Saturday September 22nd
Stuck in Hat Yai following a minibus mixup that may be my fault. Everything is the travelers fault. You have to ask about every possible eventuality, or pay the price when there are no english speakers around. Once communication gets hopelessly misleading, I get out of the minibus and walk into town for a room. Buy ticket but leave my seat empty. I hope this fits within my $15 daily budget. Go to the public hospital briefly to have my ear looked at. Still feels muffled 4 days after diving. Minor infection - given antibiotics & painkillers. And the nurse likes me. And it only costs 130 baht, thats 3 dollars for the diagnosis and pharmaceuticals. No wonder they offer professional sex-change operations in Phuket for the amazingly low price of $4999.99.
I look forward to a room that has a TV. And boot marks, lipstick, and a hole punched in the wall. Its called the Aparnaporn Guest House. Best not to think about it. The market here is bountiful. For being such infamous consumers, we Americans have nothing on Thailand. This medium-sized town has London's Camden Town beat for shopping. There are bubble drinks here. I'm getting signs from my surroundings. Live hogs tied to a wooden scaffold on the highway in the hot sun.
Saturday Sept 22nd con't
This evening in the streets of Hat Yai, I collide with some religious ritual that unfortunately no one can explain to me. It involves two things. One is very tame and uninteresting, the other macabre and morbidly interesting. The tame part involves these monks that are not Buddhists, they aren't wearing the gold-colored robes of Buddhists. I think they were Tao/Dao monks. The monks had set up a scaffold in the middle of the street. Imagine this: two parallel 30 foot ladders going straight up. A board 10 feet long connecting them at the top. That is the scaffold setup.
They climb all the way up and collect a few of the colored flags that are planted all along the safety railing. Then they go down the other side and collect a few of the flags on the descending side of the ladder. This goes on for way too long, and I am about to depart to my retirement chambers when suddenly...a tiger jumps off the scaffold and starts mauling one of the monks. And he pulls off his mask and it's Lee Harvey Oswald wearing a nehru suit strapped with dynamite. No, that's not it. Just a little harmless funnin'.
What happens was, the flags are finally all collected and placed on a table. All the while, a musician plays some Percussive Music For Worshipping Spirits By. Then, out of the bristling darkness of ancient mercantile Hat Yai, the grimacing monks all pull out and brandish swords. Some of them small, some larger. None are as large as the one the guy shot by Indiana Jones was swinging. Smaller than that. Then they all grab hold of the swords, and they're all sticking out their tongues. Faster than you can say Jim-Jones-did-not-tell-the-Truth, they plumb put the knives to their tongues and start sawing away like Oregon lumberjacks.
At first there is nothing. I call their bluff. The knives aren't that sharp. This is a joke. But just as the tension threatens to ebb, there it is, just as beautiful as in the movies, real horrorshow, blood coursing down their chins, just deep dark red and crimson and flowing real good. What they're doing is letting it flow onto the variously colored flags on the table. They are hunching over the table, cutting like mad and letting the blood dribble onto the flags. One monk is a genuine midget, about 3 feet tall, and he knows how to work the crowd. He has a small knife with a serrated edge. He is putting everything he's got into it, and grimacing with the blood coursing down his face. It looks like the B movie by Ken Russel, chilling.
Even as I write this, over a week after the bloodletting, I am still skeptical about this ritual. It's impossible not to ask if maybe they could have used blood capsules. But I got up real close, this was a genuine act of mass self-mutiliation. And I have the pictures to prove it. Also, people were paying over 100 baht for the flags, which is a Texas-sized wad of change in Thailand. I got the pictures, but I didn't want one of the flags. The filth at that point was really starting to get oppressive, and the last thing I wanted was a blood soaked flag next to my toothbrush. The END
Friday September 21st
Accompany Will to Krabi in a longboat, where he heads back to Bangkok. Then get a room there.
Hotel room in Krabi closes in on me. There is a distinction in Krabi that a hotel room can come with or without windows. Windows cost extra. Seems like a superfluous choice to me until I am in the room without windows for a few hours. For ventiliation only a tiny fan in the ceiling like the ones you see in the walls of british pubs. I see a bug on the bed that looks like a little crab spider. I haven't had to identify crabs before, but this could be one on my pillow. I use the hostel sheet I brought along and sleep on top of the bed. That's when the karaoke music through the wall reminds me of serial killers. It merges with a book I have read about the Gainsville Ripper, and I find myself in a room choked with the feel of death. It also reminds me of the recent court case against the Berkeley landlord that friend Brooke was once a tenant of. Seems he was importing girls from India and sticking them in his ratty apartments (Brooke likes this type of ambience). Unfortunately one of the girls died of suffocation in a heater incident. That's what this room is like. On top of that, this is the most expensive room I have rented thus far. It costs 400 baht, or almost $9, which I paid for in order to have a TV to catch up on the news coverage. But claustrophobia and bugs with no windows becomes much worse when CNN keeps declaring WAR ON TERRORISM! Just when I think it's all over and can sleep, I remember that Perry Farrell is writing music again, and all is horror...
At sidewalk cafe for dinner: meet Thai who speaks good english. He is fifth Thai to say to me "new yaahhk. boom boom. ha ha." remember, there are cultural differences.
Thursday Sept 20th
Last evening on RayLai for a while. RayLai is what vacations should be. A day of rock climbing with partners-in-leisure. Skip dinner but head right on into the buckets. The buckets are metal pails full of ingredients banned in the US. $4 gets you and friends a bucket with 6 straws in it. Simon is a one-time roofer from England who is already juicing up on creotene, and tonight is PUMPED UP. He challenges strangers to Thai Boxing, but gets knocked into the water. Then starts a dance that looks more like police interrogation. Here's how to do The Simon: put your hands at waist level, palms down, like you're pushing down on the trunk of a car. Then twitch your arms at the elbow very quickly, like you're shaking a blanket. If you do this like a a one-time British roofer on Creotene and Red Bull, then you are Doin' The Simon. I am the last guest there because the bad techno & U2 songs won't quit. Sleep late. Very late. RayLai is what vacations should be. Last evening on RayLai for a while. Thurs.
