There is a saying: If you don't like or understand someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
That way, you're a mile away from them, and you've got their shoes.
Which is my way of saying that the best way to understand any place you travel to is to imitate as closely as possible what the locals do. Eat where they eat, shop where they shop, and try to imitate them if you can. You can get a good sense of Thailand by seeing the countryside, sure, but it would be a drag, a bore, and really such a pity, if you visited the country while not looking at the city.
My apologies to murray head.
In the interest of full disclosure, I should state right up front that I visited Bangkok a lot.
And I liked Bangkok... for about 2 days.
I was always there longer than 2 days.
What helped me out were two things: revisiting my ethical standards and taking the city in stages.
DENIAL
Bangkok is a bit much to take at first, so you just might find yourself face-to-face with the surreal.
"Did I just see an elephant next to the freeway?"
"Was that a sign for an insect museum?"
"Did that lady have an adam's apple?"
You did.
It was.
Yep, she did. Or rather, he did.
See what I mean? Denial is not only the first sign, it's also a defense mechanism, and necessary to visiting a place such as Bangkok. There's simply too much to take in at one time. There's a huge night bazaar. They drink tea with condensed milk. There's a street devoted solely to all things gay. There's a district devoted to prostitution.
It can be a pretty daunting place to visit.
This isn't to say there aren't places to visit Bangkok that don't involve feeling overwhelming sadness followed immediately by nausea. You can have a family-friendly visit, but for best results, plan your route from the hotel to the Baskin Robbins.
While denial helps for awhile, it is only for awhile. You'll probably be dipping into another emotional reservoir. Which brings us to the next stage.
ANGER
Try to see examples of child prostitution and not get angry about it. I remember one time I got on the hotel elevator, only to be joined by a girl no older than 11 or 12, followed swiftly by her client. I was furious, but frustratingly so, because while prostitution is illegal, and child prostitution is super illegal, the enforcement of the law is another matter. Thais simply don't want to lose their permissiveness nature (some of it as a result of Buddhism), and they definitely don't want to lose the money generated by tourism.
Which brings us back to situations such as the elevator, where you can find yourself, without any warning at all, face-to-face to evil being practiced.
Hence the anger.
This frustration can bubble up in strange places, and I'll include an example from my experiences.
Some of the restaurants have 2 sizes for tea, but 3 sizes for soda.
A large tea is a medium soda.
But it's in the medium cup.
But it's a large cup if it has tea in it.
But if you ask for a large soda, and substitute it with tea, that isn't even remotely possible, because you are defying physics, which brings out frustration.
And really, the frustration isn't about tea, or soda, or cups, or the Einsteinian conversation you had at the KFC. It's not about being offered a price on cotton pants in the night bizarre only to return an hour later and have that same price denied.
It's really about dreading getting on an elevator back at your hotel.
All that anger/frustration, can't stay in forever. It will get out. I recommend venting it somehow in a healthy way, but some of it is bound to mutate into...
BARGAINING
"So here's the deal... I'll stay in Bangkok, only visit places that are well-lit and familiar. I'll keep the buddy system alive and well. I'll set an itinerary and stick to it, with scheduled breaks for sweet tea at the Seven-Eleven."
You, my friend, are bargaining, setting a deal with Bangkok. It's much like my deal with snow skiing. I promise not to attach skis to my feet and get on a slope. It resolves not to send me hurling to my death with a girlish scream.
In this case, it's: "I promise not to stray outside the parameters of what I can reasonably deem as safe, and you, Bangkok, promise not to arrange things so that I end up in a drunken stupor in a Thai kickboxing ring."
The problem is, Bangkok doesn't have a parameter. It doesn't reasonably deem safety. That is the basis of it's appeal. I don't like to admit it, but there is a brief appeal. I mean, an ice cream shop next to a Pizza Hut next to a western movie theater? What's not to like?
But as I hope I've adequately explained, Bangkok doesn't have limits. Or if they do, it's way out there. So it lends itself to bargaining, which doesn't really work because Bangkok violates the deal.
And that is why after bargaining you get...
DEPRESSION
Which is why I found myself checking for when my plane was scheduled to leave.
Perhaps I hoped for an earth-shattering announcement that the flight was leaving a day early. Really, though, I was ready to go somewhere else. I found myself seeing the same movie again in the theater, revisiting places that I had been the most okay with, checking email a lot, and watching CNN in the hotel room.
You get the idea.
This is where venting comes in, and I attended a Baptist Church, if only as my way of saying, "Thanks for being 1000 square feet of clean living.".
