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!
Date night, Chiang Mai edition
Woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head.... That's the beginning of the interlude for the Beatles tune 'A Day in the Life', which has to be about the best thing they ever did. (a perfect Lennon McCartney collaboration that ends with that crazy, tripped out crescendo and finally settles on that lowest note of the piano as final punctuation). Ah the 60's.
Not a bad metaphor for the greatest outdoor market experience I've ever seen, which is Chiang Mai's weekly bazaar on the 'Sunday Walking Street'. They close off a major throughfare to traffic, and then hundreds if not thousands of vendors show up for a daylong and deep into the night free-for all. It goes for about a mile, with throngs of people filling the street, shopping, shmoozing, eating and listening to some amazing street music.
I was there with my friend M, and that was nice too, as normally I'm on my own in those scenes, so it was a treat to have someone to hold hands with, have some food with, laugh with. We went to the market after spending a few hours at the clinic to see about her abdominal pain. There is a clinic that treats everybody, locals, foreigners, young, old, so you show up, get on the list and wait to be called.
Before she went in, there was a really funny scene in the waiting room. There was a cute little boy, maybe 4 years old who was nervous about having to get a needle. At one point he was crying, but then he mellowed out..... until they called his name. He starts flipping out, throwing himself on the floor, turning into a dead weight so his grandmother couldn't lift him up. The nurse is trying to entice him to get on the scale, that's all, no big deal, but he's not having it. Grandma tries to pick him up, and he shouts that he wants to walk, so she puts him down. But he wants to walk out the door and the whole waiting room is cracking up cause the kid is funny apparently. I didn't understand a word of it, obviously, but I was laughing too...
So M finally gets called, (90 minute wait) she goes in and the doctor (who she likes) decides it's a kidney problem. They take an Xray of her kidney, and also of her stomach, also a urinalysis, and she comes back to the waiting room to await the results. Then she's back in there for an injection (Owww, a real big one obviously), and then they fill the prescription for her antibiotics and pain meds. The whole thing super efficient and professional. total cost for the visit, the xrays, injection, prescriptions came to 480 Baht. Sixteen bucks, people. Let's hear again how the US health care is the best in the world.... Yeah right...
She can't drink alcohol for a week, and realizes it's a good thing. I think she was in a groove where you slip into the drinking thing, which means more smoking cigarettes and it's a downer for your system. So looks like 'clean up time', and I'm glad to see her heading in that direction. I've had maybe three or four beers since I've been in the country, and it's totally nice to be clean and smokeless, even amidst the tons of expats who are just hitting it hard every day. (mornings aren't pretty when you see some of those debauched faces). Tobacco is way cheaper than in the states, so my guess is that a lot of people are smoking more here than they would elsewhere. Sad...
After the clinic, we went to the Walking Street, and I was immediately blown away by the quality, the variety, the food, the setting and the music. First thing I saw, or rather heard and then saw, was a group of 4 blind men, sitting on the street as if in a canoe, one behind the other, as the crowds streamed by on either side. Guy in front had a little percussion kit with a couple of cymbals, a muted snare drum and other clickey clacks. Guy number 2 was playing guitar and singing, number three the same, guy in back had some tamborines and other jangly stuff. They all sang, kind of like if the Gypsy Kings were from India instead of the Pyrenees. Super cool music, falsetto harmonies, syncopated rhythm, they were a gold mine; people were filling up their coffers, and quickly.
There was another group of 5 older guys playing traditional instruments, strange (to a western eye) lutes, one guy playing a bowed thing in the back, a soft drum, a woman playing finger cymbals on the offbeats, it was traditional buddhist devotional music, totally relaxed and beautiful and so evocative. They were amplified and it was a perfect soundtrack to a dinner of curried noodles, some tiny omelets cooked in banana leaves, some shrimp and fish sausages and a balmy night in the big city.
The celebration goes on for about a mile: I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Then we got to the end of the street, and it kept going in three other directions. Longest celebration I've ever seen, and if I were the type who enjoyed shopping, man, it would have been heaven. One of the food areas was in the shadow of a famous Golden temple, which only added to the magic of the evening. All kinds of great food to be had, and folks sitting by the temple, enjoying the evening. Unreal!
