The same day that I went to see my megaphone cousin I stopped for coffee at my local Starbucks. I was behind a woman who had ordered a drink and was trying to pay for it. She had a bunch of coins splayed out on the counter. I waited patiently behind her - the woman behind the counter watched patiently. After a minute or so the woman scooped the coins up, apologized, and said she'd head out to her car to get the rest of the money. She wandered off.
I ordered my drink, pondered a bit, then took all of the change I had clanging around in my man-purse, and offered it to her.
"How much do you need?" I asked. 40 cents.
She thanked me profusely and repeatedly, the last time yelling her gratitude across the store.
"Eh," I said. "I try to do one nice thing a year."
The employee at the store, who knows me said: "You're always good."
I appreciated the fact that she thinks so. I also was a little alarmed about the possibility that I was spending too much time in her store.
What a wonderful man I am! SO wonderful!!
Later, outside, this woman stopped by my table. She seemed a little unfocused inside, a little not-all-there.
"I have something for you," she said.
Religious pamphlets. D'oh!
I definitely did not try to get my money back.
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Friday, January 29, 2016
Hooray For Me!
As St. Frank says: "It is better to understand than to be understood," a statement I definitely do not understand. The momentum of those of us who are working on our spiritual self is towards this understanding. It comes more easily with family members that we love and to our Fellowship paisanos than it does to those people who irritate us, and it becomes even more of a slog when we're dealing with people who really are behaving badly.
When we were gone a relative of mine had a stroke. He's recovering - slowly - in a rehab facility very close to where I live. He's a fine man, he really is - this is not in dispute. The rub for me is that he's also a vociferous hyper-partisan political true-believer - one of those folks who has consumed the Kool-Aid, so to speak, who spends large amounts of time in very opinionated, slanted echo-chambers, places that reinforce over and over, and loudly, those beliefs that one already holds dearly, facts be damned. This is one thing. The other thing is that he feels comfortable repeating these things to me, at an elevated volume, frequently, despite the fact that I've kind of . . . you know . . . told him to shut the fuck up about it.
The morning that I attended the meeting where the conversation was about helping my still-suffering fellow alcoholic - and by extension everyone else in the world that I may be able to help - I had already made plans to visit this guy. I did just that. It was just fine. I didn't stay long but I visited. We had a nice talk and I could see that he really appreciated the visit. I don't like going into rehab facilities and I get to go back out - this dude is stuck there. I know from experience that it's boring and frustrating to be someplace, sick and injured, and lose almost all control of your environment.
Hooray for me! What a wonderful guy I am!
Actually, not so much. But I did do a nice thing. Can't say I enjoyed the visit that much but I know I did a nice thing.
On a related side note I felt a little guilty that I didn't stay longer. I'm probably the only person who has visited him outside of his family but I like to feel guilty. That's the alcoholic mind - we do more than almost anyone else but still manage to feel like shit about it.
When we were gone a relative of mine had a stroke. He's recovering - slowly - in a rehab facility very close to where I live. He's a fine man, he really is - this is not in dispute. The rub for me is that he's also a vociferous hyper-partisan political true-believer - one of those folks who has consumed the Kool-Aid, so to speak, who spends large amounts of time in very opinionated, slanted echo-chambers, places that reinforce over and over, and loudly, those beliefs that one already holds dearly, facts be damned. This is one thing. The other thing is that he feels comfortable repeating these things to me, at an elevated volume, frequently, despite the fact that I've kind of . . . you know . . . told him to shut the fuck up about it.
The morning that I attended the meeting where the conversation was about helping my still-suffering fellow alcoholic - and by extension everyone else in the world that I may be able to help - I had already made plans to visit this guy. I did just that. It was just fine. I didn't stay long but I visited. We had a nice talk and I could see that he really appreciated the visit. I don't like going into rehab facilities and I get to go back out - this dude is stuck there. I know from experience that it's boring and frustrating to be someplace, sick and injured, and lose almost all control of your environment.
Hooray for me! What a wonderful guy I am!
Actually, not so much. But I did do a nice thing. Can't say I enjoyed the visit that much but I know I did a nice thing.
On a related side note I felt a little guilty that I didn't stay longer. I'm probably the only person who has visited him outside of his family but I like to feel guilty. That's the alcoholic mind - we do more than almost anyone else but still manage to feel like shit about it.
Thursday, January 28, 2016
THEN I'd Be Happy
I have a friend in town this week who is having a rough time of it. I don't mean that life is dealing him some harsh blows - to the contrary, he's on the top of the heap by most measures - but that isn't having any luck in maneuvering the entire universe into the positions that he has pre-selected, at which point everyone in the entire universe would be very, very happy. How familiar does that sound, Mr. and Mrs. Director?
Still, I've heard quite a bit about how bad he has it when we've gotten together. I'm a little worn out by it. It's amazing sometimes to see people create a situation, refuse to alter their behavior or attitude to deal with the situation differently, and then to ponder away about what has gone wrong. In a much more benign sense it reminds me of what it's like trying to explain to someone who keeps getting DUIs that it's not the jails or the courts or the police that's the problem, that the situation doesn't lie in changing the legal system.
The power of acceptance. The power of expectations. If only this or that person would do what I want THEN I'd be happy.
Still, I've heard quite a bit about how bad he has it when we've gotten together. I'm a little worn out by it. It's amazing sometimes to see people create a situation, refuse to alter their behavior or attitude to deal with the situation differently, and then to ponder away about what has gone wrong. In a much more benign sense it reminds me of what it's like trying to explain to someone who keeps getting DUIs that it's not the jails or the courts or the police that's the problem, that the situation doesn't lie in changing the legal system.
The power of acceptance. The power of expectations. If only this or that person would do what I want THEN I'd be happy.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Pity V Empathy
Sympathy: A feeling of pity or sorrow for the suffering of another.
Empathy: Identification with or understanding of the thoughts, feelings, or emotional state of another person.
Our meeting today centered around helping the still suffering alcoholic. I'm always reminded of just how self-centered I can be and how counter-productive this is to my contentment. It's a variation of the old theme: "The more I think about myself the more unhappy I become." The problem is that it's so natural and satisfying to think about myself and such a waste of time to use up any of my limited mental resources thinking about anyone else.
You want to be unhappy? Dedicate the rest of the day to going over every last, stinking detail of your own life.
The analogy our leader used was that of the drowning man rescued by a boat full of paddlers. The saved guy is given a meal and towel and allowed to rest. Then he, too, is given a paddle and told to get to work helping other drowning men. The old Biblical saw is this: "Give a man a fish - feed him for a day. Give a man a fishing pole - feed him for the rest of his life." I guess if the guy lives in the desert this isn't such great advice but you get the jist of things.
People didn't pity me when I came in bawling about my circumstances. They didn't feel sorry for me. They identified with me. They spoke in a manner that indicated to me that they really understood what I was going through and that they, too, had experienced something similar. Most importantly, they explained the solution that worked for them. They thought it would work for me if I gave it a shot but they put absolutely no pressure on me to try this method if I didn't want to. They seemed to be very supportive of anything I could do to stay sober and drug free but cautioned that they could only talk with any authority about their 12 Step Program.
That's the ticket. Show me the way. Lead me down the path but don't put a ring through my nose and yank me along.
Empathy: Identification with or understanding of the thoughts, feelings, or emotional state of another person.
Our meeting today centered around helping the still suffering alcoholic. I'm always reminded of just how self-centered I can be and how counter-productive this is to my contentment. It's a variation of the old theme: "The more I think about myself the more unhappy I become." The problem is that it's so natural and satisfying to think about myself and such a waste of time to use up any of my limited mental resources thinking about anyone else.
You want to be unhappy? Dedicate the rest of the day to going over every last, stinking detail of your own life.
The analogy our leader used was that of the drowning man rescued by a boat full of paddlers. The saved guy is given a meal and towel and allowed to rest. Then he, too, is given a paddle and told to get to work helping other drowning men. The old Biblical saw is this: "Give a man a fish - feed him for a day. Give a man a fishing pole - feed him for the rest of his life." I guess if the guy lives in the desert this isn't such great advice but you get the jist of things.
People didn't pity me when I came in bawling about my circumstances. They didn't feel sorry for me. They identified with me. They spoke in a manner that indicated to me that they really understood what I was going through and that they, too, had experienced something similar. Most importantly, they explained the solution that worked for them. They thought it would work for me if I gave it a shot but they put absolutely no pressure on me to try this method if I didn't want to. They seemed to be very supportive of anything I could do to stay sober and drug free but cautioned that they could only talk with any authority about their 12 Step Program.
That's the ticket. Show me the way. Lead me down the path but don't put a ring through my nose and yank me along.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
MORE Character Assassination
OK, perhaps some more character assassination and backroom gossip is in order. I know I'm not supposed to do either of those things but it's just so damn satisfying. I think I'm a decent guy but tolerance and patience with you lesser mortals is definitely an area I need to work on. Gossip is like eating potato chips - once you get rolling it's hard to put the brakes on.