Even depression has it's limits. You can't go to Swensen's everyday. Eventually, depression gives way to
ACCEPTANCE
Face it. The plane isn't leaving a day early. You're not getting a large tea like the soda drinkers blissfully enjoy. You won't be able to wipe out corruption and prostitution on this visit. Regardless of the raw deal you get, you are NEVER EVER gonna look good in cotton pants.
This is Bangkok. It is what it is. You know the devil has to own a timeshare here somewhere but you're not in the least bit curious enough to check.
And you'll always remember with a tear in your eye how that restaurant let you in on a whole new dimension of tea-drinking, and how all it took was a little bit of evaporated milk.
Am I glad I visited? Within the 2 days, sure. After that... well.
Regardless, each visit gave me:
1)new things to forget,
2)new things to pray for,
and 3)a new, already broken-in pair of shoes.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Victoria, B.C.- A Schedule of Flowers
Victoria is neat.
I don't mean that the way that immediately gives away that I'm white.
I mean neat, tidy.
An official from Victoria's response when finding out that Singapore fines people who chew gum is most likely to be, "Singapore fines people who chew gum? That sounds neat, eh. Help me tidy this up, here."
This is to say, that if countries participated in the buddy system, Victoria and Singapore would wear matching shirts. This is because they see things the same way.
A good example is your common, everday sidewalk. When I see a sidewalk I see a place to avoid urine (You hear me, San Francisco?), and maybe ironically consume a beverage on the way to my next rendezvous.
Places like Victoria and Singapore do not see a sidewalk. They see concrete as a place to not litter. And as for that beverage, buddy, you better dispose of that cup in a trash receptacle. Which they have every 15 feet.
I don't wish to give the impression that Victoria (or Singapore, while we beat that dead horse) is in any way impolite. They'd spit on the sidewalk before they would be impolite. I simply mean to impart that the fine folks who run Victoria are a mite-bit twitchy about cleanliness. I suppose they have reason to be, since they have built a beautiful city. Victoria is well-thought out, there are flowers everywhere, and there is a place for everything and everything is for darn sure in it's place. You betcha.
And just so I get the point across, let me repeat: there are flowers everywhere. I get the nagging idea that for the city of Victoria, the calendar is less of a schedule of 12 months, and is rather a schedule of when the petunias are in full bloom. The weather is wonderful year-round, and perfect for flower growing. The city has taken full advantage of this by placing flowers in hanging baskets on most of the city streets.
For an example of those aforementioned hanging baskets run amok, a must-see is the Butchart Gardens National Historic Site. The fee is nominal but reasonably priced.
Butchart Gardens is over 50 acres in size, and takes over 50 gardeners working all year round. Their work is breathtaking, and any tour should be slow and deliberate. Take your time when visiting. Take lots of pictures. Stay on the sidewalk. Don't step on anything.
Another notable thing about Victoria is the Native American influence. Tribes have helped form what Victoria is today, and is akin to the influence you see in a city such as Albuquerque NM, or Cheyenne WY. One such example is the totem pole I saw on the side of the street, with a Honda parked right next to it. I found the whole thing ironic and odd. I'll leave whatever conclusions can be gleaned up to you.
As for the rest of the city, the people are friendly, the Starbucks accepts U.S. currency (but the prices are in Canadian dollars, and maple syrup is hinted at but not overtly present), and the malls could have been any mall in the States.
My time in Victoria was charming. It is a beautiful place to visit, the climate is wonderful, they drive on the side of the road I'm used to, and the people are friendly. Go see it if you can.
I don't mean that the way that immediately gives away that I'm white.
I mean neat, tidy.
An official from Victoria's response when finding out that Singapore fines people who chew gum is most likely to be, "Singapore fines people who chew gum? That sounds neat, eh. Help me tidy this up, here."
This is to say, that if countries participated in the buddy system, Victoria and Singapore would wear matching shirts. This is because they see things the same way.
A good example is your common, everday sidewalk. When I see a sidewalk I see a place to avoid urine (You hear me, San Francisco?), and maybe ironically consume a beverage on the way to my next rendezvous.
Places like Victoria and Singapore do not see a sidewalk. They see concrete as a place to not litter. And as for that beverage, buddy, you better dispose of that cup in a trash receptacle. Which they have every 15 feet.
I don't wish to give the impression that Victoria (or Singapore, while we beat that dead horse) is in any way impolite. They'd spit on the sidewalk before they would be impolite. I simply mean to impart that the fine folks who run Victoria are a mite-bit twitchy about cleanliness. I suppose they have reason to be, since they have built a beautiful city. Victoria is well-thought out, there are flowers everywhere, and there is a place for everything and everything is for darn sure in it's place. You betcha.
