blind, deaf, and bedraggled

One thing you don't see everyday in Seattle are children sleeping in the filthy gutter, wearing nothing but rags. As you walk down the Sukhumvit, through the long row of merchants on either side of you, you will come across a person crawling on the ground, in the middle of it all. I've encountered this several times. They're missing legs or arms. Or they have strange deformed bodies. Such is the context that you walk through. The person in this next image (ignore its misleading address, it's definitely Thailand), just might be the same one that I'm referring too, whom I've seen so many times on Sukhumvit...


On our first day in Thailand, our tour guide Moo (who happens to be fervently patriotic towards his country and king) insisted "there are no Thai homeless people". As if such a thing couldn't exist in a country like Thailand. (That attitude towards the homeless is more characteristic of Japan, where they are so ashamed of their homeless population that they refuse to even acknowledge the problem exists. Reminiscent of India, these Japanese are called the "invisibles".) So who are all these people begging on the streets of Thailand?

We asked this question to each NGO that we visited. Each gave a different answer, so I don't have a great idea. Notice that Moo specified that there aren't Thai homeless people. He suggested that these were people from Burma or Cambodia. The people from the International Rescue Committee weren't sure who the beggars were, except that they definitely weren't Burmese - most likely Thai.

The staff people from the UNFPA (an archaic achronym, which now means: United Nations Population Fund), said that the street people missing arms and legs were most likely victoms of land mines in Cambodia. Gangs traffic these vulnerable people to Thailand to beg on the street. Thus by giving money to these very desperate people, you are in fact funding a mophia of some sort. Many of the children begging on the street also victims of human trafficking. Taken from Cambodia, and held under virtual slavery.


It's actually quite a problem on Sukhumvit. The Royal Benja Hotel, where we were staying at mostly, accomodates a large Middle Eastern population. Just down Soi 5 and to the right is "Middle East Street", where they tend to hang out. One of the Pillars of Islam is charity. Now, you would really have to talk to a Muslim, but it is my interpretation that these alms are meant to be very directly given to the poor. It was hard enough for me to walk by women, children, amputees, and a particularly emaciated man on Soi 5 (he probably has HIV). Indeed I saw many a Muslim give money to these destitute human beings. It's just depressing whatever way you look at it.

A frequent sight is a woman holding a baby in their arms. What often goes on is a mother will rent out their baby to such a begger. The begger looks like they have a starving baby, and it generates more sympathy. It's extremely heartbreaking, because these babies are being taken out on the sidewalk, in the heat of day, dehydrated and malnurished, all for what most people would call a scam.


More unfortunateness: A little more encouraging are the deaf merchants. There seems to be a strange many deaf people in Thailand. They are set up with a table on the sidewalk or in a market just like any other merchant. But they're deaf. Everyone has calculators here so they can show you a price and you can reply with a lower price, in the case that they don't know Enlgish very well. The deaf people will flip over their calculators with a little message on the back reading something like, "Sorry I'm deaf. Please show your price". Thus you haggle with a deaf person. I was very sceptical at first. It seeme like just more deception aimed at swaying your sympathy. But over the weeks, I would see these deaf people communicate with each other via sign language, when they didn't have any customers.

Kaily happens to know ASL fairly well, and told me that she was communicating with these people. It completely surprised me, so I tried it out. Thanks to my friend Marlenette, I know a few things in ASL. I called upon this knowledge, burried somewhere deep inside. They were as surprised as I was! To be able to communicate with a deaf Thai person more effectively and genuinely than a Thai who speaks broken English! Who would have known. Apparently we America brought over our sign language and it caught on.

I'm curious how the grammar works, but at least the signs for individual words are universally understood. I could say hello, my name is blank, these are very pretty, I know a little sign language, let me think some more, please, thanks! No! Stop! Go away! ...That's way better than my current stage at speaking the Thai language! I can also say that I'm rather clever. As well as, sorry I'm rather slow, I don't understand, could you repeat? But the situation did not arise that I had to employ either of those later phrases. And then there's the necessary phrase: emergency fish bathroom. That one's very useful...