Today I'm going to buy a ticket for a ride up to Pai, three hours to the north. It sounds like a chill place, in a valley surrounded by mountains. I've got it in my mind to rent one of the little motorcycles that everyone uses and see how I fare. There are tons of these 125cc automatic bikes which are quite easy to maneuver, super cheap to rent, but I want to get my feet wet in a place much quieter and safer than Chiang Mai, where there are 1.6 million people living and streaming down the roads. We shall see how it goes. I can do it, right? yeah... Tomorrow off to the hills...
Not a bad metaphor for the greatest outdoor market experience I've ever seen, which is Chiang Mai's weekly bazaar on the 'Sunday Walking Street'. They close off a major throughfare to traffic, and then hundreds if not thousands of vendors show up for a daylong and deep into the night free-for all. It goes for about a mile, with throngs of people filling the street, shopping, shmoozing, eating and listening to some amazing street music.
I was there with my friend M, and that was nice too, as normally I'm on my own in those scenes, so it was a treat to have someone to hold hands with, have some food with, laugh with. We went to the market after spending a few hours at the clinic to see about her abdominal pain. There is a clinic that treats everybody, locals, foreigners, young, old, so you show up, get on the list and wait to be called.
Before she went in, there was a really funny scene in the waiting room. There was a cute little boy, maybe 4 years old who was nervous about having to get a needle. At one point he was crying, but then he mellowed out..... until they called his name. He starts flipping out, throwing himself on the floor, turning into a dead weight so his grandmother couldn't lift him up. The nurse is trying to entice him to get on the scale, that's all, no big deal, but he's not having it. Grandma tries to pick him up, and he shouts that he wants to walk, so she puts him down. But he wants to walk out the door and the whole waiting room is cracking up cause the kid is funny apparently. I didn't understand a word of it, obviously, but I was laughing too...
So M finally gets called, (90 minute wait) she goes in and the doctor (who she likes) decides it's a kidney problem. They take an Xray of her kidney, and also of her stomach, also a urinalysis, and she comes back to the waiting room to await the results. Then she's back in there for an injection (Owww, a real big one obviously), and then they fill the prescription for her antibiotics and pain meds. The whole thing super efficient and professional. total cost for the visit, the xrays, injection, prescriptions came to 480 Baht. Sixteen bucks, people. Let's hear again how the US health care is the best in the world.... Yeah right...
She can't drink alcohol for a week, and realizes it's a good thing. I think she was in a groove where you slip into the drinking thing, which means more smoking cigarettes and it's a downer for your system. So looks like 'clean up time', and I'm glad to see her heading in that direction. I've had maybe three or four beers since I've been in the country, and it's totally nice to be clean and smokeless, even amidst the tons of expats who are just hitting it hard every day. (mornings aren't pretty when you see some of those debauched faces). Tobacco is way cheaper than in the states, so my guess is that a lot of people are smoking more here than they would elsewhere. Sad...
After the clinic, we went to the Walking Street, and I was immediately blown away by the quality, the variety, the food, the setting and the music. First thing I saw, or rather heard and then saw, was a group of 4 blind men, sitting on the street as if in a canoe, one behind the other, as the crowds streamed by on either side. Guy in front had a little percussion kit with a couple of cymbals, a muted snare drum and other clickey clacks. Guy number 2 was playing guitar and singing, number three the same, guy in back had some tamborines and other jangly stuff. They all sang, kind of like if the Gypsy Kings were from India instead of the Pyrenees. Super cool music, falsetto harmonies, syncopated rhythm, they were a gold mine; people were filling up their coffers, and quickly.
There was another group of 5 older guys playing traditional instruments, strange (to a western eye) lutes, one guy playing a bowed thing in the back, a soft drum, a woman playing finger cymbals on the offbeats, it was traditional buddhist devotional music, totally relaxed and beautiful and so evocative. They were amplified and it was a perfect soundtrack to a dinner of curried noodles, some tiny omelets cooked in banana leaves, some shrimp and fish sausages and a balmy night in the big city.
