Thailand Missive II

Hello family,

How quickly the time goes. I was just barely a week in. Now, I’ve not even a week left. This continues to be one of the best trips for me, adventurous and indulgent, challenging and exhausting. Having so much fun and feeling great. Indomitable. Thought to weigh in again, to say hi and send my love and tell you that I’m thinking of you. And to riff for a spell, to chew on the whirlwind. Spin a few yarns.

Last time, I was midway through my time on Koh Samui in the Gulf of Thailand. After hanging out for a couple more days, I hopped a catamaran for the simple two-hour trip to Koh Tao, an experience that bears mentioning only because we got caught in a bitch of a monsoon midway through. What began as an easy ride through choppy, white-capped water turned terrifying and then torturous. As the boat pitched violently (and I mean VIOLENTLY) in the roiling water and enormous waves slammed against us on all sides, it took me a moment to realize why the crew began furiously handing out plastic bags to many of the passengers around me. When the heaving and retching commenced, I just closed my eyes, turned my ipod on FULL BLAST, and crawled headlong into a shiny, happy place (which included a giant mattress made of Nutella-smothered pancakes) for one of the longest hours of my trip.

But that hell was so worth it. Once on Koh Tao, I settled in Ao Leuk, a tiny, secluded cove on the southeastern corner of the island with 15 or so rustic bungalows dotting the hillside and reggae covers of pop music playing in the open-air eatery on the beach (who knew Time After Time would make such a smooth transition). And the snorkeling was amazing. Gorgeous. Several hundred meters of bejeweled coral reef on either side of the cove with a rainbow assortment of fish, all glittering in the sunlight. It was so good, in fact, I stayed an extra night.

By mid-July, the islands are crawling with tourists (infested, really), almost exclusively European. I met only a handful of American travelers prior to coming to Chiang Mai (maybe that’s just my trip or the places I went. Maybe it has to do with economics. Not sure. On the positive, my pidgin English has improved immensely). Rest well, my darlings, lest you worry—the “ugly westerner” thrives, kept alive and well by our Euro brethren, a surprisingly dour, humorless lot demanding prompt service with finger snaps, or worse, the gaggles of rowdy, obnoxious toughs revving their motorbikes up and down the main drags and blathering on about “getting pissed.” To be fair, I’ve met many fun, interesting, stony Euros and made some true friends, but on the whole, I've ended up lying low with Thai folks at every chance, because they’re mellow and because the know how to shut the fuck up. Whereas Bangkok had left me a little guarded with the locals—the Thais there are definitely edgy, city folk, seeming to be either hustling for a buck or taciturn to the point of unfriendliness (except the ladyboys, who are rather aggressively chatty and grabby, fascinating endlessly over wher I fram and If I wan gilfen…..Hey, even if you’re not going to the party, it’s still nice to be invited.)—the many Thai people I’ve met since have been super easy. My favorite one, Kem, a restaurant server and musician, learned pretty decent English by singing and playing American pop music, especially his favorite: John Denver (why, yes, we did talk about Colorado). In general, Thais are pretty cool. Not particularly demonstrative or effusive. Just easy. Soft. Unhurried. Not in their heads. My ex-pat friend who lives in Bangkok describes them as intellectually incurious. I’m not sure if that’s true (though we weren’t exactly deconstructing Nietzsche). More so, they are shy and modest. Demure. Sedate. With irrepressible smiles. And they laugh so easily. I will miss their vibe when I leave.

After fleeing the islands, I passed through Bangkok and headed to Chiang Mai, the provincial capital of the north. For the uninitiated, Chiang Mai is to Bangkok like the Bay Area is to Los Angeles (and by that I mean the ruinous, dystopian Los Angeles in Bladerunner). Less congested or polluted. Less paved over. Way less edgy and frenetic. Less of a scene. Just kinda cooler—both more temperate and trying less hard.

Though I must confess to digging Bangkok a lot, thus far, Chiang Mai has been more my speed. I arrived by train in the morning, awakening in time for the last hour or so of the trip through a gently rolling, forested landscape that slowly gave way to an expansive valley of rice fields and small villages surrounded by tree-lined mountains in the distance shrouded in mist, all impossibly lush and colored innumerable shades of green.