Oh but by far my favorite:

the pale people

Generally, models in advertisements don't look like normal people. It's sort of like society's majority opinion of what beautiful means, and then amplified to hyper-unrealistic levels, misrepresenting what people look like.


On the Skytrain in Bangkok, you'll notice glowing porcelain Thai models in cosmetic advertisements, especially for skin and nipple whiteners. These models are usually only half-Thai (maybe less). Some of these models are so not-Thai that on the streets of Seattle, I would probably just think they were a strange variant of white. They look nothing like the Thai people on the street.


It is all part of Asia's unfortunate perspective that white equals beautiful. Some Thai women wear sunscreen simply for their commute to work everyday. For the past few years, the winners of the Miss Thailand and Miss Universe contests in Thailand are frequently won by girls not even from Thailand; born and raised in America by at least one white parent and unable to speak a word of Thai.


Skin whiteners have become extremely popular in Thailand. There are black market products that contain powerful bleaching chemicals, which sometimes leave people with disfigured skin.


I was a little distressed to see advertisements for nipple bleaching creams. I wonder how this barrage of *white is beautiful* advertisements affects the minds of women growing up in Bangkok. Even I was starting to feel a little down!

hmmmm

I'm not pale anymore!

the bounds of comprehension [hexagon]

I lost my wallet today. And why? Because I am a raging imbecile. I am just completely astounded at my capacity for deranged senselessnes. My idiocy exceeds all bounds of comprehension.


Then I bought some fake jade bangles. They wanted 350 Baht for one. I talked them down to 300 for a pair. Thus I ripped myself off, thinking I had made a good deal for jade. It does make me awfully suspicious when they eagerly accept my first offer... I'll have to be a little more extravagant with my haggling in the future.

I was so frustrated with life. Walking down Sukhumvit road, I was grumbling that I had forgotten how utterly disgusting Bangkok can be. It smelled like shit and garbage. Perhaps my mood amplified it.

So I bought a hammock to cheer myself up.

Then I got sunburned from relaxing by the pool.


So I bought two soap stone Buddha statues to cheer myself up. Twice I bought the strange orange juice that is sold on the street. I dropped off my laundry. I researched forms of transportation to Kanchanaburi. I had an expensive lunch of Indian food.

I missed out on all the temple and palace adventurings that others went on, but in spite of my miseries, I've been very productive today. I suppose you could think of it as a mistake worth making - losing my wallet. I am having quite the enriching experience in Thailand. I couldn't be more enriched than I am right now.

It has been a trying day. But on the brighter side, I never liked those ID photos anyway. Good riddence to all those dismal plastic cards that we call civilization. I'ma just go back to Naga island.

The only truly upsetting thing about the wallet scandal is my list of mathematical jokes that I kept with me at all times. Here's to you, Robert:

What are you, when six large belligerent objects collide into you from all sides?

homestay at Naga Island - part three

Thus I walked on the shoreline, over craggly landscapes and mudflats and occasionally sand. Eventually I did encounter people, from a distance anyway. Dark phantoms near the water's edge would slowly shuffle around, picking objects off the beach. I was skirting the jungle to my right, a comfortable distance from the phantom people. The circumfrence of the the island seemed to never end. More than once I seriously considered delving into the jungle interior, in the hope of stumbling upon a more rational path or trail. But the snakes that I imagined (I am told that they can be as long as eight or twelve feet on the island: pythons?) deterred me from blazing a trail through the twilight forest. Supposedly there are monkeys on the island, but I hadn't seen any all day. That concerned me. This was just the kind of place where you would picture Michael Chrichton's "Congo".

"The damned monkeys were throwing berries. He bent over to pick it up. And then he realized that it was not a piece of fruit at all. It was a human eyeball..."

And then! A loud rustling from the bushes startled me. In fascination and dread I stared into the dark shadowy foliage, at the bush with its drastically moving branches. Something large was in there. It could only be a dinosaur. And when is it ever a vegetarian that is lurking by you. I hurried away.

