i realize ive written very little about bangkok itself. i will now.
im sitting in my living room/ kitchen, the walls are closing in. every massive white square of it, jumping in on my ideas, keeping me inside, staring at my godforsaken Toshiba idiot box, and wondering what the hell im going to do for the next two hours. i havent eaten yet. i go down the hall, turn right, walk a little, turn left, press the down button, wait, get in the elevator, press the close button, press the G button, and get out when the doors release me. i walk past the lobby, to the security guard check center, say hello to 'one eye', the one-eyed security guard who has served as both my protector, and wise and constantly silent father figure since ive been in thailand. i nod, he nods, i feel cool for nodding to a guy with one eye. i walk down the long, tree laden road to the main street ( the only tree-laden road ive found so far in bangkok) and hit the street, with the smell of piss and gasoline flooding my senses, i realize i need to figure out what i want to eat, not like i have a vast assortment of choices, but just like you rotate shirts, i rotate between rice with green or red curry, and chicken fried rice. except i do not wear either of these. i watch the motor taxi drivers as i always do, in their half shirts of bright orange. they sit on the side of the road in groups, always in groups, and play games to pass the time until a brave soul appoches them with a need for a ride, greater than the risk of disturbing their frivolities. there is a girl there, every day, regardless of rain or shine, who is sitting with them. young, pretty, she is not a driver, but rather always has her backpack, and i dont know her reason why she never goes to wherever she calls a home, even by 2 in the morning, but she smiles at me every time i walk by. i smile back at her, and consider it one of the infinite mysteries of bangkok i wont understand in this lifetime. i go the the 'khaw pat kai' lady, which just means chicken fried rice lady, but i dont know her real name, and im too shy to ask her for it, shes far too busy, and im far too hungry. she did her nails again. suprisingly, the street vendors make a fair amount of money compared to many residents of bangkok, and the khaw pat kai lady is the red queen of the bunch, always in her spot, and every week she sports a new set of flashy fingernails. this time theyre blue and silver, and i like them for some reason. her young daughter is there, he job is to take the food, put it in a container, and do the money exchange. i take the food, pay 80 cents, and go back to my room to eat quick, grab my muay thai stuff, and decide to go to thammasat after i realize it will be a boring day unless i entertain myself. i do the same routine, go to the street, once again get hit by the feeling of bangkok, and grab a taxi. "thammasat". " pay nay" (where to?). "thammasat". "pay nay". THAMM-A-SAT". "Pay Nay?!"... by this point i just stare at him. " ooooh tha-ma-sat" says the driver. Its not my Thai that sucks, its your hearing. we speed around bangkok unnecessairially fast, and i feel like im in a chase seen out of a Real TV cop show, but melt in the seat regardless, by this point my heart pumps just as fast, but my body knows there no point in going rigid. we get to the thammasat gate, and i head towards the 'canteen', which is the thammasat cafeteria that holds all the food stalls, most meals are 60 cents -ish, and most of them are remarkably good. i would usually get a yellow indian rice with masala curry, but im an idiot and i already ate. i see a few people i know, but things in the canteen end up taking far too long, so i go straight to the dome building, take a left, get a few bottles of water ( naam song), same thing i say every day to the same lady, by now she laughs every time i ask, and it merely makes me want to go more. every once in a while i get three, but i try to keep her excitement to a minimum. i go left for a while, the open sewer systems make me wish for the time when i can work out and feel good air in my lungs, rather than feeling like im excercising in a concentration camp. i go into the weight room to change, and the rusty weights and broken machiences do remind me quite a bit of an ascheowitz video, so i get out quick, due to an irrational fear of touching any surface which undoubtedly has tetnis and a cocktail of viruses. this is something i challenge every day by drinking out of the brown water tank near the boxing ring. i wont speculate on what will happen to me later because of this. anyways, coach is already working with some thai kids, every hit snapping sound off of each side of the surrounding buildings. all there is to hear is the boxer breathing, coach grunting, and pads snapping. step out of the buidlings out into the soccer field. i like this place. a wide open space with a red track presenting cracks in every inch of it, there are trees here, and you can see the sky. any other time i would be a bit put out with this image, but in bangkok it is a haven which i look forward to every day. i run for a half hour, sit on the benches for a while and burn the time which has been sitting on my forehead all day, and go into the ring. throw on wraps, gloves, go nuts for an hour, and sit, panting, wondering why the coach takes such pleasure out of seeing his students panting and exhausted. he just does his deep, harsh, evil little laugh. coach is quite a little man, going bald, very sturdy and stout. a very intersting person, but with a emotional disposition that is as variable as a bipolar teenager. one second havin fun doing the regular coach thing, watching your hits. next second youre flat on the ground with your head aching, and he is smiling once again saying " hand up", making a lazy gesture with the pad, and saying " walk step walk step" which means go forward in coach talk. maybe ill share a bit of coach slang in case anybody reading this will go to thammasat.
"suh-kai" = me
"may dii" = that sucks, do it again
"may be lai"= just do it again
"harder" = harder
"uuuhhhh" = good job
"walk- step"= keep moving and walk forward
"hit"= punch or kick, hopefully you get it right
"you friend?" = where are all the other white kids who have stopped coming ( he asks regularly)
"tommallow?" = come tommorrow.
"tommallow."= come tommorrow or ill kill you next time.
"man-ganet" = i have no bloody idea, but he still says this to me every time i leave. the only thing i can think hes saying is 'magnet', which needless to say makes no sense. i just smile and walk on and he laughs while i leave. either way im back the next day no matter what, so i think it cant be too bad.
so i leave boxing, go back to my apartment, usually walk the laden street with trash and smoke and filled with schoolkids who have just gotten out of their gestalt-like institutions near thammasat, and they punch and yell and spit and push eachother all the way till the busstop. being a student, i can understand and sympathise with this completely. gotta get it out sometime. i arrive back at the condo, one-eye gives me the gesture of boxing, in which he hunches his shoulders throws his fists around in the air, i say yes and laugh and he laughs and i get in the elevator and go to my room. an hour or so later, thomas or peggy or kenny or julia or takumi or emiko or claire calls, i go out to have dinner, usually along soi rambuttri where there are many white peopel to watch and meet, and good food. we get a chang or singha beer, complain that it tastes like motor oil ( which we do every night), and realize that this happy feeling of being lost but at the same time belonging to a city which has heard infinite stories over the years, will soon be a memory. we stay there longer than we need to, usually play a bit of pool, and then call it a night. i go home, study, maybe watch some animal documentaires in thai, ( though i dont think subtitles are necessary for this, watching a dog or wolf chewing on a deer dosent requite much translation), and go to sleep. matti my roomate comes home a few hours later after partying and meeting another random sleezy guy, and falls asleep as well. this is bangkok for me , and i revel at the fact that of how lucky i am to have the comforts i do, which is so much compared to almost every other person ive seen or mentioned throughout the day. i fall asleep considering how i should plan the next day to save money. i dont sleep for a while usually, my thoughts continually rest on images of people i dont and wont understand. this is the hardest fact of life ive come to realize here, and its one that everybody overseas is troubled with, i think.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
maylasia BOLEH!
first off, sorry this has taken so long... im a putz.
so me, my friends julia and brenda arrive in singapore directly after leaving indonesia, to meet peggy and wait for my good friends kenny and thomas, who unfortunately slept through the alarm to come late and we all missed the bus. 3 hours later, we arrive at the bus station which will take us directly to the old capitol of maylasia. it is here that i realize that i can juggle for money, so i throw down a hat and give it a try. i get nothing, and my friend peggy gets her water stolen due to the fact that im not paying attention haha. maybe not too funny. needless to say , we got on the bus, and after a good, long bus ride on one sketchy vehicle, i am ready to get off immediately. we arrive in a small, historic town called malaka, which used to the the capitol of maylasia, and contains massivly old ruins from the earliest settlers of every race. the most prominent is the dutch arcitecture. it was a very strange thing, and still is when i think about it, to see infinite amounts of crosses on all parts of the streets, architecture, and especially the churches. this is due to a massivly large immigration of dutch colonists and missionaries in the 16th century, of which you can see the the first night. we checked into a farily legitimite hostel, with good bathrooms, large rooms. maylasia at first sight reminded me much of a rich version of thailand. clean streets, not so clean buildings. the majority of the women were fully visible, regardless of it being a completely muslim country, ( its illegal NOT to be muslim) and only a small minority were completely clothed in black, and usually had eyes which seemed happy to my best understanding. i suppose ive been lead to believe that in a patriarchical society women would be rather despondant, but i never got that impression. whereas in thailand, family relations, often violent and verbal, is a fairly common occurance, of which ive seen more than a few times. we went out the first night we were there, to a lonely planet reccomend, called the "satay house"
named after an maylay food adopted by vietnam, in which you dip all types of food (fish, chicken, egg, celery, morning glory, shrimp, bread, etc) in a boiling vat of peanut sauce and spices. this night we met a traveler, as we always do, a single girl goin around maylasia and indonesia for 4 months. after alot of talking, eating, drinking, we all parted, and i quickly found my way back to my bed, quiet and appealing.
