pulau penang

penang, malaysia

there is an inherent dissonance between an applebee's commercial and the actual dining experience. as it appears on television, we show up with loose neck ties after a great day at the office to find all our smiling friends of variegated ethnicities gathered around and making merry. a waitress with perky tits and great teeth delivers a couple tall beers and sizzling fajitas, adding an innocuous rejoinder to whatever you said upon entering camera left. your friends all laugh at your expense and you join in after feigning objection. she really got you there, jim. she sure did.

in reality, you're likely to be one of three customers in the entire place. it's mid-afternoon and you're alone at the bar, almost entirely ignored by a bartender riveted by a game of angry birds. you stare down at a plate full of stale mozzarella sticks and think about how the only reason you took the highway off-ramp was because you wanted a clean place to take a dump. this place is far from a neighborhood, and you're definitely not "eating good."

an exaggeration, of course, but once i decided to leave koh tao, i realized that this was close to the sentiment i was feeling. my experience on the island closely resembled the plot of forgetting sarah marshall, without the humor, sadness, or dramatic tension. everything was like a postcard: the views were stunning, but it was two-dimensional and there wasn't much beneath it. there were thai people, but they could have been stage props brought in by the island's management. my lost tribe of merry pranksters was nowhere to be found.

the problem i found in koh tao is similar to the problem i found with thailand in general. in a few words, amateur hour. bush league. off-off-off-off-off broadway. not the thai people, of course. any fault i attribute to them is the fact that their wonderful nature created a troubling predicament. like mexico, thailand suffers from a perfect storm of perfection that bleeps big on the sonar of the less sophisticated. i am referring to bros, bro. the country has a major international airport, fantastic beaches, cheap prices, great food, easy transport, a lax policy to alcohol consumption, and super friendly people. it is, with great reason, a fantastic travel destination, and the shame of it all is that this has not gone unnoticed.

i am trying not to sound like i'm drinking perrier, using a silk kerchief to clear caviar from my beard and scoffing at the proletariat. what i'm trying to articulate is that there is a certain type of traveler, a type i became accustomed to traveling with over the years. this person does nothing extraordinary; they simply store some basic local language greetings in their head and visit a couple local places. they smile and/or acknowledge the other human beings in their presence. they do and behave in a manner commensurate with that which one would reasonably define as "nice." basically, that whole when-in-rome thing. there are those in thailand, for sure, but there was an overwhelming feeling that i was a visitor at the sigma chi house's annual thai fiesta (because they would call it that.) you take your beverage in a bucket and make sure your muscles are flexed as you drink it to better showcase your tribal tattoos. there is a full-moon party tonight in koh phangan, don't dare ask me if i'm going.

so it was a relief when my travel plans were diverted to singapore and an even greater relief to arrive in malaysia. i hadn't really given the country much consideration and after half a day i am already scheming on how to get back. i am walking around an island that is the love-child of every major eastern and western naval power of the past millenium. i had dim sum for breakfast, will have indian for lunch, and then hit two or three street carts offering a melange of tastes for dinner. and the best part? it's all local. i have already had three endearing, genuine conversations with locals and foresee several more in the days remaining.

so i know i'm contradicting everything i wrote two posts ago. i swear i thought i was telling the truth. i thought i wanted to drop my pack for good. i thought i was fine with spending us$15 on lodging, sitting still or alternating my position beneath the palm trees depending on the whim for sun or shade. i thought i was ready for unapologetic relaxation. turns out, i was relaxed enough.

i will say that the spirit of that post remains intact. one should conclude their trip doing what they want and, if i may dare say so, what makes them happy. for me, that will include three days of five-plus hour train trips with the days in between dedicated to walking with my camera, pausing for street food. if it must be reduced: eating good, in the neighborhood.

standby

chumphon, thailand

of a myriad of childhood influences, the fact that my mom worked for a major airline may have been the greatest. the job, from my vantage point, was far from great. the commute was long, management sounded to be aloof at best, and humanity rarely gets uglier than when someone is upset at an airport (if you want to see an asshole personified, look no further than the customers queued at an airline kiosk next time there's a delay.) of course, i didn't have to endure any of that. i just got to enjoy a perk that makes the company car look like, well, peanuts (sorry for the obvious in-flight reference.)

