Now Playing: "Brain Stew" by Green Day
By traveling in a foreign country, it's inevitable that you do some exploring into your own mind. My first few days in Thailand were spent in a sort of numb haze, where all of what I was doing was inputting information and attempting to process it all. It was physically impossible for me to try to create anything or produce anything resembling an insight because I couldn't turn a corner without coming across something completely new and absolutely insane by my general understanding of the world that demanded my attention and forced me to think about it. It was an A.D.D. nightmare of distractions but it was beautiful. Now that the initial culture shock has faded, I can at least stop and think every once in a while, but there's still a bit of that fuzz that will probably never go away as long as I'm here.
When I'm home, the writing process is very simple. I pour a cup of coffee (or a glass of beer, depending on the time of day), I sit at my desk, and I open my computer. Everything around me is normal and static. My desk is still covered in Sharpie notes, my Buddha statues are in a row, and my SMBC "Life of Thought" poster is hanging in exactly the same place it always hangs. To my right, there's a little black rectangle that I can use to contact everyone I know. Everything is normal and comfortable so I can focus entirely on the white page in front of me.
Trying to write or even think about writing in Asia is like trying to take the SATs in the middle of an elementary school dodgeball match. I knew that things would be different here, but I had no comprehension that EVERYTHING would be different. If I see a dog on the sidewalk in Richmond, I can understand it and its general dogliness, I can process it, acknowledge its existence, and ignore it in less than a second. If I see a dog in Thailand, it's game over. The dog's face will be different. It will make a slightly different-sounding bark. It will probably be chasing a lizard. It will without a doubt be the craziest fucking dog I've ever seen and I will be forced to not only process the chaos of its existence, but also place that little dog in the context of this entire strange world around me. Where is this dog going? Where does it sleep? Who feeds it? Do Thai people think dogs are as cute as I do? Does this dog hate cats or does it have some other animal enemy I haven't seen yet?
Every waking moment is a mental exercise and it's all fascinating and exhausting. And thankfully, it was exactly why I came out here.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Swimming in the Sky
"But for now we are young, let us lie in the sun and count every beautiful thing we can see." - Neutral Milk Hotel
This is the first part of the trip that has involved chocolate truffles. They arrived on a tray that was also bearing apples, oranges, and bananas. Flowers came a few minutes later. We ate the truffles on one of our four balconies from the 59th floor overlooking the massive Bangkok skyline and spent the night relaxing on couches under a glass chandelier, enjoying a few glasses of wine as the city hummed around us. It was a fine way to cap off a day of travel from Kho Phi Phi.
But this demands some explanation and far more backtracking. Last Friday I left Chiang Mai to meet up with a few friends in Bangkok. We dove head first into the nightlife of Sukhumvit, eating meals at streetside restaurants, exploring dive bars, and getting lost in this chaotic city of neon lights and pounding bass. Saturday afternoon we bought tickets to a Muay Thai match and saw Thai boxers beat the crap out of each other to the wail of strange music and the crowd roared over the flurry of fists and sweat and crippling knockouts. It was unlike any sporting event I had ever seen in the sense of sheer speed and violence.
Up next on our journey was Koh Phi Phi, the tiny island best known as the setting of the movie The Beach. We spent four days and three nights on the island and it was a strange mix of local culture, tourist sleaze, and some of the most striking natural beauty I have ever seen. Turquoise water kissed the sand with green rocks and mountains studding the landscape. The streets twisted between two bays, lined with restaurants, tee shirt shops, and day trip vendors who shouted at tourists from their stoops. There were no cars and very few motorbikes, and the small town was filled mostly with people walking from place to place and people on bicycles weaving through the crowds shouting "Beep Beep!" as they passed.
We hiked the surrounding hills and kayaked in the bay for the first few days, and tried to avoid the beachside tourist traps at night, which were essentially like the Jersey Shore with fire dancers. But then, one beautiful day, we decided to take a day trip on a boat with a bubbly French tour guide and about 15 other travelers. They drove us out to the bay where we snorkeled around the reef for a while and leaped from the top of the boat's roof into the water. They took us to an island cove surrounded by mountains where we lied in the sand and walked through the jungle camps of the rangers who maintained the island.
At night we ate fried fish and rice on the deck of the boat under the stars. I've been living in cities for so long that I forgot what a secluded starry night looked like, and how awe-inspiring it can be. But that night came the favorite moment of this trip.
We knew that we would be swimming with the bioluminescent plankton that night, but we didn't quite know what to expect from it. We couldn't see them as we fixed our goggles and snorkels at the stern of the boat, and I was starting to doubt if it was going to be as beautiful of a sight as the one I had created in my head. I jumped in, but still saw nothing. I popped my head above water and heard our guide shouting "Shake Shake Shake!" I ducked my head below and waved my arms around to see beads of light trailing each of my movements. I wiggled my fingers and the lights danced and flickered like sparks in the sea. I kicked and shook and waved my arms like a conductor in the silent world below the water and generated swirls and streams of light with each motion. The light was all I could see, an expanse of blackness and silence broken by the stars I made with my body. It was a dream.