Tuesday Sept 18th
Diving today. Only the second time for me. If you aren't PADI certified, you have to go through orientation & pay more. I am not Padi certified. Poor visibility in the water, but it doesn't matter. Diving allows you to fly like that bloke Superman. That's entertainment enough. Blowfish, urchins, no sharks. Later meet some other travelers for drinks. Mutual interest in climbing has made us an international drinking clan. It is a group of 2 Australians, 2 Brits, and 2 Americans.
Monday Sept 17th
Explore the island. Go snorkelling through an island channel and see a giant sea turtle. Meet a couple who watches my bag while I snorkel (one of the inconveniences of solo travel). She is a talkative Czech, he a quiet Kiwi who steps on my sunglasses while I am out swimming.
Sunday Sept 16th
Spend the morning returning to Krabi for ATM funds. This remote beach is run on generator power - no ATMs. Afternoon - rock climbing with M. This is so much fun, I can't believe it. Rock climbing is like shopping. You prod hand and foot holds for purchase. Also, since there is a rope to keep you from falling 90 feet down, it's a video game set on free play. Meet other climbers, including Will, who has a web site and is often in Austin. The total lack of Americans here makes this remarkable.
Saturday Sept 15th
Saying goodbye to friend Tai at the bus station. We have traveled together for 5 days and recount the mighty adventures. I meet a group of 5 headed for a place called Krabi and say goodbye. Tai is bound for Bangkok, the opposite direction. The trip to Krabi and then to RaiLay beach takes all day, and it is dark when I arrive. Meet some of the rock climbers and other travelers at the restaurant. It is the off-season, and rooms with fan welcome you for 150 baht, about $3.50, per night.
Friday Sept 14th
Last full day in Phuket.
Other travelers' titles shed new light on the meaning of travel:
Hello there my Beautiful Rotem
HI From Phuket
I missing you so much!!!
still at it the cunt
RE My Degree Certificate from University of Surrery (my alma mater!)
now have no boyfriend
Fucking motorbike!
and of course
Greetings from Fuckit ...sorry Phuket
Phuket is not a city. It has a town in it, but the name Phuket refers to a very large island on the west coast of Thailand where its "my way or the Thai way." The most popular tourist destination in Phuket – the one that generates the most lurid sex tourism stories (the banana stuck to the wall) – is a place called Patong Beach. It is highly commercialized and developed. In order to see Patong Beach for what it is – an annoying resort town – you have to go there for a while.
Along the beachfront street is a hotel called Paradise, where I stay for two nights. I also spend some time at the Australian-themed bar up front, where they pour Carlsberg beer on tap. I choose this bar for the clear view of the TV, which is running CNN coverage during the day. Sitting next to me is a middle-aged man drinking whiskey on the rocks and muttering something I can’t totally hear. Sounds like "….bastards…oughta….kill the fucker..." We get to talking – global disasters have a way of uniting even those who mutter – and I find he is an American named Bob. He’s lucid but seething with rage over the attacks. He confides in me his suspicions that the mastermind behind the attacks is Bush Senior's Public Enemy #1, Saddam Hussein. It’s speculation at this point, but I see no reason to disagree. It could be Hussein. No one knows yet.
With a candor that is one-American-to-another, he tells me the solution to this madness. US Green Berets, the top troops in the world, should go on a covert op to capture Saddam Hussein. Only then could the US see that justice is truly done. Bob has been thinking about this. He says Hussein should be put on a global CNN broadcast with George Bush. The Green Berets carry him out in shackles to center stage and throw him to the floor. They put a boot on his throat to hold him down, and hand a service revolver to George Bush. Bush looks the camera straight in the lens, says “this is what happens to people who fuck with America,” and pulls the trigger, blowing Hussein’s brains all over the stage. Maybe he takes out a hankerchief to wipe some of the gray matter off his lips. It’s a natural reaction.
Bob is a self-employed high tech worker who spends as much time as possible in Patong Beach. He has an apartment in the hills around Patong where you can stay month to month for under 300 dollars. It is fully furnished and has cable tv. He spends most of his time with Thai women, either in town for food and drinks, or at his apartment. I gather information about the ho trade – prices, availability, customs. Prices are low, availability is high, and the party sometimes goes all night, says Bob. Cell phones are easy to get, and Bob and his girlfriends usually communicate by cell. He keeps getting calls from one of his girlfriends who wants to stay at his apt with him for the evening. I am reminded how Patong is one beach with many faces. I see Bob around town a few times. He seems to be having a good time.
And now, some filthy thoughts that I took down in my horsey notebook. Whatever you do, avoid reading it. It's "political." Above all, it's very stupid. Also, I want to send love love love to all my global brothers and sisters. Please enjoy le Big Mac with me.
Traveling during the US crisis of terrorism has allowed me to play the man-on-the-street game. I have observed things. I have noticed that the Americans who happen to be in town are coming apart with concern and grief. I have also noticed that non-American Western folk (henceforth referred to as NAWFs) don't seem quite so stricken by recent events. The Australians in one bar were yelling for that CNN shite to be turned off, as there was a football game on. Is it possible that NAWFs feelings do not reflect the intensity of statements like that of England's PM Tony Blair? In fact, if people are an indication of a country’s position, is it possible that our leaders' vows of solidarity don't run as deep as we would hope? Even in the US, there is no 100% consensus, even as regards a polarizing event like terrorism.