So, that being said, here is a catalog of some of the bitching and boorish behavior I heard while on the fancy-pants tour, and I am not making any of this up.
The bus is too hot or could you turn down the air conditioning? Tough shit and no.
The road is too rough. A few times the road was pretty bad but talk about something out of everybody's control.
This site is stupid or a waste of time or too far from the ship.
The guide never stopped talking. This is a variation of the complaint that we weren't given enough information from the guide about the day's excursion, and maybe one of the origins of the concept: "Damned if you do - damned if you don't."
Immediately upon embarking on our ship more than one person complained about the internet access. I mean they were standing in the lounge with their devices trying to get on-line immediately. I assume that their input was needed on important matters with global implications. Have you ever looked over someone very important's shoulder while they were on the web? Try it - no one is doing anything very important unless you consider Facebook to be a matter of global import. Which you should not. All of their electronic devices should have been chucked into the Mekong.
People sitting in the a/c lounge reading or talking while we were cruising down the Mekong in Cambodia. We could have been in a hotel lounge in Pismo Beach.
People who think they're very funny but aren't funny at all should be sterilized. If they talk unfunnily very loudly then their children should be taken in the middle of the night and extradited to a black-ops site for several months.
People who enter sacred religious sites and then find a place to sit down, all in a group, so that they can talk very, very loudly about matters unrelated to the site should be gagged and hobbled.
People who bargain fiercely for a $1 discount on a $3 item and then bragging about their purchase should have $1 bills super-glued to sensitive mucous membranes.
At one of the temples the tour company had arranged for two monks to say a long prayer for us. During this invocation the monks scattered lotus leaves into the crowd. A couple of people complained about an "allergic reaction" to the leaves. How about some hot sauce on your genitals? That would classify as an allergic reaction.
One woman actually came up to me at the start of cruise - named Riches of the Mekong - and asked: "Which river are we on?" I said: "The Mississippi," which she didn't think was that funny. I should have suggested the Rhone or the Seine, maybe the Orinoco. She was a lot more savvy than I gave her credit for. Frankly, the question so disarmed me that I was speechless for a second. It took me a lot longer to come up something offensive to say than normal.
Part of me wondered why travel to a 3rd World country only to complain about the 3rd Worldness? This was never a vacation but more of a cultural adventure. And as I mentioned before my hat is off - or should be off - to anyone willing to take the plunge into such newness. This would be if I could look for the good in someone instead of the bad. There was another couple there who felt like we did but were - in my opinion - overly pious and self-righteous about the correctness of their traveling . . . and yes, I see the irony as I write this, luxuriating in my own perfection. The point is I try to keep finding that middle road, that balance, that perspective.
Really, I'm mostly just having some fun with this. Most of the time these folks were just fine and they didn't bother me at all. We all have our shortcomings.
Mine, as has been pointed out repeatedly, is a total lack of tolerance for other people. Working on it, working on it.
So, that being said, here is a catalog of some of the bitching and boorish behavior I heard while on the fancy-pants tour, and I am not making any of this up.
The bus is too hot or could you turn down the air conditioning? Tough shit and no.
The road is too rough. A few times the road was pretty bad but talk about something out of everybody's control.
This site is stupid or a waste of time or too far from the ship.
The guide never stopped talking. This is a variation of the complaint that we weren't given enough information from the guide about the day's excursion, and maybe one of the origins of the concept: "Damned if you do - damned if you don't."
Immediately upon embarking on our ship more than one person complained about the internet access. I mean they were standing in the lounge with their devices trying to get on-line immediately. I assume that their input was needed on important matters with global implications. Have you ever looked over someone very important's shoulder while they were on the web? Try it - no one is doing anything very important unless you consider Facebook to be a matter of global import. Which you should not. All of their electronic devices should have been chucked into the Mekong.
People sitting in the a/c lounge reading or talking while we were cruising down the Mekong in Cambodia. We could have been in a hotel lounge in Pismo Beach.
People who think they're very funny but aren't funny at all should be sterilized. If they talk unfunnily very loudly then their children should be taken in the middle of the night and extradited to a black-ops site for several months.
People who enter sacred religious sites and then find a place to sit down, all in a group, so that they can talk very, very loudly about matters unrelated to the site should be gagged and hobbled.
People who bargain fiercely for a $1 discount on a $3 item and then bragging about their purchase should have $1 bills super-glued to sensitive mucous membranes.
At one of the temples the tour company had arranged for two monks to say a long prayer for us. During this invocation the monks scattered lotus leaves into the crowd. A couple of people complained about an "allergic reaction" to the leaves. How about some hot sauce on your genitals? That would classify as an allergic reaction.
One woman actually came up to me at the start of cruise - named Riches of the Mekong - and asked: "Which river are we on?" I said: "The Mississippi," which she didn't think was that funny. I should have suggested the Rhone or the Seine, maybe the Orinoco. She was a lot more savvy than I gave her credit for. Frankly, the question so disarmed me that I was speechless for a second. It took me a lot longer to come up something offensive to say than normal.
Part of me wondered why travel to a 3rd World country only to complain about the 3rd Worldness? This was never a vacation but more of a cultural adventure. And as I mentioned before my hat is off - or should be off - to anyone willing to take the plunge into such newness. This would be if I could look for the good in someone instead of the bad. There was another couple there who felt like we did but were - in my opinion - overly pious and self-righteous about the correctness of their traveling . . . and yes, I see the irony as I write this, luxuriating in my own perfection. The point is I try to keep finding that middle road, that balance, that perspective.
Really, I'm mostly just having some fun with this. Most of the time these folks were just fine and they didn't bother me at all. We all have our shortcomings.
Mine, as has been pointed out repeatedly, is a total lack of tolerance for other people. Working on it, working on it.
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Character Assassination
Assassin: Any ruthless killer.
I took a lot of notes during the trip or, as LWSJ would call them: "Your book of lies." He has no idea.
This was a curiosity to a number of travelers. Sometimes I said I was a travel writer. Sometimes I said I was a journalist. Once I said I was David Foster Wallace. I also might have mentioned that I was an all-league point guard for Penn back in the mid-70s. The reception to this was surprisingly good. Nobody knew who Wallace was so I was safe there but I bet one guy who cocked a skeptical eye to my basketball fame might have taken a look on google to see if the Penn roster was posted somewhere.
There was a man on the boat that I kind of liked at first. Then he threw a very public hissy fit during our last dinner, berating any employee within a hundred feet, culminating in a tete-a-tete with the maitre'd. I didn't like him so much after that. Plus, his wife was a total ditz. She came back from the central market in Phnom Penh with a couple of IWatches that she paid $40 apiece for. She was going to give them as gifts. She was also quite boastful about the deal she got, apparently unaware that an actual IWatch is going to run about $400 on sale. The market also had Rolexes available for under $10, a signal to the savvy shopper that maybe this was a place to heed the age old warning: Buyer Beware. That would be the case, I guess, if you had the basic intelligence to realize a $40 Apple product was certainly not authentic.
Where was I going with this, anyway, before I lapsed into my hobby: character assassination? Oh, yeah, this guy asked if I would send along my notes when I was finished as he had been too busy complaining about the heat and the rough road and the food and . . . there I go again. Anyway, I took his card and said that it would be my pleasure.
When I got my notes cleaned up I sent him a friendly email. I wanted him to be comfortable when a message with a name he might not recognize - containing a big Word document - popped into his in-box. Like most people I have a totally mistaken perception of the effect I have on other people, proving the incontrovertible truth: "No one is thinking about me." My email was forwarded by the man - who requested the notes - to his wife - who did not, unsurprisingly from someone who didn't appear to possess any advanced reading skills whatsoever - with the internal note:"FYI." This woman did respond with several cryptic references that indicated she had NO idea WHATSOEVER who I was, concluding by asking if I was going to go the Israeli PAC meeting in Washington, DC. (I did like her big ending, I'll say that much).
I deleted the whole mess, of course. I was not going to try to clear that up. Not with a woman who is undoubtedly very busy checking data on one of her two, new, fully-functional IWatches.
I took a lot of notes during the trip or, as LWSJ would call them: "Your book of lies." He has no idea.
This was a curiosity to a number of travelers. Sometimes I said I was a travel writer. Sometimes I said I was a journalist. Once I said I was David Foster Wallace. I also might have mentioned that I was an all-league point guard for Penn back in the mid-70s. The reception to this was surprisingly good. Nobody knew who Wallace was so I was safe there but I bet one guy who cocked a skeptical eye to my basketball fame might have taken a look on google to see if the Penn roster was posted somewhere.
There was a man on the boat that I kind of liked at first. Then he threw a very public hissy fit during our last dinner, berating any employee within a hundred feet, culminating in a tete-a-tete with the maitre'd. I didn't like him so much after that. Plus, his wife was a total ditz. She came back from the central market in Phnom Penh with a couple of IWatches that she paid $40 apiece for. She was going to give them as gifts. She was also quite boastful about the deal she got, apparently unaware that an actual IWatch is going to run about $400 on sale. The market also had Rolexes available for under $10, a signal to the savvy shopper that maybe this was a place to heed the age old warning: Buyer Beware. That would be the case, I guess, if you had the basic intelligence to realize a $40 Apple product was certainly not authentic.
