February 2007

A few nights ago I hung out with a group of random new friends: Joo Young, a Korean modern dancer; Eo Jin, a Korean NGO worker living in Laos; Tsuyoshi, a Japanese economics student; and Charles, a red-bearded Australian who works for Opera, the browser company. Joo Young brought along his own supply of small soju bottles, and none of the bars we hit seemed to mind us openly downing them at the table, along with whatever else we ordered. (Including the hottest seafood salad I’ve ever had. This was the only thing I’ve eaten so far that frightened me; I had one bite and thought it was going to explode out of me and scurry across the floor.) Many toasts. Joo Young and Tsuyoshi were huge baseball fans, and anytime we ran out of something to say, we could just name a player and nod vigorously in agreement. Matsui! Hee Seop Choi! Jose Reyes!

I wanted to know what kind of music everyone was into: Charles named an Australian folk band I had never heard of; Tsuyoshi (Shinjo!) said he liked J-Pop; and Joo Young said–I swear–that his favorite band was Stryper. Um, I mean, he didn’t look like a Stryper fan. But this is why we travel, right? To meet baseball-and-Christian-glam-metal-loving Korean modern dancers?

Also, Charles described the future of the Web for me. It is going to involve “magic strings.” Remember me when you make your Web 3.0 fortunes.

Last night, I ate at a Jordanian restaurant called Petra. There is a little Middle Eastern enclave in the middle of Bangkok, off of Sukhumvit Road, Soi 3. Afterwards I was having beers at an outside bar called Happy Time, and met a 30-year-old from Syria named Anas, who was on his way back home from working in Saudi Arabia. We ended up bar-hopping and had a very funny time. Best thing is, he has offered to put me up in Damascus and show me around and arrange my visa if (and when) I decide to visit.

One of my favorite experiences in Bangkok came when I wandered into a temple at the end of a long day of sightseeing to find a group of monks performing their chants. At first I was happy just to have a floor to sit on (feet not pointing towards the Buddha!), but after a few minutes I got completely caught up in the chant. It was hypnotic–a low repetitive drone, with higher parts coming from the older monks at these really unexpected (to me) intervals and harmonies. It was so simple, but the longer I listened, the more complicated the patterns started to become. About 20 minutes in, a single bell was struck, and seriously–something inside of me shifted. I was suddenly aware of the birds singing outside. After they finished, I walked back into the world feeling calm, observant, aware. Mind like a mirror. Which lasted for about five minutes as I was set upon by tuk-tuk drivers and women selling silk prints of ancient erotic art outside the temple, but still.

This was at Wat Pho, the temple which houses the incredible Reclining Buddha, 150 feet long and the biggest of its type in Asia. The reclining position shows the Buddha about to achieve Nirvana. (Other basic positions: sitting, standing, walking. And within each position are a variety of gestures, or attitudes. For example a sitting Buddha may have both hands in his lap, which shows the moment he attained enlightenment. Or he may have left hand in lap, right hand over his knee with fingers touching the ground. This position is called subduing Mara; Mara, evil personified, had tried to distract the meditating Buddha with demons and monsters and worldly pleasures.) Read the rest of this entry »

• Spicy Seafood
• Nori Seaweed
• Tuna Salad
• Mexican Salad
• Prawn
• Seafood Mayonnaise
• Japanese Shoyu Sauce

Would any account of a trip to Asia be complete without a list of “crazy” food? On that note, please observe the following Pizza Hut advertisement.

I wish I had taken a better photo, but it appears to be a ring of cheese-filled pigs-in-a-blanket oozing into a shrimp and crabmeat salad. Mouse/human hybrids are particularly fond of this menu item.

Many new photos uploaded. More posts coming tomorrow. . .

Happy Valentine’s Day from Bangkok, city of blushing virtue.

In yesterday’s Bangkok Post:

“City police have put a damper on the spirit of Valentine’s Day with a 10pm curfew on teens under 18 to ensure they go home early and do not fall prey to sexual temptation.

Police will patrol ‘risk areas’ where teenage lovers may be tempted to share moments of tender intimacy tomorrow night.”

Added the deputy chief of the Metropolitan Police Bureau, Kamol Kaewsuwan: “Love is beautiful. But it’s not necessary to end up having sex.”

that roosters not only crow at the crack of dawn, but also in the morning, afternoon, evening, and all throughout the night? At least the ones in the yard behind my guest house do.

The previous post notwithstanding, I’ve been exploring Bangkok like crazy and am going to be moving to a hotel in a different part of town tomorrow. (I’ve already moved once but in the same area, just a little farther away from the masses). The best way to get to know a new place is to wander around lost and looking stupid, backtracking five or six times past the same group of guys laughing at you. Right? At least that’s what I’m telling myself. But I’m finally starting to get a sense of Bangkok’s layout and different neighborhoods–Chinatown, Siam Square , Silom, Sukhumvit. It is really big–places that look close on a map turn out to be a half-hour cab ride away.

So far, I have traveled around Bangkok by taxi, tuk-tuk, water bus on the Chao Phraya (the best by far), the BTS Skytrain, and even braved a regular city bus–on which I rode in the wrong direction for around 45 minutes until someone asked where I was going.