The celebration goes on for about a mile: I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Then we got to the end of the street, and it kept going in three other directions. Longest celebration I've ever seen, and if I were the type who enjoyed shopping, man, it would have been heaven. One of the food areas was in the shadow of a famous Golden temple, which only added to the magic of the evening. All kinds of great food to be had, and folks sitting by the temple, enjoying the evening. Unreal!
Today I'm going to buy a ticket for a ride up to Pai, three hours to the north. It sounds like a chill place, in a valley surrounded by mountains. I've got it in my mind to rent one of the little motorcycles that everyone uses and see how I fare. There are tons of these 125cc automatic bikes which are quite easy to maneuver, super cheap to rent, but I want to get my feet wet in a place much quieter and safer than Chiang Mai, where there are 1.6 million people living and streaming down the roads. We shall see how it goes. I can do it, right? yeah... Tomorrow off to the hills...
The Truth Shall Set You.....
Free? Back? Freaky? Flying? Into a tailspin? Maybe the truth will set you all those things.... I think I met my truth telling doppelganger, and she's a 5 foot tall (maybe), Chinese/Thai mix. M is one of the most truthful people I've ever met, and there's something going on that feels revelatory on some kinda level. Because the idea of 'truth' seems to be at the heart of it, and that is endlessly interesting to me, me being one who has always aspired to be a truthful person.
Not that I've succeeded, mind you; I've got guile and self-preservation and all of those little manipulators that we employ so effortlessly in the day to day. But at my core, I aim to be straight on truthful, and when the slings and arrows come, which they do, I try and hold on to the simple reality of what is true.
I had a lousy parting of the ways with the local synagogue a couple of years ago, and when I described it to my rabbi buddy in LA, he was anything but surprised. He pointed out that people like me don't tend to thrive in an institutional setting where there is a certain communication style, a certain non-confrontational consensus that serves to perpetuate the institution. Theyve got to get rid of percieved threats like myself. It upsets the apple cart. Trust me, I'm no Jesus, but I'd have probably been there turning over that temple too...
Speaking of Jesus, there is a line in a Dan Bern song, (one of my alltime favorite singer/songwriters) that was running in my brain this morning as I was thinking of what to say about the current reality. The tune is called 'One thing real', and it's about cutting through the bullshit that envelops seemingly everywhere.
Jesus he comes up to me, Jesus he sits down
He says, 'take this fucking cross off my back
I'm going downtown'
I say, 'Hey, but ain't that your uniform?'
and he offers me a toke
He says 'two thousand years is long enough
For this particular joke
I'm looking for one thing real tonight'
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And as this trip unfolds, as I spend more time away from televised sproting events, (a weakness when they're available, oy), no dance classes, no knocking out the sunday Crossword at the Jiffy Market, none of the little time fillers that grease me through the day, oh yeah, work too, I nearly forgot :-). Anyway, as I was saying, without all of the conventional tricks that I've adopted as my base line reality, I've been finding myself slipping into a more thoughtful, meditative place from which to understand the world.
I keep referring to the Camino de Santiago in this blog, because that was the last time I had a long stretch of reflective time. Then it was about finding a rhythm, my own rhythm for walking down the road 'hacia el horizonte, y poco mas adelante') toward the horizon, and then just a little bit more... This time it seems to be more about stillness, as I have no route to traverse, except for the inner one. So the journey goes inward, looking in, looking out, looking in.
But I'm in a foreign place, witness me trying to find a towel at the sprawling marketplace a few days ago. I had left mine somewhere during last week's trek, and I was getting sick of drying myself with a sweatshirt after taking a shower, so I set off to find a little shop that had towels. There are thousands of stalls all over the market area, fashion, gems, singing bowls, tee shirts, buddha sculptures, dried fish, dried fish, dried fish, dresses, strawberries, I need a freakin' towel. I asked someone who pointed round the corner to the 'market', which made no sense to me as the whole thing seemed like a market that stretched forever. Finally a guy walked me to the right building (which seemed identical to all the other places I had just been, but what do I know, this was the market. And voila! a place that had towels. (What's the opposite of 'plush?' Maybe threadbare? but hey I picked a golden/yellow threadbare towel, and hey, it packs up small. Road towel...