Where was I going with this, anyway, before I lapsed into my hobby: character assassination? Oh, yeah, this guy asked if I would send along my notes when I was finished as he had been too busy complaining about the heat and the rough road and the food and . . . there I go again. Anyway, I took his card and said that it would be my pleasure.
When I got my notes cleaned up I sent him a friendly email. I wanted him to be comfortable when a message with a name he might not recognize - containing a big Word document - popped into his in-box. Like most people I have a totally mistaken perception of the effect I have on other people, proving the incontrovertible truth: "No one is thinking about me." My email was forwarded by the man - who requested the notes - to his wife - who did not, unsurprisingly from someone who didn't appear to possess any advanced reading skills whatsoever - with the internal note:"FYI." This woman did respond with several cryptic references that indicated she had NO idea WHATSOEVER who I was, concluding by asking if I was going to go the Israeli PAC meeting in Washington, DC. (I did like her big ending, I'll say that much).
I deleted the whole mess, of course. I was not going to try to clear that up. Not with a woman who is undoubtedly very busy checking data on one of her two, new, fully-functional IWatches.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Bunyang
We make a few friends among the staff on the ship. I catch Bunyang outside one morning on a break and he asks me some questions about my life and tells me about his. He works 10 1/2 months straight, 7 days a week, on the ship. His wife lives in a room in Phnom Penh, studying nursing for which he's paying - they see each other once a week or so when the ship is docked in town. His 3 year old daughter lives 100 kilometers away with his in-laws so he obviously doesn't see her much at all. Still, he has a good job and he's reflective, philosophical about the situation. At one point he asks if we have children. When I say no he paused a minute before replying, explaining that people without kids in Cambodia have a tough road ahead because they have no one to take care of them when they get older - no powerful, wealthy government or social agency will step in. He didn't ask why we didn't have children or express either approval or disapproval - he explained factually how that would shake out in Cambodia.
One morning I sidle up to the bar to order my coffee in the still deserted lounge. He motions to me to take a seat: "I'll bring you the coffee." I say, no, I want to stay here and talk to you. God knows I didn't want to talk to any discontented rich people Afterwards he wishes me well with my day and says: "Thank you for talking to me." I get it that these service people need my money and they're more likely to get some of it if they behave in a certain way. I was a salesman - I met a lot of nice people when I was working but, face it - we both knew that the only reason I was there was that I hoped they'd buy something. Still, I never got the sense that I was being treated well in an attempt to separate me from some of my money.
I tipped Bunyang extra. Damn right I did.
I tipped Bunyang extra. Damn right I did.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Mothers-In-Law
Tolerance: An acceptance of or patience with the beliefs, opinions, or practices of others.
Rose talked a while about her family life. It made me appreciate my family life more, I'll tell you that. And it gave me an appreciation of what we must go through in order to grow. I am a big fan of the idea that I will magically transform, losing what I don't like about myself and gaining what I lack. That it hasn't worked like that yet is so much fluff, in my opinion.
Rose is married and has a son. In Vietnam the woman always moves in with the man's family. Always. And in this arrangement the mother-in-law rules the roost. I mean she is judge, jury, and executioner. I'm sure - as in life - there are plenty of good, decent mothers-in-law, a few superstar mothers-in-law, and some real bitches out there, too.
On our rickshaw ride I noticed some small hotels that had signs advertising hourly rates. "Great," I thought. "They're rickshawing us through the red light district." Rose explains that these are called privacy rooms so that married couples, jammed in small houses with all manner of children and in-laws lurking about, have someplace they can go to . . . well, I'll let you figure that out. I have enough trouble performing capably in that arena - the thought of the possibility of my mother-in-law listening in . . . brrrrrr.
Rose is somewhat unusual in that she works - she likes her job, she likes being around people, and she's really great at it, probably the best guide we had on the trip. When she's working her sister-in-law gets up early, fixes the entire family their morning meal, and then is responsible for keeping the house clean, so when Rose has some time off, all that falls on her shoulders. She has offered to pay - with her own money - for someone to come in and do this work. Her mother-in-law flatly refused, proclaiming that she didn't have a daughter and a daughter-in-law just so that a domestic could do the work they were expected to do. Her husband supports his mother in all matters.
Rose complained about this to her mother.
"Learn to swallow," was her mother's advice.
I tried to talk some trash while I was swallowing. Give it a shot.
Rose talked a while about her family life. It made me appreciate my family life more, I'll tell you that. And it gave me an appreciation of what we must go through in order to grow. I am a big fan of the idea that I will magically transform, losing what I don't like about myself and gaining what I lack. That it hasn't worked like that yet is so much fluff, in my opinion.
Rose is married and has a son. In Vietnam the woman always moves in with the man's family. Always. And in this arrangement the mother-in-law rules the roost. I mean she is judge, jury, and executioner. I'm sure - as in life - there are plenty of good, decent mothers-in-law, a few superstar mothers-in-law, and some real bitches out there, too.
On our rickshaw ride I noticed some small hotels that had signs advertising hourly rates. "Great," I thought. "They're rickshawing us through the red light district." Rose explains that these are called privacy rooms so that married couples, jammed in small houses with all manner of children and in-laws lurking about, have someplace they can go to . . . well, I'll let you figure that out. I have enough trouble performing capably in that arena - the thought of the possibility of my mother-in-law listening in . . . brrrrrr.
Rose is somewhat unusual in that she works - she likes her job, she likes being around people, and she's really great at it, probably the best guide we had on the trip. When she's working her sister-in-law gets up early, fixes the entire family their morning meal, and then is responsible for keeping the house clean, so when Rose has some time off, all that falls on her shoulders. She has offered to pay - with her own money - for someone to come in and do this work. Her mother-in-law flatly refused, proclaiming that she didn't have a daughter and a daughter-in-law just so that a domestic could do the work they were expected to do. Her husband supports his mother in all matters.
Rose complained about this to her mother.
"Learn to swallow," was her mother's advice.
I tried to talk some trash while I was swallowing. Give it a shot.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Money, Money, Money
We made a couple of stops at schools on our trip. They were quite the eye-opening experience: lots of kids packed into rudimentary buildings with rudimentary services, lacking proper supplies, dressed in knock-off T-shirts and pants, sometimes with no shoes. I don't know what was more surprising - the situation they found themselves in or the fact that they seemed so terribly happy. For a guy who can find the bad in every situation it really freaks me out when I'm around someone who is making the best of what I consider an intolerable situation. That being said I do understand that what I saw wasn't the whole picture - still, I was traveling with a group of people who threw a fit if the soup was too spicy so seeing happy children in a sweltering, unadorned classroom was very uplifting.
One of the schools we visited was set up by a private organization to educate kids from poor rural areas, kids living hand-to-mouth, kids who weren't going to go to school because they couldn't afford the cost or had no ability to even get to the school - there were no big, yellow school buses with blinking red signs making the rounds. The primary goal of this school is to teach them how to speak English. There are plenty of jobs available because of the booming tourist industry but even the housekeeping staff is expected to be able to communicate with the tourists on at least a rudimentary level.
I made it my mission on this trip to try to search out whoever was cleaning my room and give them at least a small tip, money that isn't going to matter a bit in my life but is probably helpful to them. The reaction I got was always gratitude and usually what appeared to be surprise.
Again, I say, the more tightly I hold on to something the more control it has over me and the less I enjoy what I'm holding onto. One of the more interesting statistics I've come across is that the more money someone has the less of a percentage they donate even though the absolute amount is often greater.
We pulled up to this school and got off the bus. The kids were lined up in five or six rows, according to height, with the littlest ones in front. I swear they held a tighter formation than the plebes at West Point. I understood that this was, in some part, a show - we were the rich American tourists and we had money that they wanted, that they needed. Still, I sensed a lot of pride coming from both the children and the teachers. One of the youngest kids, a little girl, stood at the head of one of the rows. As the school principal was explaining its purpose we could see her face start to slowly crumple. Her eyes closed and she burst into tears, crying silently. Her teacher came over and gently escorted her into an adjacent play area where she perked right up. She couldn't have been more than four or five years old - hard to tell because poor nutrition leaves a lot of people much smaller than they would be in the west - and no doubt living away from her mom and dad during the school week.
After the presentation the kids said their ABCs and sang a song, then broke up to practice their English with the tourists. I talked to one of the teachers for a while and her English wasn't that impressive. I could tell that she didn't always grasp the answers that I gave to her questions, even though I tried to speak slowly and keep my words as simple as possible.
I chipped in. Damn right I did.
One of the schools we visited was set up by a private organization to educate kids from poor rural areas, kids living hand-to-mouth, kids who weren't going to go to school because they couldn't afford the cost or had no ability to even get to the school - there were no big, yellow school buses with blinking red signs making the rounds. The primary goal of this school is to teach them how to speak English. There are plenty of jobs available because of the booming tourist industry but even the housekeeping staff is expected to be able to communicate with the tourists on at least a rudimentary level.