named after an maylay food adopted by vietnam, in which you dip all types of food (fish, chicken, egg, celery, morning glory, shrimp, bread, etc) in a boiling vat of peanut sauce and spices. this night we met a traveler, as we always do, a single girl goin around maylasia and indonesia for 4 months. after alot of talking, eating, drinking, we all parted, and i quickly found my way back to my bed, quiet and appealing. 
the next day we traveled more in malaka, visiting alot of the old dutch churches, all filled with old headstones from the 16th century, where the names and dates of all the deceased were perfectly engraved, and rarely exceeding 40 years of age. this is something i cannot imagine, to be so far away from europe in a time where multi month ship journeys were the only means of long distance travel; in a tropical rainforest, where headhunters were still a fearsome and very real threat. all to try to bring a foreign god into a seemingly godless country. we quickly got through all the churches, which were scattered with histories of constant religious flux inhabiting the same buildings, and eventually settling as historic monument, to statues of forgotten saints of different faiths. the next day, we got on a bus to Kuala Lumpor, and a short while later, arrived in a bustling hub of clean streets and infinite food vendors. it was a 5 minute walk from the taxi cabs to the Red Dragon hostel, 
which is by far the nicest hostel ive stayed in, and if anybody is in little china of kuala lumpor, id say its a must. with massive rooms, large clean beds and sheets, a common room downstairs with a pool table, massive internet hub, and a free widescreen tv with too many movies to count. we settled in, internetted a bit, then went out to celebrate kenny's 21 birthday in a crowded food street, ordered too many beers and too much food, and spent a couple hours going crazy with ourselves, a group of older ( but shockingly young-hearted) dutch couples, and the wildest waiters and waitresses ive ever seen. all i learned from that night is that i love hong kong chicken, maylasian "anchor" beer is better than any thai beer, and speaking in completely different languages dosent destroy the barrier of the parasitic american pop culture; which creates more than enough of a connection to have fun. the next morning, we spent the first half of the day in the city, 
visiting the famous petronas towers, which are the self-claimed highest towers in the world ( i dont know if its true), and the various temples. the most shocking of this was the islamic art museum, which is by far one of the best museums ive ever visited. it contains relics from longer ago than i though possible, all possible versons of the koran, and infinte weapons, jewlry, religious artifacs, and muslim texts. the most impressive of these were by far the korans. this museum has the largest collection of them in the world, and many of them were inlaid with gold leaf, silver, pearl, diamonds, jade, and rubies of too many kinds for me to classify them all and took over 10 years to create. since all of these had to be done from hand, there were hundreds of books with different translations, all of which were worth more than i can imagine. unfortunately, there were no pictures allowed in the museum, so i can mearly say this is something that should be seen at least once in your lifetime. we made our way back to the Red Dragon, and rested for a few minuets before we learned we had to quickly jet to get to the busstation in order to make it to our next destination.we quickly hopped to a bus to a fairly indescrite place called the cameroon highlands, a high altitude town known for its infinite tea fields, and mossy forests, one of the only remaining forests in the world. we took a depressingly curvy, and long road to get to the highlands, which was soon forgotten once we stepped out of the bus, and into near 50 degree weather, in which all my companions greatfully just shed out clothes, breathed deep, and shivered with happiness. we soon got a ride to Fathers guest house, the reccomended stay, and met a driver there who worked for Father's, and started driving. the intersting thing about this drive, is the immediately impressed us with his fluent english. shortly thereafter, impressed us with taking long drag from a whisky bottle out of the glove compartment, and saying 'you dident see this' . needless to say, our driver, paul, became a quick friend, and spent alot of time chatting with us when it got too dark to go trekking. we played drinking games that night in the event of my friend kenny's birthday, and went to sleep freezing cold. it was wonderful for me, maybe not so much for my californian comrades. we awoke for the 6:00 morning madness tour offered by the guest house, which we attended with only the guide.
a native indian named Kumar, whom is one of those fantastic people you meet in life, with no proper schooling, but massive intelligence regardless. this man had been offered a position at the guest house at the age of 19, where he still works at the age of 36. in a place like the highlands, i cannot say i disagree with Kumars career choice of hiking, offroading, and drinking free tea every day. we drove from the guest house directly higher to the peak of the highlands, where the famous mossy forest was at its forte, and hiked a rather muddy path to the peak where we could see the sunrise over a sea of calm , cold high-altitude clouds, and the few green peaks making islands in the cloudy expanse. we spend the next few hours crawling around on the ground, which was actually a 4 foot growth of dense moss. this was especially visible when you jumped, and every tree in a 20 foot radius shook and rained dew. kumar went to great lengths to explain everything about the mossy forest, from the vegetation, to the animal life, to survival techniques of highaltitude rainforests. so if anyone out there gets lost, drink monkey cups, strain the moss, pack it in your shirts, and look for some yellow, bulbous grubs to eat. hell, go ahead and try it if your not lost, kumar made it sound pretty fun. we spend the next few hours going back to the car in a massivly muddy, roundabout trek around the mountain, and finally arrived with black feet and grins, to head off to the tea plantation. this particular plantation consisted of about 200 fields and massive numbers of workers, whom would cut the baby leaves off of the shrubs, pack it in wicker baskets on their backs, and repeat the action the whole day through. we spend a long time driving around the fields, 
taking in the impossibly green landscape and constantly gnawing on tea shoots and baby leaves. we soon got a quick lowdown on how to make chinese, indian, and malay tea from kumar, which consists of differnet techniques of drying, cutting, straining, boiling, etc. , and each of which produces a different flavour of tea. we drove to the central sales hub of the plantation, and had massive amounts of fresh tea. we soon headed to a local strawberry plantation, but found that it was close, and told kumar that we would stay for a while. a while passed, and soon we decided to hitchhike back to the guest house, and kenny grabbed an open bed truck. needless to say , when the realization hits you, flying 60 miles an hour around mountainous turns, that youre hitch hiking in maylasia, its a pretty distinctive feeling. we arrived about 3 miles out of town, and the driver would not accept any money, so we started hiking back to the town. it was a good walk, and we arrived happy, and ready for indian food, which was given to us that night in abundance. im always excited to write about indian food, and this particular place had a open pot tandoori, in which naan dough was melded to the side of the heated clay pot,
and taken directly from the pot to your plate. best naan ive had in my life, im proud to say, along with some killer barbeque chicken curry, and too much dhaal to eat. we headed back to our room and some freezing cold showers to pull the mud off our bodies. the next morning i woke up far too early, and spent a few hours writing and getting breakfast from the hostels restaurant, which made some great toast, great eggs, and great tea. it was quiet, cold, with a very bright morning sun on top of a small hill opon which the hostel was built. i experienced a deep happiness here, i dont know why, but it felt like the right place at the right time. my comrades woke up, and we caught the 11 oclock bus to kuala lumpor, and decided to stay the night there before we headed back to singapore. we arrived, and went directly back to the red dragon, and ended up throwing down our gear, and splitting up to see the city. i went with thomas and brenda, to go find a good indian restaurant, which we did, and wandered the streets afterword in search of something to entertain us. this was soon found in the form of a karaoke store, where tons of little soundproof rooms are each decked out with a tv, couches, an infinite music selection, and a couple of mic's. i was more than hesitant at first to go, but after a while i gave in, and ended up having a blast, and threw a pretty good round of gangster's paradice, as well as a nice duet of Frosty the Snowman with thomas. we came back to the hostel after that, and met up with the others to fall asleep. next morning, we took a bus directly to singapore. we finally got through a ridiculously long customs line, and got on our plane back to the states with little trouble. it was a relif to get back into bangkok. it always seems to be. its hard to think now what seemed the most ridiculous hub of street madness and pollution could be so comforting now. i've written this blog 3 weeks too late, i apologize, ive been staying in bangkok for the past weeks doing muay thai, doing farily well in a few fights, and going on a couple school trips. ill include a blog with these experiences in a few days, and this time im serious about writing them. hah. i will post more pictures tommorrow