Back to my doppelganger, likely the most honest person I've ever met. I've never caught a whiff of anything other than stright up truth, and wow, what an opportunity for a window into the culture. I can see whatever I can see as an outsider, all the while knowing that I'm not seeing a tenth of what's going on. Now I have a friend who says, 'ask me a question' as part of our interaction. And I know that the answer comes back true. That is worth it's weight in gold. (like a golden towel?)
And it's not such a pretty picture, which makes the truthful aspect that much more profound. She shared some of her fears about 'what happens if I get sick and can't work?' (and she is having some pain in her liver area which is sending her to the clinic today, a year after having an appendectomy that really set her back financially). She's got no insurance. She kept up the payments for awhile, but she just couldn't survive while shelling out $50 a month for insurance, so she had to let it lapse. Scary stuff, especially when you're in pain and there's no one to take care of you except you.
Incidentally, and I'm sure any readers will be thinking the same way I'd be thinking if I were reading about a guy connecting with a Thai woman. 'Careful, Rich, she wants to hook you up as her sugar daddy'. That story gets played out thousands of times daily all over the country. It's a convenient way for a woman to get that economic boost which would be hard to duplicate any other way in this economy. Hook the guy, then he's suddenly paying a few hundred a month to help her family, That vibe permeates the air here, and you hear story after story after story. But I'd lay money that it's not this particular story. It just isn't. (famous last words?) No, it just isn't, I can tell.
Maybe it's because she is a fiercely independent, ambitious woman, whose identity seems to be wrapped up in being truthful. When talking about the last guy she was dating (American), she was annoyed that he was a jealous type who was always asking 'where were you'. 'I'don't ask him where he is, why he always ask me where I am?' 'Double standard' is a phrase that I taught her to add to her English lexicon.
She shared some of the confusion about not being sure who she is anymore, straddling the Thai and Farang world, the Thais sometimes think she's crossed over into the foreign world. The first time we got together, she said something that really caught my ear. 'I'm bad'. I said, why are you bad? She said you'll find out, so I asked her again, and again she gave the same answer. My mind went to places like, 'was she abused?', Is she bad because she dates guys, because she smokes and drinks? Was she ever in the 'Hi Handsome Man' bar circuit?
Last night, Saturday, I went by the bar late to find out if we were going to get together today as we had talked about earlier in the week. Sunday is her one day off, so if we were ever going to get to have a time to hang out some, it would be today. I actually had reservations about going over there, I wasn't sure if she was into it, into me, it's also hard to have a conversation while someone is working, so a part of my brain went into 'forget about it' mode, and I considered the idea of just staying in and going to bed. But then again, I had suggested the Sunday get-together, so come on, dude, at least follow through with your end of things, so I went.
She seemed pretty non-descript about seeing me walk in, I couldn't get a read on it, but I hung out as the last of the musicians finished singing some drunken songs around the table. There is this Norwegian dude named Roy with a big voice who loves johnny Cash of all people, imitates him great, and is quite something to hear. He was holding forth for the last remnants of the Saturday night crowd, and it was pretty funny hearing drunken French people singing 'Because you're mine, I walk ze line'. Guess you had to be there.
I checked in with M and once the bar was closed down, she invited me to go have a drink with her at the bar next door, which we did. We sat in the corner and had a great conversation that featured, 'ask me a question, you have a question, ask me a question' 'Why are you bad?' Because i drink and smoke and go out with men... She talked about how usually if a guy asks her about how many other people she has been with, they get upset if she tells them the truth. (double standard again, eh). We talked about a lot of stuff, mostly about her, she seems more comfortable talking about herself than wanting to know anything about me, but that's cool.
I wanted to put a nagging suspicion to rest, so I asked her if she ever worked in the bars where the girls try to take the customers home for money. She said a long time ago, she did. A wave of compassion welled up in me, as it seems like such a crushing way to earn a livelihood. I just wanted to hug her. She said that at the time, she literally had nothing to eat, and a friend suggested that she could earn money that way. I think she was working a day job at that time also, but she just wasn't making it, so that was the alternative. Sad stuff, at least to my ears, but the fact that she would be willing to tell me the truth of that made my respect for her grow a lot. How easy it would have been to say, 'No I never did that'. Wouldn't that be the normal move to make when talking to a guy you were interested in? Just a little lie and what's the harm? But she's not oriented like that, she's a straight up truth teller, and wow, am I grateful for that.