It was a beautiful way to end our trip, but our travels brought us back to Bangkok last night, where my friend was somehow able to land an affordable rate for a suite in the Lebua at State Tower hotel, a ludicrously luxurious hotel best known (and heavily marketed as) the hotel from The Hangover II. We're taking these days to rest and recover. One of my friends is pretty sick and I'm just exhausted from two weeks of traveling so far. I leave for Cambodia tomorrow and will once again be on my own, which scares me a bit. I still love living in the unexpected and being in a place where everything is new and different, but this week with my friends was great in that it brought me a sense of home. I've started to get bouts of homesickness here and there, missing a few things specifically, but overwhelmingly I miss the sense of familiarity. I miss waking up with the knowledge of my surroundings, a familiar place to sit and think, and the sense of control I have with my thoughts when I'm not constantly being bombarded with new sights and smells and information every second. But things are certainly better than they are worse, and the thirst for adventure still tingles. Off to Cambodia for Chapter Two.
This is the first part of the trip that has involved chocolate truffles. They arrived on a tray that was also bearing apples, oranges, and bananas. Flowers came a few minutes later. We ate the truffles on one of our four balconies from the 59th floor overlooking the massive Bangkok skyline and spent the night relaxing on couches under a glass chandelier, enjoying a few glasses of wine as the city hummed around us. It was a fine way to cap off a day of travel from Kho Phi Phi.
But this demands some explanation and far more backtracking. Last Friday I left Chiang Mai to meet up with a few friends in Bangkok. We dove head first into the nightlife of Sukhumvit, eating meals at streetside restaurants, exploring dive bars, and getting lost in this chaotic city of neon lights and pounding bass. Saturday afternoon we bought tickets to a Muay Thai match and saw Thai boxers beat the crap out of each other to the wail of strange music and the crowd roared over the flurry of fists and sweat and crippling knockouts. It was unlike any sporting event I had ever seen in the sense of sheer speed and violence.
Up next on our journey was Koh Phi Phi, the tiny island best known as the setting of the movie The Beach. We spent four days and three nights on the island and it was a strange mix of local culture, tourist sleaze, and some of the most striking natural beauty I have ever seen. Turquoise water kissed the sand with green rocks and mountains studding the landscape. The streets twisted between two bays, lined with restaurants, tee shirt shops, and day trip vendors who shouted at tourists from their stoops. There were no cars and very few motorbikes, and the small town was filled mostly with people walking from place to place and people on bicycles weaving through the crowds shouting "Beep Beep!" as they passed.
We hiked the surrounding hills and kayaked in the bay for the first few days, and tried to avoid the beachside tourist traps at night, which were essentially like the Jersey Shore with fire dancers. But then, one beautiful day, we decided to take a day trip on a boat with a bubbly French tour guide and about 15 other travelers. They drove us out to the bay where we snorkeled around the reef for a while and leaped from the top of the boat's roof into the water. They took us to an island cove surrounded by mountains where we lied in the sand and walked through the jungle camps of the rangers who maintained the island.
At night we ate fried fish and rice on the deck of the boat under the stars. I've been living in cities for so long that I forgot what a secluded starry night looked like, and how awe-inspiring it can be. But that night came the favorite moment of this trip.
We knew that we would be swimming with the bioluminescent plankton that night, but we didn't quite know what to expect from it. We couldn't see them as we fixed our goggles and snorkels at the stern of the boat, and I was starting to doubt if it was going to be as beautiful of a sight as the one I had created in my head. I jumped in, but still saw nothing. I popped my head above water and heard our guide shouting "Shake Shake Shake!" I ducked my head below and waved my arms around to see beads of light trailing each of my movements. I wiggled my fingers and the lights danced and flickered like sparks in the sea. I kicked and shook and waved my arms like a conductor in the silent world below the water and generated swirls and streams of light with each motion. The light was all I could see, an expanse of blackness and silence broken by the stars I made with my body. It was a dream.
It was a beautiful way to end our trip, but our travels brought us back to Bangkok last night, where my friend was somehow able to land an affordable rate for a suite in the Lebua at State Tower hotel, a ludicrously luxurious hotel best known (and heavily marketed as) the hotel from The Hangover II. We're taking these days to rest and recover. One of my friends is pretty sick and I'm just exhausted from two weeks of traveling so far. I leave for Cambodia tomorrow and will once again be on my own, which scares me a bit. I still love living in the unexpected and being in a place where everything is new and different, but this week with my friends was great in that it brought me a sense of home. I've started to get bouts of homesickness here and there, missing a few things specifically, but overwhelmingly I miss the sense of familiarity. I miss waking up with the knowledge of my surroundings, a familiar place to sit and think, and the sense of control I have with my thoughts when I'm not constantly being bombarded with new sights and smells and information every second. But things are certainly better than they are worse, and the thirst for adventure still tingles. Off to Cambodia for Chapter Two.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
The Northern Mountains: Day One
Now Playing: "Mountain Sound" by Of Monsters and Men
The mountain region to the north of Chiang Mai is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been.
