, called thaeksii miitoe, which are relatively new to Thailand, but I haven't tried any of these opting instead to bargain with the tuk-tuk and sawngthaew drivers who take me for a thin-skinned farang. But for the most part I've just used a bicycle that I've borrowed from Noland, the owner of Santitham who is still over in the States. My most used Thai expression is mai, or mai cab, which means no cab. It's saved me a lot of money and hassle.

As we entered the insane flow of traffic, I noticed there were many traffic-lights and signs but almost all are ignored, as is the right of way at intersections and oncoming traffic. Thais don't give two shits about driving on the wrong side of the road. Despite all this, I have yet to see one traffic accident in the two weeks I've been here. Incredible.

About halfway to Santitham, towards the middle of Chiang Mai, is a square section of city called Old Town; about two miles long on each side and surrounded by a dilapidated brick wall and a murky-ass moat which were built some 600 years ago to keep the Burmese out. I would spend much of my time in Chiang Mai hanging out within this walled square, not counting my excursions outside of the city.

Back to the traffic. I have no idea where all these people were going, but there weren't nothing gonna stop em. There's about 1.6 million people residing in Chiang Mai, and about 1.5 million of them are driving at all times, day or night. And back to the scooters, I mean Christ on a scooter I can't get over them! I've seen maybe three helmets since I've been here, and some of these people drive their entire families around on one scooter; we're talking three or four heads deep! And apparently the only function of the traffic police in this country is to distribute wheel-boots to whoever parks in front of a temple or 7-11, of which there are thousands of both, but I'll get to that in a later post.

After an eye-opening and nostril-soiling drive to my guest house, which is in a very un-touristy part of town, of which I am thankful, Berm and I unpacked my bags and headed inside. More about my Santitham and the rest of my first days in Chiang Mai next post.

On a side-note, I know I've posted very little about my time in Chiang Mai, but Berm just came to my house to inform me that his monk friend from Wat Doi Suthep, the mountainside monastery, would be coming down into town tomorrow to pick up some cement, and that I would be joining him on his trip back to begin my first english lesson. I should be up there at least a couple of days, so I'll try and finish as many posts tonight as possible. Kinda nervous about the solitude, but at least I'll fuckin learn how to levitate!

Scathed in Chiang Mai

2008-10-06T21:58:00.003+07:00

Chiang Mai. Finally. Flying in I couldn't see much of the city or surrounding countryside, as I had to look over this douche-bag who didn't even look out the window, he just kept writing shit in his Bible. What I did see looked to be rolling orange groves and rice-fields, and it kind of reminded me of the hills of California. Touching down at Chiang Mai Int., I was so goddamn relieved to be stepping off my last plane-ride, at least for awhile. Everything had gone very smoothly up until this point, but I had to know that I wouldn't make it through four flights completely unscathed, and this is where I got scathed. Forgetting that I had purchased a separate, domestic flight out of Bangkok, I mistakenly went to the international baggage claim and waited like an asshole till the very last suitcase had been picked up and the carousel stopped moving; not-so-subtley voicing my frustration at airport personnel and thinking out loud that my bags were still in Seoul or Atlanta or fucking Djibouti for all I knew. Luckily I wasn't the only one who seemed to be missing luggage, so me and my fellow idiots wandered around looking for our village when finally some airport staff, laughing at us from the sidelines I'm sure, came over and checked our papers and told us we were at the wrong claim.
On my way over to domestic, which was on the complete opposite end of the airport, I passed a bald little Thai with tattoos on his skull wearing a wife-beater, sweating to meet the man and holding a jasmine necklace and a sign that said, "Welcome Scott!" Already feeling the lag, I of course walked right past him about ten steps when it hit me. I turned around and yelled, "BERM!! (which is pronounced Bum)", but he had already turned around to follow me, being informed of how tall I was. We shook hands and exchanged a few shaky phrases in both English and Thai, and he led me to where he had been waiting for the past 45 minutes and my luggage. We grabbed my bags and wheeled them out to the scorching humidity of the parking lot. After loading up his brand-new Honda hatchback we took off for Santitham (pronounced Santy-tam) Guest House.
Coming up next: Chiang Mai traffic. It deserves it's very own blog.