And just so I get the point across, let me repeat: there are flowers everywhere. I get the nagging idea that for the city of Victoria, the calendar is less of a schedule of 12 months, and is rather a schedule of when the petunias are in full bloom. The weather is wonderful year-round, and perfect for flower growing. The city has taken full advantage of this by placing flowers in hanging baskets on most of the city streets.
For an example of those aforementioned hanging baskets run amok, a must-see is the Butchart Gardens National Historic Site. The fee is nominal but reasonably priced.
Butchart Gardens is over 50 acres in size, and takes over 50 gardeners working all year round. Their work is breathtaking, and any tour should be slow and deliberate. Take your time when visiting. Take lots of pictures. Stay on the sidewalk. Don't step on anything.
Another notable thing about Victoria is the Native American influence. Tribes have helped form what Victoria is today, and is akin to the influence you see in a city such as Albuquerque NM, or Cheyenne WY. One such example is the totem pole I saw on the side of the street, with a Honda parked right next to it. I found the whole thing ironic and odd. I'll leave whatever conclusions can be gleaned up to you.
As for the rest of the city, the people are friendly, the Starbucks accepts U.S. currency (but the prices are in Canadian dollars, and maple syrup is hinted at but not overtly present), and the malls could have been any mall in the States.
My time in Victoria was charming. It is a beautiful place to visit, the climate is wonderful, they drive on the side of the road I'm used to, and the people are friendly. Go see it if you can.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Puerto Limon, Costa Rica- Hence the Puerto
A while back there, in a fit of pique/boredom, I licked the screen of my cellphone. Never you mind why. Just suffice it to say that it tasted like stew. Really, really good stew.
Now, while this story will no doubt have the unintended consequences of a)icking you out, and b)preventing you from ever borrowing my phone, perhaps it can also serve as a bit of a moral tale, as it did for me.
Here is what I learned: I learned that sometimes, when you do something that shouldn't work out, it does.
It should fail.
You should fail.
But neither happens.
It works.
You succeed.
And you discover something new.
And while you look back and wouldn't perhaps defy common sense and logic by repeating the deed, you are glad you took the chance. With determined hands, a dusty pearl has been unearthed from the callous soil of common sense.
Which brings me to my visit to Puerto Limon, Costa Rica.
Here is why:
Upon arrival at this port city (Hence the "Puerto"), I questioned the sanity of my decision. "Why am I here?", I asked. "How long am I here?". "Why does this place smell like bananas and grain?".
I found out why it smelled like bananas and grain. Because it is a main port for the exportation of bananas and grain. As for the first question, it took a little exploration to discover the answer. Go past the port, past the smell of the sea, in-country just a wee bit, and a beautiful country greets anyone willing to take the chance. The land surrounding Puerto Limon is gorgeous. It is lush rainforest, and you can expect it to rain often, around 100 inches in a year. Areas in the mountains can get as much as 25 feet. Explains the bananas and grain, don't it?
What explains the economic depression of the area are the frequent hurricanes. They get hit often, being on the eastern coast of Central America. Look past the derelict harbor, though, and a terrific country with terrific people is what you will find.
You will also find that the language is Spanish, the predominant Religion is Catholic, and the currency is called the Colon. I can't tell you how much I love a pun-friendly currency. It should be a law, I think.
Put five Colons in the shape of a letter, and you've got a "Colon-E"!
And if you break up a Colon, you've got a semi-Colon!
And washing currency is technically called "Colon Cleansing"!. Ha Ha!
Don't go away.
I'll stop now.
While there, I had the opportunity to river raft. Don't ask me the name of the river, because I don't remember, but I will tell you that it was a category 3, perhaps a category 4(but was later was downgraded to a tropical river) in spots, and it rained. There are few things as enjoyable as river rafting in the pouring rain. I highly recommend it. Afterwards, I ate lunch, which consisted of grain served on banana leafs. It makes sense, no?
If I had to do it over again, I would visit more of the National Parks, and visit during Columbus Day. Columbus founded Puerto Limon in 1502, and every year they have a carnival in his honor. It is called "Dia de las Culturas", Spanish for, "Day of the Culturas". I didn't know that people in South America/Central America had such things as carnivals, but there you are.
This new tidbit made me change up the poem a little bit:
"In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
In 1502, Columbus ate banannas too."
So, summing up, Puerto Limon is a fascinating place to visit. It doesn't look like a wise decision to visit, but the pay-off is worth it, like a certain cellphone that tasted like stew. I mean REALLY good stew.