Marco (my German counterpart) and I rode from Chiang Mai with two other travelers about an hour outside of the city and into the hills, beginning an overnight trip in the rural regions. Our journey began with a hike, where we met our guide, Paa. We appeared to get the only guide with a machete, which seemed like a good thing. Paa was also the only guide with a pet squirrel attached to a chain around his neck, which was an even better thing.
Paa showed us through the trails, picking berries and leaves and offering them to us to smell or eat. It was at this point that it began to strike me the almost insane level of trust I had been placing in the Thai people I relied on during my trip. Here was a man whose only qualification was the fact that he was standing outside the Jeep door when I got outside. Yet we put our lives in his hands and trekked onward through the hills.
The hike ended at a waterfall and Marco, the two British travelers and I swam and cooled off before hiking back.
From there, we rafted down a river to our home for the night, a resort-like series of huts built into the side of a hill along the river bank. We were surrounded by green mountains, tropical foliage, and silence, save the calling of birds and the occasional motorbike passing down the road.
I walked through the town that evening, seeing what I could of the small villages and homes, and waving to the people who lived there. The town reminded me of some of the small lake towns in New Hampshire only with bigger bugs, hotter sun, and many, many more Thai people. Also more motorbikes. And much better-smelling foods. Now that I think about it, the two places aren't that similar at all, outside of the fact that they have dirt roads and lots of trees. Here's a picture, judge for yourself.
Our two British friends left that evening, but Marco and I stayed at camp overnight, enjoying a huge meal of stews, rice, and soups with Paa and spending the rest of the night drinking Thai moonshine and eating dragonfruit in a circle with the other guides.
The following night (today) was one of my favorites of the trip so far and I can't wait to write about it. Hint: it involves elephants.
Tomorrow is my last night in Chiang Mai, and I hope to revisit the night bazaar and find a quality Chiang Mai restaurant for dinner before flying back to Bangkok tomorrow to meet with two friends from home. Things remain exciting. Confusing and sometimes overwhelming, but never boring. Onward.
The mountain region to the north of Chiang Mai is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been.
Marco (my German counterpart) and I rode from Chiang Mai with two other travelers about an hour outside of the city and into the hills, beginning an overnight trip in the rural regions. Our journey began with a hike, where we met our guide, Paa. We appeared to get the only guide with a machete, which seemed like a good thing. Paa was also the only guide with a pet squirrel attached to a chain around his neck, which was an even better thing.
Paa showed us through the trails, picking berries and leaves and offering them to us to smell or eat. It was at this point that it began to strike me the almost insane level of trust I had been placing in the Thai people I relied on during my trip. Here was a man whose only qualification was the fact that he was standing outside the Jeep door when I got outside. Yet we put our lives in his hands and trekked onward through the hills.
The hike ended at a waterfall and Marco, the two British travelers and I swam and cooled off before hiking back.
From there, we rafted down a river to our home for the night, a resort-like series of huts built into the side of a hill along the river bank. We were surrounded by green mountains, tropical foliage, and silence, save the calling of birds and the occasional motorbike passing down the road.
I walked through the town that evening, seeing what I could of the small villages and homes, and waving to the people who lived there. The town reminded me of some of the small lake towns in New Hampshire only with bigger bugs, hotter sun, and many, many more Thai people. Also more motorbikes. And much better-smelling foods. Now that I think about it, the two places aren't that similar at all, outside of the fact that they have dirt roads and lots of trees. Here's a picture, judge for yourself.
Our two British friends left that evening, but Marco and I stayed at camp overnight, enjoying a huge meal of stews, rice, and soups with Paa and spending the rest of the night drinking Thai moonshine and eating dragonfruit in a circle with the other guides.
The following night (today) was one of my favorites of the trip so far and I can't wait to write about it. Hint: it involves elephants.
Tomorrow is my last night in Chiang Mai, and I hope to revisit the night bazaar and find a quality Chiang Mai restaurant for dinner before flying back to Bangkok tomorrow to meet with two friends from home. Things remain exciting. Confusing and sometimes overwhelming, but never boring. Onward.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Chiang Mai Part One: Northbound
Now Playing: "Road Trippin'" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers
I'm a little behind on posts. I haven't been in the room much since arriving at Chiang Mai and our hostel has an internet ration, so I have to catch up on everything in small bursts. But I hope to get up to speed by tomorrow morning.
(Side note: There are lizards crawling across the table in front of me and I keep having to shoo them away. I've never had this problem before.)