I went around another bend of the shore and could see much further down the island. Finally I saw lights in the distance. It looked like a row of lamps extending out into the water - the concrete pier lit up at night. But it was miles away! The others would be really worried about me. It was nearly 7:00, when I said I would be back. There was another bay to round, and then a peninsula, blocking yet even more unknown swaths of sand. It would take hours. What else was I to do? I kept going.

The beach of this bay was thankfully sandy. It extended far away from the forest, out to the water. Just ahead of me was a blinking light eminating from a beached speed boat. I could see dark figures entering and leaving the cabin. As I approached, I found human footprints again - my fellow students. I traced their path as I went along the beach. I passed by the boat only to discover that the tracks led inside it. They were children's footprints. I had been wondering why some were so small... Misinterpretting the footprints only added to my sense of lost. I ducked under an abandoned concrete pier. Further on the beach, I could see the footprints double back, some towards the boat. Some towards the forest. I kept walking. As I neared the other end of the bay, I realized that the peninsula was actually a rocky cliff jutting out of the jungle, into the sea. There was no way that I could scale those rocks. The only way to get across it would be to go into the woods or swim. I was thoroughly upset and confused. How did my companions get back? I walked from the shore to the forest to catch any stay footprints that I may have missed. Where did they go? Did a boat pick them up halfway back? All around me on the shore were these ghostly longtail fishing boats strung out in the sand, tied to ropes leading back to the forest.

The forest. I looked a little more closely and realized I was already there. And it was just about time for dinner. It turns out those lights were an illusion. And the bay looked totally different because it was now low tide. When I was here earlier, the water was all the way at the foot of the pier, not at all like the expansive sand and mudflats that I saw now.

I walked up to the village house like a wild man out of the wilds. "sa wa dee kap" - hello, I said. They didn't seem too concerned. Wilson recommended I wash up before it got too late. A new adventure in Thailand. Showering. Rural island village style.

I took my clothes, soap and dish, and I walked down a little path a little ways into the woods where the well was. It's an open stone well, with a rope on a pulley, leading down to a plastic bucket in the water. "It's dark out. You can wear darkness. It'll be fine" were Wilson's words for me. So I wore darkness. I pulled the bucket of water up, and poured it over myself. I had to do this several times because the bucket had holes in it. After lathering and rinsing off - quite an interesting process in the dark, with a broken bucket, I put on my clothes and went back to the covered deck. I didn't have a towel, nor did I need one. It was so warm out, even at night, that I dried out very quickly just standing around.

Dinner was served. We again had rice and vegetable soup and fried egg. It was delicious. Few meals are so fulfilling.

I knew the family was Muslim, so I asked if I could read from their Quran. Mr. Deen had to talk to the matriarch, after which he told me that his sister was borrowing it. I was a little disappointed and a little surprised. You would think that they would be sure to have one in the house. (Later, I found out that it was probably just a polite way of them not letting me see their Quran. It's possible that it's because I'm not part of their family. It's also possible that it has to do with a purification ritual that I obviously had not performed. Or mayhaps they objected to me, a non-muslim, handling their holy text. I won't ever know.)

After dinner, we went out to end of the pier. I lied down on a bench and looked at the sky while I ate almonds and dried pineapple. We called the girls on their designated seminar cell phones, but aparently they were already asleep. The ocean wind was a pleasant sensation as I listened to the waves and thought about starlight. I was thinking of sleeping on the pier since it was so warm out, and you don't have to worry about mosquitos so far away from the forest and with so much wind about. As I was lying there, darkness obscured the already darkened sky. I felt a few moist drops on my face, so I decided to leave. Indeed, by the time I got back to the house, it was pouring down raining.

The boys were to sleep on the deck. We set up our blue mosquito nets, and spread out the mats and blankets provided by the host family. I read from my book. We went to sleep.

Aparently I snore. But I already knew that.

In the morning, we went to the shore, where we were taken aboard longtail fishing boats. They took us out to the open water, where little bouy things made of styrofoam were floating, marking where crab nets/traps were. We floated around for a while, observing the fishermen who were already at the scene, hauling in their nets. Then we went back to headquarters for breakfast.