i am speaking of free or extremely reduced-cost air travel, but i'm sure you already picked up on that. after the paying passengers have boarded, there will typically be a handful of empty seats distributed to the standby list, the end of which is comprised of airline employees and their companions. usually, there are enough leftover seats that you will get to where you want to go. it may not be the first flight and may entail an out-of-the-way connection (or four), but the odds are in your favor.

because of this benefit, we had season tickets to university of washington football, even though we lived in denver. more than once, we flew into lax in the morning, spent the day at disneyland, and flew back at night. when a good friend moved to cleveland, i could visit him for a week every summer. for one long weekend holiday my senior year, mom took me to australia for a few days. i also saw my grandparents as frequently as if they were neighbors, even though they lived in seattle.

it was as great as it sounds, but it also instilled some heavy doses of humility. it didn't matter if we had a week marked off the calendar and hotel reservations; if flights to honolulu were full, we weren't going. we had to dress well and sit upright and be on our best behavior, otherwise "our" seats could be passed on to someone down the list (though i think my mom exaggerated that part.) it takes two hands to count the number of times i have slept inside chicago o'hare's airport and there have been multiple holidays that were this close to being spent in a food court.

the big takeaway, as far as i see it, is that my modus operandi was entirely molded on the concourses of this great world's airports: the world is yours, so long as you'll fit. or: you can go anywhere you want to go, just don't be a dick about it. however you wish to phrase it, i owe an astronomical debt to the cosmos for granting access to the globe and front-row seats at seminars on patience, hard work, entitlement, and humility at the school of hard knocks. the end result may not be receiving any awards, but, hey, i'm in thailand right now. and i'm not being a dick about it.

this present trip is a result of several serendipitous blessings, none greater than the reinstatement of flight priveleges this year. you probably don't want to hear what the flight portion does or does not cost, and you certainly don't want to hear that i went over the water both times in business class. what is more relevant is that the time to return is nearing and my eyes in the sky have suggested that bangkok is looking a little tough to get out of. there's one flight a day and it looks to be a photo finish each and every one. what could happen? i could catch the first flight out. i could also spend a week riding back and forth on the sky train on polar ends of unsuccessful attempts to fly the friendly skies.

so i'm going to singapore. flights are looking pretty good for early next week and since i'm only a few train rides away from the bottom of the peninsula, i reckon i'll just take the rails down. i'll get a malaysia stamp in the passport and introduce some new street food to the system. vacation was nice and lovely, but i've got to catch a flight in about a week. until then, the world is still mine.

vacation

koh tao, thailand

there is a stark difference between travel and vacation. the former is the thinking (wo)man's foray into the foreign, a search within and without for some sort of meaning. vacation is putting on the blinders to all the stresses and worries of the world over there, a chance to forget and recharge. the participants in both activities, like it or not, are tourists.

a traveler will tell you that someone on vacation is entirely oblivious of their surroundings and only looking to massage their id. the average person on vacation does not know who a traveler is or what they do, only that they do not want them near. the traveler is typically identified by wearing pants or shorts that look like they were cut from some sort of florid, indigenous tapestry. the vacationer typically sports a tank top with a logo or cartoon strip advertising that they do, in fact, enjoy drinking alcohol. the advantage of the traveler, and i would add obligation, is to end their wanderings with a vacation. i am doing so right now.

if the key to travel is a submission to spontaneity, the secret sauce in a vacation is advanced planning and rigid inertia during the period in question. i have known all along that i would vacation in southern thailand and had the benefit of traveling in the same region. most of the farang on the banana pancake trail have come from here or are likewise on their way, so there has been no shortage of advice over the past few months. there were a few who recommended koh tao, sure. more important were the endorsements of other islands and beaches along the way. at the risk of sounding as i am, which in this case is extremely judgmental, i have to say that an understanding of the messenger was vital in understanding the message. i admit that there have been numerous occasions where i've asked an unsuspecting twenty-something which places they or their kind enjoy going so that i can cross it off my list. this process, more scientific and kind that it sounds, brought me to koh tao.

i've got a few days of diving under the belt. my allegiance to inactivity has kept me on the main strip in town, sairee beach, spelling breaks from spy novels by cooling off in the sea or quick jaunts to order coffee shakes. at sunset, i have several options for restaurants with padded seating and a chillout soundtrack. after washing off the day's accumulated salt, i hit one of a handful of trusty pad thai carts and log some critical people-watching time. once dinner is through, i could go to any number of the bars associated with the flyers i've accumulated in my evening walk. for no reason in particular, i've preferred a leisurely stroll back and an earlier hour for sleep.