a native indian named Kumar, whom is one of those fantastic people you meet in life, with no proper schooling, but massive intelligence regardless. this man had been offered a position at the guest house at the age of 19, where he still works at the age of 36. in a place like the highlands, i cannot say i disagree with Kumars career choice of hiking, offroading, and drinking free tea every day. we drove from the guest house directly higher to the peak of the highlands, where the famous mossy forest was at its forte, and hiked a rather muddy path to the peak where we could see the sunrise over a sea of calm , cold high-altitude clouds, and the few green peaks making islands in the cloudy expanse. we spend the next few hours crawling around on the ground, which was actually a 4 foot growth of dense moss. this was especially visible when you jumped, and every tree in a 20 foot radius shook and rained dew. kumar went to great lengths to explain everything about the mossy forest, from the vegetation, to the animal life, to survival techniques of highaltitude rainforests. so if anyone out there gets lost, drink monkey cups, strain the moss, pack it in your shirts, and look for some yellow, bulbous grubs to eat. hell, go ahead and try it if your not lost, kumar made it sound pretty fun. we spend the next few hours going back to the car in a massivly muddy, roundabout trek around the mountain, and finally arrived with black feet and grins, to head off to the tea plantation. this particular plantation consisted of about 200 fields and massive numbers of workers, whom would cut the baby leaves off of the shrubs, pack it in wicker baskets on their backs, and repeat the action the whole day through. we spend a long time driving around the fields, 
taking in the impossibly green landscape and constantly gnawing on tea shoots and baby leaves. we soon got a quick lowdown on how to make chinese, indian, and malay tea from kumar, which consists of differnet techniques of drying, cutting, straining, boiling, etc. , and each of which produces a different flavour of tea. we drove to the central sales hub of the plantation, and had massive amounts of fresh tea. we soon headed to a local strawberry plantation, but found that it was close, and told kumar that we would stay for a while. a while passed, and soon we decided to hitchhike back to the guest house, and kenny grabbed an open bed truck. needless to say , when the realization hits you, flying 60 miles an hour around mountainous turns, that youre hitch hiking in maylasia, its a pretty distinctive feeling. we arrived about 3 miles out of town, and the driver would not accept any money, so we started hiking back to the town. it was a good walk, and we arrived happy, and ready for indian food, which was given to us that night in abundance. im always excited to write about indian food, and this particular place had a open pot tandoori, in which naan dough was melded to the side of the heated clay pot,
and taken directly from the pot to your plate. best naan ive had in my life, im proud to say, along with some killer barbeque chicken curry, and too much dhaal to eat. we headed back to our room and some freezing cold showers to pull the mud off our bodies. the next morning i woke up far too early, and spent a few hours writing and getting breakfast from the hostels restaurant, which made some great toast, great eggs, and great tea. it was quiet, cold, with a very bright morning sun on top of a small hill opon which the hostel was built. i experienced a deep happiness here, i dont know why, but it felt like the right place at the right time. my comrades woke up, and we caught the 11 oclock bus to kuala lumpor, and decided to stay the night there before we headed back to singapore. we arrived, and went directly back to the red dragon, and ended up throwing down our gear, and splitting up to see the city. i went with thomas and brenda, to go find a good indian restaurant, which we did, and wandered the streets afterword in search of something to entertain us. this was soon found in the form of a karaoke store, where tons of little soundproof rooms are each decked out with a tv, couches, an infinite music selection, and a couple of mic's. i was more than hesitant at first to go, but after a while i gave in, and ended up having a blast, and threw a pretty good round of gangster's paradice, as well as a nice duet of Frosty the Snowman with thomas. we came back to the hostel after that, and met up with the others to fall asleep. next morning, we took a bus directly to singapore. we finally got through a ridiculously long customs line, and got on our plane back to the states with little trouble. it was a relif to get back into bangkok. it always seems to be. its hard to think now what seemed the most ridiculous hub of street madness and pollution could be so comforting now. i've written this blog 3 weeks too late, i apologize, ive been staying in bangkok for the past weeks doing muay thai, doing farily well in a few fights, and going on a couple school trips. ill include a blog with these experiences in a few days, and this time im serious about writing them. hah. i will post more pictures tommorrowMonday, November 5, 2007
indonesia
so it begins at the ferry station. i am going to indonesia with my two friends, julia and brenda, both of whom are far more competent travelers than i, so i am excited to see the flowing ideas and opinions that will come in the near future. we are only hopping over the border of indonesia just bearly, but then when you think about it, it would be impossible to see all of Indo, due to the fact it consists of over 7,500 seperate islands, and more shoreline than any country in the world (obviously). we get on the ferry after an hour or so of cards, and juggling for the kids at the station, and hop on a very gross boat, which we sit in the front of, surrounded by people with expectant eyes, and kind faces. julia and brenda crash immediately, while i spend the few hours listening to music and trying to understand the people around me. as well as an adorable indonesian baby across from me that seems quite puzzled by everything i do. understandably, of course.
we touch down in Indo, the island of Palau Bintan, it is sometime after dark, and all i see is relatively similar to thailand, only with far pushier merchants and promoters. somehow, we get roped by somebody who claims to know where we are headed, a small backpackers guesthouse, and we follow him to a small mans home with the same title, who obviously is used as a cheap way to milk foreigners money. he is a kind man however, and after a while of talk, instructs us to a far better arrangement, on the south side of the island, no concrete, lots of vegetation. we first stop to get some money, called 'ringit' and 50,000 ringit equals out to about 15 us dollars. this shows us immediately that indonesia is even cheaper than thailand ( it is possible), and it is just as warm towards foreginers, during the day that is. after an hour of a car ride, we arrive at our destination reccomended by lonely planet, a small b and b called "shady shacks". i will never understand whether or not it was called 'shady' because of the fact of how low key and makeshift the entire place was, or because there was massibe palm tree which often engulfed the 3 rooms total available in shade. quite a puzzle, one of those obnoxious ones that make you dwell incessantly for no reason. none the less, i find myself drawn to this place like few i have been to.
after arrival, we are given a plate of fried noodles and boiled yucca root, a common dish which is characteristic of singapore, and despite its relative simplicity, is some of the best food we've had, and we discuss it often still now haha. there are locals there. there is a central roof and small platform with tables that you can eat at, if the cook is there and not tending to her children. but it is night, and the locals are all here. we realize after we are eating, that most locals are here it seems, for we are in a small town, very small, and the ones still awake are here. whether it is to drink, or to watch the foreigners, i dont know, but after the locals offer us their pink whisky ( i know, right?), attitudes lighten, cultural barriers seem non-existant, and the mist of smoke exhaled by the indonesians seem to make everybody melt, and understand that they are simply human beings, in the same place at the right time, with no mission, but an opportunity to read smiles and absorb the experience. we drink . they drink. friends are made the first night. sleep comes easy in the small hut shared by the three of us.
i awake much too early the next day. head feels like a wet sponge. regardless of this i emerge from my hut ( ive always wanted to say that) and take in the view in front of me. it is now i am tempted with a realization. that to write about something experienced seems a moot point to me now. just as nobody can understand how you feel when you miss home, there are too many feelings, too many images which all coalesce with each other to create an impossibly re-creatable feeling. this is how i feel now, trying to type the view in front of me as i leave the damp wood and palm leaves of my small home, and see the entire world of a people all around me, the small village behind me, the labyrinth of sea and island in front of me, all the while the clouds settle calmy as they never do for me, telling me to share this place with myself, and go nowhere. i stare. for hours it seems. the sand below, behind, in front, everywhere minute boulders which have finally reached their destination of the sea. i wonder if they are as changed from what they were long ago as i am feeling right now. the clouds say stay. i stay. id stay a bloody lifetime if that feeling came to me right now. i realize that i am not counting the waves anymore, and i am not focusing my eyes, but rather glazing over as a trapeze artist might during their highest act. need to focus on everything, so i must focus on nothing. i look down for an instant to my watch. the hours felt were indeed hours past. the day is waking, and i feel like im falling to sleep.