I arrived at the train station in Bangkok at around 11 a.m. on the 19th to board an overnight train to Chiang Mai. The night before I had wondered if the train would have wifi and I would be able to catch up on some writing and email-replying-to. I laughed at the thought of it as soon as I boarded. Blue seats, metal walls, rusty metal ladders leading up to the upper bunks, and long windows. That was about it.
I sat down across the aisle from a German backpacker named Marco and was soon joined by another German backpacker and a Chiang Mai local. We chatted for a while, had a few beers and some dried squid to start the trip as we rumbled our way through the Thai countryside. The train was hot and we would periodically have to lift the windows when we passed through small rainstorms. But the countryside was beautiful. The landscape alternated between small cities, slums, and open fields and farmland with controlled brush fires filling the cabin with smoke.
After the sun had set I bought a couple of chicken fried rice dishes for me and Marco, which ended up being the worst meal of the trip so far, but by far the best train food I've ever had. We chatted for a while, mostly about FIFA soccer and Bayern Munich (which was largely a one-sided conversation on his part) until it was time to fold out the upper bunk beds and confine ourselves to our respective tiny tube-shaped beds and attempt to fall asleep in the wet heat. My feet were propped up on my backpack, my arms were laced around a guardrail so I wouldn't fall, and anything valuable was hidden from sight as we chugged along to finish up the 14-hour train ride.
We arrived in the grey early morning and Marco and I decided to find a hostel in Chiang Mai together. In hindsight, I wouldn't say I regret this decision, but it has led to the adopted mantra "make friends, but not commitments". But that's a story for another lizard-infested night.
Tomorrow we are off on a two-day expedition through the jungles outside of Chiang Mai to hike, white-water raft, ride elephants, feed them, learn how to take care of them (get ready, roommates), and camp alongside the river. This is the part of the trip for which I have been most excited since I started planning it. Until departure, I'm off for some street food and the Chiang Mai night bazaar. I am slowly falling in love with this town.
I'm a little behind on posts. I haven't been in the room much since arriving at Chiang Mai and our hostel has an internet ration, so I have to catch up on everything in small bursts. But I hope to get up to speed by tomorrow morning.
(Side note: There are lizards crawling across the table in front of me and I keep having to shoo them away. I've never had this problem before.)
I arrived at the train station in Bangkok at around 11 a.m. on the 19th to board an overnight train to Chiang Mai. The night before I had wondered if the train would have wifi and I would be able to catch up on some writing and email-replying-to. I laughed at the thought of it as soon as I boarded. Blue seats, metal walls, rusty metal ladders leading up to the upper bunks, and long windows. That was about it.
I sat down across the aisle from a German backpacker named Marco and was soon joined by another German backpacker and a Chiang Mai local. We chatted for a while, had a few beers and some dried squid to start the trip as we rumbled our way through the Thai countryside. The train was hot and we would periodically have to lift the windows when we passed through small rainstorms. But the countryside was beautiful. The landscape alternated between small cities, slums, and open fields and farmland with controlled brush fires filling the cabin with smoke.
After the sun had set I bought a couple of chicken fried rice dishes for me and Marco, which ended up being the worst meal of the trip so far, but by far the best train food I've ever had. We chatted for a while, mostly about FIFA soccer and Bayern Munich (which was largely a one-sided conversation on his part) until it was time to fold out the upper bunk beds and confine ourselves to our respective tiny tube-shaped beds and attempt to fall asleep in the wet heat. My feet were propped up on my backpack, my arms were laced around a guardrail so I wouldn't fall, and anything valuable was hidden from sight as we chugged along to finish up the 14-hour train ride.
We arrived in the grey early morning and Marco and I decided to find a hostel in Chiang Mai together. In hindsight, I wouldn't say I regret this decision, but it has led to the adopted mantra "make friends, but not commitments". But that's a story for another lizard-infested night.
Tomorrow we are off on a two-day expedition through the jungles outside of Chiang Mai to hike, white-water raft, ride elephants, feed them, learn how to take care of them (get ready, roommates), and camp alongside the river. This is the part of the trip for which I have been most excited since I started planning it. Until departure, I'm off for some street food and the Chiang Mai night bazaar. I am slowly falling in love with this town.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Once more unto the breach
Now Playing: "Night of Wine and Roses" by Japandroids
It's 3:30 a.m. and I can't sleep. I'm sitting in the dark and empty restaurant underneath my hostel, staring out into the street that continues to hum with motorbikes and taxi cabs.
Today was a fitting mix of everything I wanted and didn't want for this trip. I woke early for breakfast and hung around the restaurant for Youngblood to wake up (his name is Alex, but he really likes the nickname). We got moving around 11 a.m. set on seeing what we could of the city. We downed some water and coffee and found a tuk-tuk driver named Moon outside the hostel. He promised us a day's tour for a cheap rate and we hopped in, racing off into the Bangkok morning.