part of that is to say that sairee beach was good for my diving oxygen supply but has not been quite as aligned with my spirit. not that it is a bad place, just one that suggests that i could find better on this island. so i will, tomorrow. i will rent an eyesore of a motorbike and ride around the hills and peninsulas of this island until i find that eden worthy of my final days. there will be sand to dig in my toes, a modest hill for climbing, and something soft to lean on or swing in for the three hours i will dedicate to the sunset. and the right guest house will announce itself to me clearly. no sooner than i step off my motorbike will a pair of bearded gentlemen with the potential for good conversation relieve me of my heavy bag and take it directly to my modestly-priced bungalow, the last vacancy remaining. two sylphlike local women will hand me a cold chang and a kebab with large, freshly grilled prawns and lead me arm-in-arm down to a large bonfire on the beach below. upon my arrival, the small, friendly congregation will break out, in unison, "it's about time. we've been waiting for you."

and i will not think about my return, my reintegration, my acquiescence to wearing shoes and a belt. i will just be here, now, and be now, here. i will do all that a proper vacation entails, and not a damn thing more.

under the sea

koh tao, thailand

the subject is scuba diving. pressed for metaphors, i would go with human flight. not in the roger-victor-you're-cleared-for-takeoff sense, more in the donning a cape and looking on the hamlet below with benevolent or nefarious vigilance, case depending. on the mechanics alone, the metaphor suits. up here on terra firma, we're a bit constrained by gravity and an extra dimension in our movements; a bit like those limitations imposed upon early era nintendo video game protagonists. but down below (and as the movies suggest, up above), one's body can move up, down, and side-to-side with scant limitation save for physical conditioning and oxygen supply. but that's not the reason for the metaphor (or was this a simile?)

i've gone deep, real deep, five times over the past forty-eight hours per the requirements of my advanced certification course. there was one dive that involved a one meter square and my best impression of a performing seal. another had a compass on my wrist with a little obstacle course and the third found a flashlight in my left hand as we searched the coral after sunset. both of my dives today bottomed out at thirty meters and that was the "lesson" in its entirety.

the reason behind all of it, and i'm getting back to the flying thing mentioned above, is that scuba diving is fun. it is surreal. it is one of those rare activities that can literally transport you into another world (if you do not classify the bottom of the ocean as another world, then we are in complete disagreement.) to know barracuda in its grilled form is to know a delicacy; to see a school of hundreds of them slice by above you is to have an experience. to hear ringo sing about an octopus' garden is to appreciate the quantity of drugs he must have ingested; to see one hovering under the coral is to understand that he could have been dead sober and padi certified. it is easy enough to dismiss the clipboard-toting and hairy-legged girl accosting you to save the coral reef outside whole foods or your favorite bookstore, but to see tens of thousands of inch-long fish hover and sway within inches of a massive submerged outcropping is to understand that the coral respires. it breathes and lives like any of us, though it's far more beautiful and supports infinitesimally more life.

and that's still only part of it. looking up to see the sun cut through deep, azure waters? yeah. hearing your breath come in sounding like you're on life support and then expelling a thousand clear bubbles that come out sounding like currency in a bubbly kingdom. seeing that this fish could kill you but it won't; you could kill that one but you could never; all the while this one is rubbing against your leg and another is inches from your mask and you think yourself better for all of it combined.

at some point, i realized that the best comparison is travel. both experiences involve a displacement from the norm and an immersion into the foreign. you drop into a different world to which you can never truly belong. even if you memorize the lay of the land, find a way to know and communicate with the inhabitants, find yourself a never exhaustive supply of clean air and nourishment, there will always be at least one thing you will never know because you're not from there. you never could be and you never will be and you must accept the fact that you are there to learn and love and embrace as much as possible to take back in your heart and mind, because there is no other way it can go with you. at least, at the end of this trip, i will have another degree of certification for one of them.