I made it my mission on this trip to try to search out whoever was cleaning my room and give them at least a small tip, money that isn't going to matter a bit in my life but is probably helpful to them. The reaction I got was always gratitude and usually what appeared to be surprise.
Again, I say, the more tightly I hold on to something the more control it has over me and the less I enjoy what I'm holding onto. One of the more interesting statistics I've come across is that the more money someone has the less of a percentage they donate even though the absolute amount is often greater.
We pulled up to this school and got off the bus. The kids were lined up in five or six rows, according to height, with the littlest ones in front. I swear they held a tighter formation than the plebes at West Point. I understood that this was, in some part, a show - we were the rich American tourists and we had money that they wanted, that they needed. Still, I sensed a lot of pride coming from both the children and the teachers. One of the youngest kids, a little girl, stood at the head of one of the rows. As the school principal was explaining its purpose we could see her face start to slowly crumple. Her eyes closed and she burst into tears, crying silently. Her teacher came over and gently escorted her into an adjacent play area where she perked right up. She couldn't have been more than four or five years old - hard to tell because poor nutrition leaves a lot of people much smaller than they would be in the west - and no doubt living away from her mom and dad during the school week.
After the presentation the kids said their ABCs and sang a song, then broke up to practice their English with the tourists. I talked to one of the teachers for a while and her English wasn't that impressive. I could tell that she didn't always grasp the answers that I gave to her questions, even though I tried to speak slowly and keep my words as simple as possible.
I chipped in. Damn right I did.
Friday, January 15, 2016
Finding The Worst In Every Situation? My Specialty!
Because it's never, ever good enough for me . . .
I've been mulling over the independent travel versus guided tour dynamics. Should you not give a shit about such matters, I feel ya. However, the point is this is just another example of my finding fault with what is and looking for redemption in what is not. Or maybe it's a fine example of my ability to sit back and look dispassionately at the good and bad of every aspect of my life. Probably not the latter but you never know.
When I was with the tour group I noticed a certain reduction in stress. I figured I was seeing the things that should be seen, the best things, and I didn't have to worry about finding the place in a new city or getting home when I was foot-weary and tired. That being said I sometimes felt that the things I saw were a bit of a stretch, things that, on my own, I would have opted not to see. Like: "Really? This is worth it?" Things that felt like "authentic" experiences set up in a theme park-like setting.
When I was on my own I had to deal with the logistics of finding places, navigating money matters and lines, making long walks home or trying to figure out how to deal with cabs, tuk-tuks, or sung daos, just figuring out what was worth seeing and what wasn't. Plus, there's the great experience of discovering something on my own, sometimes by accident, places that weren't on the tourist circuit. I noticed in Bangkok that the tuk-tuk drivers who were constantly badgering kept suggesting places that, once we found them, weren't that compelling. It was always so great to find a cool, out-of-the-way site and notice that we were the only tourists there.
Which is best? Both have their advantages. I hope that I was able to see the good in each.
I've been mulling over the independent travel versus guided tour dynamics. Should you not give a shit about such matters, I feel ya. However, the point is this is just another example of my finding fault with what is and looking for redemption in what is not. Or maybe it's a fine example of my ability to sit back and look dispassionately at the good and bad of every aspect of my life. Probably not the latter but you never know.
When I was with the tour group I noticed a certain reduction in stress. I figured I was seeing the things that should be seen, the best things, and I didn't have to worry about finding the place in a new city or getting home when I was foot-weary and tired. That being said I sometimes felt that the things I saw were a bit of a stretch, things that, on my own, I would have opted not to see. Like: "Really? This is worth it?" Things that felt like "authentic" experiences set up in a theme park-like setting.
When I was on my own I had to deal with the logistics of finding places, navigating money matters and lines, making long walks home or trying to figure out how to deal with cabs, tuk-tuks, or sung daos, just figuring out what was worth seeing and what wasn't. Plus, there's the great experience of discovering something on my own, sometimes by accident, places that weren't on the tourist circuit. I noticed in Bangkok that the tuk-tuk drivers who were constantly badgering kept suggesting places that, once we found them, weren't that compelling. It was always so great to find a cool, out-of-the-way site and notice that we were the only tourists there.
Which is best? Both have their advantages. I hope that I was able to see the good in each.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Ah, Go To Hell
Diaper Rash: A generic term applies to various skin rashes in the diaper area.
This morning, in response to some riff or other that I had over-extended - probably not that great a riff in the first place, no refrain from "Cocaine," that's for sure - SuperK commented: "Ahh, go to hell." While it doesn't look that great in print it was spot on for the moment and well-played.
We have been so wet for so long that SuperK is convinced she has developed diaper rash. I'm pretty sure I have trench foot of the neck - I've applied almost an entire tube of anti-itch cream over the last 10 days to no effect. The watch I'm wearing has a leather band and I'm afraid it's going to rot through before I get home.
Let me repeat this fact: I like hot weather.
We wondered around the hotel area for a bit this morning. We got lost, of course, in the maze and warrens of old buildings and narrow alleys which block out any landmarks that one might use. Even if you can spot a high building it's not easy to tell how to get there. We think that they may open and close roads. We think that there are ne'er-do-wells who have been trapped in various neighborhoods for years and years. At one point we followed a sign which read: "Shortcut to Khaosan Road." The shortcut - and I am not making this up - included climbing a narrow wooden staircase, opening a door onto the second floor of a building which housed a travel agency, walking around a balcony, and dropping down a flight of stairs into a restaurant. From there we made our way out onto the street.
The alleys and Khaosan Road were an endlessly repeating sequence of bars and cheap souvenir shops. I'd like to go to some government economic agency and suggest that someone try to sell something else, although I did buy a wallet - probably made in China - for $10, so maybe they know what they're doing.
The experience strengthened my view that Bangkok is for the young - cheap food and booze, no need to wear anything but thongs, flop-houses everywhere - and for the degenerate. There were a LOT of people drinking and smoking at 10AM in the morning, scarfing noodles and rice, not looking like they had big plans for the day. Anyone over 30 looks to be running from an indictment in Arkansas for hosting cock fights (that's a joke - cock-fighting is perfectly legal in Arkansas) or a German engineer grimly checking off must-see sites. I'm the best dressed person I've seen since Chiang Mai and that's because I have a shirt with a collar and socks on.
This morning, in response to some riff or other that I had over-extended - probably not that great a riff in the first place, no refrain from "Cocaine," that's for sure - SuperK commented: "Ahh, go to hell." While it doesn't look that great in print it was spot on for the moment and well-played.
We have been so wet for so long that SuperK is convinced she has developed diaper rash. I'm pretty sure I have trench foot of the neck - I've applied almost an entire tube of anti-itch cream over the last 10 days to no effect. The watch I'm wearing has a leather band and I'm afraid it's going to rot through before I get home.
Let me repeat this fact: I like hot weather.
We wondered around the hotel area for a bit this morning. We got lost, of course, in the maze and warrens of old buildings and narrow alleys which block out any landmarks that one might use. Even if you can spot a high building it's not easy to tell how to get there. We think that they may open and close roads. We think that there are ne'er-do-wells who have been trapped in various neighborhoods for years and years. At one point we followed a sign which read: "Shortcut to Khaosan Road." The shortcut - and I am not making this up - included climbing a narrow wooden staircase, opening a door onto the second floor of a building which housed a travel agency, walking around a balcony, and dropping down a flight of stairs into a restaurant. From there we made our way out onto the street.
The alleys and Khaosan Road were an endlessly repeating sequence of bars and cheap souvenir shops. I'd like to go to some government economic agency and suggest that someone try to sell something else, although I did buy a wallet - probably made in China - for $10, so maybe they know what they're doing.
The experience strengthened my view that Bangkok is for the young - cheap food and booze, no need to wear anything but thongs, flop-houses everywhere - and for the degenerate. There were a LOT of people drinking and smoking at 10AM in the morning, scarfing noodles and rice, not looking like they had big plans for the day. Anyone over 30 looks to be running from an indictment in Arkansas for hosting cock fights (that's a joke - cock-fighting is perfectly legal in Arkansas) or a German engineer grimly checking off must-see sites. I'm the best dressed person I've seen since Chiang Mai and that's because I have a shirt with a collar and socks on.
I Am Not Making Any of This Up
As I walk along the street, scanning the broken tiles and cement, pocked with holes and barriers, trying not to stumble off into the ceaseless traffic, I also have to be aware of signs and awnings that are suspended over the sidewalk. These are suspended at what for me is about eye level and the cross beams supporting the awnings and signs, running parallel to the sidewalk, are often made of metal. I assume the short Thai people are fine with this but I'm constantly in danger of being impaled on a metal sign support. Some of the ends have balls of tape wrapped around them, evidence, I assume, of past impalings.
You know what they say about Thailand: "If the sidewalk doesn't fracture your ankle then the sign supports will put out your eye." This is - and I'm not making this up - inscribed on the tails side of the 10 baht coin.