My Abbrieviated Stay in Bangkok

2008-10-05T16:24:00.000+07:00

Welcome to “Land of Smiles”

That’s what the sign said passing through customs at SuvarnabhumI International Airport in Bangkok, and yes I meant to exclude the word “the”. I haven’t found it to be that so much; not just yet. More like “land of indifference“, or “land of how to make a quick buck.” Unless the sign meant “Land of People Smiling at some huge inside joke directed towards farang (which is basically the Thai word for Caucasian, though it also means mango. I‘ve heard a lot of farang eating farang jokes, some directed at me)”. Granted I’ve only been here less than a few hours, and I’ve only spoken to a handful of people, but every one of them has said something to me in Thai, knowing full well that I don’t understand them, and then had a chuckle to themselves or shared with a buddy. I find it pretty amusing myself.
Recalling all the horror stories about Thai law-enforcement and their massive campaign against drug traffickers, I assumed customs would be a nightmare, especially if I looked as uncouth and bedraggled as I felt. Uh-uh. They only checked one mother-fuckin bag! I couldn’t believe it. It lasted all of 3 minutes or so, including the line to get through. Amazing. While standing in the queue, wearing my Big Sky Coffee shirt that I acquired from Jules and Peter Nesmith (I’m sure she wants it back), I was surprised to hear a very familiar and friendly Southern drawl speak up behind me, “Oh my Gawd! You’re from Athens?!! I’m from Russell!” Russell, Georgia I presumed. I turned around and found a tall, dreaded Georgia girl gawking back at me. I corrected her, and told her that, “No, I’m actually from Gainesville.” “Oh my Gawd, Gainesville, Georgia?!? My mom’s from Gainesville.” I again corrected her mistake, but it was still such a small-world sensation running into somebody like that at the airport in Bangkok, as she probably wouldn’t have said anything to me had I not been wearing that shirt.
The airport in Bangkok is not that large, although the ceilings reach up into the friggin heavens. Since I was going to be spending the next 7 or so hours here, I figured I might as well find a suitable nesting spot and make myself comfortable. On the way to the departure area I was harangued by several tuk-tuk drivers insisting that I allow them to take me to a hotel of their choosing. I told them that I was spending the night at the airport, and of course they thought that was a horrible idea. They were probably right, but I anticipated all manner of cluster-fucks had I decided to rent a room for the night. I could even see a large hotel, called Novotel, about a half-mile away outside the airport entrance, but knowing my luck and ability to sleep in, I didn’t want to chance it.
After making my way through the cut-throat cab drivers, I passed small food-court area. I decided to grab a bite before settling down for the next several hours, and though I was tempted to try some of the Thai food, I didn’t want my first Thai meal from the Bangkok airport. So, locating the most Western looking restaurant, I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with fries and a coke. Not the most delectable GC in the world, in fact I’m sure Cecil could make a better one, but the fries were tolerable and the coke helped it go down easier.
Found a comfortable bench next to an Asian man on his way to Kiev. We kept each other company through the limited communication we could muster. It was bright as all get out in that airport, so it was difficult falling asleep. Woke up around 6 a.m. to go get my final plane ticket, and after securing my bags I went and brushed my teeth and washed my face in the bathroom near my gate. The flight up to Chiang Mai was a cinch after all that I’d already been through, but once again no window seat so I wasn’t able to see any of the city as we descended, except that there was a huge mountain overlooking the entire town, called Doi Suthep as I was soon to find out.
Getting rained on right now, so I’m going to make a dash for home, but as soon as I get there I’ll post some shit about my first days in Chiang Mai. Finally.

Sorry

2008-10-04T18:29:00.001+07:00

I know I haven't posted a damn thing about Thailand yet, but check out my bike-ride through the streets of Chiang Mai on Facebook. More to come...