I'm gonna see her later today for that English/Thai interchange, and then she asked if I'd go with her to the clinic at 5. Beyond that there is the famous Sunday walking street, where they close off one of the main drags, and artisans, food vendors and tons of people get together for the weekly market. Sounds like a date, who knew?
Not that I've succeeded, mind you; I've got guile and self-preservation and all of those little manipulators that we employ so effortlessly in the day to day. But at my core, I aim to be straight on truthful, and when the slings and arrows come, which they do, I try and hold on to the simple reality of what is true.
I had a lousy parting of the ways with the local synagogue a couple of years ago, and when I described it to my rabbi buddy in LA, he was anything but surprised. He pointed out that people like me don't tend to thrive in an institutional setting where there is a certain communication style, a certain non-confrontational consensus that serves to perpetuate the institution. Theyve got to get rid of percieved threats like myself. It upsets the apple cart. Trust me, I'm no Jesus, but I'd have probably been there turning over that temple too...
Speaking of Jesus, there is a line in a Dan Bern song, (one of my alltime favorite singer/songwriters) that was running in my brain this morning as I was thinking of what to say about the current reality. The tune is called 'One thing real', and it's about cutting through the bullshit that envelops seemingly everywhere.
Jesus he comes up to me, Jesus he sits down
He says, 'take this fucking cross off my back
I'm going downtown'
I say, 'Hey, but ain't that your uniform?'
and he offers me a toke
He says 'two thousand years is long enough
For this particular joke
I'm looking for one thing real tonight'
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
And as this trip unfolds, as I spend more time away from televised sproting events, (a weakness when they're available, oy), no dance classes, no knocking out the sunday Crossword at the Jiffy Market, none of the little time fillers that grease me through the day, oh yeah, work too, I nearly forgot :-). Anyway, as I was saying, without all of the conventional tricks that I've adopted as my base line reality, I've been finding myself slipping into a more thoughtful, meditative place from which to understand the world.
I keep referring to the Camino de Santiago in this blog, because that was the last time I had a long stretch of reflective time. Then it was about finding a rhythm, my own rhythm for walking down the road 'hacia el horizonte, y poco mas adelante') toward the horizon, and then just a little bit more... This time it seems to be more about stillness, as I have no route to traverse, except for the inner one. So the journey goes inward, looking in, looking out, looking in.
But I'm in a foreign place, witness me trying to find a towel at the sprawling marketplace a few days ago. I had left mine somewhere during last week's trek, and I was getting sick of drying myself with a sweatshirt after taking a shower, so I set off to find a little shop that had towels. There are thousands of stalls all over the market area, fashion, gems, singing bowls, tee shirts, buddha sculptures, dried fish, dried fish, dried fish, dresses, strawberries, I need a freakin' towel. I asked someone who pointed round the corner to the 'market', which made no sense to me as the whole thing seemed like a market that stretched forever. Finally a guy walked me to the right building (which seemed identical to all the other places I had just been, but what do I know, this was the market. And voila! a place that had towels. (What's the opposite of 'plush?' Maybe threadbare? but hey I picked a golden/yellow threadbare towel, and hey, it packs up small. Road towel...
Back to my doppelganger, likely the most honest person I've ever met. I've never caught a whiff of anything other than stright up truth, and wow, what an opportunity for a window into the culture. I can see whatever I can see as an outsider, all the while knowing that I'm not seeing a tenth of what's going on. Now I have a friend who says, 'ask me a question' as part of our interaction. And I know that the answer comes back true. That is worth it's weight in gold. (like a golden towel?)
And it's not such a pretty picture, which makes the truthful aspect that much more profound. She shared some of her fears about 'what happens if I get sick and can't work?' (and she is having some pain in her liver area which is sending her to the clinic today, a year after having an appendectomy that really set her back financially). She's got no insurance. She kept up the payments for awhile, but she just couldn't survive while shelling out $50 a month for insurance, so she had to let it lapse. Scary stuff, especially when you're in pain and there's no one to take care of you except you.