I took a room at a guesthouse near the night market and spent my first day roaming around the city then sat ringside at the muay thai fights that night. Along with the 400 baht I won betting with the Dutch fellas I was sitting and drinking with, the evening was highlighted by two chick fights on the undercard. Best action of the night. They were ferocious. Like tigers. One got knocked through the ropes, nearly ending up in my lap (a souvenir for a lucky fan), before clawing her way back into the ring for the win. Hell hath no fury…

Yesterday, I rented a motorbike to begin exploring the area [no more shirt cape and cowboy hat. I was a helmeted, model minority. A gentleman round eye], heading northwest to visit Doi Suthep, a beautiful 16^th century mountaintop Buddhist monastery overlooking Chiang Mai and the surrounding valley. Besides being the holiest shrine in the north, Doi Suthep, I learned, is also known (infamous) for the many bells and gongs on the temple grounds which visitors are allowed to ring, and do so incessantly. Still, the view and the grounds (including the 306 steps leading to the entrance) were brilliant. Continuing up the mountain, I stopped at Phumping, the king’s winter palace (a term used loosely, as it looks more like a collection of retirement condos on well-manicured grounds) and then drove to Doi Pui, the nearby Hmong village for lunch. Now, I didn't expect much; however, any miniscule hopes of a quaint, authentic mountain village experience were dashed as I rode into town and was greeted by myriad satellite dishes atop the clusters of rusting tin-roofed shanties and a main drag lined with stores selling tourist chotchkies. Nothing like the sight of children huddled around a television playing Nintendo Mario Bros. to alter the timbre of my neighborhood walk, savaging any last remnants of romance I may have harbored. Gotta go deeper into the mountains to have a deeper experience, I suppose. Maybe next time. Then again, the papaya salad was outstanding, even while costing me several layers of skin on my tongue by requesting “Pet” (Thai for spicy). After an amazing motorbike ride back home down the steep, winding mountain road of switchbacks and s-curves, I headed back out on the town, eventually capping off the night by winning 500 baht off my American tablemates at the nightly muay thai fights. Something about sweaty, narrow-hipped men kneeing and elbowing each other into submission that just makes sense to me. I’m picking winners nonstop these days. Ushering in the bigness. Riding the hot streak in too many ways to explain.

Today, I rode my motorbike into the hinterlands to Sam Kampaeng, a natural hot springs about 40 kilometers through the back roads southeast of Chiang Mai. A Marky spa day. A vacation from my vacation: Soaked in the mineral bath, got an hour-long foot massage and then a Thai massage—if you've never had one, thai massage is less “normal” oil massage than an exquisite blend of wrestling holds, Vulcan death grips, and meat tenderizing that leaves you feeling both relaxed and invigorated. Like most people, I’ve taken to them rather handsomely. At $6 or so an hour (with tip), it might be the best deal in a country chock full of good deals.

Anyway, it seems I’m running out of days here well before things to do. Still writing multiple times a day, though I’ve not finished reading a single book. I’ll be returning to Bangkok in a day or two to sip a few beers with my ex-pat friend, hopefully take one of his krav maga classes, and continue my shopping at the massive weekend market (God damn, I do love to haggle. At some point, I realized I don’t even really want any of this shit—it’s just shit—so much as I want to work a bargain for this shit. Out there earning my Jewcard, my dearies….“my money lucky; bring you many customer.”)

But I digress.

Just wanted to say hi and send my love. Hope this email finds you well. I’ll be home soon and will see you when I do.

Thailand Missive I

Greetings and Salutations,

It's only been a week since I touched down in Bangkok, yet already this trip has been amazing, engaging and challenging, fascinating and full. Thought I'd take a step back to check in and say hi, but also to pass along my love and riff for a second.

After 24 hours of travel, I spent the first few days acclimating to Bangkok, adjusting to the time but mostly remembering how to be a traveler again. It's been since Costa Rica that I've taken a trip of any substance. So I've slowly remembered how get over myself-- how to get over the fear of being lost or unsure or timid. Or rude (fucking tuk-tuk drivers). Remembering how not to have an agenda or place to be or something to do. Silly things, like remembering how to order food by pointing and nodding. Or how sometimes your best move it to put down the camera and just take it all in. Remembering the simple pleasures of discovering things about a new place. Not just the obvious ways cultures differ (the only-in-Asia shopping malls and plazas, or the harrowing, first-person Frogger experience of crossing a street), but also the little ways they do familiar things differently:  cigarette packs with pictures of a sallow, concave-chested old man hooked up to machines in lieu of a surgeon general's warning; Latino flavored potato chips amongst the cuttlefish and ramen and seaweed snacks at the 7-11 (collect 3 upc codes and you can send away for a free hairnet); the endless stream of teen and 20-something Thai hipsters rocking the Pat Benatar/lead singer from Goo Goo Dolls hair without a trace of irony or absurdism--one of many, many ways countries unselfconsciously devour and regurgitate western culture. At times it's like I'm walking around in a never-ending Mentos commercial.