In the Gratitude List department I neglected to say that, after a second polite request, we got moved to a side-view room much closer to the river and much farther from the karaoke bar from hell. On night one I stepped out onto our balcony overlooking a sea of jumbled humanity and was surprised to hear that the musician was calmer and quieter that night - but on nights two and three the rock and roll people were back and the sound cannonballed down the alley between buildings so that it was still possible to hear the crash of the drums and the thump of the bass in our room, although much muted. On the two nights we had in the street-facing room I cannot emphasize enough how loud it was. When, exhausted from a long day of being thoroughly and completely Bangkoked, I turned out the light, unable to keep my eyes open, I was forced into Airplane Technique as I lay there. Airplane Technique is the method where an individual - pinned into a narrow seat, sitting up, with blabbering people and squalling infants all around me . . . I mean him or her . . . says this to myself . . . I mean himself or herself . . . : "You are not even trying to sleep - you're just going to sit here and relax." It can be surprisingly effective. On night one I fell asleep after a bit. On night two I fell asleep almost immediately. Proof that I am equal parts calm, tired, and old. I was too embarrassed to admit this to SuperK who had the normal reaction to loud music at bedtime.
You know what they say about Thailand: "If the sidewalk doesn't fracture your ankle then the sign supports will put out your eye." This is - and I'm not making this up - inscribed on the tails side of the 10 baht coin.
In the Gratitude List department I neglected to say that, after a second polite request, we got moved to a side-view room much closer to the river and much farther from the karaoke bar from hell. On night one I stepped out onto our balcony overlooking a sea of jumbled humanity and was surprised to hear that the musician was calmer and quieter that night - but on nights two and three the rock and roll people were back and the sound cannonballed down the alley between buildings so that it was still possible to hear the crash of the drums and the thump of the bass in our room, although much muted. On the two nights we had in the street-facing room I cannot emphasize enough how loud it was. When, exhausted from a long day of being thoroughly and completely Bangkoked, I turned out the light, unable to keep my eyes open, I was forced into Airplane Technique as I lay there. Airplane Technique is the method where an individual - pinned into a narrow seat, sitting up, with blabbering people and squalling infants all around me . . . I mean him or her . . . says this to myself . . . I mean himself or herself . . . : "You are not even trying to sleep - you're just going to sit here and relax." It can be surprisingly effective. On night one I fell asleep after a bit. On night two I fell asleep almost immediately. Proof that I am equal parts calm, tired, and old. I was too embarrassed to admit this to SuperK who had the normal reaction to loud music at bedtime.
That Kind of Day
Poor, old Bangkok. I'm ragging on the 'kok, no doubt about it. No real reason for it but I'm on a roll, you feel me? Mostly, I think, it's the end of a long vacation and I'm tired; on top of that I really am in a pretty hectic environment right now. This place never stops coming at you with the noise and the traffic and the commotion. It's wearying if you're fresh and I'm coming in weary. On top of that it's a place with no sense of coherence. I have no idea where the downtown business district is or the tourist area or the old town - it's a big jumble of everything stirred together. It's soup, an appetizer, the main course, and dessert all tossed into a blender and served piping hot.
We took a walk today up to see the Big Buddha, the one that's standing up, the one mentioned by every last tuk-tuk driver in the city as they try to get you to make the circuit between the Big Standing Buddha, The Big Sitting Buddha - which we saw and he wasn't that big and frankly, needed a little Buddha rehab - and the Big Reclining Buddha - totally worth it, that Buddha, really quite big and covered in gold leaf. We walk on a roiling street past the location of the Big Standing Buddha, unbeknownst to us, until I yell in to an old woman in a noodle shop: "Big Buddha?" She stares at me blankly. A little dude on the street overhears me, gives me directions, turns out he did graduate school at the U of Missouri in the '60s, "loves Americans." We backtrack and eventually find this ridiculously small, unmarked alley - Urine Alley, SuperK nicknamed it - that leads back to the Big Standing Buddha. It is damn big. It also looks like it was made out of preformed plastic and then sloppily painted at the same shop that made the Lard Lad of Simpson's fame.
We soldier on, out of the wat. We have as a destination this big park complex that contains these structures: Anantasamakhom Throne Hall: not open to the public; King Chula Longkorn Statue: in the middle of - I am not making this up - a sea of asphalt that is the size of dozens of football fields put together with cars and motorcycles zooming across it at weird angles and at high rates of speed; and the Dusit Zoo. The first two don't cause us to linger. On the way to the zoo we start to see signs for the Golden Place Arts and Crafts Center. Remember when it was legal to put many, many signs along the road saying: "See Mammoth Cave." Then 100 yards later: "Mammoth Cave - Ahead." And on and on? It was like that with the signs: big red arrows pointing the way. We follow the signs into this parking lot and enter the Center. It was a small 7-11, basically, with a couple of souvenirs hung up. It was so disorienting, so unbelievable that anyone could call this an arts and crafts center that we went back outside and asked the guard at the gate where the Center was. He looked at us like: "Fuck's the matter with you?" as he pointed out the convenience store . . . er . . . arts and crafts center.
We're done at this point and head for home. Close to the hotel is a restaurant that serves Italian food except there's only a couple of Italian dishes mixed in with the Thai offerings on the menu. We take the hint and order a Thai dish each plus an egg roll appetizer from an uninterested young woman. After a while she comes out with a plate of burnt egg rolls and says, roughly translated: "These are burnt. I can take them off the bill if you want." We give it a shot but they're burnt. The waitress doesn't come back. Some guy comes over and gives me my plate of food - which I finish before SuperK gets served - and takes away the burnt egg rolls. No one comes back after that. I go into the restaurant and corral the waitress who does indeed give me the corrected bill, for which I was grateful, although a better solution would have been to not bring out food that was messed up and hope I liked it. I admit to admiring the technique: "Hey, we fucked this up. Deal with it."
I did not tip anyone at this particular restaurant where I HUGELY enjoyed the experience.
We took a walk today up to see the Big Buddha, the one that's standing up, the one mentioned by every last tuk-tuk driver in the city as they try to get you to make the circuit between the Big Standing Buddha, The Big Sitting Buddha - which we saw and he wasn't that big and frankly, needed a little Buddha rehab - and the Big Reclining Buddha - totally worth it, that Buddha, really quite big and covered in gold leaf. We walk on a roiling street past the location of the Big Standing Buddha, unbeknownst to us, until I yell in to an old woman in a noodle shop: "Big Buddha?" She stares at me blankly. A little dude on the street overhears me, gives me directions, turns out he did graduate school at the U of Missouri in the '60s, "loves Americans." We backtrack and eventually find this ridiculously small, unmarked alley - Urine Alley, SuperK nicknamed it - that leads back to the Big Standing Buddha. It is damn big. It also looks like it was made out of preformed plastic and then sloppily painted at the same shop that made the Lard Lad of Simpson's fame.
We soldier on, out of the wat. We have as a destination this big park complex that contains these structures: Anantasamakhom Throne Hall: not open to the public; King Chula Longkorn Statue: in the middle of - I am not making this up - a sea of asphalt that is the size of dozens of football fields put together with cars and motorcycles zooming across it at weird angles and at high rates of speed; and the Dusit Zoo. The first two don't cause us to linger. On the way to the zoo we start to see signs for the Golden Place Arts and Crafts Center. Remember when it was legal to put many, many signs along the road saying: "See Mammoth Cave." Then 100 yards later: "Mammoth Cave - Ahead." And on and on? It was like that with the signs: big red arrows pointing the way. We follow the signs into this parking lot and enter the Center. It was a small 7-11, basically, with a couple of souvenirs hung up. It was so disorienting, so unbelievable that anyone could call this an arts and crafts center that we went back outside and asked the guard at the gate where the Center was. He looked at us like: "Fuck's the matter with you?" as he pointed out the convenience store . . . er . . . arts and crafts center.
We're done at this point and head for home. Close to the hotel is a restaurant that serves Italian food except there's only a couple of Italian dishes mixed in with the Thai offerings on the menu. We take the hint and order a Thai dish each plus an egg roll appetizer from an uninterested young woman. After a while she comes out with a plate of burnt egg rolls and says, roughly translated: "These are burnt. I can take them off the bill if you want." We give it a shot but they're burnt. The waitress doesn't come back. Some guy comes over and gives me my plate of food - which I finish before SuperK gets served - and takes away the burnt egg rolls. No one comes back after that. I go into the restaurant and corral the waitress who does indeed give me the corrected bill, for which I was grateful, although a better solution would have been to not bring out food that was messed up and hope I liked it. I admit to admiring the technique: "Hey, we fucked this up. Deal with it."
I did not tip anyone at this particular restaurant where I HUGELY enjoyed the experience.
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Standing Eight Count
Every time I travel I think of this anecdote involving a friend of mine - it is one of my most enduring of my Recurrent Loops. I'll be interested in hearing the recollection of the parties involved someday to see if it matches in any way with mine, or if it indeed even happened. This may be from a dream or fugue state or an LSD flashback.
My buddy somewhere in Mexico looking at a giant Aztec or Mayan pyramid ruin. I assume other family members were present.
Dude: "I wonder how fast I can get to the top."