i reluctantly strap on my running shoes, and start to run. i need to see this place right now. ill never see all of it anyways, which gives me no excuse whatsoever to sit on a beach and contemplate. i run, i sweat like i never have and never will, and after a half hour enter a village looking like frosty running through hell, and immediately realize that each house i pass has somebody in the window. watching, waiting, watching. everybody smiles. i smile. i cant help it. after a while, everybody waves, whether they be in their houses, on the street, in their shops, on motorcycles, hanging on to trucks hurtling in the other directions. i feel a bit like a celebrity, but i realize how skin deep this is, and wish i could get to know these people on terms other than that of an outsider. i keep running, back through the village, and to the shady shacks, to find julia and brenda eating lunch. i join them, for a strange curry with fish, and many mashed vegetables, roots i think. they love yucca, it is in everything, and i find a natural affinity to it, so i am happy. i doubt the girls feel this way at all. we spend the day going to a small island about 1 hour out to sea. we get there by an extremely frightening boat, a few pieces of wood and a motor all slapped together, a bit as if was put together by harry potter, and no human hands had ever shaped it the way a boat should look. regardless, we make it to the island safely, and spend the time doing very little. very little at all. i do some henna tattoos ( indain tatoo paint) on brenda and julia, and lie down for a while, and think about whatever you might think about on an island literally in the middle of nowhere. nothing. there are no boats or people here. maybe a few houses on stilts far off in the ocean's horizon. i dont know who lives there, and i doubt i ever will, but a large part of me envies them. we head back to the shack, and chill for a while, i juggle with the cook's children, the older child enjoys it, the younger one only enjoys his brothers company. i am envious of them both haha. dinner time, more noodles, a bonfire which enables us to enjoy the company of a few other travelers, some students from hong kong, they searched for over a day for shady shacks, and only just found it, to spend the time exclusively in their huts and for a short bout on the island. i dont think they enjoy it so much, but their lives are interesting as any, and they seem puzzled by the idea of cooking roots in the fire. it is now that i will officially thank my parents for raising me the way a human being should be raised; without constant comforts. i eat 2 yucca. julia tries to eat one, and the others dont touch them. i think i have made a friend with the manager there, he speaks no english, but we both love yucca root, and thats good enough for me, and good enough for him i think. nighttime, we decide to withdraw a small bottle of vodka bought at the airport, and share it with the nightly gathering of villagers at the eating commons, and decide to let it dance around the room along with the other bottles of pink whisky. they think the vodka is very strong, and hard to drink when put in a mixer, they cough quite often, and each seems to laugh at this, including the one coughing. happiness is in everything here it seems. their whisky is surprisingly soft, and i feel a bit like a chauvinist when i take a long draught of their beloved drink, and only smile afterwords. when i think back to this night, it always reminds me of a more intensely perverted version of beauty and the beast, with dishes and glasses and bottles dancing constantly. it is now that i come upon the face of a man which draws me unlike any other. i instantly like this person with large eyes, curly hair, no fat, bone and stringy muscle put together with a strong face, frail body, and eyes of a 200 year old man who understands the sadness of life, yet finds himself trapped with an always lingering expectancy of joy. he is quiet, and i saw him watching from outside the first night, and tonight i cannot stand constantly making eye contact with this man who says nothing and remains hidden. he reminds me of myself in his position, yet i know undoubtedly as the sun will rise tomorrow that this man has experienced an irreconcilable sadness, something lost. i invite him into the hut with brenda and julias help, and after a long while, he concurred, with a traditional bottle of whisky in hand, and more character in an energy than i have ever felt, regardless of his lack of clothing or adornment. simple green pants, torn. that is all, along with the spirits. both the one en caged in a bottle in his right hand, and the one purveying itself across the room with absolute force of presence. i wonder how somebody so small can keep me absolutely mesmerized. it feels as a dream, but there is something about this human being that i will never understand. he sits opposite from me. there is a pulsating noise that i cannot distinguish in my ears, and it continues to resonate regardless of how much i drink, or how deeply i inhale the salty air and let go of my hesitant fear of this persons presence. he eats a bit, and i eat a bit. we begin to play cards. he wishes not to play, so we all play along, and i play the cards in my hand, not caring whether they are high or low or good or bad, i am lost in this night. i being to speak much more to this man, and after explaining my name so he understands, he explains his through the owner of shady shacks. his name is christmas. he smiles quite a bit, and i try to keep in mind that i am in a dangerous situation of my own mind, this person fascinates me far too much to keep my guard up, but i dont think of this then. the night wears on, i feel as if christmas knows everything that i do, but knows it so much fonder, deeper, and more solid than i do. as if everything i have thought or done has been put to action, experience, and completed by this person. we complete the night with happiness and sleep, with each person going back to their homes, me to my shack, christmas going to his small shanty beneath the palm trees in a large plantation field, alone. i dont know why i write about this now, only to express something that will plague me for the rest of my life i think. i wonder constantly about christmas, whether underneath his small shanty he has a picture of his family that somehow was lost, or his hobbies, or knowledge, or maybe a memoir to a god that hasn't shown itself to me yet. i dont know what i feel right now, only a nostalgia for something that never really implemented itself. i realize that i miss christmas as i write this now actually, and i wonder whether he fascinates every person he meets like this, only to leave at the end of the night into a soundless dawn filled with harsh labour and the promise of tomorrow nights drink. ill never know. i wont lie when i say it drives me unbelievably goddamn insane.
we leave the next morning, everybody waves, we wave, it is all paid for, 20 dollars a person, food included. christmas is in a tree in his field, i wave and smile, it is returned, and we all get in the car and leave. we spend the night in the main city of pulau bintan, a rotting city, however we meet a man by the name of rudy, a local who accompanies us throughout the day with the excuse that he needs to practice english. we are used to being ployed by these city people already, only to relearn my age old mantra that always keeps me learning and humble due to my incompetence at embracing it. dont judge. rudy ends up being a very kind man, though i believe he was genuinely interested in my two companions, but regardless of this we leave on good terms, and make a friend to keep for help in the future if ever in indonesia. we go to sleep in a surprisingly nice hotel spotted from the cab, and wake the next morning to catch the ferry to maylasia. we get on the ferry, and i fall asleep immediately. i have too much going in my mind to keep it running on auto pilot. system failure. shut down.
maylasia now, we are at the bus station.
p.s. i will write about maylasia ina few days, i did not ever expect three days to need this much writing... goes to show. i will find pictures of the island. unfortunately i dont have any pictures of my friend christmas, and i think its better like that.
we touch down in Indo, the island of Palau Bintan, it is sometime after dark, and all i see is relatively similar to thailand, only with far pushier merchants and promoters. somehow, we get roped by somebody who claims to know where we are headed, a small backpackers guesthouse, and we follow him to a small mans home with the same title, who obviously is used as a cheap way to milk foreigners money. he is a kind man however, and after a while of talk, instructs us to a far better arrangement, on the south side of the island, no concrete, lots of vegetation. we first stop to get some money, called 'ringit' and 50,000 ringit equals out to about 15 us dollars. this shows us immediately that indonesia is even cheaper than thailand ( it is possible), and it is just as warm towards foreginers, during the day that is. after an hour of a car ride, we arrive at our destination reccomended by lonely planet, a small b and b called "shady shacks". i will never understand whether or not it was called 'shady' because of the fact of how low key and makeshift the entire place was, or because there was massibe palm tree which often engulfed the 3 rooms total available in shade. quite a puzzle, one of those obnoxious ones that make you dwell incessantly for no reason. none the less, i find myself drawn to this place like few i have been to.
after arrival, we are given a plate of fried noodles and boiled yucca root, a common dish which is characteristic of singapore, and despite its relative simplicity, is some of the best food we've had, and we discuss it often still now haha. there are locals there. there is a central roof and small platform with tables that you can eat at, if the cook is there and not tending to her children. but it is night, and the locals are all here. we realize after we are eating, that most locals are here it seems, for we are in a small town, very small, and the ones still awake are here. whether it is to drink, or to watch the foreigners, i dont know, but after the locals offer us their pink whisky ( i know, right?), attitudes lighten, cultural barriers seem non-existant, and the mist of smoke exhaled by the indonesians seem to make everybody melt, and understand that they are simply human beings, in the same place at the right time, with no mission, but an opportunity to read smiles and absorb the experience. we drink . they drink. friends are made the first night. sleep comes easy in the small hut shared by the three of us.
i awake much too early the next day. head feels like a wet sponge. regardless of this i emerge from my hut ( ive always wanted to say that) and take in the view in front of me. it is now i am tempted with a realization. that to write about something experienced seems a moot point to me now. just as nobody can understand how you feel when you miss home, there are too many feelings, too many images which all coalesce with each other to create an impossibly re-creatable feeling. this is how i feel now, trying to type the view in front of me as i leave the damp wood and palm leaves of my small home, and see the entire world of a people all around me, the small village behind me, the labyrinth of sea and island in front of me, all the while the clouds settle calmy as they never do for me, telling me to share this place with myself, and go nowhere. i stare. for hours it seems. the sand below, behind, in front, everywhere minute boulders which have finally reached their destination of the sea. i wonder if they are as changed from what they were long ago as i am feeling right now. the clouds say stay. i stay. id stay a bloody lifetime if that feeling came to me right now. i realize that i am not counting the waves anymore, and i am not focusing my eyes, but rather glazing over as a trapeze artist might during their highest act. need to focus on everything, so i must focus on nothing. i look down for an instant to my watch. the hours felt were indeed hours past. the day is waking, and i feel like im falling to sleep.