Incidentally, and I'm sure any readers will be thinking the same way I'd be thinking if I were reading about a guy connecting with a Thai woman. 'Careful, Rich, she wants to hook you up as her sugar daddy'. That story gets played out thousands of times daily all over the country. It's a convenient way for a woman to get that economic boost which would be hard to duplicate any other way in this economy. Hook the guy, then he's suddenly paying a few hundred a month to help her family, That vibe permeates the air here, and you hear story after story after story. But I'd lay money that it's not this particular story. It just isn't. (famous last words?) No, it just isn't, I can tell.
Maybe it's because she is a fiercely independent, ambitious woman, whose identity seems to be wrapped up in being truthful. When talking about the last guy she was dating (American), she was annoyed that he was a jealous type who was always asking 'where were you'. 'I'don't ask him where he is, why he always ask me where I am?' 'Double standard' is a phrase that I taught her to add to her English lexicon.
She shared some of the confusion about not being sure who she is anymore, straddling the Thai and Farang world, the Thais sometimes think she's crossed over into the foreign world. The first time we got together, she said something that really caught my ear. 'I'm bad'. I said, why are you bad? She said you'll find out, so I asked her again, and again she gave the same answer. My mind went to places like, 'was she abused?', Is she bad because she dates guys, because she smokes and drinks? Was she ever in the 'Hi Handsome Man' bar circuit?
Last night, Saturday, I went by the bar late to find out if we were going to get together today as we had talked about earlier in the week. Sunday is her one day off, so if we were ever going to get to have a time to hang out some, it would be today. I actually had reservations about going over there, I wasn't sure if she was into it, into me, it's also hard to have a conversation while someone is working, so a part of my brain went into 'forget about it' mode, and I considered the idea of just staying in and going to bed. But then again, I had suggested the Sunday get-together, so come on, dude, at least follow through with your end of things, so I went.
She seemed pretty non-descript about seeing me walk in, I couldn't get a read on it, but I hung out as the last of the musicians finished singing some drunken songs around the table. There is this Norwegian dude named Roy with a big voice who loves johnny Cash of all people, imitates him great, and is quite something to hear. He was holding forth for the last remnants of the Saturday night crowd, and it was pretty funny hearing drunken French people singing 'Because you're mine, I walk ze line'. Guess you had to be there.
I checked in with M and once the bar was closed down, she invited me to go have a drink with her at the bar next door, which we did. We sat in the corner and had a great conversation that featured, 'ask me a question, you have a question, ask me a question' 'Why are you bad?' Because i drink and smoke and go out with men... She talked about how usually if a guy asks her about how many other people she has been with, they get upset if she tells them the truth. (double standard again, eh). We talked about a lot of stuff, mostly about her, she seems more comfortable talking about herself than wanting to know anything about me, but that's cool.
I wanted to put a nagging suspicion to rest, so I asked her if she ever worked in the bars where the girls try to take the customers home for money. She said a long time ago, she did. A wave of compassion welled up in me, as it seems like such a crushing way to earn a livelihood. I just wanted to hug her. She said that at the time, she literally had nothing to eat, and a friend suggested that she could earn money that way. I think she was working a day job at that time also, but she just wasn't making it, so that was the alternative. Sad stuff, at least to my ears, but the fact that she would be willing to tell me the truth of that made my respect for her grow a lot. How easy it would have been to say, 'No I never did that'. Wouldn't that be the normal move to make when talking to a guy you were interested in? Just a little lie and what's the harm? But she's not oriented like that, she's a straight up truth teller, and wow, am I grateful for that.
I'm gonna see her later today for that English/Thai interchange, and then she asked if I'd go with her to the clinic at 5. Beyond that there is the famous Sunday walking street, where they close off one of the main drags, and artisans, food vendors and tons of people get together for the weekly market. Sounds like a date, who knew?