We had coffee and strange gooey deserts. After that, we sat on a covered platform by the shore, where we had more traditional village food for breakfast. Then we were wisked away via fishing boat, back to mainland Phuket. We were all thoroughly worn out.

homestay at Naga Island - part two

Wilson told us that he has been to Naga Island several times before and that he knew the way to the other side. He took Bob and I past the village houses and straight towards the jungle interior. We immediately came upon a marsh-like plains. He had no idea how to get around it. The grass was tall and the mud was deep. I asked Wilson if there are any snakes on the island. His reply was "No. No snakes on island". I was relieved to hear that and I told him so.

"Except during the morning and evening. Be careful of snakes." I subsequently asked about sting rays and sharks. His answer was similar: there are no sting rays in the water - just be careful not to bother them and they won't bother you.

We back tracked away from the marsh and chose a new path. This lead us through the rubber tree orchards. No rubber was currently being harvested because it had just rained, and supposedly that slows down the oozing flow of rubber sap. Nonetheless, all the trees were equiped with their coconut cups, strapped around the tree with wire, and positioned just below a metal spout at the lowest point of the diagonal cut.



We were walking through whole forests of these rubber trees. We would come across random tin roof shacks, into which Wilson sought help from the locals. They seemed to point in all sorts of directions for the beech. We would just have to figure it out on our own.

Somewhere, we happened upon the Naga Island school. It was kind of ominous, just out there, half surrounded by barbed wire fences, seemingly abandoned. We further blazed a trail through the jungle.

We had been slowly ascending the hill and eventually we reached the top. Jungle gave way unto rubber trees. Rubber trees gave way unto jungle. We found tin roof shacks devoted to rubber processing. They mix the white rubber ooze with water, and then they use cast iron machines (the imagery resembles an old school printing press) to create rubber mats, the industry standard. These are then hung out on bamboo racks to dry in the sun for about a week. Probably longer, considering the weather around now.



Note that the whole island is covered by a scattering of garbage. The trash is mostly concentrated around their living areas, near the beach, and near their homes. So this image of a lush jungle island ecosystem should be punctuated by the more than occasional plastic bags, old nets, water bottles, styrofoam, and 7-11 type food wrappers. It's hard for me to understand why such a closely held community like the one of this island would allow their pristine living environment to be so arbitrarily polluted. But I suppose that's the state of the entire planet, isn't it.

We descened the other side of the hill. The beach could not be far away. We stumbled upon a more industrial area of the island near the shore, where a logging and construction opperation seemed to be underway. We walked across the catwalk that spanned the construction pit. The workers pointed us in the general direction. At this point, we were able to simply follow the shore to where the rest of the group was, just beyond the bend and a rocky outcropping.

The beach was marvelous. I could wade out very far and the water would only be up to my chest. Somehow, floating seemed much easier than in Seattle. But perhaps the eternal cold of the Puget Sound simply prevents me from fully expressing my aquatic instincts. Most people decided to go back, suspiciously right after I got there. They tried to convince me to leave with them, but I obstinately refused, having only just arrived. They were wisked away via long tail boat, while I did handstands in the water, shaking my feet in a derogatory fashion at them. Bastards.

I was the only living soul on this long beach, populated only by a long convenient row of lounge chairs. I relocated one near the water's edge and read for an hour. It occured to me then and suddenly: I am completely alone on an exotic shore on a strange island in southern Thailand. It's difficult to describe how I felt. I was existing very strongly and it felt wonderful.

The sun was getting forebodingly low in the sky behind me (I was on the east shore, so the sun was setting over the island and casting a shadow over me). It was about an hour until dinner, so I decided to head back. It would be good to arrive early. I had three official options: 1) walk back along my uncovnetional path through the interior of the island, 2) swim back around the perimeter of the island, and 3) walk back along the perimeter of the island. I had been planning to return via the jungle path, but without a friend, I was growing increasingly concerned about getting lost in the twilight. And Wilson's obscure warning about the snakes was not making me any more confident. Swimming was not really an option - more of Wilson's joke. Thus I was committed to walking around the island, as several of the others had done earlier. I set off.

