Sometimes, when I'm in a writing groove, I start looking at every day occurrances in terms of 'how would I describe this' in words. Case in point happened this very morning, and it struck me as though suffused in symbolism and deep meaning. (also a function of being in a writerly way, not to mention spending time in a Buddhist country).
I came back to the room from my coffee stop, unlocked the padlock to my door, went in, used the bathroom, then came right back out to go ahead and rent a motorcycle around the corner. Went to lock the lock.... where is the lock? It wasn't where I usually hang it, must have put it on a flat surface. Checked around, nope not there. Aha, it must be in my pocket, attached to the key. Not there either. Went back into the bathroom, not on the shelf, not near the toilet, damn, where is it?
Checked the bed, checked the floor, rechecked my pockets, rechecked the door
Re rechecked the bed, re rechecked the floor, re rechecked my pockets, re re checked the door.
This is the kind of thing that can really piss me off, especially if I'm late for something or stressed about something. But I'm the opposite of stressed and the opposite of late, not to mention I've been talking Buddhism lately, so perhaps this is some kind of object lesson? a koan of some sort? I was very calm, put my hands in prayer position and observed my mind and my surroundings. Calmly, I began searching... the pockets of my pack, above the door, under any cracks where it might have slipped, on the porch, over the porch, in the bedding, under the towel, in my toilet kit, multiple times on all of those places. Where was that little brass padlock? It was as though I had a mind cramp and threw it as far as I could.. what else could explain a disappearance like this. It's a tiny cabin, I have very limited stuff, and I searched everywhere for maybe 30-40 minutes.
Finally I went to the reception area and said, 'I have a problem'. I explained the situation to the young woman, and was overheard by an older man, who I thought might be the owner of the place, Mr Jan. He kind of chuckled at my dilemma, said, 'no problem' in broken English, and then came with me back to the cabin to have a look. We looked together for a couple of minutes, and I was miming 'arms outstretched, what the heck?' but still couldn't find it.
Mr Jan is the closest person to Mr Miyagi (from the Karate Kid movies) whom I've ever met. When I first saw him yesterday, he was watering some of the incredible garden which surrounds all of the cabins. There are winding paths, many hanging baskets, cleverly trimmed hedges, and food growing everywhere in Mr Jan's little paradise. It's extraordinarily well designed with little ponds, garden statues and a feeling of great serenity. And clearly it's a reflection of this man with the twinkle in his eye.
He said, 'wait a minute' and went back to the office to get another lock. I kept searching. He came back two minutes later and indicated that he needed to go buy one, I kept searching, and by now, I was formulating how to describe this little lesson in blog format.
I considered all types of possibilities for where the lock could have gone to. Did someone secretly pick it up to mess with my head? Not likely. The fact that I'm currently reading a book by Cristopher Moore (what a phenomenal and funny auther!), made me consider some mystical, unexplainable causes, because his work doesn't stick to a standard rational menu. Is the lock in another dimension? Did Coyote come to trick me? That kind of stuff. I was definitely delighting in the mystery, at the same time using my eyes as I rarely use them, looking intently at my surroundings, seeing things that I'd normally miss.... a bottle cap clinging to s tiny ledge, a piece of string camouflaging itself near a crack in the floor. Everything but the lock. And yeah, 'a lock'....losing a lock, how's that for symbolism? Is it about 'freedom'?
Ten minutes later Mr Jan came back with a new lock and key. He said $150 Baht ($5) which was what the price tag said. But he wasn't charging me, merely sharing the news about what he paid. I reached for my wallet and pulled out 150, and he tried to just take the 100, leaving the 50 for me. No way, I insisted, and he finally took the whole amount. I made a show about being super attentive when I tried the lock, hanging it oh so carefully on a little hook, showing him that I learned my lesson. He smiled and said 'Pay attention', then went off for the rest of his day. I felt like I was touched by something special. Makes me smile to recount it.