So I arrive in Bangkok and I think - mentally, spiritually, physically, emotionally: "I'm going to see everything, understand everything, move relentlessly but take time to relax and just be, go seamlessly from one spectacular to another."
I was explaining to SuperK in the pool yesterday the differences between a KO, a TKO, and a standing eight count.
Day One: I was on the mat twice, quickly. Smelling salts between rounds and I survived.
Day Two: A couple of standing eight counts, the second one I disputed. Still reeling, backpedaling, trying not to get killed.
Day Three: Got my feet under me, cuts taped up, water splashed in my face, but I'm in a crouch, paws up, not even attempting to go offensive. Lots of cinches, crowd booing, I bounce cockily to my corner when the bell rings, grateful to be upright but acting like I took care of business.
Day Four: On the horizon.
Selfie-Stick
I have been amazed at the selfies curse that seems to have struck mankind. I understand that people want to have pictures of themselves and to have pictures of themselves at specific times and places - we all have a need to leave a legacy, we all want to be able to say: "Yes, I have been there." But I have never seen so many people taking so many pictures of themselves. I have watched individuals snap a dozen pictures of beautiful sites but only after holding up a selfie-stick, positioning themselves carefully, smiling, posing, mugging, it's all disgusting. I can only imagine what it must be like to see a hundred pictures of a smiling person mostly obscuring a thousand year old temple behind him. I'm tempted to suggest to someone: "Hey, have your photo professionally taken - good lighting, staging, and film - then post this picture on the first page of your photo album. Then, if someone wants to see your face in every fucking picture they can just flip back to the first page as often as they want." I have not done this yet.
Saturday, January 9, 2016
Thai Talk Radio
I marvel at the street food vendors here who blow in and set up pretty large and elaborate operations every day. I wonder if they have a pre-assigned spot on the curb, officially or otherwise. Whipping up food, plates washed in buckets of water on the ground and god knows where that water comes from and how often that water is changed, hand towels draped over traffic barriers that magically appear and disappear. At night random but official looking guards will block off a small section of street and charge people to park there.
I'm sitting outside on my balcony looking over a sea of . . . well, sheet-metal in every kind of condition, some new, some the rusted-through spots patched with scraps of rusted-through repair material. Right in the middle a new hotel will pop up or what looks like an office building. Thai talk radio is cranking somewhere, roosters are crowing somewhere else, incredibly loud squawks coming from some kind of bird that we've not yet managed to put eyeballs on, and not for lack of trying.
I like hot weather and I don't like air-conditioning and I can tolerate really hot and humid weather but this place is off the goddam chart, and this is winter. This is the cool time of year. Every now and then a local will comment on how nice the weather is. I literally can't get my arms around what it must be like when it's hot here. It's 8 in the morning and I have a thick sheen of grease on my body already, and I'm in the shade. It's seriously scary. It has been a series of scuttlings into the shade and the air-conditioning and the pool. I have been in more pools for non-exercise, recreational reasons in the last month than I've been in over the last 20 years, and I am not making that up. I don't even differentiate between clean and dirty clothes anymore - their condition is predicated on wet or dry because five minutes after you step outside you can forget about it. Dirty clothes don't even stink - they smell like a shirt that has been dunked in water then hung out to dry over and over and over. Kind of musty but not stinky.
Bangkok is delivering body blows. I'm definitely still standing but I'm going to go down soon.
I'm sitting outside on my balcony looking over a sea of . . . well, sheet-metal in every kind of condition, some new, some the rusted-through spots patched with scraps of rusted-through repair material. Right in the middle a new hotel will pop up or what looks like an office building. Thai talk radio is cranking somewhere, roosters are crowing somewhere else, incredibly loud squawks coming from some kind of bird that we've not yet managed to put eyeballs on, and not for lack of trying.
I like hot weather and I don't like air-conditioning and I can tolerate really hot and humid weather but this place is off the goddam chart, and this is winter. This is the cool time of year. Every now and then a local will comment on how nice the weather is. I literally can't get my arms around what it must be like when it's hot here. It's 8 in the morning and I have a thick sheen of grease on my body already, and I'm in the shade. It's seriously scary. It has been a series of scuttlings into the shade and the air-conditioning and the pool. I have been in more pools for non-exercise, recreational reasons in the last month than I've been in over the last 20 years, and I am not making that up. I don't even differentiate between clean and dirty clothes anymore - their condition is predicated on wet or dry because five minutes after you step outside you can forget about it. Dirty clothes don't even stink - they smell like a shirt that has been dunked in water then hung out to dry over and over and over. Kind of musty but not stinky.
Bangkok is delivering body blows. I'm definitely still standing but I'm going to go down soon.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Yeah, Well, OK
Resort: A place where people go for recreation, especially one with facilities such as lodgings, entertainment, and a relaxing environment.
Relax: To calm down; to become less severe or tense.
This place if fried. This place is a fried egg. What a collection of bums and ne'er-do-wells and very rich people. Again, with the sweeping of the leaves on the dirty, crusty, oil-stained streets. A woman was working the curb across from me, three flights down, and she actually made a cab driver, slurping noodles, sitting on the back of his car, lift his feet so she could sweep under them. There are buses puffing by, engines clackety-clacking or roaring or whining, in an astounding state of disrepair. Guys in uniforms, all different but official looking, with ties sometimes, batons, orange reflector vests, jump into the street, whistle blowing, to try to stop the flow of traffic so that that cars can pull out without being T-boned. The sidewalks are jammed with the seemingly impromptu, probably permanent street kitchens. The scruffy parade streams by unabated.
How this all works together is beyond me. Right behind our "resort" is the Chao Phraya River where tourist boats, water taxis, and huge commercial barges fly around, blowing into docks, deckhands with whistles signaling with different tones - long, short, staccato - to alert the skipper to Go! Stay! Move forward a little! - before jetting back into the mayhem.
In the middle of the city is a big ovoid city park. It is many acres of burnt looking grass. No trees or bushes or water. It looks like the result of a slash and burn campaign. Around and around go tuk-tuks and cabs and cars and the infamous buses, although they actually stop when you're in a crosswalk. I think this place could blow-up spontaneously. I think everywhere here is working undercover or is a snitch or looking for someplace to escape the long arm of the law.
Right across the street the karaoke bar, shuttered, crouches malevolently, dozing, waiting, scarfing a little rice and dirty water - that's all it needs.
There will be no relaxing here.
Relax: To calm down; to become less severe or tense.
This place if fried. This place is a fried egg. What a collection of bums and ne'er-do-wells and very rich people. Again, with the sweeping of the leaves on the dirty, crusty, oil-stained streets. A woman was working the curb across from me, three flights down, and she actually made a cab driver, slurping noodles, sitting on the back of his car, lift his feet so she could sweep under them. There are buses puffing by, engines clackety-clacking or roaring or whining, in an astounding state of disrepair. Guys in uniforms, all different but official looking, with ties sometimes, batons, orange reflector vests, jump into the street, whistle blowing, to try to stop the flow of traffic so that that cars can pull out without being T-boned. The sidewalks are jammed with the seemingly impromptu, probably permanent street kitchens. The scruffy parade streams by unabated.
How this all works together is beyond me. Right behind our "resort" is the Chao Phraya River where tourist boats, water taxis, and huge commercial barges fly around, blowing into docks, deckhands with whistles signaling with different tones - long, short, staccato - to alert the skipper to Go! Stay! Move forward a little! - before jetting back into the mayhem.
In the middle of the city is a big ovoid city park. It is many acres of burnt looking grass. No trees or bushes or water. It looks like the result of a slash and burn campaign. Around and around go tuk-tuks and cabs and cars and the infamous buses, although they actually stop when you're in a crosswalk. I think this place could blow-up spontaneously. I think everywhere here is working undercover or is a snitch or looking for someplace to escape the long arm of the law.
Right across the street the karaoke bar, shuttered, crouches malevolently, dozing, waiting, scarfing a little rice and dirty water - that's all it needs.
There will be no relaxing here.
Bangkok
So about 9PM last night, tired after a long day of travel, in our new, much quieter room one floor up, slightly to the right, we noticed, after much concentration and discussion, that there was an OPEN AIR, LIVE MUSIC BAR across the street. I sit here this morning, slightly stunned, that the concierge could take the time to move us to a new room while saying "this will be quieter." That guy must be an alcoholic to have developed the ability to lie like that while maintaining composure and keeping a straight face. I don't mean you could hear the sounds of the music through our closed door - you could hear the music. I know some of us can fall asleep with the TV on but I'm not one of those people. This was like hooking up earbuds and playing, at an elevated level, some crappy, bass-heavy, drum-obsessed pop music.
I went downstairs to ask, very politely, about the music and when it would stop. Midnight was the answer. The young woman there mentioned something about being fully-booked and . . . hmmm . . . our stay was a pretty long one. I booked the hotel and paid for the room for six nights three months ago. I would have hoped that this degree of foresight would have bought me a little consideration when the rooms were being doled out.