i reluctantly strap on my running shoes, and start to run. i need to see this place right now. ill never see all of it anyways, which gives me no excuse whatsoever to sit on a beach and contemplate. i run, i sweat like i never have and never will, and after a half hour enter a village looking like frosty running through hell, and immediately realize that each house i pass has somebody in the window. watching, waiting, watching. everybody smiles. i smile. i cant help it. after a while, everybody waves, whether they be in their houses, on the street, in their shops, on motorcycles, hanging on to trucks hurtling in the other directions. i feel a bit like a celebrity, but i realize how skin deep this is, and wish i could get to know these people on terms other than that of an outsider. i keep running, back through the village, and to the shady shacks, to find julia and brenda eating lunch. i join them, for a strange curry with fish, and many mashed vegetables, roots i think. they love yucca, it is in everything, and i find a natural affinity to it, so i am happy. i doubt the girls feel this way at all. we spend the day going to a small island about 1 hour out to sea. we get there by an extremely frightening boat, a few pieces of wood and a motor all slapped together, a bit as if was put together by harry potter, and no human hands had ever shaped it the way a boat should look. regardless, we make it to the island safely, and spend the time doing very little. very little at all. i do some henna tattoos ( indain tatoo paint) on brenda and julia, and lie down for a while, and think about whatever you might think about on an island literally in the middle of nowhere. nothing. there are no boats or people here. maybe a few houses on stilts far off in the ocean's horizon. i dont know who lives there, and i doubt i ever will, but a large part of me envies them. we head back to the shack, and chill for a while, i juggle with the cook's children, the older child enjoys it, the younger one only enjoys his brothers company. i am envious of them both haha. dinner time, more noodles, a bonfire which enables us to enjoy the company of a few other travelers, some students from hong kong, they searched for over a day for shady shacks, and only just found it, to spend the time exclusively in their huts and for a short bout on the island. i dont think they enjoy it so much, but their lives are interesting as any, and they seem puzzled by the idea of cooking roots in the fire. it is now that i will officially thank my parents for raising me the way a human being should be raised; without constant comforts. i eat 2 yucca. julia tries to eat one, and the others dont touch them. i think i have made a friend with the manager there, he speaks no english, but we both love yucca root, and thats good enough for me, and good enough for him i think. nighttime, we decide to withdraw a small bottle of vodka bought at the airport, and share it with the nightly gathering of villagers at the eating commons, and decide to let it dance around the room along with the other bottles of pink whisky. they think the vodka is very strong, and hard to drink when put in a mixer, they cough quite often, and each seems to laugh at this, including the one coughing. happiness is in everything here it seems. their whisky is surprisingly soft, and i feel a bit like a chauvinist when i take a long draught of their beloved drink, and only smile afterwords. when i think back to this night, it always reminds me of a more intensely perverted version of beauty and the beast, with dishes and glasses and bottles dancing constantly. it is now that i come upon the face of a man which draws me unlike any other. i instantly like this person with large eyes, curly hair, no fat, bone and stringy muscle put together with a strong face, frail body, and eyes of a 200 year old man who understands the sadness of life, yet finds himself trapped with an always lingering expectancy of joy. he is quiet, and i saw him watching from outside the first night, and tonight i cannot stand constantly making eye contact with this man who says nothing and remains hidden. he reminds me of myself in his position, yet i know undoubtedly as the sun will rise tomorrow that this man has experienced an irreconcilable sadness, something lost. i invite him into the hut with brenda and julias help, and after a long while, he concurred, with a traditional bottle of whisky in hand, and more character in an energy than i have ever felt, regardless of his lack of clothing or adornment. simple green pants, torn. that is all, along with the spirits. both the one en caged in a bottle in his right hand, and the one purveying itself across the room with absolute force of presence. i wonder how somebody so small can keep me absolutely mesmerized. it feels as a dream, but there is something about this human being that i will never understand. he sits opposite from me. there is a pulsating noise that i cannot distinguish in my ears, and it continues to resonate regardless of how much i drink, or how deeply i inhale the salty air and let go of my hesitant fear of this persons presence. he eats a bit, and i eat a bit. we begin to play cards. he wishes not to play, so we all play along, and i play the cards in my hand, not caring whether they are high or low or good or bad, i am lost in this night. i being to speak much more to this man, and after explaining my name so he understands, he explains his through the owner of shady shacks. his name is christmas. he smiles quite a bit, and i try to keep in mind that i am in a dangerous situation of my own mind, this person fascinates me far too much to keep my guard up, but i dont think of this then. the night wears on, i feel as if christmas knows everything that i do, but knows it so much fonder, deeper, and more solid than i do. as if everything i have thought or done has been put to action, experience, and completed by this person. we complete the night with happiness and sleep, with each person going back to their homes, me to my shack, christmas going to his small shanty beneath the palm trees in a large plantation field, alone. i dont know why i write about this now, only to express something that will plague me for the rest of my life i think. i wonder constantly about christmas, whether underneath his small shanty he has a picture of his family that somehow was lost, or his hobbies, or knowledge, or maybe a memoir to a god that hasn't shown itself to me yet. i dont know what i feel right now, only a nostalgia for something that never really implemented itself. i realize that i miss christmas as i write this now actually, and i wonder whether he fascinates every person he meets like this, only to leave at the end of the night into a soundless dawn filled with harsh labour and the promise of tomorrow nights drink. ill never know. i wont lie when i say it drives me unbelievably goddamn insane.
we leave the next morning, everybody waves, we wave, it is all paid for, 20 dollars a person, food included. christmas is in a tree in his field, i wave and smile, it is returned, and we all get in the car and leave. we spend the night in the main city of pulau bintan, a rotting city, however we meet a man by the name of rudy, a local who accompanies us throughout the day with the excuse that he needs to practice english. we are used to being ployed by these city people already, only to relearn my age old mantra that always keeps me learning and humble due to my incompetence at embracing it. dont judge. rudy ends up being a very kind man, though i believe he was genuinely interested in my two companions, but regardless of this we leave on good terms, and make a friend to keep for help in the future if ever in indonesia. we go to sleep in a surprisingly nice hotel spotted from the cab, and wake the next morning to catch the ferry to maylasia. we get on the ferry, and i fall asleep immediately. i have too much going in my mind to keep it running on auto pilot. system failure. shut down.
maylasia now, we are at the bus station.
p.s. i will write about maylasia ina few days, i did not ever expect three days to need this much writing... goes to show. i will find pictures of the island. unfortunately i dont have any pictures of my friend christmas, and i think its better like that.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
singapore
things started with the bangkok airport. my bag is the size of a baby killer whale, and i feel entirely too much like a tourist. we throw some baht for a tiger airways flight to singapore, about 100 dollars, and wait in line for an exciting 2 hours, which i spend juggling and making a clown out of myself for any chlildren in my immediate vicinity. i succeed only at making one child frown, and many adults wonder why in gods name there is a juggling american in a plane full of singaporians. we board the plane, the seats are large enough for a malnourished child, and i regrettably sink into my chair in the most comfortable position possible. so thats what it feels like to be at the gynecologist. we touch down in singapore sometime at night, along with my group of regular buddies, kennypeggyjuliabrenda and thomas, (though thomas and kenny will arrive later) and grab a cab. everybody here speaks english, our cab driver validates this assumption. all of our troubles of finding a place quick and efficiently are lost, as we head north on imaaculate streets of singapore. well painted, organized, very prussian. everything that bangkok has proven itself not to be. 
this city is the OCD disorder of southeast asia, and i find myself wondering why i dident put the peices together before i arrived. any city which fines 1000 singapore dollars for spitting, nearly 600 dollars, and has a death penalty for murder of any kind, or for traffiking hard drugs in over 500 milligrams. this pleace is neater and cleaner than my home in america, and i am ashamed that that seeing this alone strikes me as amazing as any waterfall of kao yai did. we arrive in little india, a small suburb of singapore, laden with indian food shops and honest looking markets. it is dark so i dont see much other than partying white people, and the few people yearning for a singaporian nightlife, which i feel will never come. the promise of constatnt and effulent foods tommorrow leaves me to feel a bit like a child. we are at a small backpackers hostel, very gross, thank god for the small sown sleeping bag, keeps the gekoes out. i am in a room with julia brenda and peggy, and upon seeing the closed shops and depressing condition of every bathroom in the hostel, decide to konk out. i find myself awake wondering whether singaporians find their culture to be a meltingpot as much as american culture is. i wonder if i had been in school here, whether i would understand asia, or get the taste of true poverty that slaps the face of every foreigner in every country other than their own. there is little to dislike in this place. it feels very complete, but it also feels like the city is waiting for something. whether it be more money, less money, success, failue, it remains to me to look like a large cement creature waiting in limbo. sleep comes through concentration. the fan is always louder than you want it to be.