Where am I going? That’s the question on every taxi and tuk-tuk driver’s lips as I pass by (well, more like: where you go? Although one tuk-tuk driver, on discovering I was American, for some reason asked what I thought of Don King.) I mean, I have an idea–like, I’ll probably be heading to an island later this week–but the fact that I don’t have a schedule and an itinerary is still hard to wrap my own head around, much less something easily explained. Where am I now, that’s the question I’m trying to stay most interested in.

And it has been interesting so far; many stories to tell already. It’s going to be hard to keep up, but I will try, try, try. For now, take a look at some photos. There are more that I haven’t uploaded yet, and I’ve also taken a couple of little videos, which I will get up here also.

If you want it to be. Everyone speaks at least a little English, everything is cheap, anything is available. You can stay in the backpacker neighborhood of Banglamphu and never have to leave: Wander around and eat pineapple or mango or satay on a stick (30 cents), pad thai (45 cents), or a plate of green curry on rice (60 cents) from a street vendor. For a little bit more money, sit down in a restaurant and have Indian, falafel, Korean. Get your hair braided. Hit the open-air bars, filled with hardwood benches and tables and friendly, sunburned people from Europe & Australia. Used books, clothes, CDs, laundry, and massages–they’re all at your fingertips. It’s way easier than living in New York or going to Paris for a vacation. And when you do want to leave for the beach on Koh Samui or for an elephant ride in Pai, all that is arranged for you too.

Yes, it’s antithetical to the spirit of travel as “travail,” a journey filled with peril and discovery and hard-won perspective. The biggest danger in this part of town seems to be getting scammed or being hit by a tuk-tuk or a bus. (I have only seen one pedestrian traffic light in Bangkok so far, and it didn’t work; you just go Frogger-style across the street. ) It is relaxing, escapist, responsibility-free. And, you know, sitting and reading in the courtyard downstairs from my guest house this morning, slightly jetlagged and with no particular place I had to be . . . I had to admit to myself that I could see the appeal.

But don’t get me wrong. I still freaking hate hippies.

 Don’t write that the heat in Bangkok is not that bad. You will only anger the sun. I have had to enlist an ally in my struggle against the vengeful one:

I arrived at the enormous, scandal-besieged, and structurally unsafe Suvarnabhumi Airport at dusk. It was hot and hazy when I got outside, though not nearly as bad as I expected. I took a taxi into town for ~$12. The ride was long; Bangkok seems pretty massive, sprawling but also dense, something between New York and LA.

When we got off the expressway and into the city, I discovered that Bangkok is the 7-11 capital of the world. They are everywhere, outnumbering the second most-ubiquitous sight: billboards and pictures of a man who looks like he wants to do your taxes but actually turns out to be the king, Bhumibol Adulyadej.

My hotel is fine, but overrun with backpackers and I already want to switch locations. I dropped my things and called my friend Martin’s friend Lyndsay, a teacher here in Bangkok. She was out with a bunch of people and I took a taxi to meet her. The driver kept asking me if I wanted to meet some beautiful girls. He also kept saying the word “balloons,” though I’m not sure what he was referring to. Physical attribute? Festive decor?

Anyway, I met the incredibly great Lyndsay and a bunch of her fellow expat teachers at an outdoor bar called Cheap Charlies. It was fun to drink bottles of Singha in little foam sleeves and watch the street life. You know how when you’re little your dad lets you sit on his lap and steer the car around a parking lot? I saw a four- or five-year-old boy doing that on a motorcycle. There were actually four people on the bike. Plus it was 10 o’clock at night, and they were driving down a crowded pedestrian alleyway. Everyone who’s been living here for a while laughed when I seemed surprised by this.

The group then moved to an English-style pub around the corner, where I drank Thai beers in pint glasses and played pool. Most of the English-speaking world was represented among us–America, various UK places , Canada, South Africa. The conversation got into the differences in our various accents. Here are some of the things we were making each other pronounce:

(“Crayons” was there because of Lyndsay, who pronounces it “crons.” ??? She’s says it’s an upstate New York thing???)

I also learned that South Africans call traffic lights “robots,” which is now my favorite thing to know in the world.

I made it til closing time and impressed everyone with my incredible constitution after a 17-hour flight. Most importantly, I impressed myself. On the ride home, the cab driver (who also offered to take me to meet girls) was listening to the Scorpions.

It was as good a 17-hour flight as I could have hoped for. Everything was on time, the ride was mostly smooth, and the Thai food wasn’t bad.

Still, it was a 17-hour flight. At about 10 hours in, it feels like you’ve been flying forever. Then you realize you still have 7 hours left, the length of another incredibly long flight. That’s when you order another bloody mary–or, if you’re the middle-aged Indian man sitting next to me, you keep asking for a kamikaze, which the stewardess doesn’t know how to make and is one of the worst things to keep saying in a loud voice on an airplane.

Thankfully, Thai Air has personal video screens and movies on demand. I watched a few Bollywood movies and “Invincible,” the football movie starring Mark Wahlberg. I have to say, it was wicked inspirational. With the thin cabin air and sleep deprivation, I got choked up like 15 times. Also, Greg Kinnear does a great Dick Vermeil impression.