So with that mantra of 'pay attention' in my mind, I headed over to rent a scooter, something that was definitely making me anxious. The first time I ever got on a motorcycle, I was 19 years old and my college buddy was teaching me. He had a Honda 305, but the hand brake didn't work, so I had to use the foot brake, which was located under the kick start on the right side. I got it in gear, shifted to second, went for the brake but couldn't find it. I had to go around and under the kick start, and I was hitting it, instead of the brake. Started going faster, couldn't stop, then I froze, let the clutch out all the way, flew across the street toward some parked cars, ditched the bike, flew over the handle bars and tore myself up on the curb. Still got the scar. (not that it's a vivid memory or anything.... breathe...)
I've since ridden a tiny bit, that same bike in an open field for instance, and a couple of Vespa rides in Ibiza, so obviously, I'm a total beginner at this stuff. And yeah, nervous too, even though everyone and his dog rides these things here. So I lined up to rent a bike, yeah I paid a little extra for the insurance, yeah I took a helmet too. 90 percent of the locals ride without them, but I think I'll play it on the safe side. With the insurance, the total price for the rental came to $6. for a 24 hour period. I took it out easy, and after about 20 minutes, when my sphincter started to relax a bit, damn, this is kinda fun. I rode around for 30-40 minutes, then came back to town for some lunch, now I'll go off again on the bike and try to find the hot springs which ar about 5 miles away. Good times.... Ommmm
Oh yeah, even though I'm on a little 120cc 'rice rocket', I'm still singing 'Born to Be Wild' as I cruise around the valley. Hey, whatever works...
And oh oh yeah, I'm paying attention....
The Life of Pai
Well somehow I managed to beat it out of Chiang Mai, a place where it would be oh so easy to just hang out for a long period of time, (which could still happen, as I'll have to go back through there after this foray). Pai is 135 kilometers to the northwest of Chiang Mai, half of it, a fairly steep, switchbacked climb into lovely tropical mountains. Pai is the ultra hip, musical, jet-setter destination for dreadlocked, herbal tea drinking, massage studying, yoga practicing beautiful people. And there are even a bunch of local Thais who are reaping the 'benefits?' of a large infusion of international hipsters.
Every day, an armada of 12 seater Toyota vans make the trek from Chiang Mai to disgorge their cargo of European, Israeli, American and everywhere else adventure seekers. Van after van going up the hill and coming down the hill in a seemingly endless swarm. It's a really cheap ride actually; I paid $6.00 for the three hour trip, and that included a pickup at the Guest House where I was staying. It couldn't be much more convenient. It's hard to see how the vans turn a profit, what with the price of gas and all, but of course there's the obligatory 15 minute stop at the snack place halfway up the hill, and I'm sure that kicks back some decent cash to the company.
I chose to get here early, figuring that would give me a better shot at finding easy lodging, and that's exactly what happened. Followed my nose, and a sign for Mr Jan's Guest House, and found a private little cabin for under $7 with a bathroom included. Sweet deal, so I dropped my stuff off and took a stroll around the town. First impression was really negative, 'it's just too much' I thought, in that kind of self-loathing trap that is common to tourists. 'There's too many tourists', realizing of course that I'm part and parcel of the problem. I guess it's one more example of the old saw that, any time a place is written up as a must-see destination, that about spells doom for what made it great to begin with.
Those thoughts were running through my head as I surveyed the cappucino places, the tee shirt places, the throngs of westerners roaming the streets, snapping up rooms, shopping, renting motorcycles, doing all the stuff that tourists do. I was tired, for one thing, didn't sleep enough last night, and I was on the verge of being bummed out. I needed to walk out of town and actually see the mountains in whose glen I was located.
Started walking west out of town as the sun was beginning to set. The further I got, the more the town dropped away, and soon I had some vistas of a lovely set of hills, a moon rise and an escape from the motorcycles. I walked maybe a mile and a half, then turned into a field that had a little pond in it, where I sat down to ponder the view, stretch out a bit and just be in a quiet place. Get on the earth, which I had been missing in the big city. I didn't worry about being out after dark, because it's just about a full moon tonight, so there was no danger of getting lost.
That little interlude turned it for me, and after a half hour, I headed back to town with a melody in my voice and a much better attitude. There was something bordering on 'profound' in the transition, and that became clearer in a conversation I had with a Turkish guy I had met on the van ride up the hill. I saw him sitting alone, on his third beer, and he invited me to sit down. He said he is drinking his last beers and smoking his last cigarettes for a few months, as tomorrow he will enter a Buddhist monastery where he spent six months a year or so ago. He's been practicing Buddhism for some time, and we got into a great conversation about judgment, will, desire, and living in the center.