This, I think, is Bangkok. I think this is what it's going to be. I think that fighting this fight would only put me in the loser's corner. Bangkok has me down on the ground, leather jack-boot on my throat, and I'm still trying to figure out if there's a move I can make to get the upper hand.
A smarter man would say no.
I went downstairs to ask, very politely, about the music and when it would stop. Midnight was the answer. The young woman there mentioned something about being fully-booked and . . . hmmm . . . our stay was a pretty long one. I booked the hotel and paid for the room for six nights three months ago. I would have hoped that this degree of foresight would have bought me a little consideration when the rooms were being doled out.
This, I think, is Bangkok. I think this is what it's going to be. I think that fighting this fight would only put me in the loser's corner. Bangkok has me down on the ground, leather jack-boot on my throat, and I'm still trying to figure out if there's a move I can make to get the upper hand.
A smarter man would say no.
Armpit
Armpit: 1. The cavity beneath the junction of the arm and shoulder; somewhere or something considered unpleasant or undesirable.
It is hot as shit here. I mean it is scary hot and I like hot weather. I don't know how people survive in this heat. There are actually air-conditioned buses and non-air-conditioned buses. Not that I'm going to get on a bus here but it's still interesting.
I can't take a country seriously that doesn't have soap, toilet paper, and some way to dry off your hands after you've gone to the bathroom. This is especially egregious when I'm in a restaurant. If the cook takes a crap and then can't wash his hands . . . well . . . And I'm not particularly fussy about that kind of stuff. I can pee in a hole. I can pee in an open-air restroom. I can pee with a woman cleaning the urinal next to me. But I'd like to see the kitchen staff washing their hands.
We got to Bangkok today. I don't trust myself on travel days as a general rule. I'm tired; I'm disoriented; I'm culture-shocked, so I find everything a bit not-up-to-snuff. My normal rule is to go to bed and get up after I've rested. That being said I'm going with the word "armpit" to describe my initial impression.
I booked our room three months ago. I didn't book the most expensive room but I paid the hotel far, far in advance. We open the window and look directly at a huge, lit 7-11 convenience store sign right outside, one story up from Chaos Street. Someone isn't going to sleep tonight. I complained sweetly. They moved us one room up and one room over. I can only see 2/3rds of the sign now and can't make out every word being spoken on the street although I can get the jist of most conversations.
Perhaps I should go to bed now. It will all be better tomorrow. Not that it's that bad right now.
It is hot as shit here. I mean it is scary hot and I like hot weather. I don't know how people survive in this heat. There are actually air-conditioned buses and non-air-conditioned buses. Not that I'm going to get on a bus here but it's still interesting.
I can't take a country seriously that doesn't have soap, toilet paper, and some way to dry off your hands after you've gone to the bathroom. This is especially egregious when I'm in a restaurant. If the cook takes a crap and then can't wash his hands . . . well . . . And I'm not particularly fussy about that kind of stuff. I can pee in a hole. I can pee in an open-air restroom. I can pee with a woman cleaning the urinal next to me. But I'd like to see the kitchen staff washing their hands.
We got to Bangkok today. I don't trust myself on travel days as a general rule. I'm tired; I'm disoriented; I'm culture-shocked, so I find everything a bit not-up-to-snuff. My normal rule is to go to bed and get up after I've rested. That being said I'm going with the word "armpit" to describe my initial impression.
I booked our room three months ago. I didn't book the most expensive room but I paid the hotel far, far in advance. We open the window and look directly at a huge, lit 7-11 convenience store sign right outside, one story up from Chaos Street. Someone isn't going to sleep tonight. I complained sweetly. They moved us one room up and one room over. I can only see 2/3rds of the sign now and can't make out every word being spoken on the street although I can get the jist of most conversations.
Perhaps I should go to bed now. It will all be better tomorrow. Not that it's that bad right now.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Irony
Irony: A statement that, when taken in context, may actually mean something different from, or the opposite of, what is written literally.
My old sponsor is chairing a meeting here in town and he asked SuperK to lead the meeting. I was introducing myself to a few of the people at the meeting because I was the new guy at the meeting. This one dude, unbidden, said he hadn't been at the meeting in a while because he had been in Lao. Frankly, I could give a shit where he had been. I hate people who start conversations by talking about themselves. I wasn't two sentences into my interaction with this guy but I was already bored. But You People have taught me to be polite, to bite my tongue, to swallow my bile, so I inquired, politely, where is Lao, exactly? I did not know that apparently, maybe, people in Southeast Asia drop the ess sound when pronouncing the name of the country Laos. I've never heard it pronounced any other way.
This man says: "It's a country. The one right next to this one."
I am not making this up.
I paused briefly and went through the drill. What I want to say. What I deserve to say. What I will say. To this pompous ass.
"Um, I haven't ever heard it pronounced without the ess," I said, mildly.
Frankly, I was ticked off as the meeting started. The format is for the chairperson to read a few paragraphs from the Big Book and then to expound briefly. My dear wife read the section on Resentments. As in: The Number One offender. Killed more people than just about any other character defect. We must absolutely, positively be rid of them. Or they may kill us.
I am not making this up, either.
My old sponsor is chairing a meeting here in town and he asked SuperK to lead the meeting. I was introducing myself to a few of the people at the meeting because I was the new guy at the meeting. This one dude, unbidden, said he hadn't been at the meeting in a while because he had been in Lao. Frankly, I could give a shit where he had been. I hate people who start conversations by talking about themselves. I wasn't two sentences into my interaction with this guy but I was already bored. But You People have taught me to be polite, to bite my tongue, to swallow my bile, so I inquired, politely, where is Lao, exactly? I did not know that apparently, maybe, people in Southeast Asia drop the ess sound when pronouncing the name of the country Laos. I've never heard it pronounced any other way.
This man says: "It's a country. The one right next to this one."
I am not making this up.
I paused briefly and went through the drill. What I want to say. What I deserve to say. What I will say. To this pompous ass.
"Um, I haven't ever heard it pronounced without the ess," I said, mildly.
Frankly, I was ticked off as the meeting started. The format is for the chairperson to read a few paragraphs from the Big Book and then to expound briefly. My dear wife read the section on Resentments. As in: The Number One offender. Killed more people than just about any other character defect. We must absolutely, positively be rid of them. Or they may kill us.
I am not making this up, either.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
Zen-Like Pu
Pu also went on an extended rift describing The Four Noble Truths. He had nothing at all to say about the The Four Tops or The Four Seasons or touching all four bases. The Four Truths, paraphrased are:
1. You are going to suffer. Suffering can be defined as "that which is difficult to bear."
2. Suffering is caused by YOU when you try to avoid something you think is unpleasant or try to cling to something you find pleasurable.
3. You can end suffering.
4. There is a path to ending that suffering, and good luck dealing with that motherfucker.
That was not a very Zen-like, Buddhist-ey word, and for that I apologize although not sincerely and with a tone that suggests heavy sarcasm even though I'm writing and not speaking. The point is that you normally can't pick up tone with the written word.
Anyway, the path has components and you're not going to want to hear this shit, either.
1. Right view, or understanding of the nature of things which is it's enough already with the trying to get a whole lot of good stuff and with the trying to completely, totally avoid the bad stuff. It's just stuff.
2. Right thought.
3. Right speech.
4. Right action.
5. Right effort, or trying to do what is right to the best of our ability.
6. Right livelihood, or trying to be a good member of society.
7. Right mindfulness.
8. Right concentration, or being where you is at.
Again, The Fellowship in slightly different words, right? Try to think, act, and speak well; accept things for what they are; be kind to others; live in the minute.
1. You are going to suffer. Suffering can be defined as "that which is difficult to bear."
2. Suffering is caused by YOU when you try to avoid something you think is unpleasant or try to cling to something you find pleasurable.
3. You can end suffering.
4. There is a path to ending that suffering, and good luck dealing with that motherfucker.
That was not a very Zen-like, Buddhist-ey word, and for that I apologize although not sincerely and with a tone that suggests heavy sarcasm even though I'm writing and not speaking. The point is that you normally can't pick up tone with the written word.
Anyway, the path has components and you're not going to want to hear this shit, either.
1. Right view, or understanding of the nature of things which is it's enough already with the trying to get a whole lot of good stuff and with the trying to completely, totally avoid the bad stuff. It's just stuff.
2. Right thought.
3. Right speech.
4. Right action.
5. Right effort, or trying to do what is right to the best of our ability.
6. Right livelihood, or trying to be a good member of society.
7. Right mindfulness.
8. Right concentration, or being where you is at.
Again, The Fellowship in slightly different words, right? Try to think, act, and speak well; accept things for what they are; be kind to others; live in the minute.
Karma, Kramer
Karma: A force or law of nature which causes one to reap what one sows; destiny; fate.
Pu spoke at length about karma. I think I have a tendency to over think this concept, to concentrate on the reincarnation implications, to worry that if I step on a snake that I'll come back as a rattler in my next life. But, really, aren't we trying to say that if you live well - if you try not to harm or disturb others - that you'll feel a sense of gratitude and happiness?
Again, I say, how complicated is that? That's not complicated at all. That's just about the most common-sense thing I've ever heard.