Keep it really simple
I love it. I'm down to a couple of changes of clothes, a towel, toilet kit, guitar, good books to read, a place to hang out, and 24 hours in the day. It totally fits my psyche, and reminds me of when I was walking on the camino and hearing from people how hard it was to leave all their stuff behind. It always struck me the opposite way. The stuff is a burden, takes up too much time, energy, focus. I don't think I've ever been happier than on that walk. Freedom....
I'm feeling that kind of groove lately, and part of it has to do with not having a travel partner. Any time I've ever traveled with someone,(except for my son), it's been the end of the relationship. You want to break up with me? let's take a trip, that'll do it. It's as though there is something encoded in my soul which is a serious 'loner'. I look around at all the couples who are having meals together, poring over maps, checking into the guest house, and rather than feel envious, I feel really glad that it ain't me in that duet.
I reckon I'm not alone in that comfort zone, uh let's see... there's the Unabomber, and I don't know, Rip Van Winkle, and I'm sure a few more examples. But this period of time in which I wake up when I want, go where I want, talk to who I want, think a lot, write a lot, make a lot of music, read a lot, it's just delightful. And if I have to choose between loneliness and being burdened, give me the loneliness any time. Don't know why it's like that, just is.
I've been in Thailand about a week and a half, and pretty soon, (day after tomorrow, most likely), I'm gonna grab a little mini-bus up to Pai, for a couple of days in the hills near the Myanmar (Burma) border. I hear it's a cool spot, great for trekking, with a hip and musical vibe to boot. Sounds like about a 2 day stay up there with some hiking and hanging out on the agenda. After that, I'm planning on coming back to Chiang Mai and starting a trip into Laos and then Vietnam.
I'm feeling that kind of groove lately, and part of it has to do with not having a travel partner. Any time I've ever traveled with someone,(except for my son), it's been the end of the relationship. You want to break up with me? let's take a trip, that'll do it. It's as though there is something encoded in my soul which is a serious 'loner'. I look around at all the couples who are having meals together, poring over maps, checking into the guest house, and rather than feel envious, I feel really glad that it ain't me in that duet.
I reckon I'm not alone in that comfort zone, uh let's see... there's the Unabomber, and I don't know, Rip Van Winkle, and I'm sure a few more examples. But this period of time in which I wake up when I want, go where I want, talk to who I want, think a lot, write a lot, make a lot of music, read a lot, it's just delightful. And if I have to choose between loneliness and being burdened, give me the loneliness any time. Don't know why it's like that, just is.
I've been in Thailand about a week and a half, and pretty soon, (day after tomorrow, most likely), I'm gonna grab a little mini-bus up to Pai, for a couple of days in the hills near the Myanmar (Burma) border. I hear it's a cool spot, great for trekking, with a hip and musical vibe to boot. Sounds like about a 2 day stay up there with some hiking and hanging out on the agenda. After that, I'm planning on coming back to Chiang Mai and starting a trip into Laos and then Vietnam.
Last one Stateside
It's hard to get out of town, especially for your friendly adult ADD space cadet. How to consolidate one's possessions into a small backpack and then beat it out of town. It's so easy to get bogged down in the miasma of stuff that we engorge ourselves with. Speaking of my asthma, it's very under control these days, just about a non-factor, which bodes well.
But back to the stuff.... there's something really positive about doing without. It's cliche to opine that we've got wayyyyy too much crap in our lives, I think we all know this, but it's another thing to disconnect from the cell phone, and strip a few months down to some simple clothing, a pair of walking shoes, pair of sandals, something to read, something to make music with, and then see what happens with that freedom to simply experience the world.
I remember 10 years ago when I walked the Camino de Santiago across Spain, it felt like the most natural thing to be doing, wake up, put on the pack, hit the road, repeat. Have I ever been happier, probably not. Simple joy of walking on the earth.
I've been thinking about cameras and videos and expectations about how one 'should' travel. In this Facebook world, it's all about the images. And to go off to exotic places without a camera is absolutely ludicrous to most people. But my thought is that people have wandered for millenia, and it's only in the last few generations that a journey has become a chance to take a bunch of pictures to show to the folks back home.... or to upload....or to have as mementos for some later time. I just never could quite get to that definition. Part of it is technophobia, not wanting to learn new machines, buttons, cables, uploading etc, but part of it is also some kind of anachronistic streak of wanting to journey for its own sake. I definitely like to put words onto the stuff that happens... like people have been doing for centuries, so that's still my plan, facebook be damned! No Photos for You! (soup Nazi voice)
OK Craigslist dude, get here like you said you would. Time to split.