Now, while this story will no doubt have the unintended consequences of a)icking you out, and b)preventing you from ever borrowing my phone, perhaps it can also serve as a bit of a moral tale, as it did for me.
Here is what I learned: I learned that sometimes, when you do something that shouldn't work out, it does.
It should fail.
You should fail.
But neither happens.
It works.
You succeed.
And you discover something new.
And while you look back and wouldn't perhaps defy common sense and logic by repeating the deed, you are glad you took the chance. With determined hands, a dusty pearl has been unearthed from the callous soil of common sense.
Which brings me to my visit to Puerto Limon, Costa Rica.
Here is why:
Upon arrival at this port city (Hence the "Puerto"), I questioned the sanity of my decision. "Why am I here?", I asked. "How long am I here?". "Why does this place smell like bananas and grain?".
I found out why it smelled like bananas and grain. Because it is a main port for the exportation of bananas and grain. As for the first question, it took a little exploration to discover the answer. Go past the port, past the smell of the sea, in-country just a wee bit, and a beautiful country greets anyone willing to take the chance. The land surrounding Puerto Limon is gorgeous. It is lush rainforest, and you can expect it to rain often, around 100 inches in a year. Areas in the mountains can get as much as 25 feet. Explains the bananas and grain, don't it?
What explains the economic depression of the area are the frequent hurricanes. They get hit often, being on the eastern coast of Central America. Look past the derelict harbor, though, and a terrific country with terrific people is what you will find.
You will also find that the language is Spanish, the predominant Religion is Catholic, and the currency is called the Colon. I can't tell you how much I love a pun-friendly currency. It should be a law, I think.
Put five Colons in the shape of a letter, and you've got a "Colon-E"!
And if you break up a Colon, you've got a semi-Colon!
And washing currency is technically called "Colon Cleansing"!. Ha Ha!
Don't go away.
I'll stop now.
While there, I had the opportunity to river raft. Don't ask me the name of the river, because I don't remember, but I will tell you that it was a category 3, perhaps a category 4(but was later was downgraded to a tropical river) in spots, and it rained. There are few things as enjoyable as river rafting in the pouring rain. I highly recommend it. Afterwards, I ate lunch, which consisted of grain served on banana leafs. It makes sense, no?
If I had to do it over again, I would visit more of the National Parks, and visit during Columbus Day. Columbus founded Puerto Limon in 1502, and every year they have a carnival in his honor. It is called "Dia de las Culturas", Spanish for, "Day of the Culturas". I didn't know that people in South America/Central America had such things as carnivals, but there you are.
This new tidbit made me change up the poem a little bit:
"In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
In 1502, Columbus ate banannas too."
So, summing up, Puerto Limon is a fascinating place to visit. It doesn't look like a wise decision to visit, but the pay-off is worth it, like a certain cellphone that tasted like stew. I mean REALLY good stew.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Mindanao, Davao- Pork and Pyrotechnics
I've never understood the phrase, "Hot enough to fry an egg". What is to prevent someone from having fried eggs in the winter? And if the weather truly is hot enough to fry an egg, trust me, the last thing you want to do is go out there and work on an omelette.
All this is to say that it comes as a surprise that the fine folks of Mindanao go outdoors at all. Every trip I took was a well-planned trip and strategic jaunt from one air-conditioned location to the other.
This is because, in case I haven't gotten the point across, the Philippines are HOT.
Really hot. Like "I need to stand next to that burning can of trash in order to cool off" hot. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that during Christmas/late December it was too hot to jog. I guess I could have jogged at 5am in the 80 degree temperature, but come on.
So I didn't jog, and planned my trips based on A/C locations, and marveled at the Philippinos lack of wussy-ness, and took a little pride at my own.
But that's not the only thing that got my attention.
I was at first delighted at the airport. It has two gates, 1 and 2. Or, as I like to put it, Left and Right. The PA announcer liked to say things like, "Flight blah blah blah is now boarding at Gate 2. That's right, buddy, turn around. Just a little more to your left. Good. Now give the lady your ticket."
The baggage claim was an open-air, doorless room, located under the airport. You could look through the boards to see the people above you receiving instruction on whether to go left or right while you picked out your samsonite.
About 40 feet outside the airport was a pickup point that was sheltered and looked like a bus stop. They called it a shed. Under this the people awaiting the passengers huddled to stay out of the sun's rays and pick up their friends.
Outside that were the taxis.
And what can I say about the taxis?