The city was waking as we sped off toward the floating market outside the city. Gradually, the urban landscape faded off to dirt and gravel and townspeople who waved at the sight of us. We parked under a canopy of trees and walked over to the riverside marketplace, teeming and steaming with fried foods, chopped fruits and vegetables, and the murmured shouts of townspeople. The river was full of leaping catfish and slender boats sliced through them, wet tails slapping against the wood. Moon directed us to the boat of a friend of his and the four of us pedaled off through the quiet canals. We passed riverside homes, saw television sets propped up under canopies on the canal's edge. We ate lotus flowers from the water. Mansions stood alongside huts on the canal's edge, but all was beautiful.
We docked after an hour and ate a fried egg, shrimp, and bean sprout meal in the market. We walked through the shops, saw local children feeding long strands of grass to buffalo, saw dogs running through the aisles, and saw a very obese cat being gently fanned by his owner as he sat atop a pile of linens.
We drove onward, off to Wat Pho, the home of the reclining Buddha statue, and walked among the temple grounds for a good deal of time. I paid 20 baht for a handful of coins and dropped one in each of a long line of buckets along the Buddha's rear side, each clink of brass bringing a sense of ease and relaxation.
We drove on to a few more wats until it was late afternoon and Moon dropped us off at our hostel. After a bit of rest, we ate at a local shop and took a tuk-tuk to China Town, just to walk among the local side streets and take in the sounds and smells.
We returned to Khao San Road after about an hour and wandered to an outdoor bar for a few drinks. Youngblood (let's call him Alex from now on) was quiet, and as he stared off in a blank gaze I remembered what a confusing time it was to be 18 and in a strange place. For me, it was Baltimore. I couldn't imagine what was going through his mind and didn't get the chance as he left shortly to return to the hostel and call his parents.
I chatted up a group of three Irish girls for about an hour before he returned in better spirits and we made an evening of it. The five of us all drank too much and lost ourselves in the touristy mayhem of Khao San Road for a night, and although it was fun, it was a type of fun I could have found many other places in the world. We listened to bad acoustic guitar in the street. We made up backstories for the more creepy tourists we saw passing by. I lost a game of thumb war to a seven-year old Thai child and was forced to buy five roses which one of the girls fixed in her hair. It made me ready to leave Bangkok and eager to make the trip to Chiang Mai (which I guess begins in a mere seven hours).
It was a fun night, but it wasn't why I came here. I'm hoping to find something more meaningful than a party, and from all I've read of Chiang Mai, I might find it there.
It's 3:30 a.m. and I can't sleep. I'm sitting in the dark and empty restaurant underneath my hostel, staring out into the street that continues to hum with motorbikes and taxi cabs.
Today was a fitting mix of everything I wanted and didn't want for this trip. I woke early for breakfast and hung around the restaurant for Youngblood to wake up (his name is Alex, but he really likes the nickname). We got moving around 11 a.m. set on seeing what we could of the city. We downed some water and coffee and found a tuk-tuk driver named Moon outside the hostel. He promised us a day's tour for a cheap rate and we hopped in, racing off into the Bangkok morning.
The city was waking as we sped off toward the floating market outside the city. Gradually, the urban landscape faded off to dirt and gravel and townspeople who waved at the sight of us. We parked under a canopy of trees and walked over to the riverside marketplace, teeming and steaming with fried foods, chopped fruits and vegetables, and the murmured shouts of townspeople. The river was full of leaping catfish and slender boats sliced through them, wet tails slapping against the wood. Moon directed us to the boat of a friend of his and the four of us pedaled off through the quiet canals. We passed riverside homes, saw television sets propped up under canopies on the canal's edge. We ate lotus flowers from the water. Mansions stood alongside huts on the canal's edge, but all was beautiful.
We docked after an hour and ate a fried egg, shrimp, and bean sprout meal in the market. We walked through the shops, saw local children feeding long strands of grass to buffalo, saw dogs running through the aisles, and saw a very obese cat being gently fanned by his owner as he sat atop a pile of linens.
We drove onward, off to Wat Pho, the home of the reclining Buddha statue, and walked among the temple grounds for a good deal of time. I paid 20 baht for a handful of coins and dropped one in each of a long line of buckets along the Buddha's rear side, each clink of brass bringing a sense of ease and relaxation.
We drove on to a few more wats until it was late afternoon and Moon dropped us off at our hostel. After a bit of rest, we ate at a local shop and took a tuk-tuk to China Town, just to walk among the local side streets and take in the sounds and smells.
We returned to Khao San Road after about an hour and wandered to an outdoor bar for a few drinks. Youngblood (let's call him Alex from now on) was quiet, and as he stared off in a blank gaze I remembered what a confusing time it was to be 18 and in a strange place. For me, it was Baltimore. I couldn't imagine what was going through his mind and didn't get the chance as he left shortly to return to the hostel and call his parents.