border run

chumphon, thailand

not more than ten hours ago, i was sitting on a wooden bench overlooking a roundabout for the vehicles of a high-end resort, listening to britney spears sing a missive "from the bottom of [her] broken heart." a bit incongruous, one might conclude, the image of my bearded, bohemian self waiting for a shuttle at a luxury casino/golf course complex. still probably not as odd as the fact that the background for this setting was none other than one the world's poorest and most isolated nations, myanmar.

the how and why are simple enough to explain. thailand grants foreigners from most countries fifteen days' stay when they cross in by land. one can stay beyond that, but the daily surcharge comes in at close to us$20 and for some of us that sounds like a whole lot more than "twenty bucks." of course, one could always just "go home," but that doesn't sound like too much fun now, does it? this means that those wishing to stay longer need to make a dash for one of several borders before returning. the free market disciple will say that the market is there to fulfill the need. i would be more likely to say that this creates an opportunity for someone to make a buck while adding no value to the world. potato/potahto.

so, i had to go to myanmar. and, technically, i did. i made a beeline from chiang mai to ranong over the course of 29 hours and found one of several services in town offering 'visa runs.' my boat left at 8:30 this morning. we crossed in a high-speed ferry (mr. thein sein: tear down this andaman sea) and disembarked at the concrete steps for andaman club, the aforementioned resort and casino. i followed a group of four russians exhibiting early morning malaise through their tepid dubaduh dubaduh plazita blazita plazita blazitas through a quick passport stamping and onto a hotel shuttle. from there, to the hotel lobby, where we turned around so that i could be serenaded by a melancholy ms. spears and eventually shuttled back to the boat.

it's been a day of my life that has not made me a better man. the fresh-inked and well-pressed myanmar stamp in my passport will serve as a flipbook reminder of how i haven't really been to the country. the images of the casino and its obeisant staff will be the ones playing through my mind each time i read about the very real people having very real struggles in the very real part of that country. and me, i lost 1000 baht on the tour and one day on the beach. i guess if i put it in the context of the myanmar i didn't see today (but will someday), i really have no basis for complaint.

fight night

chiang mai, thailand

it's somewhat easy to forget that things are a bit different over here. there are the temples and a different alphabet, but after a while the signage and aesthetics blend into the background. if laos served consistent reminders that i was not in kansas anymore, thailand has been far more subtle. roads are paved and often have more than one lane going in the same direction(!). wifi is ubiquitous and ronald mcdonald is frequently winking in collusion at the starbucks mermaid. again with the seven-elevens.

last night was unmistakeably a step back into the land of yore. if not culturally, then at least with regard to western ethical notions of what should and should not be classified as entertainment. i, along with some few hundred people, paid about twenty dollars to watch shirtless thai adolescents punch and kick each other for sport. and it made all the difference.

we arrived too late to place a proper wager on the girls' fight. by my guess, we entered while they were in the second or third round, as evidenced by the accumulated sweat and slightly swollen eyes. the fight came to a decision and i was left with deep-seeded concerns about the corruption of the thai state. was i questioning how any country would deem it legal for young girls to harm themselves for exhibition while profiteers sold tickets and beer? that too, but mostly how any judge could have given the decision to the girl in the blue corner. she done got beat, and everyone saw it.

the fighting took a more straightforward course for the next couple bouts. the two of us alternated choosing fighters and shadowboxed in our seats alongside them. the boys wore traditional head wear resembling stringless badminton rackets and gave some sort of buddhist devotion to each corner before the bout. the bell would ring and the three-piece band played cobra charming music behind us. the boys squared off and tried to make their fathers proud. us too. we were glad that nobody got hurt and savored the victories when they came. i'll forever cherish that moment when geng chayyaigym's knee went up and pataek sitkruood went down and i found myself the new owner of a tall chang beer. these are moments in life.

there was a moment of dubious moral levity during the king-of-the-hill sequence. six boys were paraded into the ring, blindfolded, and the farang in the audience questioned if we were really about to see what we were about to see. we were, but at least kicking was not allowed. the kids blindly felt their way around the ring until making contact with someone else and then wailed away. on more than one occasion, the referee was dodging a barrage of attacks. the five minutes allowed the combatants to endear themselves to us. we felt like we truly knew them. there was tornado kid, spinning around in 720s with the hopes of delivering the lethal blow to someone. mostly, he fell into the opposite corner and one or two others would trip over his body. windmill kid was vicious. he softly felt around until finding someone, then reached back like he was pitching a softball and coming down hard on their back. i probably would have fallen just like all the others did; if that kid eats less than two dozen egg rolls a day, count me in the surprised column.