Let's take the schoolyard approach to this. The West (NATO) is a schoolyard, and each child is a country. The terrorists have not singled out any of the NAWFs, who like little Bobby are 5 years old and have a curb weight of 45 pounds. Maybe Germany is more like Lars, who has a glandular condition and weighs 95 pounds. No, they have chosen to antagonize the US. They are throwing rocks at Toxie from the Toxic Avenger, who is a very frightening 180 pound (and mutated) kindergartener.
Remember that this is all happening on one schoolyard (can you smell the metaphors brewing?). The other kids could say “all for one!” as their leaders have said to varying degrees, and come to Toxie’s aid. Conversely, they could choose the “are you going to take that, Toxie?” approach, which does not acknowledge the burden of responsibility.
I think the ambivalence that some NAWFs may be experiencing is the result of acquired popular opinions, or as they are called in Spain, opiniones populares. Perhaps, deep down, some portion of their opinion falls along the line of "deserved karma" as regards the US.
This phenomenon is unfortunate but, due to the nonobjective self-serving media conglomerates that dominate much of Europe, it is also unavoidable. It is perhaps a worthwhile issue to delve into, but luckily for us all, it simply doesn't matter. That's right, the issue of just how perniciously the European media giants are patting viewers on the back with an "America's Craziest Politics" style of news reportage is unimportant. It is fodder for a dull master's thesis that will be socked away in a basement somewhere. That is a lucky thing for us all, indeed. Because the real solution to this issue is just as simple as a sunshiny summer afternoon in Brisbane.
All we need to do is reform the US as a giant neutral lassiez faire territory. Then we can designate one tiny portion, probably Laramie Wyoming, and call that the Watchdog Province. It would be the source of all global meddling, the “Great Little Satan.” It is the area that sends envoys to investigate human rights violations and prop up the market when it sags.
New York, California, Texas, and everyone else can say “We don’t approve of all this Laramie meddling. All we want to do is provide services and consumer goods for the regional and global markets. We just want to make cars, kitchen appliances and fine art. We want to grow produce and build housing for our people. It’s the decision makers in Laramie who keep interfering with human rights issues in countries where they don’t work, sleep, or eat. They’re the ones you should talk to, blow up, etc. Their headquarters is a shack in downtown Laramie, the one with the red corrugated roof.” By drawing all our fire of international meddling in the affairs of others, we could politically Europeanize the entire US. Then Americans could, as they say in the Middle East, have the egg and the shell.
Gullible Excess
Why are so many Israelis coming to RaiLay beach? According to the locals, within a month they will be all over this place. I have not met any Americans here. Just the expat who's been living in Taiwan for 4 years. Surely this place is no more remote for Americans than Israelis. Even if the fellow I met today is bound for Nepal as a seasoned traveler, that is not the usual Israeli one would meet here. Naw y'all. The Israelis are as reliable as the seasons, they are here. They descend on this island not like most Americans would. They aren't sporting the REI full-body mosquito net and box of malaria pills. No machete and punji-resistant jungle boots to be found in this crowd. Instead, they are dressed for a party. Clubwear and delicate dry-clean only shiny shirts. So why don't people in the US know that this is a civilized place? This beach in Thailand is not full of savage beggars and swindlers. There are no headhunters on RaiLay beach, but if REI sold headhunter repellant, I am certain that American travelers would bring along a can (or two). The young woman in the violet rayon dress is better informed than that. And yes, she is traveling solo through this untamed land. Only Americans, due to preconceptions from somewhere, arrive like Lewis & Clark with flint rifles and camouflage paint. The eco tourist gone mad. There is something to appreciate about it at least, and that is the sense of adventure. Once again, Americans prove themselves slightly gullible and capable of excess. The Americans, come to settle a land feud with F16s. Or come to put out a campfire with a fire truck.
Wednesday Sept 12th
Patpong beach, Phuket by 8:30 am. McDonalds opens at 9. We ask the energetic manager what wages we could expect to work here. He says 25 baht per hour - about 60 cents an hour. He didn't say what a manager makes. Due to tourism, economics here are completely warped. McDonalds employees get 25 baht an hour, and tuk-tuk drivers can easily earn 200 baht per hour by overcharging fares. (A tuk-tuk is a chintzy mini-taxi with no meter and a reputation for gouging tourists, and the only form of transportation on Patpong beach.) They tend to charge tourists at least 4 times the local rate. So we talk to the McDonalds manager about where we're from, and he says, "you american. very bad. 4 planes blow up. boom boom. ha ha. new yawwk in flames. very sorry." Which, considering the boom boom ha ha, seems like a joke.
Who would possibly say, "your city, all blown up, everybody dead, boom boom, ha ha, very sorry"? While smiling? The Thai communicate that way. It doesn't mean they're oblivious. It means they're Thai , to laugh about things rather than pull a long face. That is how Thai people communicate. I would like to hear how traffic cops call mothers when there are lethal car crashes. "Ms Chandrasekhar, ha ha, your daughter and her boyfriend are, ha ha, very very dead. Boom boom, twisted metal, fought for hours, dead anyway, ha ha. very sorry." Maybe that's a better test of the ha ha part than a terrorist attack? Within an hour, I see the footage on CNN at a Phuket bar. All TVs in Phuket are set to CNN. I feel the sense of vertigo that swept over the US 12 hours ago. A global wave of horror. The fireballs over NY have made Phuket a shadow in midday.