I chatted up a group of three Irish girls for about an hour before he returned in better spirits and we made an evening of it. The five of us all drank too much and lost ourselves in the touristy mayhem of Khao San Road for a night, and although it was fun, it was a type of fun I could have found many other places in the world. We listened to bad acoustic guitar in the street. We made up backstories for the more creepy tourists we saw passing by. I lost a game of thumb war to a seven-year old Thai child and was forced to buy five roses which one of the girls fixed in her hair. It made me ready to leave Bangkok and eager to make the trip to Chiang Mai (which I guess begins in a mere seven hours).
It was a fun night, but it wasn't why I came here. I'm hoping to find something more meaningful than a party, and from all I've read of Chiang Mai, I might find it there.
Friday, May 17, 2013
The first day
Now Playing: "The Wanderer" by Dion
I love waking up in strange new places. I rustled awake around 3am this morning to the sound of thumping bass from the clubs outside, a light pattering of rain, and the murmur of six-or-so British girls moving into my hostel room. It took a few moments to remember that I was in fact, no longer in central Virginia. I woke again at 8am, headed downstairs to the cafe for some mango and a cappuccino, and here I am.
My first day in Bangkok was somewhat unbelievable. My hostel is exactly what you get when you only spend $7/night, a six-bunk dorm room with water puddling in the hallways and dripping from the ceilings from the bad piping and the showers that are really just hoses in the bathrooms. There's a cafe below the rooms which I've been using as a home base to relax, read, and write, although the menu is all Indian food, unfortunately.
After I finished writing my last post, I packed my bag and just wandered around Khao San Road and its outlying neighborhoods all day. I walked until I could no longer see white people. I was approached by countless number of tuk-tuk drivers trying to sell me tours around the city (which is a scam) and one who was absolutely adamant about selling me "massage and boom boom". I saw people of all different nationalities and varying degrees of hippies and bros. I saw people with families, couples, locals, musicians, photographers, expats, people seeking enlightenment, people seeking vice. It's the most diversity I've ever seen in one place. I breathed in the complex palate of smells, the foreign spices, the earthy scent of the alleyways, the cigarette smoke and sweat and flowers.
I ate two of the best meals I've ever had in my life. I wanted to find a gritty local place for my first meal in Bangkok and steered clear of the restaurants and bars crowded with backpackers. I found a place off a narrow side street with an open porch overlooking a street teeming with motorbikes and delivery trucks. The woman spoke very little English but the menu only had four items, so I pointed at one and she brought me this:
It cost a little over a dollar (including the beer) and it was better than any Thai food I've ever had in America.
I wandered some more after that, found my way to a wat near my hostel and attempted to meditate for a while under the shadow of two very beautiful golden Buddha statues.
Evening fell quickly, I had some of the best pad thai of my life, and headed to the hostel for a quick nap where I met Youngblood, unpacking his bags in the dorm. Youngblood was so named by his backpacker friends because he was only 18 (unfortunately I didn't catch his actual name). He was a British student at the tail end of a gap year before University and was doing the same thing I was, backpacking solo with friends meeting along the way. He had been motorbiking his way from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi before he got sick and had to swing back up to London for a while, but was now back on the trails. We chatted for a bit and grabbed a few beers on Khao San Road, but by the end of the night the jet lag was beginning to take its toll and I was in a deep haze. We stopped back at the hostel for Youngblood to exchange some Vietnamese dong around 9:30 and unfortunately, I sat down on my bunk and fell immediately asleep.
Today I think we're planning on finding our way to the Bangkok zoo and possibly walking through China Town to eat some crab curry. I leave for Chiang Mai tomorrow afternoon on an overnight train for a whole new set of adventures, but I hope to get at least a glimpse of Bangkok during my brief stay.
I've only been here for a day, but this is likely going to be the coolest thing I've ever done and I have zero regrets.
I love waking up in strange new places. I rustled awake around 3am this morning to the sound of thumping bass from the clubs outside, a light pattering of rain, and the murmur of six-or-so British girls moving into my hostel room. It took a few moments to remember that I was in fact, no longer in central Virginia. I woke again at 8am, headed downstairs to the cafe for some mango and a cappuccino, and here I am.
My first day in Bangkok was somewhat unbelievable. My hostel is exactly what you get when you only spend $7/night, a six-bunk dorm room with water puddling in the hallways and dripping from the ceilings from the bad piping and the showers that are really just hoses in the bathrooms. There's a cafe below the rooms which I've been using as a home base to relax, read, and write, although the menu is all Indian food, unfortunately.