I developed a strong affection for them, or rather, how they were decorated. This is an odd thing to say, but only if you haven't seen the taxis. There seems to have been a massive memo sent out on who could decorate their taxis the most garishly. I wish they all could win, I really do. You should've seen them. And because they all practiced what I will kindly call "offensive driving" (do your own jokes here), I was often too amazed to have gotten at my destination alive to give full attention to the tassels and last supper represented in auto paint. But I did notice. A velvet picture of Jesus on the side of a Toyota truck is gonna get noticed, survivor's guilt or not.
Because I visited during Christmas, I got to take part in fireworks. My part was wondering who would drive to the ER, how that kid would adapt to being a lefty for the rest of his life, whether that coke bottle would structurally hold up, was there a rating for clothes flammability and where would my shirt fit on that spectrum, etc.
Long story short: in the Philippines, major holidays are celebrated by blowing stuff up. Some love languages are universal, I guess. There are very few guidelines as to how powerful the fireworks can be, so on December 26 and January 1, it is customary to list on television the victims who have lost limbs. It's probably done to act as a deterrant. I know that for many it doesn't work, because the list remains.
Another Christmas tradition is slaughtering a pig. Once you've woken up to the gentle sound of hearing a pig slaughtered, several things will happen: 1)you'll opine for a rooster's wake-up call, and 2)you might give up on pork.
Of course, if you're gonna ignore the missive about missing limbs and plan on minor detonation in the evening, there isn't much that will deter you, I've found. So pork followed by pyrotechnics seems all the norm.
On the days after Christmas, I had an opportunity to snorkel. For those who know of my ichthyophobia, this may come as a surprise, but there comes a point where the fear of being rude supercedes all else. Thus I found myself snorkeling. We went out to a nearby island, and during the afternoon villagers paddled out to our boat carrying wares to be bought. It was quaint, interesting, and somewhat sad. I have a rather tender streak, which manifested itself in the purchase of a bamboo bowl.
After a week of visiting Mindanao, I liked the city and it's people. I liked the taxis and marvelled at all the little Sistine Chapels on wheels. I didn't become a vegetarian, but it wasn't for lack of trying, and I kept all my limbs.
All told, a good week, and a nice city.
All this is to say that it comes as a surprise that the fine folks of Mindanao go outdoors at all. Every trip I took was a well-planned trip and strategic jaunt from one air-conditioned location to the other.
This is because, in case I haven't gotten the point across, the Philippines are HOT.
Really hot. Like "I need to stand next to that burning can of trash in order to cool off" hot. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that during Christmas/late December it was too hot to jog. I guess I could have jogged at 5am in the 80 degree temperature, but come on.
So I didn't jog, and planned my trips based on A/C locations, and marveled at the Philippinos lack of wussy-ness, and took a little pride at my own.
But that's not the only thing that got my attention.
I was at first delighted at the airport. It has two gates, 1 and 2. Or, as I like to put it, Left and Right. The PA announcer liked to say things like, "Flight blah blah blah is now boarding at Gate 2. That's right, buddy, turn around. Just a little more to your left. Good. Now give the lady your ticket."
The baggage claim was an open-air, doorless room, located under the airport. You could look through the boards to see the people above you receiving instruction on whether to go left or right while you picked out your samsonite.
About 40 feet outside the airport was a pickup point that was sheltered and looked like a bus stop. They called it a shed. Under this the people awaiting the passengers huddled to stay out of the sun's rays and pick up their friends.
Outside that were the taxis.
And what can I say about the taxis?
I developed a strong affection for them, or rather, how they were decorated. This is an odd thing to say, but only if you haven't seen the taxis. There seems to have been a massive memo sent out on who could decorate their taxis the most garishly. I wish they all could win, I really do. You should've seen them. And because they all practiced what I will kindly call "offensive driving" (do your own jokes here), I was often too amazed to have gotten at my destination alive to give full attention to the tassels and last supper represented in auto paint. But I did notice. A velvet picture of Jesus on the side of a Toyota truck is gonna get noticed, survivor's guilt or not.
Because I visited during Christmas, I got to take part in fireworks. My part was wondering who would drive to the ER, how that kid would adapt to being a lefty for the rest of his life, whether that coke bottle would structurally hold up, was there a rating for clothes flammability and where would my shirt fit on that spectrum, etc.
Long story short: in the Philippines, major holidays are celebrated by blowing stuff up. Some love languages are universal, I guess. There are very few guidelines as to how powerful the fireworks can be, so on December 26 and January 1, it is customary to list on television the victims who have lost limbs. It's probably done to act as a deterrant. I know that for many it doesn't work, because the list remains.