Seoul Shock

2008-10-04T17:33:00.003+07:00

Let me just say that flying on Korean Airlines is an institution. If my whole trip consisted of flying KA around the world and ending up right back where I started, then it would have been well worth it. The jet was huge, like the Titanic with wings and a stronger hull, and the service was exquisite. Korean versions of Heidi Klum dressed as a stewardess and minus the annoying banter, patrolled the aisles awaiting my beckon-call, and though there were some several hundred passengers, it seemed like they were all there exclusively for yours truly. And they all smelled really good, too.
I thought I'd get some much needed sleep on this 15+ hour flight, but I probably slept less than an hour the whole way. Every seat had a tv on the back of it, with an endless selection of movies, video games, and a GPS system that let me track what part of the stratosphere I was in. I watched Iron Man (twice), Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Stupid-Ass Monkey Scene, and oddly enough The Graduate. After gorging myself on movies and and Tetris, I went and explored the rest of the Enterprise, including the second floor.
I've been exceedingly lucky when it comes to who I've had to sit next to on the few flights that I've been on, and this trip was no exception. The lady I sat next to on my flight to Seoul did not utter one word the entire 15+ hours, even when I offered her a Spree. She did offer me a stick of gum during our descent, but again, silence. She didn't even get up to go to the bathroom. It was kinda unnerving.
My flight left Atlanta at around 1:30 in the afternoon on Tuesday, and we landed in Seoul sometime after noon on Wednesday. I've tried to figure out the time difference several times, and it boggles the mind. Anyhow, we descended into South Korea amidst a dense, foggy afternoon sky, so I couldn't make out much of the country-side, and my stoic co-passenger had the window seat with the shade drawn the whole time, so sight-seeing was futile.
My first impressions of Asia were completely odoriferous. It just smelled completely different from America, the whole Korean airport and even now at my base in Chiang Mai. Sort of a sour odor that I can't really compare to any other I've experienced. But I'm sure I'll get used to it. Beyond that, my time in Seoul was pretty uneventful up until boarding my Bangkok flight three and a half hours later. Customs was a breeze, and after that I pretty much wandered around, dragging my lower-jaw on the ground, gawking at all the Koreans. After finding my departure gate, I once again searched for a secluded bench to ease my back-pack onto for a little shut-eye.
There is nothing I've ever experienced more disconcerting than waking up from a 1 hour power nap in an airport in Seoul, South Korea. Before I even opened my eyes, the chaotic Korean speak that had been plagueing my dreams threw me for such a loop and caused me to sit up with such acceleration that the crackers resting on my tummy flew off and struck a Pakistani man sitting next to me. My panic was well-founded though, as I realized that my flight was boarding without me. Alls well that ends well, as I found my way safely onto the plane for the final leg of my journey.

Cobra Juice and Jumbo Jets in Atlanta

2008-10-03T12:20:00.006+07:00

Arrived in Atlanta around 8:30 in the a.m. Immediately headed for my departure gate, even though I had 5 hours to kill before heading for Seoul, in order to get some prime napping bench. Fell asleep to heated talks of the looming financial bailout on CNN, as the news was just breaking. Couldn't sleep too much, as I kept thinking of my oncoming 15 hour flight, mistakenly thinking I would get much of my sleep on the plane. Got restless, so I headed to the bar (TGI Friday's, the best ATL INT had to offer) for a couple of Bloody Mary's with some friendly Pakistani's. Made sure not to make the mistake of leaving my bags unattended, as I did in the very same airport in 2006. We are on Orange Alert, of course. Y'all wouldn't believe the swarm of airport personnel surrounding my backpack after returning from the bathroom two years ago. On the way back from the bar I passed a display of items not allowed through customs, coming from some of the very countries I was on my way to visit. Items included Burmese Bear tear ducts (considered to have high medicinal value, these tear ducts are obtained from the wholesale harvesting of Burmese Bears, much like American pigs) and fermented cobra juice, literally whole cobras soaking in a tequila-colored liquid contained in large bottles.
Back at my gate-post, I tried to get comfortable again amidst more news of international and domestic turmoil. Couldn't wait to get the flight underway and overwith. Was finally starting to fall asleep in my chair with my back to the window, when I was awakened by several dozen people or so frantically flashing their cameras at something behind me, and jibber-jabbering in several different languages. Dazed and confused, I turned around expecting to see the Hindenberg falling in flames. But it turned out to be my ride pulling in to port. The plane was fucking massive. Hopefully, I'll have some pics up soon, but the shit had two stories! The wheels were as wide as that Chrysler Concord boat I used to drive around. I couldn't wait to board, and my usual pre-flight jitters were assuaged, knowing that I'd be flying in the Korean equivalent of Airforce One, I mean nothing short of Everest was gonna bring this sucker down. When the boarding annoucement finally came, I of course decided to make two final phone calls, including one to my mom which almost caused me to miss the flight altogther. But after one final free phone call, I was finally on my way off this island. Next stop: Seoul.