Tuesday Sept 11th
First destination this morning is the Cambodian Embassy. I will need to get a visa for Cambodia from the embassy. They are not available at the border, from what I have heard. But no luck today. The embassy is only open from 9 to 11 am, and it is noon. Tai and I spend the day wandering around the city. You have to hold your breath to avoid the clouds of oil and petrocarbons in the air. A bus bound for Phuket island departs from the Bangkok bus station at 6:30pm. It is a 13 hour bus ride.
Monday Sept 10th
Arrived in Bangkok 12:30 am, without the benefit of a traveling companion or prearranged ride to no idea where anyway. Advice for the shoestring traveler: never take a taxi alone to a popular destination - huge waste of money. Instead, I spent an hour attempting to drum up a companion to split the cost of a ride into town. Stopped asking and was asked the same by another traveler from Hong Kong. Excellent. Meet a third, this time a business traveler from Taiwan, and the fare is made manageable.
My newly acquired friend from Hong Kong is also a budget traveler, so we agree to split the room he has booked for the night. It is in the bowels of Bangkok. The sweaty smelly ratty cemented bowels of Bangkok. Bangkok has intestinal problems.
Spend the day exploring the smoke and pollution choked city. Here there is a bare refusal to succumb to the lethal hydrocarbons in the air. Bangkok stands as proof that a city cannot be suffocated...it would have expired long ago. Probably decades ago. The average speed of traffic here is something like 6 km/hour, as measured by the transit department. In the absence of a helicopter, the skytrain is the only effective way to get around town. Skytrain - elevated train above the city. Among other places, it goes to the zoo, which was an initial destination. Too many attendants make the Bangkok zoo decidedly less fun than the Budapest zoo, which I had the pleasure of visiting a few years back. There, no attendants means that everybody can do what they bloody well please - which when I was there was a game of "feed the camel." I saw pursefuls, handfuls, and shopping bagfuls of food thrown at the camel. Bread loaves, peeled and unpeeled vegetables, packages of bologna, bricks of marshmallows, whole cones of cotton candy. All of it pitched in a constant cascade of junk food into the camel's mouth. I can't be sure, but I think the camel was happy about all the food he was getting. He never let any of it fall to the wayside, at least. So, the Bangkok zoo offers less interaction between the animals and the visitors.
Next is the official quarters of town where a protest is underway. I would be glad to relate it if I knew the subject matter, which I can't make out. Thai people have plenty to complain about. Next the golden palace. Take some fotos.
Next, a typical scam for tourists befalls us (Tai and me). I won't go into the details, but it involves being herded into a jewelry shop, where they put the hard sell on you. We aren't their big fish today. That's about it except for dinner in Chinatown, Bangkok, which proves very elusive in the haze of this smelly, dirty, smoky, and very smelly smelly city.
Sunday Sept 9th
Stuck in airport for 13 hours in Seoul. How to spend 13 hours in airport quarantine? Video arcade, of course. Found 2 in the mausoleum-like inner berth of the airport - both closed for "under construction" and none too promising in any case. The only reomaining option is to leave the bonded area by passing through immigration. I need batteries for my camera in any case, as the shops in the bonded area say batteries are "too dangerous" to sell. Hmmm. Even finding the immigration desk a daunting task, but an elevator finally leads out.
As a reward, the mother of all airport arcades (shy of tokyo perhaps). There are no less than 6 bemani type games, all reasonably priced at Korean equivalent of about 40 cents a game. They have 3rd mix of Dance Dance Revolution, as well as others i've never before seen: Fighting mania, a whack-a-mole type punching game, keyboard heaven, which you can guess, 2 of a game called pump it up, which is by a korean company called andamiro, and has 4 diagonal dance pads and a central one for 5 total. Then there was EZ2DJ 2nd Trax, a sample machine simulator much like a keyboard game. A Korean teen is showing a friend his mad dj skills. Finally, my new favorite bemani game, Percussion Freaks, where you play a drum kit to popular songs like Bad Medicine (heavy metal) or You Oughta Know. This one rocks, and you do the rockin'. Long live Konami!
So I spend a good 4 hours playing these games until good and sweaty, in the stuck-in-the-airport sense. I pity those seated next to me on the flight to Bangkok.
Kimchi and coffee are good for keeping awake.
Fashion Report! A Short Account of Who's Got Seoul at Incheon Airport:
This pertains to fashion from mostly Asian countries as witnessed in Incheon Airport. There are 2 main styles I noticed.
Group 1 have an internationally recognized look of Detroit Rock City straight from the streets of the urban stirfry. Jerseys with jeans, retro sneakers, buttons on paratrooper bags. They are ready to put some KISS on the walkman. This is a Japanese look, or at least a "big city hip" look.
Group 2 is strictly made in Korea. Maybe they run lost episodes of Charles in Charge in Korea? If not that, then some similar 80s indoctrination is involved in the Incheon look today. They sport the "preppie" style with such total reverence that it is impossible to doubt their dedication. I imagine an incense-filled temple, gilded Izod on the dais flanked by a sapphire Polo rider and emerald Le Tigre. There in a stained-glass window is the Shirt-Pocket Penguin. There are many modes of preppie look to be seen. The waffle-weave sport shirt in soft pastel yellow, with pink stripes. The Designer fetishist, with D&G and DKNY tucked next to Prada. Socks match shirts to pastel perfection. The United Colors of Bennetton is alive and well. One dandy outfit remains clear in memory, Korean man in putty-colored linen, slouch hat, and navy mirco polka dot shirt, with, and this the mark of a true connisseur who knows his haberdasher by name - a walnut cane hooked to his right forearm. Is he real? Is he a phantom of A-Ha videos doomed to walk the earth? Desperately seeking Kurt Loder? Fashion speaks volumes about a culture.
My flight finally departs for Bangkok. I wish the preppies a nice day.