Another Christmas tradition is slaughtering a pig. Once you've woken up to the gentle sound of hearing a pig slaughtered, several things will happen: 1)you'll opine for a rooster's wake-up call, and 2)you might give up on pork.
Of course, if you're gonna ignore the missive about missing limbs and plan on minor detonation in the evening, there isn't much that will deter you, I've found. So pork followed by pyrotechnics seems all the norm.
On the days after Christmas, I had an opportunity to snorkel. For those who know of my ichthyophobia, this may come as a surprise, but there comes a point where the fear of being rude supercedes all else. Thus I found myself snorkeling. We went out to a nearby island, and during the afternoon villagers paddled out to our boat carrying wares to be bought. It was quaint, interesting, and somewhat sad. I have a rather tender streak, which manifested itself in the purchase of a bamboo bowl.
After a week of visiting Mindanao, I liked the city and it's people. I liked the taxis and marvelled at all the little Sistine Chapels on wheels. I didn't become a vegetarian, but it wasn't for lack of trying, and I kept all my limbs.
All told, a good week, and a nice city.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Chiang Mai, Thailand- Vote "No" on Proposition Cotton Pants
When I first decided to go a'travelin, I really thought I was going to live in Chiang Mai. I bought the books, I got the tapes, I learned the do's and don'ts.
I learned that you shouldn't pat children on the head, a very rude, cultural no-no. I learned that eating with the left hand is considered by traditionalists in Thailand to be crass and vulgar, and I learned that it is a crime to in any way defame, deface or denegrate the King, to the point that stepping on money can get you in jail.
As for the first one, I can easily resist the urge. As for the second one, I'm left-handed, so I'd have to wing it and hope for the best. As for the third one, well... come on. Seriously.
Of course, as it turns out, I didn't live in Chiang Mai. I opted instead for Hong Kong. So getting all twitchy about a rather specific scenario wherein I ended up patting a kid on the head, with my left hand, while standing on a Thai Baht, ended up being theoretical. Even so, knowledge is power, so if I ever in the future find myself thus, I will now know what to do, if still confused as to how I got there.
All total, I've been to Thailand about 20 times, and each time I've found the place to be charming and very interesting. This may seem like damning with feint praise, but it isn't. I get bored pretty easily, and Thailand (Chiang Mai in particular) refuses to let you be.
They do this by offering both diversity and oddness, and they pull it off with charm. For example: you can, quite easily, ride an elephant in the rain forest, pet a cobra at a snake farm, river raft on a nearby river, and wear cotton pants all in a single day.
Its almost hard to avoid.
As can be expected in such a peculiar place, I learned a lot about myself in Chiang Mai.
This requires some explanation.
Chiang Mai has a way of convincing you that you can do things you can't.
For example, it made me think I like cotton pants.
I don't.
It made me think I might be able to Thai kickbox.
I can't.
It made me think I should wear puka shells around my neck.
I shouldn't.
This power of delusion is not a confined event. While walking to my hotel one night, I walked past a karaoke bar, wherein a tourist was singing a Frank Sinatra song, "My Way". And let me just tell you, gentle reader, he was certainly singing it his way. Talk about "regrets, I've had a few"...
Another thing that I found riveting was the Night Bazaar. I loved it (although I've always felt that the word "Bazaar" is mispelled here. Kind of like a Youth Hostel has the word "Hostel" mispelled...).
Anyway.
The Night Bazaar has things to see too numerous to list, but let me just say that it is best to arrive early, just at sunset, because the sellers are superstitious, and are usually anxious for the first sale to go well, so the luck of the entire evening will be good. This means that prices can be bargained down lower in most cases. If you don't get there early, there still is much to see and the items are widely diverse and entertaining. You can see open air cafes, Thai kickboxing, a hospital... the very definition of cause and effect.
One odd thing I found about the Bazaar is that while it takes place on the sidewalks, there are existing stores (such as 7-11 and sporting goods stores, pharmacies, etc.) directly behind it. Or put it another way: the Bazaar seemingly blocks entry into the stores.
I suppose it has turned out to be a symbiotic relationship, because those perusing the Bazaar are just as likely to go into the building, but still it seems a little incongruous. Especially because those shopping the Bazaar will be looking for bargains brought about by haggling, while the stores have fixed prices and tend to be more expensive.
I'll post more about Thailand in future blogs, and perhaps will revisit this interesting city in both blog and person. I enjoyed visiting it, and I enjoyed the people who make it what it is. It was entertaining, interesting and enlightening, albeit brief.
Sawat-dee.