I was hoping that sandy beach would remain sandy beach. Around the first bend, I discovered that the shore transformed into rocky fields and outcroppings. Occasionally I would find sand again, where to my relief I would see the tracks of my peers. Mostly it was strange rock formations under my feet.

This was perhaps the most bizarre experience out of my whole time in Thailand thusfar. Solitude can do strange things to the mind. The combination of twilight, solitude, exotic mars rock formations, nocturnal animal sounds eminating from the jungle on my right side (I was going anti-clockwise around the island), and my intense mood of being in time existence, started to make me feel a little schizophrenic. The tide was low, so I would be hopping across these expansive fields of rock, which I described to myself at the time as being "blasted landscapes". As I slinked across these blasted landscapes, I would hear the scurry of tiny claws on stone. I would halt. The scurrying stopped. When I started walking again, the scurrying sound would resume. It was crabs of course. But I couldn't see them. There was also the occasional squirting noise. Like some sort of underground sea creature. Communnities of night beetles inhabited some of the trees near the shore. They would be making these loud chirping screeching noises, and then all of a sudden they would go silent for a while. Then resume wailing.

Then there were the sea trees. Out in the middle of these desolate landscapes were these random trees. They seemed so out of place. They would often be adorned by rags and fishing nets. Their roots extended yards away from the trunk and then surfaced in the mud, like tentacle fingers reaching up out of the earth. I continued onwards.

The island shore seemed to never end. There was a neverending variety of rock formations. Sometimes low gentle rounded black masses. Somtimes jagged red shards. Somtimes blasted mars landscape. Somtimes the rocks sort of resembled scattered concrete or coral in a mud flat. There would be pools of water that I had to avoid. I came across old ruins on the shore, abandoned fishing boats half burried in sand, and even what looked like an the ancient remains of a pier, reaching out to the water.



It got darker and darker and still I had not reached headquarters. 40 minutes had past. I was now estranged from both space and time. Where am I? Who am I? I poundered to myself. It felt just like Myst, if any of you can appreciate that allusion. I felt like I was in a totally unheard of dimension. If a lumbering beast crawled out of the sea, onto the shore, I would have accepted it's strangeness just as I had come to accept the mysterious scurrying noise that stops when I stop, or the illogical tentacle trees that continue to confound the mind. I was half surprised to have been walking for near an hour and to have not come across a mind-bending puzzle or a linking book (a portal... more Myst allusions).



To be continued...

homestay at Naga Island - part one

We headed out to Naga Island on Saturday, Septemeber 01. The vans took us to a pier where two longtail boats were waiting for us. A storm was upon us, and we were forced to wear bright neon rain panchos. We sort of looked like a herd of condoms drudging around in the downpour. In spite of our protection, the persistent rain succeeded in half-soaking our clothes and belongings. We travelled light. Our luggage was sent ahead to the Indigo Pearl hotel (where I am currently stationed). To the island, we brought only a small bag and the clothes on our back.



The narrow fishing boats took us across the water thru the storm. After the ten minute voyage, we arrived at our destination, Naga Island, which is located just off of the greater island of Phuket. We knew the villagers that we were staying with made a living by harvesting rubber trees and catching fish. Most villages are muslim communities in the southern parts of Thailand. Aside from that, we weren't sure what to expect.



At the shore, we were greeted by Khun Deen, whom I later learned to be the son of the household matriarch. The rain was still coming down effusively, so we hurried ourselves to their house. The dwellings here are set up on stilts made of brick, concrete or wood poles, with sheet metal roofs, woven bamboo walls, and wood planks for floors. The 16 of us arranged ourselves in a shape closely resembling a circle, sitting on large area mats on the covered deck of the house. The host family brought us food: fried rice, with vegetable soup and bottled water. While we ate, the rain ceased and the clouds cleared up, all rather suddenly. The chickens and cats emerged from their hidind places in the yard below, and soon the air was filled with their respective animal sounds, echoed by the wildly chirping forest birds and the softly crashing sea foam in the background.