Stuck in Hat Yai following a minibus mixup that may be my fault. Everything is the travelers fault. You have to ask about every possible eventuality, or pay the price when there are no english speakers around. Once communication gets hopelessly misleading, I get out of the minibus and walk into town for a room. Buy ticket but leave my seat empty. I hope this fits within my $15 daily budget. Go to the public hospital briefly to have my ear looked at. Still feels muffled 4 days after diving. Minor infection - given antibiotics & painkillers. And the nurse likes me. And it only costs 130 baht, thats 3 dollars for the diagnosis and pharmaceuticals. No wonder they offer professional sex-change operations in Phuket for the amazingly low price of $4999.99.
I look forward to a room that has a TV. And boot marks, lipstick, and a hole punched in the wall. Its called the Aparnaporn Guest House. Best not to think about it. The market here is bountiful. For being such infamous consumers, we Americans have nothing on Thailand. This medium-sized town has London's Camden Town beat for shopping. There are bubble drinks here. I'm getting signs from my surroundings. Live hogs tied to a wooden scaffold on the highway in the hot sun.
Saturday Sept 22nd con't
This evening in the streets of Hat Yai, I collide with some religious ritual that unfortunately no one can explain to me. It involves two things. One is very tame and uninteresting, the other macabre and morbidly interesting. The tame part involves these monks that are not Buddhists, they aren't wearing the gold-colored robes of Buddhists. I think they were Tao/Dao monks. The monks had set up a scaffold in the middle of the street. Imagine this: two parallel 30 foot ladders going straight up. A board 10 feet long connecting them at the top. That is the scaffold setup.
They climb all the way up and collect a few of the colored flags that are planted all along the safety railing. Then they go down the other side and collect a few of the flags on the descending side of the ladder. This goes on for way too long, and I am about to depart to my retirement chambers when suddenly...a tiger jumps off the scaffold and starts mauling one of the monks. And he pulls off his mask and it's Lee Harvey Oswald wearing a nehru suit strapped with dynamite. No, that's not it. Just a little harmless funnin'.
What happens was, the flags are finally all collected and placed on a table. All the while, a musician plays some Percussive Music For Worshipping Spirits By. Then, out of the bristling darkness of ancient mercantile Hat Yai, the grimacing monks all pull out and brandish swords. Some of them small, some larger. None are as large as the one the guy shot by Indiana Jones was swinging. Smaller than that. Then they all grab hold of the swords, and they're all sticking out their tongues. Faster than you can say Jim-Jones-did-not-tell-the-Truth, they plumb put the knives to their tongues and start sawing away like Oregon lumberjacks.
At first there is nothing. I call their bluff. The knives aren't that sharp. This is a joke. But just as the tension threatens to ebb, there it is, just as beautiful as in the movies, real horrorshow, blood coursing down their chins, just deep dark red and crimson and flowing real good. What they're doing is letting it flow onto the variously colored flags on the table. They are hunching over the table, cutting like mad and letting the blood dribble onto the flags. One monk is a genuine midget, about 3 feet tall, and he knows how to work the crowd. He has a small knife with a serrated edge. He is putting everything he's got into it, and grimacing with the blood coursing down his face. It looks like the B movie by Ken Russel, chilling.
Even as I write this, over a week after the bloodletting, I am still skeptical about this ritual. It's impossible not to ask if maybe they could have used blood capsules. But I got up real close, this was a genuine act of mass self-mutiliation. And I have the pictures to prove it. Also, people were paying over 100 baht for the flags, which is a Texas-sized wad of change in Thailand. I got the pictures, but I didn't want one of the flags. The filth at that point was really starting to get oppressive, and the last thing I wanted was a blood soaked flag next to my toothbrush. The END
Friday September 21st
Accompany Will to Krabi in a longboat, where he heads back to Bangkok. Then get a room there.
Hotel room in Krabi closes in on me. There is a distinction in Krabi that a hotel room can come with or without windows. Windows cost extra. Seems like a superfluous choice to me until I am in the room without windows for a few hours. For ventiliation only a tiny fan in the ceiling like the ones you see in the walls of british pubs. I see a bug on the bed that looks like a little crab spider. I haven't had to identify crabs before, but this could be one on my pillow. I use the hostel sheet I brought along and sleep on top of the bed. That's when the karaoke music through the wall reminds me of serial killers. It merges with a book I have read about the Gainsville Ripper, and I find myself in a room choked with the feel of death. It also reminds me of the recent court case against the Berkeley landlord that friend Brooke was once a tenant of. Seems he was importing girls from India and sticking them in his ratty apartments (Brooke likes this type of ambience). Unfortunately one of the girls died of suffocation in a heater incident. That's what this room is like. On top of that, this is the most expensive room I have rented thus far. It costs 400 baht, or almost $9, which I paid for in order to have a TV to catch up on the news coverage. But claustrophobia and bugs with no windows becomes much worse when CNN keeps declaring WAR ON TERRORISM! Just when I think it's all over and can sleep, I remember that Perry Farrell is writing music again, and all is horror...
At sidewalk cafe for dinner: meet Thai who speaks good english. He is fifth Thai to say to me "new yaahhk. boom boom. ha ha." remember, there are cultural differences.
Thursday Sept 20th
Last evening on RayLai for a while. RayLai is what vacations should be. A day of rock climbing with partners-in-leisure. Skip dinner but head right on into the buckets. The buckets are metal pails full of ingredients banned in the US. $4 gets you and friends a bucket with 6 straws in it. Simon is a one-time roofer from England who is already juicing up on creotene, and tonight is PUMPED UP. He challenges strangers to Thai Boxing, but gets knocked into the water. Then starts a dance that looks more like police interrogation. Here's how to do The Simon: put your hands at waist level, palms down, like you're pushing down on the trunk of a car. Then twitch your arms at the elbow very quickly, like you're shaking a blanket. If you do this like a a one-time British roofer on Creotene and Red Bull, then you are Doin' The Simon. I am the last guest there because the bad techno & U2 songs won't quit. Sleep late. Very late. RayLai is what vacations should be. Last evening on RayLai for a while. Thurs.