After I finished writing my last post, I packed my bag and just wandered around Khao San Road and its outlying neighborhoods all day. I walked until I could no longer see white people. I was approached by countless number of tuk-tuk drivers trying to sell me tours around the city (which is a scam) and one who was absolutely adamant about selling me "massage and boom boom". I saw people of all different nationalities and varying degrees of hippies and bros. I saw people with families, couples, locals, musicians, photographers, expats, people seeking enlightenment, people seeking vice. It's the most diversity I've ever seen in one place. I breathed in the complex palate of smells, the foreign spices, the earthy scent of the alleyways, the cigarette smoke and sweat and flowers.
I ate two of the best meals I've ever had in my life. I wanted to find a gritty local place for my first meal in Bangkok and steered clear of the restaurants and bars crowded with backpackers. I found a place off a narrow side street with an open porch overlooking a street teeming with motorbikes and delivery trucks. The woman spoke very little English but the menu only had four items, so I pointed at one and she brought me this:
It cost a little over a dollar (including the beer) and it was better than any Thai food I've ever had in America.
I wandered some more after that, found my way to a wat near my hostel and attempted to meditate for a while under the shadow of two very beautiful golden Buddha statues.
Evening fell quickly, I had some of the best pad thai of my life, and headed to the hostel for a quick nap where I met Youngblood, unpacking his bags in the dorm. Youngblood was so named by his backpacker friends because he was only 18 (unfortunately I didn't catch his actual name). He was a British student at the tail end of a gap year before University and was doing the same thing I was, backpacking solo with friends meeting along the way. He had been motorbiking his way from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi before he got sick and had to swing back up to London for a while, but was now back on the trails. We chatted for a bit and grabbed a few beers on Khao San Road, but by the end of the night the jet lag was beginning to take its toll and I was in a deep haze. We stopped back at the hostel for Youngblood to exchange some Vietnamese dong around 9:30 and unfortunately, I sat down on my bunk and fell immediately asleep.
Today I think we're planning on finding our way to the Bangkok zoo and possibly walking through China Town to eat some crab curry. I leave for Chiang Mai tomorrow afternoon on an overnight train for a whole new set of adventures, but I hope to get at least a glimpse of Bangkok during my brief stay.
I've only been here for a day, but this is likely going to be the coolest thing I've ever done and I have zero regrets.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
It begins with a bang
Now Playing: "Communication Breakdown" by Led Zeppelin
I've been in Bangkok for about three hours now and it feels like I've been shot from a cannon. I landed around 7am feeling fuzzy but surprisingly awake after 24 hours of flying, navigating airports, and watching crappy airline movies. And now I'm in a hostel bar on Khao San Road drinking my first Chang Beer, people watching, and reflecting on the whirlwind that brought me here.
There have been several moments when this trip has felt more and more real. The first (and probably most emotionally significant) was when I closed my apartment door in Richmond behind me, knowing the key was in the hands of a subletter. The next was hugging my friend's mom (who had driven me to the airport) and walking into the airport alone.
The rest has been a blur. I remember being half-awake and trudging through the airport in Abu Dhabi, being bombarded with the scents of a thousand different perfumes and feeling like a minority as an American for the first time. I remember faces on the plane and half-eaten chickpea and curry dinners eaten at strange intervals as my biological clock struggled to catch up. And then I was here, bombarded with strange people speaking strange languages and everything moving a thousand different directions at once.
I studied the subtle differences on the cab ride to Khao San Road, the billboards, the pickup trucks and motorbikes packed with people, the street vendors peddling foods I can't wait to put in my mouth. I was dropped off in Khao San and approached by a chain-smoking tuk tuk driver who walked me over to the police station to give me a map and help me prepare for my trip to Chiang Mai in a few days. They tossed me into a tuk tuk headed for the Tourist Bureau and I was off once again, blaring through the streets of Bangkok in open air, all the sounds and smells and sights pouring over me as I sat back and let the ride take me.
I'm not going to remember writing this. I'm still in the static-filled, sleep-deprived fuzz of being in a place that's completely new. Future posts will be more coherent. But right now, I'm off to wander and see where these confusing streets take me.
I've been in Bangkok for about three hours now and it feels like I've been shot from a cannon. I landed around 7am feeling fuzzy but surprisingly awake after 24 hours of flying, navigating airports, and watching crappy airline movies. And now I'm in a hostel bar on Khao San Road drinking my first Chang Beer, people watching, and reflecting on the whirlwind that brought me here.
There have been several moments when this trip has felt more and more real. The first (and probably most emotionally significant) was when I closed my apartment door in Richmond behind me, knowing the key was in the hands of a subletter. The next was hugging my friend's mom (who had driven me to the airport) and walking into the airport alone.
The rest has been a blur. I remember being half-awake and trudging through the airport in Abu Dhabi, being bombarded with the scents of a thousand different perfumes and feeling like a minority as an American for the first time. I remember faces on the plane and half-eaten chickpea and curry dinners eaten at strange intervals as my biological clock struggled to catch up. And then I was here, bombarded with strange people speaking strange languages and everything moving a thousand different directions at once.
