one iteration

You know how you get a mental image of what a trip might be like, but it never quite is close to reality? Well, that happened to me about this trek that we just got back from.

Three days, two nights.

Some highlights (too tired to write right now):

• You can’t feel leeches (yes)
• Indigenous villages are hard to get to by foot
• Bamboo rafts are teh rock (ftw!)
• You can blow bubbles with only a leaf
• Downhill is harder than uphill
• Elephant hair is very wiry
• Quiet dignity of village people
• Cats here are timid. Very. Dogs too.
• Falafel after 3 days of Thai food is delicious. (Not that the Thai food wasn’t also delicious).
• French men are pigs (its true…)

Anyway, tomorrow holds a 6 hour bus ride to Mae Sot. Jenny’s pad and a Thai/Burmese refugee camp. No tourists allowed, but you can get in by invitation.

Been learning a bit about the particular trouble the Burmese have been through, more on that later.

The fan above twirls quietly in the moist heat. Tired, sleepy, soon to drift off to sleep I am breathing in the slow pace that we’ve been taking. Chiang Mai is nice, much more approachable than Bangkok. Here, there is a beach town feel even though its quite landlocked. Reminds me of Vieques in Puerto Rico.

We are staying at the chic, cheap, and awesome Pagoda guest house. It is sharply decorated, clean, and beautiful.

The food today was good. Pad thai for breakfast/lunch, iced coffee for a snack, and mexican (!) For dinner. At least, it was an attempt at mexican - a passable one too.

Tomorrow morning at 830am we are off on a three day trek, complete with riding of the elephants, bamboo rafts, whitewater rafting, and hiking. Look for a report when I get back.

Question for my readers: should we hit up beach towns next week (like Ko Tao, Ko Samui) or should we head to Angkor Wat in Cambodia? Hit me up at my email.

A DOOR AJAR or, HOW ADAM ALMOST GOT A HAPPY ENDING

So last night we left the door slightly ajar so that Jenny could wake us in the morning. Little did we know that it would set a sequence of efents in motion that would shatter the tranquility of the still night.

At about 3am in the morning, Adam wakes up to a strange man sitting next to him. I am on the other side of the bed, against the wall. This strange Thai man was smiling.

He then proceeded to put his hand down Adam’s sarong, touching his penis briefly, suggestively, with a question written on his face.

Adam vigorously shakes his head, signs “No” in Sri Lankan sign language, and voices “No thank you.” This is when I wake up, by the way. I see a strange man leaving our room, closing the door gently. Groggily, I ask Adam, “Wha…?”

“He touched my penis,” Adam said, then rolled over and promptly fell asleep. I was struck momentarily dumb, then, I too rolled over to sleep thinking with vivid grogginess, “Did that really happen?”

In the morning, I asked him, “Did it REALLY happen?”

“Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly, puzzled, and disturbed.

Bobby: Jenny, you can sign cheap like the sign for “bird.” It’s a play off of cheap sounding like “cheep.”
Jenny: Cheep! Cheep! That’s so funny.
Jay: There are words like that in England, right?
Jenny: Yeah - they say things like “I’m going apple pears.” Means I’m going up the stairs.
Jay: “Dog bone” too. Telephone.

Tuesday night. Hurtling, rocking. Laughing. White people! Probably Dutch. We are on a overnight train headed to Chang Mai.

The harsh flourescent lights above strangely contrast with the relatively comfortable beds. The bathroom is nearby, spurring a honest flow of passers-by, intent on voiding themselves.

The tireless train attendant has stripped his uniform off, eschewing formality for comfort. Sweat drips off of his foreheas as he works to convert seats into beds. His task done, he loiters busily near the bathrooms, where there are supplies and a sink.

Rocking gently, the train moves through the moist night. The air conditioning valiantly fights against the hot, wet air creating a strange diaclectic. Half of my body is cold while the other is warm and humid.

During a still stretch of tracks, the motion ceases to be evident and the brain freezes for a moment, luxuriating in the absence of motion. Then it continues again.

Turns out that international roaming is rather expensive for my Blackberry (SMS and Data) so I’m going to be taking it easy on that for this trip; am typing this from an internet terminal.

SOI PATPONG 1 (OR HOW WE LOST 3,000 BAHT)

So, after downing a few beers with Jenny, Jay, and their two friends; we take off to the Soi Patpong area — otherwise known as the “sex area.”  To be specific, Soi Pat Pong 1.  Reticence be damned; and it was only two streets down.

The Balcony bar. 

We wander among the vendors selling various merchandise, from clothes to trinkets, while warding off countless offers to see ping pong balls popped out of various orifices.  Finally, curiosity gets the better of Adam and from a random hawker selects #14 from a list of sexual antics.  #14:  Pussy cut banana!

So Adam and I go in the joint; while the others stay back (they’ve been there, done that).  We are seated at a table in flashing strip-club style surroundings, and are beseiged with at least six scantily-clad Thai women.  They immediately ask us for a drink apiece after taking our order for a drink (vodka and coke).  Soon, a Matron appears and charges us 2,100 baht.  For what, we aren’t sure.

Then they hit us up for tips for the dancers.  Before we knew it, we’ve blown another 500, 600 baht.  Oh, we gave more than we should have because we expected change back.  Hah.

Ironically (yes) Adam touched a breast (I didn’t).  The girls expresed amused dismay that our little ones were “asleep.”  They verified this for themselves, too.

But, hey, we saw #14: Pussy cut banana from a distance.  It wasn’t as great as it sounded.

We stumbled out and related our story to Jenny and Jay; the first thing they said?

“You could have had sex for less.”

So long, Soi Patpong.

Mr. Phaitoon transports me to the Pranee hotel. 

Currently reading: “Fear and Trembling” by Soren Kierkegaard.

“If there were no eternal consciousness in a man, if at the bottom of everything there were only a wild ferment, a power that twisting in dark passions produced everything great or inconsequential; if an unfathomable, insatiable emptiness lay hid beneath everything, what would life be but despair?”