Tuesday Sept 18th
Diving today. Only the second time for me. If you aren't PADI certified, you have to go through orientation & pay more. I am not Padi certified. Poor visibility in the water, but it doesn't matter. Diving allows you to fly like that bloke Superman. That's entertainment enough. Blowfish, urchins, no sharks. Later meet some other travelers for drinks. Mutual interest in climbing has made us an international drinking clan. It is a group of 2 Australians, 2 Brits, and 2 Americans.
Monday Sept 17th
Explore the island. Go snorkelling through an island channel and see a giant sea turtle. Meet a couple who watches my bag while I snorkel (one of the inconveniences of solo travel). She is a talkative Czech, he a quiet Kiwi who steps on my sunglasses while I am out swimming.
Sunday Sept 16th
Spend the morning returning to Krabi for ATM funds. This remote beach is run on generator power - no ATMs. Afternoon - rock climbing with M. This is so much fun, I can't believe it. Rock climbing is like shopping. You prod hand and foot holds for purchase. Also, since there is a rope to keep you from falling 90 feet down, it's a video game set on free play. Meet other climbers, including Will, who has a web site and is often in Austin. The total lack of Americans here makes this remarkable.
Saturday Sept 15th
Saying goodbye to friend Tai at the bus station. We have traveled together for 5 days and recount the mighty adventures. I meet a group of 5 headed for a place called Krabi and say goodbye. Tai is bound for Bangkok, the opposite direction. The trip to Krabi and then to RaiLay beach takes all day, and it is dark when I arrive. Meet some of the rock climbers and other travelers at the restaurant. It is the off-season, and rooms with fan welcome you for 150 baht, about $3.50, per night.
Friday Sept 14th
Last full day in Phuket.
Other travelers' titles shed new light on the meaning of travel:
Hello there my Beautiful Rotem
HI From Phuket
I missing you so much!!!
still at it the cunt
RE My Degree Certificate from University of Surrery (my alma mater!)
now have no boyfriend
Fucking motorbike!
and of course
Greetings from Fuckit ...sorry Phuket
Phuket is not a city. It has a town in it, but the name Phuket refers to a very large island on the west coast of Thailand where its "my way or the Thai way." The most popular tourist destination in Phuket – the one that generates the most lurid sex tourism stories (the banana stuck to the wall) – is a place called Patong Beach. It is highly commercialized and developed. In order to see Patong Beach for what it is – an annoying resort town – you have to go there for a while.
Along the beachfront street is a hotel called Paradise, where I stay for two nights. I also spend some time at the Australian-themed bar up front, where they pour Carlsberg beer on tap. I choose this bar for the clear view of the TV, which is running CNN coverage during the day. Sitting next to me is a middle-aged man drinking whiskey on the rocks and muttering something I can’t totally hear. Sounds like "….bastards…oughta….kill the fucker..." We get to talking – global disasters have a way of uniting even those who mutter – and I find he is an American named Bob. He’s lucid but seething with rage over the attacks. He confides in me his suspicions that the mastermind behind the attacks is Bush Senior's Public Enemy #1, Saddam Hussein. It’s speculation at this point, but I see no reason to disagree. It could be Hussein. No one knows yet.
With a candor that is one-American-to-another, he tells me the solution to this madness. US Green Berets, the top troops in the world, should go on a covert op to capture Saddam Hussein. Only then could the US see that justice is truly done. Bob has been thinking about this. He says Hussein should be put on a global CNN broadcast with George Bush. The Green Berets carry him out in shackles to center stage and throw him to the floor. They put a boot on his throat to hold him down, and hand a service revolver to George Bush. Bush looks the camera straight in the lens, says “this is what happens to people who fuck with America,” and pulls the trigger, blowing Hussein’s brains all over the stage. Maybe he takes out a hankerchief to wipe some of the gray matter off his lips. It’s a natural reaction.
Bob is a self-employed high tech worker who spends as much time as possible in Patong Beach. He has an apartment in the hills around Patong where you can stay month to month for under 300 dollars. It is fully furnished and has cable tv. He spends most of his time with Thai women, either in town for food and drinks, or at his apartment. I gather information about the ho trade – prices, availability, customs. Prices are low, availability is high, and the party sometimes goes all night, says Bob. Cell phones are easy to get, and Bob and his girlfriends usually communicate by cell. He keeps getting calls from one of his girlfriends who wants to stay at his apt with him for the evening. I am reminded how Patong is one beach with many faces. I see Bob around town a few times. He seems to be having a good time.
And now, some filthy thoughts that I took down in my horsey notebook. Whatever you do, avoid reading it. It's "political." Above all, it's very stupid. Also, I want to send love love love to all my global brothers and sisters. Please enjoy le Big Mac with me.
Traveling during the US crisis of terrorism has allowed me to play the man-on-the-street game. I have observed things. I have noticed that the Americans who happen to be in town are coming apart with concern and grief. I have also noticed that non-American Western folk (henceforth referred to as NAWFs) don't seem quite so stricken by recent events. The Australians in one bar were yelling for that CNN shite to be turned off, as there was a football game on. Is it possible that NAWFs feelings do not reflect the intensity of statements like that of England's PM Tony Blair? In fact, if people are an indication of a country’s position, is it possible that our leaders' vows of solidarity don't run as deep as we would hope? Even in the US, there is no 100% consensus, even as regards a polarizing event like terrorism.