Pu put it this way: "We don't worry about heaven and hell. Nobody knows what's going to happen next. So if you're happy right now, then you're in heaven and if you're unhappy then you're in hell." He believes that heaven and hell are concepts that were put into place to control people, to make them afraid so that they're easily manipulate. He suggests that there's no proof that either exist.
Some of this stuff has been hard for me to wrap my westernized mind around.
Pu spoke at length about karma. I think I have a tendency to over think this concept, to concentrate on the reincarnation implications, to worry that if I step on a snake that I'll come back as a rattler in my next life. But, really, aren't we trying to say that if you live well - if you try not to harm or disturb others - that you'll feel a sense of gratitude and happiness?
Again, I say, how complicated is that? That's not complicated at all. That's just about the most common-sense thing I've ever heard.
Pu put it this way: "We don't worry about heaven and hell. Nobody knows what's going to happen next. So if you're happy right now, then you're in heaven and if you're unhappy then you're in hell." He believes that heaven and hell are concepts that were put into place to control people, to make them afraid so that they're easily manipulate. He suggests that there's no proof that either exist.
Some of this stuff has been hard for me to wrap my westernized mind around.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Pu, The Buddhist
Balance: Mental equilibrium; mental health; calmness, a state of remaining clear-headed and unperturbed.
We took a long drive to visit a Thai national park yesterday - Doi Inthanon - by a little village dude named Pu. I admit that it did kick off my male juvenile sense of humor briefly but I transcended the impulse to make it the theme for the day. On the 2 hour trip I got him talking about Buddhism. I sensed that he was a little hesitant but once he saw that SuperK and I were really interested and in possession of some personal knowledge of this philosophy he warmed up and spoke at length. Always salespeople, eh wot? Get 'em talking and listen to what they say.
And I'm always amazed at how all of the great religions and spiritual philosophies, despite significant differences in dogma and orthodoxy, usually boil down to the same solid, common-sense shit. From my notes . . .
Three facets of a happy life:
1. Take the middle path.
2. Live happily.
3. No harm or injury to others.
Who can improve on that? I laugh at how often I hear how important it is to get in the middle of everything. I think that's one of my main philosophies of life: balance. Pu said and I paraphrase: "If you stand of the right side all you can see is the right and the middle. If you stand on the left side all you can see is the left and the middle. But if you stand in the middle . . . well, you can see everything now, can't you?
He also said one day traveling is the equivalent of one hundred days reading. As a voracious reader I'm tempted to take exception to that but I get the point, actually. Get out there and meet people and experience life. I confess to occasionally picking up a book and realizing that, although I read it at one point, I have no recollection of the story inside. Not the case with a trip. Not the case with yesterday. It's easier to sit in a nice, comfy chair but not as satisfying after the fact than living an experience. We were tired when we got home yesterday. It was a long day but an unforgettable one.
We took a long drive to visit a Thai national park yesterday - Doi Inthanon - by a little village dude named Pu. I admit that it did kick off my male juvenile sense of humor briefly but I transcended the impulse to make it the theme for the day. On the 2 hour trip I got him talking about Buddhism. I sensed that he was a little hesitant but once he saw that SuperK and I were really interested and in possession of some personal knowledge of this philosophy he warmed up and spoke at length. Always salespeople, eh wot? Get 'em talking and listen to what they say.
And I'm always amazed at how all of the great religions and spiritual philosophies, despite significant differences in dogma and orthodoxy, usually boil down to the same solid, common-sense shit. From my notes . . .
Three facets of a happy life:
1. Take the middle path.
2. Live happily.
3. No harm or injury to others.
Who can improve on that? I laugh at how often I hear how important it is to get in the middle of everything. I think that's one of my main philosophies of life: balance. Pu said and I paraphrase: "If you stand of the right side all you can see is the right and the middle. If you stand on the left side all you can see is the left and the middle. But if you stand in the middle . . . well, you can see everything now, can't you?
He also said one day traveling is the equivalent of one hundred days reading. As a voracious reader I'm tempted to take exception to that but I get the point, actually. Get out there and meet people and experience life. I confess to occasionally picking up a book and realizing that, although I read it at one point, I have no recollection of the story inside. Not the case with a trip. Not the case with yesterday. It's easier to sit in a nice, comfy chair but not as satisfying after the fact than living an experience. We were tired when we got home yesterday. It was a long day but an unforgettable one.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
It's A Small World After All
Boy, the world is getting smaller and smaller. I remember my first few trips where it was impossible to find an ATM and very few people spoke English. There are more ATMs on my street than people, all of whom can get by in English. It makes it a lot easier.
On one of my first trips to South America with Little Westside Jonny we hired a dude in a cab to drive us all over creation. At the end of the day he took us to an ATM to get cash. We did not get any cash. He took us to another one, not that close to the first one. We did not get cash again. He took us to a third ATM, probably sweating a little and cursing a lot more. We did get the cash there although my recollection is that my card didn't work and LWSJ's did. I hope we gave him a big tip. I'm sure we did.
You know how you get an awful song stuck in your head and the only way to get rid of it is to infect someone else? I jotted down a note for this blog several days ago - I kept running into the title "Small World" and infected myself about 87 times.
My impression is that the world is going to have trouble keeping up with what we're doing to it. This is not a big city and it is not in a developed area, by any sense, it is a mess - polluted, overcrowded, run over. I can't get the sight of those zoo animals sitting in their cages while a line of diesel-spewing pick-up trucks stretched into infinity. I hope we know what we're doing. It doesn't seem so right now.
On one of my first trips to South America with Little Westside Jonny we hired a dude in a cab to drive us all over creation. At the end of the day he took us to an ATM to get cash. We did not get any cash. He took us to another one, not that close to the first one. We did not get cash again. He took us to a third ATM, probably sweating a little and cursing a lot more. We did get the cash there although my recollection is that my card didn't work and LWSJ's did. I hope we gave him a big tip. I'm sure we did.
You know how you get an awful song stuck in your head and the only way to get rid of it is to infect someone else? I jotted down a note for this blog several days ago - I kept running into the title "Small World" and infected myself about 87 times.
My impression is that the world is going to have trouble keeping up with what we're doing to it. This is not a big city and it is not in a developed area, by any sense, it is a mess - polluted, overcrowded, run over. I can't get the sight of those zoo animals sitting in their cages while a line of diesel-spewing pick-up trucks stretched into infinity. I hope we know what we're doing. It doesn't seem so right now.
The Adventure, Explained
Vacation: Freedom from some business or activity.
Lest I sound ungrateful it has been a great trip - I've seen a lot of wild stuff. It has not been an overly easy trip, though, and that is not unexpected. I knew what I was getting into and I got into it. A couple of SuperK's friends have replied to the pictures she's posted on social media with comments along the lines of "I thought vacations were supposed to be relaxing." Well, maybe. I'd call this more of an adventure or a journey or a trip, not a vacation, which has a desperate whiff of lying on your ass around a swimming pool, eating and drinking too much. There's nothing the matter with that if you've got a stressful life and you want to unwind, forget it all. I do not have a stressful life. I do not want to unwind on a beach. I live in a beach town. Why in the world would I fly 8,265 miles, in a middle coach seat, almost, to lie on a beach?
To the non-travelers out there I say this kind of adventure is more like making it through a long day at work under a deadline to get something important completed. The day itself may be stressful but the sense of accomplishment when it's over - particularly when you've done it with other people - is great. No one sits around and tells war stories about the day they didn't really have anything to do so they sat at their desk all day and fooled around on the computer. That day may be more pleasurable in the doing but it sucks in the remembering. Now, we all need a day like that from time to time but we all should experience the new and exciting from time to time, too.
It's just wrong the way the people on machines using an internal combustion engine interact with pedestrians in crosswalks here.
Lest I sound ungrateful it has been a great trip - I've seen a lot of wild stuff. It has not been an overly easy trip, though, and that is not unexpected. I knew what I was getting into and I got into it. A couple of SuperK's friends have replied to the pictures she's posted on social media with comments along the lines of "I thought vacations were supposed to be relaxing." Well, maybe. I'd call this more of an adventure or a journey or a trip, not a vacation, which has a desperate whiff of lying on your ass around a swimming pool, eating and drinking too much. There's nothing the matter with that if you've got a stressful life and you want to unwind, forget it all. I do not have a stressful life. I do not want to unwind on a beach. I live in a beach town. Why in the world would I fly 8,265 miles, in a middle coach seat, almost, to lie on a beach?
To the non-travelers out there I say this kind of adventure is more like making it through a long day at work under a deadline to get something important completed. The day itself may be stressful but the sense of accomplishment when it's over - particularly when you've done it with other people - is great. No one sits around and tells war stories about the day they didn't really have anything to do so they sat at their desk all day and fooled around on the computer. That day may be more pleasurable in the doing but it sucks in the remembering. Now, we all need a day like that from time to time but we all should experience the new and exciting from time to time, too.
It's just wrong the way the people on machines using an internal combustion engine interact with pedestrians in crosswalks here.
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