second day, sigapore is a diamond among pebbles. the city has the reputation of wealth, cleanliness, and kind people, but i couldent have known a south east asian country to surpass the booming metropolitian feel of an american city. upon a quick wake up and exploration of little india, we met peggy's friend whom lives here, and had a quick lunch of butter curry, garlic naan, tandoori chicken, chutney and aloo gobi ( potatoes and califlower spicy dish). not nearly enough to satisfy my inner food demon. we go to the business district and quickly jump on a boat for the tour of the city, and witness the massive amount of skyscrapers, and cleanly cut grass and plum trees, surrounded by small coffe shops, and a few low key shops by the river side, called the quay side.
we witness a few good sights, my favorite being a salvador dali statue under one of the random buildings, a large obtrusive thing which makes me feel like an ant beneath the never ceasing mind of one of the greatest artists of all time. we go to the museum of history in singapore around 7 at night, and witness massive exibits of ancient malay lifestyle, and the different lifestyles which shaped singapore from a dingy, potentially dangerous port and trading town, (often known for pirateering) to the 17th largest economy in the world. the exibits are large and loud, with massive amount of decorations and colouring on each item, be it a peice of silverware, a book, clothing, parchment, boats, or weapons. by far the most interesting exhibit was the one focused on the more primal tribes of the old singapore and maylasian mainland, most notoriously known as the headhunter tribes, with exhibits ranging from infinitely inticate skull carvings to shields made from human skin and hair. this truly made me eat my own ego when i assumed that a museum could ever put a chill down my spine. we finish the exibit far too early for my tastes, and head home, to get ready for the festival. we soon discovered after our arrival that it is the Deepvali festival, a large hindu festival, the largest of the year, where hindus pray, eat, and preach kindness on all beings for many days, 14 i believe, though that number might be off. at this time, every body seems to go bankrupt, spending all their money on food for anybody who passes by, drink every night, celebrations galore. the shops are alight with people, smells, and foods of every realm of the earth. everybody has henna tattoes, and everybody, man or woman, has customary dots or designs on their foreheads and faces. it is getting late, we go back to the hotel, when i decide to go on a snack run. julia comes with me and we end up going to a closed shop, which due to the festival, opens faster than a jack-in-the-box to serve us, or anybody at all. 
upon discovering that the owner knows no english whatsoever, he orders us to sit down, gives us some anchor beer, ( maylasian beer, a great kind, much smoother than anything in thailand) and starts going insane in the kitchen with bread, chicken, and more spices than i knew could grow on this earth. the end result, a folded roti (flat sweet pancake) with egg, larger than the head of an ox, filled with curry and spices, dhaal everywhere, eggs everywhere, whole chicken legs cooked with chili sauce, and more greese than a southern idaho cafe could ever muster. we gorge ourselves, especially after brenda and peggy arrive, and unknowingly get swept into the euphoria of a deeply southern indian kitchen ready to serve, and end up with their own massive dishes. we pay a ridicuously low amount which the owner only reluctantly accepts after a while of courteous gestures, 5 dollars i think for everything, and leave to go into a food coma at the hotel. i go to sleep directly after, fat and happy.
time to go to indonesia. i will go with brenda and julia, we will break from peggy and her friend whom will
stay in singapore, and thomas and kenny have yet to arrive, which they will before we go to maylasia. we sit at the ferry station for a good couple hours in the morning, so i pull out the juggling balls and go nuts for a while, play some cards with brenda and julia, and finally the ferry comes, to blow us away to the south where kind faces wait, and the shorelines will recieve no justice ( though it is deserved) for many years to come, i feel.
this city is the OCD disorder of southeast asia, and i find myself wondering why i dident put the peices together before i arrived. any city which fines 1000 singapore dollars for spitting, nearly 600 dollars, and has a death penalty for murder of any kind, or for traffiking hard drugs in over 500 milligrams. this pleace is neater and cleaner than my home in america, and i am ashamed that that seeing this alone strikes me as amazing as any waterfall of kao yai did. we arrive in little india, a small suburb of singapore, laden with indian food shops and honest looking markets. it is dark so i dont see much other than partying white people, and the few people yearning for a singaporian nightlife, which i feel will never come. the promise of constatnt and effulent foods tommorrow leaves me to feel a bit like a child. we are at a small backpackers hostel, very gross, thank god for the small sown sleeping bag, keeps the gekoes out. i am in a room with julia brenda and peggy, and upon seeing the closed shops and depressing condition of every bathroom in the hostel, decide to konk out. i find myself awake wondering whether singaporians find their culture to be a meltingpot as much as american culture is. i wonder if i had been in school here, whether i would understand asia, or get the taste of true poverty that slaps the face of every foreigner in every country other than their own. there is little to dislike in this place. it feels very complete, but it also feels like the city is waiting for something. whether it be more money, less money, success, failue, it remains to me to look like a large cement creature waiting in limbo. sleep comes through concentration. the fan is always louder than you want it to be.second day, sigapore is a diamond among pebbles. the city has the reputation of wealth, cleanliness, and kind people, but i couldent have known a south east asian country to surpass the booming metropolitian feel of an american city. upon a quick wake up and exploration of little india, we met peggy's friend whom lives here, and had a quick lunch of butter curry, garlic naan, tandoori chicken, chutney and aloo gobi ( potatoes and califlower spicy dish). not nearly enough to satisfy my inner food demon. we go to the business district and quickly jump on a boat for the tour of the city, and witness the massive amount of skyscrapers, and cleanly cut grass and plum trees, surrounded by small coffe shops, and a few low key shops by the river side, called the quay side.
we witness a few good sights, my favorite being a salvador dali statue under one of the random buildings, a large obtrusive thing which makes me feel like an ant beneath the never ceasing mind of one of the greatest artists of all time. we go to the museum of history in singapore around 7 at night, and witness massive exibits of ancient malay lifestyle, and the different lifestyles which shaped singapore from a dingy, potentially dangerous port and trading town, (often known for pirateering) to the 17th largest economy in the world. the exibits are large and loud, with massive amount of decorations and colouring on each item, be it a peice of silverware, a book, clothing, parchment, boats, or weapons. by far the most interesting exhibit was the one focused on the more primal tribes of the old singapore and maylasian mainland, most notoriously known as the headhunter tribes, with exhibits ranging from infinitely inticate skull carvings to shields made from human skin and hair. this truly made me eat my own ego when i assumed that a museum could ever put a chill down my spine. we finish the exibit far too early for my tastes, and head home, to get ready for the festival. we soon discovered after our arrival that it is the Deepvali festival, a large hindu festival, the largest of the year, where hindus pray, eat, and preach kindness on all beings for many days, 14 i believe, though that number might be off. at this time, every body seems to go bankrupt, spending all their money on food for anybody who passes by, drink every night, celebrations galore. the shops are alight with people, smells, and foods of every realm of the earth. everybody has henna tattoes, and everybody, man or woman, has customary dots or designs on their foreheads and faces. it is getting late, we go back to the hotel, when i decide to go on a snack run. julia comes with me and we end up going to a closed shop, which due to the festival, opens faster than a jack-in-the-box to serve us, or anybody at all. 
upon discovering that the owner knows no english whatsoever, he orders us to sit down, gives us some anchor beer, ( maylasian beer, a great kind, much smoother than anything in thailand) and starts going insane in the kitchen with bread, chicken, and more spices than i knew could grow on this earth. the end result, a folded roti (flat sweet pancake) with egg, larger than the head of an ox, filled with curry and spices, dhaal everywhere, eggs everywhere, whole chicken legs cooked with chili sauce, and more greese than a southern idaho cafe could ever muster. we gorge ourselves, especially after brenda and peggy arrive, and unknowingly get swept into the euphoria of a deeply southern indian kitchen ready to serve, and end up with their own massive dishes. we pay a ridicuously low amount which the owner only reluctantly accepts after a while of courteous gestures, 5 dollars i think for everything, and leave to go into a food coma at the hotel. i go to sleep directly after, fat and happy.time to go to indonesia. i will go with brenda and julia, we will break from peggy and her friend whom will
stay in singapore, and thomas and kenny have yet to arrive, which they will before we go to maylasia. we sit at the ferry station for a good couple hours in the morning, so i pull out the juggling balls and go nuts for a while, play some cards with brenda and julia, and finally the ferry comes, to blow us away to the south where kind faces wait, and the shorelines will recieve no justice ( though it is deserved) for many years to come, i feel.Thursday, October 4, 2007
motercycle to tong pha phum
sorry this is a bit of a delayed blog, but heres what i remember from motercycling north to tong pha phum, from katchanaburi, as well as erawen falls...