Let's take the schoolyard approach to this. The West (NATO) is a schoolyard, and each child is a country. The terrorists have not singled out any of the NAWFs, who like little Bobby are 5 years old and have a curb weight of 45 pounds. Maybe Germany is more like Lars, who has a glandular condition and weighs 95 pounds. No, they have chosen to antagonize the US. They are throwing rocks at Toxie from the Toxic Avenger, who is a very frightening 180 pound (and mutated) kindergartener.
Remember that this is all happening on one schoolyard (can you smell the metaphors brewing?). The other kids could say “all for one!” as their leaders have said to varying degrees, and come to Toxie’s aid. Conversely, they could choose the “are you going to take that, Toxie?” approach, which does not acknowledge the burden of responsibility.
I think the ambivalence that some NAWFs may be experiencing is the result of acquired popular opinions, or as they are called in Spain, opiniones populares. Perhaps, deep down, some portion of their opinion falls along the line of "deserved karma" as regards the US.
This phenomenon is unfortunate but, due to the nonobjective self-serving media conglomerates that dominate much of Europe, it is also unavoidable. It is perhaps a worthwhile issue to delve into, but luckily for us all, it simply doesn't matter. That's right, the issue of just how perniciously the European media giants are patting viewers on the back with an "America's Craziest Politics" style of news reportage is unimportant. It is fodder for a dull master's thesis that will be socked away in a basement somewhere. That is a lucky thing for us all, indeed. Because the real solution to this issue is just as simple as a sunshiny summer afternoon in Brisbane.
All we need to do is reform the US as a giant neutral lassiez faire territory. Then we can designate one tiny portion, probably Laramie Wyoming, and call that the Watchdog Province. It would be the source of all global meddling, the “Great Little Satan.” It is the area that sends envoys to investigate human rights violations and prop up the market when it sags.
New York, California, Texas, and everyone else can say “We don’t approve of all this Laramie meddling. All we want to do is provide services and consumer goods for the regional and global markets. We just want to make cars, kitchen appliances and fine art. We want to grow produce and build housing for our people. It’s the decision makers in Laramie who keep interfering with human rights issues in countries where they don’t work, sleep, or eat. They’re the ones you should talk to, blow up, etc. Their headquarters is a shack in downtown Laramie, the one with the red corrugated roof.” By drawing all our fire of international meddling in the affairs of others, we could politically Europeanize the entire US. Then Americans could, as they say in the Middle East, have the egg and the shell.
Gullible Excess
Why are so many Israelis coming to RaiLay beach? According to the locals, within a month they will be all over this place. I have not met any Americans here. Just the expat who's been living in Taiwan for 4 years. Surely this place is no more remote for Americans than Israelis. Even if the fellow I met today is bound for Nepal as a seasoned traveler, that is not the usual Israeli one would meet here. Naw y'all. The Israelis are as reliable as the seasons, they are here. They descend on this island not like most Americans would. They aren't sporting the REI full-body mosquito net and box of malaria pills. No machete and punji-resistant jungle boots to be found in this crowd. Instead, they are dressed for a party. Clubwear and delicate dry-clean only shiny shirts. So why don't people in the US know that this is a civilized place? This beach in Thailand is not full of savage beggars and swindlers. There are no headhunters on RaiLay beach, but if REI sold headhunter repellant, I am certain that American travelers would bring along a can (or two). The young woman in the violet rayon dress is better informed than that. And yes, she is traveling solo through this untamed land. Only Americans, due to preconceptions from somewhere, arrive like Lewis & Clark with flint rifles and camouflage paint. The eco tourist gone mad. There is something to appreciate about it at least, and that is the sense of adventure. Once again, Americans prove themselves slightly gullible and capable of excess. The Americans, come to settle a land feud with F16s. Or come to put out a campfire with a fire truck.
Wednesday Sept 12th
Patpong beach, Phuket by 8:30 am. McDonalds opens at 9. We ask the energetic manager what wages we could expect to work here. He says 25 baht per hour - about 60 cents an hour. He didn't say what a manager makes. Due to tourism, economics here are completely warped. McDonalds employees get 25 baht an hour, and tuk-tuk drivers can easily earn 200 baht per hour by overcharging fares. (A tuk-tuk is a chintzy mini-taxi with no meter and a reputation for gouging tourists, and the only form of transportation on Patpong beach.) They tend to charge tourists at least 4 times the local rate. So we talk to the McDonalds manager about where we're from, and he says, "you american. very bad. 4 planes blow up. boom boom. ha ha. new yawwk in flames. very sorry." Which, considering the boom boom ha ha, seems like a joke.
Who would possibly say, "your city, all blown up, everybody dead, boom boom, ha ha, very sorry"? While smiling? The Thai communicate that way. It doesn't mean they're oblivious. It means they're Thai , to laugh about things rather than pull a long face. That is how Thai people communicate. I would like to hear how traffic cops call mothers when there are lethal car crashes. "Ms Chandrasekhar, ha ha, your daughter and her boyfriend are, ha ha, very very dead. Boom boom, twisted metal, fought for hours, dead anyway, ha ha. very sorry." Maybe that's a better test of the ha ha part than a terrorist attack? Within an hour, I see the footage on CNN at a Phuket bar. All TVs in Phuket are set to CNN. I feel the sense of vertigo that swept over the US 12 hours ago. A global wave of horror. The fireballs over NY have made Phuket a shadow in midday.