the night closed with a three-round exhibition between a guy from california and a local fighter past his prime. the american held himself well in both fight and sportsmanship, even if he fell victim to a biased decision. he was grateful for the call-and-response i started during the fight from team america and really wished he could have stayed to talk a bit longer. unfortunately, he was gassed and regretting the beer he had before the fight. we hung around for a photo shoot on the canvas and the opportunity for a game of pool. the sounds gone and the lights turning off in the complex, we left and stepped back into the more recognizable world, grateful for the detour.

seeing hands

chiang mai, thailand

they say that familiarity breeds contempt, and that would be taking it too far. in southeast asia's particular case, familiarity breeds familiarity, or, at least begets a law of diminishing returns for various stimuli and phenomena. approaching two weeks until departure, i'm starting to open my eyes once more to my surroundings, very much aware of the upcoming transition from life moment to lifetime memory. this manifests itself in various ways. there has been a spike in strawberry shake consumption. i've embarked on this strange activity referred to as "shopping." and i've begun to read the writing on the wall. that's where they have the prices listed for massages.

they're cheap and they're offered everywhere. in my experience, they're so ubiquitous that after two weeks i hardly noticed someone was willing to relieve my body's accumulated stress for us$5 per hour. it was just par for the course. my own massage visits have come in spurts, if you'll permit me one unintended, inappropriate double entendre. my first visit was on my first day in bangkok. it was a godsend after arriving from winter and seemed like a fantastic way to kill an hour while waiting for the lsu-alabama kickoff. i crossed a border and briefly continued the trend in cambodia. the country has a fantastic concept where they train the blind to give massages, thus allowing a respectable trade and wage to the handicapped. i had two myself, calling it quits after the second confirmed that their mentor's teachings were a little too heavy on the death grip. not only did i pay to feel like i was in guantanamo, i also got the opportunity to complain to a blind man. i should have kicked a legless orphan just to keep that high going.

save for one post-trek visit in sapa, there was nothing until this dimaggio-streak i've had going for the past week. the thais have the best practice, in my opinion, and the weather has turned so that there is really no point in being aggressive with sightseeing during the day's hottest hours. letting someone knead your muscles and crack your bones is a great way to give your book an hour or two of intermission.

and the atmosphere has been fantastic. spending the real money yields the scented candles and soundtracks inspired by sounds of the forest or waves crashing. that whole thing strikes me as an intimacy i simply cannot associate with stretching my tendons. what i've found so far in the north is the equivalent of a korean nail salon. older ladies chat away in open rooms with several foam mattresses and spinning fans. i have my eyes closed while one of them eases the tension from the kilometers of walking and hours of compression in planes, trains, and automobiles. she gets to catch up on gossip with her friends while letting my lanky frame redefine the potential of just what a limb could be.

all the while, i get comfort in the security that i'm not going into one of those other massage parlors. i'm pleased to report that i haven't even been offered a happy ending. many people come to this part of the world specifically for that additional service, so it is a potential hazard. there are concerns about the objectification of women and the health risks of solicitation, but i'm afraid that my reason for not partaking is far simpler: it would just feel weird (not literally, of course; one could argue that it would actually feel quite good.) i should probably be more vehemently opposed to the practice on moral grounds, but i've met enough people who do or have done it and it really is far more nuanced than the larger dialogue cedes. if the masseuse is willing and of a certain age, how you spend your money is really none of my business.

which all feels refreshing. what, you ask, feels refreshing? why, the relief at being able to come clean about how i'm not coming dirty (okay, sorry, two double entendres) during this trip. it's something that is often wondered whenever you meet a solo male traveler above a certain age and it's always good to dispel. of course, i could just be dispelling it publicly to hide my shame at having done the practice privately. but then again, why would i write about the topic if i had done it? wouldn't that just be drawing attention to the whole matter, attention that i would be looking to avoid? then again, you counter, maybe i am soliciting and using this forum to take control of the dialogue and shape it with my lies (inspired by the republican primaries, of course)?

listen, i only have two things to say before closing this out: 1) i am not paying for sexual relations, and 2) i should have just written about the strawberry shakes.