southern bus terminal, bangkok. its 700 in the morning, and i feel like a burnt rubber band, strung out on bronchitus pills and some real shitty 7 -11 rice and meat thing which tasted a bit like a microwave. i walk into the station with liam, a friend from canada, really quiet fellow, but a more than capable travel mate. somebody who you might instinctivly trust though you have no reason to. we get the tickets, and immediatley board a double decker leaving that instant for katchanaburi, a more northern city, 4 hours, 100 bhat (3 dollars). we zip thorough the smaller cities, dropping off thais and picking them up along the way, and sooner than later arive, and are swiftly taken by bike taxi to our homebase, the motercycle renters named the jolly frog. we get 2 bikes, max speed 140 kilometers per hour, 150 bhat a day, and after a few crashes and good laughs, get on the main highway amid the smoke and turbulent air of a growing agricultural nations bloodline to economic stability. this vein, however, begins to die after a while, and soon all that liam and i have in mind is the single want and need to get away from the city, the coughing, the stagnant air to take refuge in the northern city of tong pha phum, right along the burmese border. maybe see some good stuff along the way eh? first stop,
Hellfire pass. auspicious name eh? this was the memorial for the transcontinental railway that connects thailand to burma directly after world war two, where 23 thousand prisoners of war, mostly chinese and austrailian, were tortured and beaten, in order to cut into the hillside by hand for years, and more than 18000 of them died from sickness, starvation, or exaustion. i had never heard of this before, so seeing the rock chisled down into the earth a good 50 feet, and knowing it had all been done by hand by prisoners put things into perspective. but railways gotta get built right? the railway only lasted for 2 years after its completion. the memorial lead liam and i along the trail of their toil for a long ways, and soon we had to turn back, in order to make it to the small city before nightfall. we started engines, and got moving again, once to stop and have some fantastic fried rice at an old womans home, whom dident know english, and possessed one of the best smiles i have ever seen. the mountains started to grow from the horizon, in a sea of green which makes me a little uneasy when i think about it still, coming from a desert, 
the amount of verdent life makes me nervous. thunderstorm. waiting under a bamboo hut for an hour before we decide to brave it due to the impending dark on a small road on the border of burma, a country and specifically border that is infamous to be unwelcoming and unfreindly to tourists. cold. cold. cold. finally we arrive, with grins like the cheshire cat, dripping fat raindrops and checking into the dim, smoky town's solitary hotel. the receptionist seems to think we are more of a sight than we believe ourselves to be. this would be vindicated the next day when we get the same idea from the locals, who i now know have seen very few white people throughout their lives. face paint is abundant here, white streeks from wide paintbrushes on both sides of the face, mostly on girls and women, good luck, keeps bad spirits away. liam and i dodge between shelters to find a place to eat, and after a while decend upon a small, smoky, restaurant, where a fair number of locals are enjoying a type of barbecue that i havent seen.
and as quick as we arrive, the scene changes, dead silence, a few smiles, a few frowns, and one courageous girl who sits us down, and without asking what we'd like ( like it would have helped) brought us two changs (beer), a barbecue stove, and two plates full of meat, chinese broccoli, noodles, eggs, basil, celery, and salty broth. we thank her as a well as we can, due to the language being a kind of burmese dialect, they couldent understand the thai that liam or i spoke, which with we had easially managed to order earlier that day. best barbecue ive ever had, hands down. 140 bhat for the both of us, and many smiles as we left and made our way back to the hotel, filled with spiders and cockroaches, and a small squat toilet. slept very well. made our way the next day along a backroad for 2 hours to a tiny farming town home to the best cup of coffee ive ever had, and strong enough to make john wayne sour. this small cafe i will always remember, due to the good 50 or so cages in the front all filled with cats, jumping around their compounds, and going generally neurotic. i doubt i will ever know where, why, or how these cats lives will be taken, used, or implemented, but it is still something that perplexes me now as i write this hahaha. thai society, however, has given me a unfortunate frame of mind to things such as the cat farm, and i find myself trying to think of other things. we find the waterfalls, pad somethingorother, but regardless of my amnesia ill remember the beauty of these to the day i die, an entire mountainside, bleeding with water. seemingly the fountain of youth for the world. and entire mountain made of water. we stick around for a while, flashing our student cards to the tiny park officals like triggerhappy new york detectives, and wondering how much more water could possibly erupt from the ground. soon, we make our way back to katchanaburi, and after 5 quick hours on the motorbikes, arrive at the t and t guest house, and meet up with our friends thomas, julia, brenda (the regular group by now), and a few others from our school. ryan, from iowa state, the man is more proud of the corn riddled state than you could ever know. vanessa, from california, alwys smiling, very beautiful. we spend the night in tourist ridden bars. wake up early the next morning, have some massaman curry for breakfast, (strong, fatty peanut curry with lots of cinnamon and spices, i think cardimum). we make our way to Erawen falls, the most famous national park in thailand. this is due to one waterfall, well, seven actually, all resulting from the same stream of water. the 7 tier'd waterfall it is called. we throw off our shirts, start sweating, and make our way up the trail. out pops the first waterfall and pool. 
undescribably georgous, a jewel of blue amid the green trees, with a fat waterfall, maybe 50 meters across. above that, the secont tier, and above that, the third. the third is by far the most beautiful, with the tallest waterfall, with a massive pool full of attention starved fish, eager to school around and nibble on anybody who dives in and desides to stay still. there is a large cave behind this waterfall, which i discover with the same glee that a child might upon discovering a 100 dollar bill. so there i sat, with the waterfall abusing my back, a rough massage, for a good 20 minuets, until my shaking brain tells me its time to leave before an anuerism. 4 tier, 5th ( rocks that you can slide into the pool below), 6th, and finally the 7th. all distincitive in their own way. all one of a kind. we make our way back down, jumping in each pool of aqua, and wondering why we decided to leave bangkok as late as we did, not knowing of this fantastic place. we suit up, and quickly get to the bus station before dark, and pass out on the bus until it arrives in bangkok. this is one of the only times i have been unhappy to return to the metal organism, i miss the trees, and the mountains. i miss the way that the world contstructs itself without the impediment of man. 
Hellfire pass. auspicious name eh? this was the memorial for the transcontinental railway that connects thailand to burma directly after world war two, where 23 thousand prisoners of war, mostly chinese and austrailian, were tortured and beaten, in order to cut into the hillside by hand for years, and more than 18000 of them died from sickness, starvation, or exaustion. i had never heard of this before, so seeing the rock chisled down into the earth a good 50 feet, and knowing it had all been done by hand by prisoners put things into perspective. but railways gotta get built right? the railway only lasted for 2 years after its completion. the memorial lead liam and i along the trail of their toil for a long ways, and soon we had to turn back, in order to make it to the small city before nightfall. we started engines, and got moving again, once to stop and have some fantastic fried rice at an old womans home, whom dident know english, and possessed one of the best smiles i have ever seen. the mountains started to grow from the horizon, in a sea of green which makes me a little uneasy when i think about it still, coming from a desert, 
the amount of verdent life makes me nervous. thunderstorm. waiting under a bamboo hut for an hour before we decide to brave it due to the impending dark on a small road on the border of burma, a country and specifically border that is infamous to be unwelcoming and unfreindly to tourists. cold. cold. cold. finally we arrive, with grins like the cheshire cat, dripping fat raindrops and checking into the dim, smoky town's solitary hotel. the receptionist seems to think we are more of a sight than we believe ourselves to be. this would be vindicated the next day when we get the same idea from the locals, who i now know have seen very few white people throughout their lives. face paint is abundant here, white streeks from wide paintbrushes on both sides of the face, mostly on girls and women, good luck, keeps bad spirits away. liam and i dodge between shelters to find a place to eat, and after a while decend upon a small, smoky, restaurant, where a fair number of locals are enjoying a type of barbecue that i havent seen.
and as quick as we arrive, the scene changes, dead silence, a few smiles, a few frowns, and one courageous girl who sits us down, and without asking what we'd like ( like it would have helped) brought us two changs (beer), a barbecue stove, and two plates full of meat, chinese broccoli, noodles, eggs, basil, celery, and salty broth. we thank her as a well as we can, due to the language being a kind of burmese dialect, they couldent understand the thai that liam or i spoke, which with we had easially managed to order earlier that day. best barbecue ive ever had, hands down. 140 bhat for the both of us, and many smiles as we left and made our way back to the hotel, filled with spiders and cockroaches, and a small squat toilet. slept very well. made our way the next day along a backroad for 2 hours to a tiny farming town home to the best cup of coffee ive ever had, and strong enough to make john wayne sour. this small cafe i will always remember, due to the good 50 or so cages in the front all filled with cats, jumping around their compounds, and going generally neurotic. i doubt i will ever know where, why, or how these cats lives will be taken, used, or implemented, but it is still something that perplexes me now as i write this hahaha. thai society, however, has given me a unfortunate frame of mind to things such as the cat farm, and i find myself trying to think of other things. we find the waterfalls, pad somethingorother, but regardless of my amnesia ill remember the beauty of these to the day i die, an entire mountainside, bleeding with water. seemingly the fountain of youth for the world. and entire mountain made of water. we stick around for a while, flashing our student cards to the tiny park officals like triggerhappy new york detectives, and wondering how much more water could possibly erupt from the ground. soon, we make our way back to katchanaburi, and after 5 quick hours on the motorbikes, arrive at the t and t guest house, and meet up with our friends thomas, julia, brenda (the regular group by now), and a few others from our school. ryan, from iowa state, the man is more proud of the corn riddled state than you could ever know. vanessa, from california, alwys smiling, very beautiful. we spend the night in tourist ridden bars. wake up early the next morning, have some massaman curry for breakfast, (strong, fatty peanut curry with lots of cinnamon and spices, i think cardimum). we make our way to Erawen falls, the most famous national park in thailand. this is due to one waterfall, well, seven actually, all resulting from the same stream of water. the 7 tier'd waterfall it is called. we throw off our shirts, start sweating, and make our way up the trail. out pops the first waterfall and pool. 