Onward to Expatriatism

2008-09-29T18:03:00.003+07:00

Alrighty, I've got a little bit of time to write down some words before I'm off to dinner with my new friends from New York. I don't think the blog site is displaying the correct time for my posts, but right now it's about 6:15 in the p.m., which means y'all are just about to wake up on Monday morning over there in the States. I started writing shit down the day before I left Gainesville, but I don't think anybody gives a shit about the last moments of my much-maligned, and less than bitter-sweet return to Hogtown, so I'll just tell you briefly about my trip over here and then I'll get to what I'm really supposed to be talking about: Siam.

The voyage started off with a restless night tossing and turning at Penny and Papa Saier's house, sharing a bed with Maxwell the Schnauser, sneaking out to the porch to smoke the occasional bowl. I have to admit, I was getting pretty fuckin nervous about traveling to the opposite side of the earth by myself, and Penny's constant worry-fits weren't helping a damn sight. My last night basically consisted of me getting stoned and wondering if I was doing the right thing (I am), my mom running around spouting nonsense about Thai prisons and malaria, and my Dad sitting indifferently on the couch watching Monday Night Football with his hand down his pants. Wasn't the most relaxing evening, and the fact that I didn't even start packing until 10 o'clock at night for a flight that left at 7 the next morning didn't make things any smoother. Anyhow, long story short, we got up the next morning around 5, drove to the Gainesville Airport, said our goodbyes, and I was off.

Blog Schmog

2008-09-28T17:31:00.006+07:00

How the hell am I supposed to keep a blog when I'm having so much friggity FUN!!! Bear with me folks, haven't had time to sit down long enough to write anything of substance, but soon to come: thai massages, traffic you wouldn't believe, sweaty balls, the mall, whiskey, New Yorkers, Scots and some Dutch, THC, monks, rats, white elephants, malaria, and opium!!! Stay tuned!

Give 'em hell, son!

2008-09-27T12:56:00.000+07:00

That's what Papa Saier said to me as we parted ways with a brief man-hug and some hearty pats on the back at the airport in Gainesville. Best advice he ever gave me. Welcome to my Sklog. Feels a little silly caving in to the obsessive phenomenon that is blogging, but at several people’s insistence, I’m giving it a shot. I have to admit, though, it is a little therapeutic getting some thoughts down after the overwhelming experience of the last coupla days, what with the thirty-odd hours in four different planes over 12 different time-zones, an onslaught of bloody marys and old-fashioneds, sleeping in strange airports, mother-fucking customs, discovering new smells and stenches, having my innards raped by spicy foods I thought I could handle, spraying my butt with a sink-hose (I know I’m fucking crude, and if you plan on reading anymore get used to it), never-ending jetlag with no marijuana, tuk-tuks (or, as I mistakenly referred to them my first day to Berm's amusement, hyuk-hyuks) and over-all, being the minority after 28 years of comfortable majority-ness, and a tall minority at that. I swear, I'm the tallest human being in this country.
I’ve been here in Chiang Mai, Thailand’s proclaimed intellectual and cultural capital, for a little over two days now, and needless to say I’ve barely scratched the surface. So, where to fucking begin, indeed. Some of these entries will be a couple of days dated, because although I’ve been writing since I left the States, I just now got my interweb up and running. So, enjoy these thoughts; I hope they entice you to come join me, and if you’ve been here already (Stu, Jody, Mike, whomever) feel free to add your insight or interpret/correct my observations. Oh, and pics are soon to come, as soon as I figure it out, so for now just use those imaginations.