I learned that you shouldn't pat children on the head, a very rude, cultural no-no. I learned that eating with the left hand is considered by traditionalists in Thailand to be crass and vulgar, and I learned that it is a crime to in any way defame, deface or denegrate the King, to the point that stepping on money can get you in jail.
As for the first one, I can easily resist the urge. As for the second one, I'm left-handed, so I'd have to wing it and hope for the best. As for the third one, well... come on. Seriously.
Of course, as it turns out, I didn't live in Chiang Mai. I opted instead for Hong Kong. So getting all twitchy about a rather specific scenario wherein I ended up patting a kid on the head, with my left hand, while standing on a Thai Baht, ended up being theoretical. Even so, knowledge is power, so if I ever in the future find myself thus, I will now know what to do, if still confused as to how I got there.
All total, I've been to Thailand about 20 times, and each time I've found the place to be charming and very interesting. This may seem like damning with feint praise, but it isn't. I get bored pretty easily, and Thailand (Chiang Mai in particular) refuses to let you be.
They do this by offering both diversity and oddness, and they pull it off with charm. For example: you can, quite easily, ride an elephant in the rain forest, pet a cobra at a snake farm, river raft on a nearby river, and wear cotton pants all in a single day.
Its almost hard to avoid.
As can be expected in such a peculiar place, I learned a lot about myself in Chiang Mai.
This requires some explanation.
Chiang Mai has a way of convincing you that you can do things you can't.
For example, it made me think I like cotton pants.
I don't.
It made me think I might be able to Thai kickbox.
I can't.
It made me think I should wear puka shells around my neck.
I shouldn't.
This power of delusion is not a confined event. While walking to my hotel one night, I walked past a karaoke bar, wherein a tourist was singing a Frank Sinatra song, "My Way". And let me just tell you, gentle reader, he was certainly singing it his way. Talk about "regrets, I've had a few"...
Another thing that I found riveting was the Night Bazaar. I loved it (although I've always felt that the word "Bazaar" is mispelled here. Kind of like a Youth Hostel has the word "Hostel" mispelled...).
Anyway.
The Night Bazaar has things to see too numerous to list, but let me just say that it is best to arrive early, just at sunset, because the sellers are superstitious, and are usually anxious for the first sale to go well, so the luck of the entire evening will be good. This means that prices can be bargained down lower in most cases. If you don't get there early, there still is much to see and the items are widely diverse and entertaining. You can see open air cafes, Thai kickboxing, a hospital... the very definition of cause and effect.
One odd thing I found about the Bazaar is that while it takes place on the sidewalks, there are existing stores (such as 7-11 and sporting goods stores, pharmacies, etc.) directly behind it. Or put it another way: the Bazaar seemingly blocks entry into the stores.
I suppose it has turned out to be a symbiotic relationship, because those perusing the Bazaar are just as likely to go into the building, but still it seems a little incongruous. Especially because those shopping the Bazaar will be looking for bargains brought about by haggling, while the stores have fixed prices and tend to be more expensive.
I'll post more about Thailand in future blogs, and perhaps will revisit this interesting city in both blog and person. I enjoyed visiting it, and I enjoyed the people who make it what it is. It was entertaining, interesting and enlightening, albeit brief.
Sawat-dee.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Juneau, Alaska- Salmon!
I simply love Alaska. It appeals to me. Don't ask me why... I'm not entirely certain. Maybe its the pun-friendly names (Juneau, Ketchikan, Bettles, etc.), or the breathtaking scenery, or maybe its just the idea that a place can be so doggone independent that instead of feeling alienated, it refers to everyone else as being in a different category, hence "the lower 48". It hints at the idea that, hey, they're not different, the rest of the U.S. is.
I love that. Spunky. Cheeky. Very cool.
And that is not to say that the people are in any way arrogant or bragadocious. Oh, no. Trust me, I know bragadocious when I see it. No, the best way to describe Alaska is... independent. It's like, "We were here before there was a U.S. government, and if worst comes to worst, well, we'll always have salmon."
And now we get down to it: you cannot, no matter how hard you try, walk down a street in Alaska without some kind of reference to salmon. Try this if you dare: whilst in Alaska, start at a point, draw a straight line, and walk to point B. Before you get there, you will either encounter a reference to the fish, or you haven't left point A yet. Try it.
"What does this have to do with Juneau?", you ask? Well, the aforementioned stuff was just rambling, if you must know. But I feel safely secure I can tie Juneau in because Juneau is the capital of Alaska, is stunningly beautiful, its name is pun-friendly, is inhabited by a friendly-yet-independent people, and it's mayor is a salmon. A very nervous salmon.