undescribably georgous, a jewel of blue amid the green trees, with a fat waterfall, maybe 50 meters across. above that, the secont tier, and above that, the third. the third is by far the most beautiful, with the tallest waterfall, with a massive pool full of attention starved fish, eager to school around and nibble on anybody who dives in and desides to stay still. there is a large cave behind this waterfall, which i discover with the same glee that a child might upon discovering a 100 dollar bill. so there i sat, with the waterfall abusing my back, a rough massage, for a good 20 minuets, until my shaking brain tells me its time to leave before an anuerism. 4 tier, 5th ( rocks that you can slide into the pool below), 6th, and finally the 7th. all distincitive in their own way. all one of a kind. we make our way back down, jumping in each pool of aqua, and wondering why we decided to leave bangkok as late as we did, not knowing of this fantastic place. we suit up, and quickly get to the bus station before dark, and pass out on the bus until it arrives in bangkok. this is one of the only times i have been unhappy to return to the metal organism, i miss the trees, and the mountains. i miss the way that the world contstructs itself without the impediment of man. 
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
oct 3, after kho tao
so heres how it stands. ive been a few places, im not too dilligent of a writer, but i just got back from the best place ive been yet i think. after a 7 hour night bus, some really sketchy thai food, and a 2 hour ferry, we arrived at kho tao, 'turtle island', origionally used to stash bootlegged items, its become thailands premiere diving spot, with everything from shallow snorkeling to deep sea diving, all with a multifarious amount of colors and sealife. there are islands all over close to the main one, one of which, below, is by far the most beautiful. we arrived in the morning at about 10 am, and spent the day recouping, and eating curry and fried rice at our bungalow hotel, with a room shared with thomas for 350 baht a night, or 4 dollars a person. right on the beach, its perfect for nightlife, and everything in between.
upon arrival, we seeked out a nice, quiet beach thanks to the help of an absurdedly nice cab driver, which ended up being more by a 4x4 driver, who pointed up to the beach of white sands and no sounds. lots of sand castles, lots of snorkeling, lots of very little at all. we got hit by a good rainstorm that brought out the frogs, and kept in the tourists, which meant at nightfall we had to find our way back to our home beach. we chilled that night, spent a while at the bar for a friends birthday. we were with julia and brenda, peggy, also a girl from california, and one of julias friends, amy. things were going good until thomas decided it would be a good idea to try to swallow a 10 peice baht coin, which is a little heaver and wider than a quarter. things went downhill from there, but we ended on the beach, and had a blast staying up until about 4 in the morning talking about everything. the sound of the beach and the feel of the ocean streaching forever on in front of you makes words flow more easily i think, and each experience with the ocean teaches me the same lesson. the next day we rented a snorkeling boat with the 6 of us, and spend all day in the ocean at five different spots. the highlights were seeing a black tip reef shark on the first dive that only one other person saw, it was a pretty large one, and i was a bit freaked out learning that i was the only one that saw it. also, thomas and i breaking pretty far from the boat, and discovering a massive school of fish which was as dense as a mountain, and about at large as one too, big as anything ive seen on animal planet or the like.
upon arrival, we seeked out a nice, quiet beach thanks to the help of an absurdedly nice cab driver, which ended up being more by a 4x4 driver, who pointed up to the beach of white sands and no sounds. lots of sand castles, lots of snorkeling, lots of very little at all. we got hit by a good rainstorm that brought out the frogs, and kept in the tourists, which meant at nightfall we had to find our way back to our home beach. we chilled that night, spent a while at the bar for a friends birthday. we were with julia and brenda, peggy, also a girl from california, and one of julias friends, amy. things were going good until thomas decided it would be a good idea to try to swallow a 10 peice baht coin, which is a little heaver and wider than a quarter. things went downhill from there, but we ended on the beach, and had a blast staying up until about 4 in the morning talking about everything. the sound of the beach and the feel of the ocean streaching forever on in front of you makes words flow more easily i think, and each experience with the ocean teaches me the same lesson. the next day we rented a snorkeling boat with the 6 of us, and spend all day in the ocean at five different spots. the highlights were seeing a black tip reef shark on the first dive that only one other person saw, it was a pretty large one, and i was a bit freaked out learning that i was the only one that saw it. also, thomas and i breaking pretty far from the boat, and discovering a massive school of fish which was as dense as a mountain, and about at large as one too, big as anything ive seen on animal planet or the like.
we ended up taking it easy that night, and finding a good food joint with good music, which seems to be in abundance here. it has become my hobby to find good indian food here. though thai food is well sought after for good reason, my taste still lies with indian food, and with all foods here being so cheap, ive become a bit of a self acclaimed indian food guru. anyways, good curry, good company, fell asleep with a good foot sized, pink and white gecko above thomas' and my bed. next day, i woke up with a craving, which is one thing i find thailand gives me regularly, cravings. this particular one was for a good hamburger and fries. though i havent wanted that for years back home, it was a bit like an itch that wouldent go away. so i settled for the best meal ive had for a long time, a pineapple burger with huge cut sweet potato fries. 2 dollars.
so another 7 hours on a bus, the bronchitus made it kind of a pain, but its getting better now thank god. i think now that im back in bangkok i need to stop traveling for a week and recoup, becausei seem to be dragging this lung illness on and on. maybe this weekend ill chill at jj market, largest open market in asia, and see how things go.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
why is my sleeping bag a ghetto muppet?
second trip= Ayuthaya, and Lopburi, northern thailand.
to begin with, there is nothing like a thai train to make you feel like an individual. if ever you have the chance, be sure to take third class. though it is a far cry away from any civilized mode of transportation, you will find people from all walks of life there, from old women, to students, to food vendors, to crying babies ( theyre everywhere huh?) , to pickpockets, as a friend of mine discovered. i went with thomas, a missouri native, and my closest friend in thailand. as well as our two friends from the same building 4 floors below us, julia and brenda from california.
to begin with, there is nothing like a thai train to make you feel like an individual. if ever you have the chance, be sure to take third class. though it is a far cry away from any civilized mode of transportation, you will find people from all walks of life there, from old women, to students, to food vendors, to crying babies ( theyre everywhere huh?) , to pickpockets, as a friend of mine discovered. i went with thomas, a missouri native, and my closest friend in thailand. as well as our two friends from the same building 4 floors below us, julia and brenda from california.
4 hours by train straight north, into agricultural land where the green is almost too much to handle. we get off the train and head straight to a ferry, where we get on and cross the river and get into ayuthaya proper. the city is not much, and many downtown cities here are, but according to lonely planet the city wakes up at night, and the dogs come out to play. after eating too much and drinking far too much, we decide to find the night market which had closed hours before, and found nothing but street dogs which slowly but surely started to circle us and begin a festival of growling and barking. the eerie noise of a howl was more than enough to tempt me to leave, however a few of my comrads felt the liquid courage to play with the mildly crazed animals, making for a disturbingly boring yet scarily exciting night. next morning visiting the different Wat's (temple ruins), and the plethora of buddhas that are scattered seemingly all over thailand, and all of southeast asia. finally, monkey city, lop buri, where the little guy are on the tele wires above, the parked cars below, and everywhere inbetween, including traffic. after a few hours of playing with the street monkies, we retreated into the wat known for keeping a good hundred of them full time. 
this is the place where 5 monkies on each person isnt any new occurance, and enough of their grimy little paws in your hair and all your possessions gets a bit old after maybe 40 minuets, but the moment you leave the ornate gates of the wat you find an irresistable urge to go running back in to throw around your little friends. HEY update, im in the thammasat cafeteria, and i just saw a kid walk by with a beaver mountain shirt. after stopping him i figured out he was an exchange student at utah state, and has an affinity for skiing at the bev. jesus its a small world. anyways, long train ride home, and back into the comforting wasted streets of bangkok.
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