I was struck by how my attitude had done a 180 from the unhappy judging person I was two hours previous. Suddenly I'm sitting in a bar, music is playing, I'm aware of it, but have no judgment about whether it's good or bad or anything. It just is. And there are people streaming by and I have no judgment about who they are, what they're doing, where they're going, it doesn't matter. I register that people are walking past, but my focus is internal and non-judgmental and it's such a better place to be. Kinda makes me wonder if I can recognize when I'm getting that judgmental thing going, and find a way to just see it, and let it go.
And of course there's always a bit of potential irony in the search for enlightenment, in that, if your 'goal' is to achieve enlightenment, then the very nature of having a 'goal' to achieve will make for a failure. It's not about achievement or renouncing or any kind of willful action. Just observe, be, stay in the center. That's the kind of stuff we spoke about for an hour, and it was a really good hour. (not that I'm judging, of course).
But then of course a string of lovely women kept parading by and my internal muse got a little clouded and it was time to check out the evening scene in Pai. Pretty cool doings, lots of music on the street, GREAT STREET FOOD, which I sampled at a few spots. My favorite was a woman who was making this great noodle soup with veggies, meat and spices. She put it together right in front of you, and wow, if I could eat like that every day for a buck twenty, Rich would be a happy boy. Street food is the best.
I wandered around town slowly (as would befit my new Buddhist approach:-) and I came upon a nice little gaggle of young musicians sitting in a circle on the side of the street. This good looking Aussie hipster was singing sweet, and his guitar accompanist was off the charts great on guitar. Then the Aussie took a break and the guitarist, a 46 year old German dude, named Thomas, dialed in some technology and played a studpendous set of his original music. He had a little 4 track hooked up to a small amp, and he was using it like an MP3 player to play the backing tracks (drums, bass, keyboards, effects from the album he's been creating). With that as accompaniment, he was laying down some Pat Metheny-like lead guitar, and I'm not being facetious. The guy was genius, the music was genius, and I was awestruck. He appreciated my unequivocal support, and was pointing out some of the stuff that was happening in the music. Really cool guy, he invited me to where he and his friends are staying near the river, and maybe I'll try to find them tomorrow.
Now it's 11:30 pm, it's kinda chilly as we're at a fairly high elevation, so it's time to call it a good day, and get some rest. Plan for tomorrow is to rent a motorcycle and see if i can keep myself in one piece. Looks easy, everyone does it, you see whole families on a bike, no helmets for the locals, often helmets for the westerners. I think a helmet would be in order for the first time on a bike in like 30 years. It's not like I flew over the handlebars the first time I ever rode a motorcycle or anything. Oh wait a minute, that's exactly what happened in front of my dorm at Alfred University in like 1972. So I've got a little anxiety which it's time to allay. Allez!
Every day, an armada of 12 seater Toyota vans make the trek from Chiang Mai to disgorge their cargo of European, Israeli, American and everywhere else adventure seekers. Van after van going up the hill and coming down the hill in a seemingly endless swarm. It's a really cheap ride actually; I paid $6.00 for the three hour trip, and that included a pickup at the Guest House where I was staying. It couldn't be much more convenient. It's hard to see how the vans turn a profit, what with the price of gas and all, but of course there's the obligatory 15 minute stop at the snack place halfway up the hill, and I'm sure that kicks back some decent cash to the company.
I chose to get here early, figuring that would give me a better shot at finding easy lodging, and that's exactly what happened. Followed my nose, and a sign for Mr Jan's Guest House, and found a private little cabin for under $7 with a bathroom included. Sweet deal, so I dropped my stuff off and took a stroll around the town. First impression was really negative, 'it's just too much' I thought, in that kind of self-loathing trap that is common to tourists. 'There's too many tourists', realizing of course that I'm part and parcel of the problem. I guess it's one more example of the old saw that, any time a place is written up as a must-see destination, that about spells doom for what made it great to begin with.