The city isn't very large, and many of the residents work for the government. And did I mention that they now have a McDonalds? This may not seem like a big thing to you, but its opening required traffic police.
Now if you visit, there are some things you must do. You need to visit Mendenhall Glacier, which is wonderful, and while on the way, depending on the time of year (I visited during the month of August) you can look in any stream and guess what you will find? Salmon, that's what. You will also find that bears love to come down from the mountains during this time of year and help themselves to the bounty. Being in such close proximity to bears would freak me out, but the Alaskans seem to have made peace with it.
You can also check out the cruise ships in the summer. They are fun to watch as they come into port. The passengers from the cruise ships swell the numbers of Juneau during the day, but because the ships leave at night, Juneau remains relatively the same size. It's like the city receives a morning tidal wave of nylon and brylcreem, and then the evening tide takes it all away.
I would also be remiss if I failed to mention that there is also numerous hiking, backpacking, kayaking, and river rafting opportunities.
Because I'm dangerously close to sounding like a brochure here, I'll have to procede carefully. Here's something removed from a tour-guide playbook:
The crime rate is low. Think of it. There is only one airport, so if you commit a serious crime, where would you go? Any flights to Seattle can be shut down in an instant. I suppose you could fly in the numerous amphibious aircraft into the interior of the Yukon, but that isn't necessarily a good escape. Which brings me to my next point: Many Alaskans have their own planes and fly them in a grandiose ballet that the FAA would probably best classify as: "emboldened".
All of these things endeared me to the place. I regret that I wasn't able to see it in the winter. Perhaps someday I will be able to.
So, long story short, I liked Juneau. I like Alaska. I hope to go back. They say that in West Texas, if you wear out a pair of boots, you'll stay forever. And if you're anything like me, and you stay in long enough in Juneau, you won't want to leave. And you'll know a whole lot more about salmon.
I love that. Spunky. Cheeky. Very cool.
And that is not to say that the people are in any way arrogant or bragadocious. Oh, no. Trust me, I know bragadocious when I see it. No, the best way to describe Alaska is... independent. It's like, "We were here before there was a U.S. government, and if worst comes to worst, well, we'll always have salmon."
And now we get down to it: you cannot, no matter how hard you try, walk down a street in Alaska without some kind of reference to salmon. Try this if you dare: whilst in Alaska, start at a point, draw a straight line, and walk to point B. Before you get there, you will either encounter a reference to the fish, or you haven't left point A yet. Try it.
"What does this have to do with Juneau?", you ask? Well, the aforementioned stuff was just rambling, if you must know. But I feel safely secure I can tie Juneau in because Juneau is the capital of Alaska, is stunningly beautiful, its name is pun-friendly, is inhabited by a friendly-yet-independent people, and it's mayor is a salmon. A very nervous salmon.
The city isn't very large, and many of the residents work for the government. And did I mention that they now have a McDonalds? This may not seem like a big thing to you, but its opening required traffic police.
Now if you visit, there are some things you must do. You need to visit Mendenhall Glacier, which is wonderful, and while on the way, depending on the time of year (I visited during the month of August) you can look in any stream and guess what you will find? Salmon, that's what. You will also find that bears love to come down from the mountains during this time of year and help themselves to the bounty. Being in such close proximity to bears would freak me out, but the Alaskans seem to have made peace with it.
You can also check out the cruise ships in the summer. They are fun to watch as they come into port. The passengers from the cruise ships swell the numbers of Juneau during the day, but because the ships leave at night, Juneau remains relatively the same size. It's like the city receives a morning tidal wave of nylon and brylcreem, and then the evening tide takes it all away.
I would also be remiss if I failed to mention that there is also numerous hiking, backpacking, kayaking, and river rafting opportunities.
Because I'm dangerously close to sounding like a brochure here, I'll have to procede carefully. Here's something removed from a tour-guide playbook:
The crime rate is low. Think of it. There is only one airport, so if you commit a serious crime, where would you go? Any flights to Seattle can be shut down in an instant. I suppose you could fly in the numerous amphibious aircraft into the interior of the Yukon, but that isn't necessarily a good escape. Which brings me to my next point: Many Alaskans have their own planes and fly them in a grandiose ballet that the FAA would probably best classify as: "emboldened".
All of these things endeared me to the place. I regret that I wasn't able to see it in the winter. Perhaps someday I will be able to.
So, long story short, I liked Juneau. I like Alaska. I hope to go back. They say that in West Texas, if you wear out a pair of boots, you'll stay forever. And if you're anything like me, and you stay in long enough in Juneau, you won't want to leave. And you'll know a whole lot more about salmon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)