But back to the stuff.... there's something really positive about doing without. It's cliche to opine that we've got wayyyyy too much crap in our lives, I think we all know this, but it's another thing to disconnect from the cell phone, and strip a few months down to some simple clothing, a pair of walking shoes, pair of sandals, something to read, something to make music with, and then see what happens with that freedom to simply experience the world.
I remember 10 years ago when I walked the Camino de Santiago across Spain, it felt like the most natural thing to be doing, wake up, put on the pack, hit the road, repeat. Have I ever been happier, probably not. Simple joy of walking on the earth.
I've been thinking about cameras and videos and expectations about how one 'should' travel. In this Facebook world, it's all about the images. And to go off to exotic places without a camera is absolutely ludicrous to most people. But my thought is that people have wandered for millenia, and it's only in the last few generations that a journey has become a chance to take a bunch of pictures to show to the folks back home.... or to upload....or to have as mementos for some later time. I just never could quite get to that definition. Part of it is technophobia, not wanting to learn new machines, buttons, cables, uploading etc, but part of it is also some kind of anachronistic streak of wanting to journey for its own sake. I definitely like to put words onto the stuff that happens... like people have been doing for centuries, so that's still my plan, facebook be damned! No Photos for You! (soup Nazi voice)
OK Craigslist dude, get here like you said you would. Time to split.
Well Lookee Here...
A couple of free internet stations at the Hong Kong Airport and me with an hour or so to kill before hopping the plane to Bangkok. Seems fortuitous, not that I have any great thing to say, other than, holy fuckin' hell, it's hard to sit in the middle seat on a fourteen hour flight from San Francisco to Hong Kong. I slept maybe twenty minutes total, so by the time I get to Thailand, I'll be pretty spaced.
Definitely had some 'what the hell am I doing?' fears realizing that I'll land in Bangkok without a clue as to how to proceed, but so it goes. I guess it adds to the 'charm'. It's often been the case that the more lost and hapless I begin, then the resolution is that much sweeter. So we're hoping for that sort of outcome.
The weather in Hong Kong is exactly the same as it was in San Francisco, 42 and raining. A certain symmetry in that, I suppose. I was happy to make it up to Portland with my Craigslist ride, who dropped me off at a Max station on the east side of town, where it was a convenient mass transit ride to the airport. It was freezing in Portland, with a biting north wind, and I sat and froze there for 20 minutes waiting for the streetcar to arrive. Since I didn't bring anything particularly warm to the tropics, it was a nice blast of icy chill that won't be repeated for a couple months, if then. Adios winter!
Sorry for the boring post, but nothing's happened yet, so I'm just checking in while the internet is free. Thank you Hong Kong Airport. Next stop Thailand. and hopefully a place to get some sleep, somehow. Ciao for now...
Definitely had some 'what the hell am I doing?' fears realizing that I'll land in Bangkok without a clue as to how to proceed, but so it goes. I guess it adds to the 'charm'. It's often been the case that the more lost and hapless I begin, then the resolution is that much sweeter. So we're hoping for that sort of outcome.
The weather in Hong Kong is exactly the same as it was in San Francisco, 42 and raining. A certain symmetry in that, I suppose. I was happy to make it up to Portland with my Craigslist ride, who dropped me off at a Max station on the east side of town, where it was a convenient mass transit ride to the airport. It was freezing in Portland, with a biting north wind, and I sat and froze there for 20 minutes waiting for the streetcar to arrive. Since I didn't bring anything particularly warm to the tropics, it was a nice blast of icy chill that won't be repeated for a couple months, if then. Adios winter!
Sorry for the boring post, but nothing's happened yet, so I'm just checking in while the internet is free. Thank you Hong Kong Airport. Next stop Thailand. and hopefully a place to get some sleep, somehow. Ciao for now...
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