Those thoughts were running through my head as I surveyed the cappucino places, the tee shirt places, the throngs of westerners roaming the streets, snapping up rooms, shopping, renting motorcycles, doing all the stuff that tourists do. I was tired, for one thing, didn't sleep enough last night, and I was on the verge of being bummed out. I needed to walk out of town and actually see the mountains in whose glen I was located.
Started walking west out of town as the sun was beginning to set. The further I got, the more the town dropped away, and soon I had some vistas of a lovely set of hills, a moon rise and an escape from the motorcycles. I walked maybe a mile and a half, then turned into a field that had a little pond in it, where I sat down to ponder the view, stretch out a bit and just be in a quiet place. Get on the earth, which I had been missing in the big city. I didn't worry about being out after dark, because it's just about a full moon tonight, so there was no danger of getting lost.
That little interlude turned it for me, and after a half hour, I headed back to town with a melody in my voice and a much better attitude. There was something bordering on 'profound' in the transition, and that became clearer in a conversation I had with a Turkish guy I had met on the van ride up the hill. I saw him sitting alone, on his third beer, and he invited me to sit down. He said he is drinking his last beers and smoking his last cigarettes for a few months, as tomorrow he will enter a Buddhist monastery where he spent six months a year or so ago. He's been practicing Buddhism for some time, and we got into a great conversation about judgment, will, desire, and living in the center.
I was struck by how my attitude had done a 180 from the unhappy judging person I was two hours previous. Suddenly I'm sitting in a bar, music is playing, I'm aware of it, but have no judgment about whether it's good or bad or anything. It just is. And there are people streaming by and I have no judgment about who they are, what they're doing, where they're going, it doesn't matter. I register that people are walking past, but my focus is internal and non-judgmental and it's such a better place to be. Kinda makes me wonder if I can recognize when I'm getting that judgmental thing going, and find a way to just see it, and let it go.
And of course there's always a bit of potential irony in the search for enlightenment, in that, if your 'goal' is to achieve enlightenment, then the very nature of having a 'goal' to achieve will make for a failure. It's not about achievement or renouncing or any kind of willful action. Just observe, be, stay in the center. That's the kind of stuff we spoke about for an hour, and it was a really good hour. (not that I'm judging, of course).
But then of course a string of lovely women kept parading by and my internal muse got a little clouded and it was time to check out the evening scene in Pai. Pretty cool doings, lots of music on the street, GREAT STREET FOOD, which I sampled at a few spots. My favorite was a woman who was making this great noodle soup with veggies, meat and spices. She put it together right in front of you, and wow, if I could eat like that every day for a buck twenty, Rich would be a happy boy. Street food is the best.
I wandered around town slowly (as would befit my new Buddhist approach:-) and I came upon a nice little gaggle of young musicians sitting in a circle on the side of the street. This good looking Aussie hipster was singing sweet, and his guitar accompanist was off the charts great on guitar. Then the Aussie took a break and the guitarist, a 46 year old German dude, named Thomas, dialed in some technology and played a studpendous set of his original music. He had a little 4 track hooked up to a small amp, and he was using it like an MP3 player to play the backing tracks (drums, bass, keyboards, effects from the album he's been creating). With that as accompaniment, he was laying down some Pat Metheny-like lead guitar, and I'm not being facetious. The guy was genius, the music was genius, and I was awestruck. He appreciated my unequivocal support, and was pointing out some of the stuff that was happening in the music. Really cool guy, he invited me to where he and his friends are staying near the river, and maybe I'll try to find them tomorrow.
Now it's 11:30 pm, it's kinda chilly as we're at a fairly high elevation, so it's time to call it a good day, and get some rest. Plan for tomorrow is to rent a motorcycle and see if i can keep myself in one piece. Looks easy, everyone does it, you see whole families on a bike, no helmets for the locals, often helmets for the westerners. I think a helmet would be in order for the first time on a bike in like 30 years. It's not like I flew over the handlebars the first time I ever rode a motorcycle or anything. Oh wait a minute, that's exactly what happened in front of my dorm at Alfred University in like 1972. So I've got a little anxiety which it's time to allay. Allez!
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