I studied the subtle differences on the cab ride to Khao San Road, the billboards, the pickup trucks and motorbikes packed with people, the street vendors peddling foods I can't wait to put in my mouth. I was dropped off in Khao San and approached by a chain-smoking tuk tuk driver who walked me over to the police station to give me a map and help me prepare for my trip to Chiang Mai in a few days. They tossed me into a tuk tuk headed for the Tourist Bureau and I was off once again, blaring through the streets of Bangkok in open air, all the sounds and smells and sights pouring over me as I sat back and let the ride take me.
I'm not going to remember writing this. I'm still in the static-filled, sleep-deprived fuzz of being in a place that's completely new. Future posts will be more coherent. But right now, I'm off to wander and see where these confusing streets take me.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Lost in the Woods
Now Playing: "Break on Through (To the Other Side)" by The Doors
I brainstormed about fifty titles for this blog, most of them toying with ideals of adventure, quarter-life crises, youth/adulthood, displacement, just about any other cliche you could apply to an already very cliche backpacking trip. Part of me thought that a title should be the last thing you give a piece of writing (or anything you create for that matter) because it seemed senseless to prematurely label something you haven't experienced yet. Another part of me thought that giving this thing a preemptive title would create a state of mind that would transform into the experience or define it in some way. The way people born into the name "Jeff" create their own brilliant and unique "Jeff-ness". I scribbled down "Nirvana Buffering" before I realized it was 3 a.m. and I was sleep-deprived, so I went to sleep. And when I went to sleep, I had a dream about the woods behind my childhood house.
When I was growing up in Massachusetts, I lived at the edge of a massive forest. It was the biggest, most mysterious place in the world and was filled with goblins, trolls, monsters, and other beasts of varying degrees of friendliness. I would stand in the back yard, poke my fingers through the holes in the chain-link fence, and stare out at the madness of branches and vines that stretched out into nothingness. I played by the fence, defending my home from armies of skeleton creatures by cursing them with a long, crooked stick I found in the yard (which is what gave me my magical powers). I orchestrated masterful military strategies and sent my elven and dwarfish troops onward into the dark, evil forest. They were proud to fight for 7 Quamhasset Drive, and they fought with honor. The woods were a hidden expanse of mystery I could see from my bedroom window and I could only imagine what they contained until the day I conquered them.
I hopped the fence and began walking through the brush, tromping through the battlefields where countless adventures had been waged. I walked for maybe ten minutes before the woods ended and I came to a road. I looked back and could see my house through the trees.
Traveling is my socially-accepted way of playing in the woods as an adult. My fence has twin engines and my elves are people with new cultures and ideas, but I'm approaching this trip with the same child-like wonder and imagination as I did in my brief career as a six-year old military leader. I hope to learn something, I hope to create something, and I hope to be a different person on the other side of the woods.
I brainstormed about fifty titles for this blog, most of them toying with ideals of adventure, quarter-life crises, youth/adulthood, displacement, just about any other cliche you could apply to an already very cliche backpacking trip. Part of me thought that a title should be the last thing you give a piece of writing (or anything you create for that matter) because it seemed senseless to prematurely label something you haven't experienced yet. Another part of me thought that giving this thing a preemptive title would create a state of mind that would transform into the experience or define it in some way. The way people born into the name "Jeff" create their own brilliant and unique "Jeff-ness". I scribbled down "Nirvana Buffering" before I realized it was 3 a.m. and I was sleep-deprived, so I went to sleep. And when I went to sleep, I had a dream about the woods behind my childhood house.
When I was growing up in Massachusetts, I lived at the edge of a massive forest. It was the biggest, most mysterious place in the world and was filled with goblins, trolls, monsters, and other beasts of varying degrees of friendliness. I would stand in the back yard, poke my fingers through the holes in the chain-link fence, and stare out at the madness of branches and vines that stretched out into nothingness. I played by the fence, defending my home from armies of skeleton creatures by cursing them with a long, crooked stick I found in the yard (which is what gave me my magical powers). I orchestrated masterful military strategies and sent my elven and dwarfish troops onward into the dark, evil forest. They were proud to fight for 7 Quamhasset Drive, and they fought with honor. The woods were a hidden expanse of mystery I could see from my bedroom window and I could only imagine what they contained until the day I conquered them.
I hopped the fence and began walking through the brush, tromping through the battlefields where countless adventures had been waged. I walked for maybe ten minutes before the woods ended and I came to a road. I looked back and could see my house through the trees.
Traveling is my socially-accepted way of playing in the woods as an adult. My fence has twin engines and my elves are people with new cultures and ideas, but I'm approaching this trip with the same child-like wonder and imagination as I did in my brief career as a six-year old military leader. I hope to learn something, I hope to create something, and I hope to be a different person on the other side of the woods.
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