The sun came out and we were divided up into groups of four. One group composed of four males. The other groups of females. (We're a rather disproportioned group.) We were led off to different homes. The male group remained at Khun Deen's house - which later came to be a sort of headquarters. Then we had about an hour of freetime to relax and explore the immediate area. I walked on the concrete pier, which probably extended a good quarter mile out, and read from my book, Howl's Moving Castle (yep, it's a book). After our group of 16 students reconveined, we were led out to the beach to observe the villager's method of fishing.

The sun was making it's presence very well known; it beared down on us so intensely that you wouldn't have guessed that we had ran for cover from a storm just a bit earlier. We sat on the beach under the shade of coconut trees, while the fishermen prepared their synthetic nets. Once their gear was in order, they hopped in their long tail boat and shoved off using a wood pole. Slowly the driver guided the boat thru the turquoise bay while the other fellow released netting into the water, until they made a full cresent from our spot on the shore, where a third fisherman had anchored the end of the net, to a place in the water near the opposite shore.

The sand felt like cookie dough. Not silky, but still very soft and pleasant. Occasionally a little spot on the bay would ripple and sparkle, as if rain were splashing upwards from it, apparently caused by enthusiastic schools of tiny fish. Sometimes I would see a few larger fish leap out of the water to get on the other side of the net. Their strategic capacity must be very limited, because sometimes they jumped from outside the crescent to the inside, from liberty to... non-liberty.

After casting out their full net. The boat was mannuvered around the bay in a strange fashion while the man on the helm "pumped" the water with what resembles a toilet plunger at the end of a pole, making a slapping slash punching noise each time. We were told that this mannuvering of the engine and the pumping action was intended to scare the fish into the net. After intimidating the fish to their satisfaction, the two men went back to the end of the net and slowly hauled their net back into the boat. I was surprised at how few fish they caught, but perhaps I wasn't looking close enough. Anyway, that was my spontaneous intuition.

Our Thai guide, Wilson, next told us that we were free to do what we want until dinner. He suggested that we go to the beach on the opposite side of the island, a prime swimming location. Most of the group was lead away by a one-armed villager. I went back to headquarters to retrieve my swim suit. Wilson then took Bob and myself on an exciting adventure thru the interior of the island.

We got lost. More descriptions soon to come.

***note*** The images I am using are not photographs that I have actually taken. As I cannot install my camera's software on most computers that I encounter in this country, I am forced to scavenge through the infinite archives that is the internet. I want to give you some sort of idea of what these places look like. I'll upload my authentic photographs when I return to Seattle, if not sooner.

Malarone

It's a wonderful drug. No nausea. No aches or pains. No especially vivid/bizarre dreams. Except for the occasional boat spell, I have had no adverse side effects. It's like the ground is tipping around ever so gently. I ask the others, "Is everything moving? Do you feel like the ground is moving?" Their perplexed expressions confirm that the ground is in fact not moving. It's all in my head.

Though Malarone costs $5 a pill, it will almost definitely keep you alive. I wholly recommend it. Not getting malaria, that is. I'm worth $5 a pill - aren't we all? But I hear fine things about Doxycycline. Just don't lie down just after you take Doxycycline. Nausea ensues.

X

Because I am starting this blog in the middle of my journey, these early entries will be less about my daily experience and more of a themed entanglement of experiences, so that I can backtrack 7 days or so and catch up with dasein. This entry's theme: the twenty forth letter of the alphabet.

Soi means street. On Soi One, there is a market which is open for most of the night. At 9:00pm, it was absolutely packed - like Bumbershoot or something. People don't seem to sleep here. The merchants are set up in rows going all the way down Soi One. The street is lined by restaurants by day, but at night they put their chairs and tables away and convert into brothels.

I was walking down Soi One, minding my own business, perusing the illegal cds that are being sold for 100 Baht each ($3... I bought five and talked him down to 450). Most street vendors have a special enthusiasm or desperation about themselves, depending on how you look at it. But in this market in particular, the merchants were extremely aggresive. Generally Thais have a strong sense of personal space. They don't like to be touched. They don't want to touch you. On Soi One however, people will grab your arm and pull you towards their merchandaise. I showed only the least interest in buying a kimono, but was escorted half a block down by a woman who kept lowering her price and insisting I reconsider.