Tuesday Sept 11th
First destination this morning is the Cambodian Embassy. I will need to get a visa for Cambodia from the embassy. They are not available at the border, from what I have heard. But no luck today. The embassy is only open from 9 to 11 am, and it is noon. Tai and I spend the day wandering around the city. You have to hold your breath to avoid the clouds of oil and petrocarbons in the air. A bus bound for Phuket island departs from the Bangkok bus station at 6:30pm. It is a 13 hour bus ride.
Monday Sept 10th
Arrived in Bangkok 12:30 am, without the benefit of a traveling companion or prearranged ride to no idea where anyway. Advice for the shoestring traveler: never take a taxi alone to a popular destination - huge waste of money. Instead, I spent an hour attempting to drum up a companion to split the cost of a ride into town. Stopped asking and was asked the same by another traveler from Hong Kong. Excellent. Meet a third, this time a business traveler from Taiwan, and the fare is made manageable.
My newly acquired friend from Hong Kong is also a budget traveler, so we agree to split the room he has booked for the night. It is in the bowels of Bangkok. The sweaty smelly ratty cemented bowels of Bangkok. Bangkok has intestinal problems.
Spend the day exploring the smoke and pollution choked city. Here there is a bare refusal to succumb to the lethal hydrocarbons in the air. Bangkok stands as proof that a city cannot be suffocated...it would have expired long ago. Probably decades ago. The average speed of traffic here is something like 6 km/hour, as measured by the transit department. In the absence of a helicopter, the skytrain is the only effective way to get around town. Skytrain - elevated train above the city. Among other places, it goes to the zoo, which was an initial destination. Too many attendants make the Bangkok zoo decidedly less fun than the Budapest zoo, which I had the pleasure of visiting a few years back. There, no attendants means that everybody can do what they bloody well please - which when I was there was a game of "feed the camel." I saw pursefuls, handfuls, and shopping bagfuls of food thrown at the camel. Bread loaves, peeled and unpeeled vegetables, packages of bologna, bricks of marshmallows, whole cones of cotton candy. All of it pitched in a constant cascade of junk food into the camel's mouth. I can't be sure, but I think the camel was happy about all the food he was getting. He never let any of it fall to the wayside, at least. So, the Bangkok zoo offers less interaction between the animals and the visitors.
Next is the official quarters of town where a protest is underway. I would be glad to relate it if I knew the subject matter, which I can't make out. Thai people have plenty to complain about. Next the golden palace. Take some fotos.
Next, a typical scam for tourists befalls us (Tai and me). I won't go into the details, but it involves being herded into a jewelry shop, where they put the hard sell on you. We aren't their big fish today. That's about it except for dinner in Chinatown, Bangkok, which proves very elusive in the haze of this smelly, dirty, smoky, and very smelly smelly city.
Sunday Sept 9th
Stuck in airport for 13 hours in Seoul. How to spend 13 hours in airport quarantine? Video arcade, of course. Found 2 in the mausoleum-like inner berth of the airport - both closed for "under construction" and none too promising in any case. The only reomaining option is to leave the bonded area by passing through immigration. I need batteries for my camera in any case, as the shops in the bonded area say batteries are "too dangerous" to sell. Hmmm. Even finding the immigration desk a daunting task, but an elevator finally leads out.
As a reward, the mother of all airport arcades (shy of tokyo perhaps). There are no less than 6 bemani type games, all reasonably priced at Korean equivalent of about 40 cents a game. They have 3rd mix of Dance Dance Revolution, as well as others i've never before seen: Fighting mania, a whack-a-mole type punching game, keyboard heaven, which you can guess, 2 of a game called pump it up, which is by a korean company called andamiro, and has 4 diagonal dance pads and a central one for 5 total. Then there was EZ2DJ 2nd Trax, a sample machine simulator much like a keyboard game. A Korean teen is showing a friend his mad dj skills. Finally, my new favorite bemani game, Percussion Freaks, where you play a drum kit to popular songs like Bad Medicine (heavy metal) or You Oughta Know. This one rocks, and you do the rockin'. Long live Konami!
So I spend a good 4 hours playing these games until good and sweaty, in the stuck-in-the-airport sense. I pity those seated next to me on the flight to Bangkok.
Kimchi and coffee are good for keeping awake.
Fashion Report! A Short Account of Who's Got Seoul at Incheon Airport:
This pertains to fashion from mostly Asian countries as witnessed in Incheon Airport. There are 2 main styles I noticed.
Group 1 have an internationally recognized look of Detroit Rock City straight from the streets of the urban stirfry. Jerseys with jeans, retro sneakers, buttons on paratrooper bags. They are ready to put some KISS on the walkman. This is a Japanese look, or at least a "big city hip" look.
Group 2 is strictly made in Korea. Maybe they run lost episodes of Charles in Charge in Korea? If not that, then some similar 80s indoctrination is involved in the Incheon look today. They sport the "preppie" style with such total reverence that it is impossible to doubt their dedication. I imagine an incense-filled temple, gilded Izod on the dais flanked by a sapphire Polo rider and emerald Le Tigre. There in a stained-glass window is the Shirt-Pocket Penguin. There are many modes of preppie look to be seen. The waffle-weave sport shirt in soft pastel yellow, with pink stripes. The Designer fetishist, with D&G and DKNY tucked next to Prada. Socks match shirts to pastel perfection. The United Colors of Bennetton is alive and well. One dandy outfit remains clear in memory, Korean man in putty-colored linen, slouch hat, and navy mirco polka dot shirt, with, and this the mark of a true connisseur who knows his haberdasher by name - a walnut cane hooked to his right forearm. Is he real? Is he a phantom of A-Ha videos doomed to walk the earth? Desperately seeking Kurt Loder? Fashion speaks volumes about a culture.
My flight finally departs for Bangkok. I wish the preppies a nice day.
posted by jasonthewolf at
8:26 AM