So I was minding my own business, perusing the illegal cds, at a shop that happened to be in front of the "restaurants". A man came up to me with what could only be described as a sex menu. I made it clear that I wasn't interested. "Mai El Kap" - I don't want that, politely. I bought my cds and walked down the street looking for my friend. There were more of these sex marketers, many more. A man would come push a menu in front of me. It has been my experience that if you show even the slightest interest in something for sale here, the respective merchant will immediately leap to the opportunity to sell it to you. I've learned to not point at Buddha statues or wood carvings that I happen to think are neat. It only tangles you up. They so dearly want a purchase.

Thus I've learned to avoid expressing interest in products and services on the street that I'm not planning on buying. The same goes with these brothels. I just brush the menus aside and keep on walking, with determination and purpose. Even if I don't know precisely where I'm going. It's all how you carry yourself.

The man thrusts a business card in my hand. "Super Pussy" it promises. With a grin, the man points to the card and ensures me that it's true. I said mai el kap, though I put the card in my pocket. He laughed. "My friend" they'll say, "come see our girls". They stand on corners exclaiming to the passerbyes about their services. "Great Pussy". It's quite gross.

Prostitution is illegal in Thailand - officially. But the system of corruption is so pervasive, law has little to do with reality. Clubs, brothels, restaurants, gangs, vendors. They all pay dues to the local police in a reciprocal relationship.

There is a famous brothel called "Darling" which I have only seen from outside, but plan on checking out (with a friend of course). The price starts at about 100 Baht and can go as high as 1000. Although I'm told by the International Rescue Committee that some girls cost as little as 50 Baht. You do the math.

My instructor tells me that he once entered a brothel/restaurant with a friend and asked to see their girls. Brought out before them were young girls of about 14 or 16 years old, all virgins, and all trembling.

"But why can't we wear mini skirts in Thailand? My friend went there and she said lots of girls were wearing teeshirts and short shorts," - said student.
"Those were prostitutes," - replied intstructor.

Soi Two was far more interesting. The streets in this part of Bangkok are divided into 3 parts. Soi One is heterosexual. Soi Two is homosexual. And the next street down is open only to Japanese clients. Having gotten a good idea of what Soi One had to offer, I walked down Soi Two with a similar delightful yet wary curiosity. It was totally different. There were colorful restaurants, transvestites and boys in costume everywhere. Some of the transvestites were difficult to discern, but my intuition served me well (on more than one occasion). Anyway, Soi Two looked like halloween. The boy were all dressed up like Batman and Superman and other masculine characters. It was quite a party; I was sorry I couldn't stay. I walked down on one side, reached the dead end, and promptly walked back on the other side. I had my friend securely by my side. I had my self securely within myself. And with the acquisition of an exotic cultural experience, the mission was a success.

That's about it. Thusfar anyway. I'll see if I can upload any relevant photos later. There are prostitutes standing on the side of the road everywhere at night. But I'm not so sure that they all consider themselves in the profession of prostitution, so much as desperately in need of money and willing to go to those unfathomably bleak depths. It's not their identity maybe, but simply an aspect of their lifestyle.

More on this later. Everything is connected. There are myriad ramifications.

be here now

So this is my blog, devoted to my travels in Tokyo, Cambodia, and the Land of Smiles (Thailand). I am not sure what to say right now; it's 12:56am in Bangkok and I am chilling out in an internet cafe, except without the cafe.

Random thoughts: Japan is efficient. Crysanthemum tea is delicious beyond reason. The streets of Bangkok are the most cranky patchworks of concrete that you could ever imagine. Their electrical systems are such a maelstrom of wiring that they could probably double as fishing nets. Don't make the same mistake that I made of assuming that a Buddhist nation is full of vegetarians. Do avoid political rallies. Malarone will keep you alive, but it does have a strange semi-hallucinogenic side effects.

More on everything later.