In some ways, Bangkok is how everyone described it: choked with pollution, frenetic, seeming to have its own grotesque logic. It's in the day that you see the scars of a city that is overwhelmed with fumes and mold and rust and trash, while lacking any coherent identity or organization beyond unchecked urban sprawl....But then the night comes. And everything changes. The decay fades into the darkness, giving way to a pulsing, writhing metropolis teeming with action and life--food, commerce, people, music, all outlined in neon and glistening with sweat. It's unlike any other place I've seen. Such a visceral experience to walk the streets of Bangkok at night. The sultry carnival.

For the record, it's hot. Stupid hot. Fuck you hot. You don't know the depths of sweaty Mark until you've seen him in Thailand. Unreal. Yet, oddly enough, I'm not really bothered by it. My body feels amazing. Limber. Fluid. (Though I cannot say I wear the heat particularly well, as I've caught glimpses of my reflection and at times am reminded of the ending scene in the first Indiana Jones movie. Clearly, I did not close my eyes when they opened the ark.)  I feel like I'm getting a crazy good workout every time I walk outside, which is good because I haven't stopped eating. Holy shit, I can't. Meats on sticks, bowls of Thai matzah ball soup, noodles, rice, curry. Everything is so flavorful. Not sure how fat you can get eating a thai diet, but I suppose I'm gonna find out.

After four days of choking down noxious fumes and paying round-eye prices, I headed south to the Samui archipelago in the Gulf of Thailand to relax on Koh Samui. Depending on which part of the island, Samui is alternately overrun with shopping centers and luxury hotels and blokes drinking beer in British-style pubs OR lush and fecund with rolling, verdant hills and fields. I opted for the latter, setting in a bungalow on the beach in Maenam, the low-key part of the island. I spent my first full day taking in the sights, hoping from beach to beach on a motorbike wearing my orange wicker shirt tied around my neck like a cape, a straw cowboy hat, and a dangling Marlboro (just out there shattering stereotypes about Americans, to be sure). Today, I joined a boat tour to An Thong National Marine Park, a lush, dense group of 40 or so smaller islands that was once a haven for pirates but is now a government protected park of coral reef, white sand beaches, limestone caves and rain forest. I took a strenuous hike up one of the peaks overlooking the gulf, then went spelunking in the caves, and swam in the warm, emerald green water. Amazing day! I'm going to relax for a couple more days and then head to the southeastern side of Koh Tao (in the same island chain as Samui), where it's quiet, remote and with some of the best snorkeling in the area. Then I'm heading north to Chang Mai to check out mountains.

Overall, I'm having an amazing time, my dearies. Been writing like a muthafucka. Been enjoying myself and saying yes as much as my heart allows. Thinking of you all and sending lots of love.

-Mark

P.S. special shout out to Margo and her hypnotherapy cd. Flights were no problem. Choppy and bumpy for hours on end, but I did fine.

Dear Patrick

Dear Patrick,

I am stunned and saddened by the news of your passing. That it had long been rumored does little to quell my grief, and I find myself feeling pensive and nostalgic. Though you are no longer among us in physical form, I take solace in knowing you survive in the hearts and minds of all who are familiar with your work and appreciate your myriad contributions to the collective human experience.

Wherever they talk of the 50-year storm and speak in hushed tones about the system that kills the human spirit, vowing not to spend their days inching their way along the freeway in metal coffins; wherever spinning pottery devolves into tawdry love making; wherever chiseled, steely-eyed men rip out the throats of foes with their bare hands; wherever they refuse to put Baby in a corner; wherever ragtag groups of teenage rebels rumble against rival gangs of privileged young toughs or resist invading Russo-Cuban armies, you, Patrick Wayne Swayze, live on, your legacy having been inextricably woven into the historical tapestry of this country, moving us to dream, to thought, to action through the courage of your conviction.

No, you did not make dancing or mullets or wistful love ballads any cooler. And we all have our “To Wong Foo” moments. But that hardly matters. This is a love letter. I prefer to remember you as I first saw you:

Shot through the gut, your life slowly draining from your body, cradling a mortally wounded Charley Sheen in your arms, two young brothers dying heroically on a park bench in the snow, the commandant of the communistic invaders, his revolver trained on you both, letting his weapon fall to his side, having finally grasped the enormity of the moment and the triumph of the human spirit against seemingly insurmountable odds.

You will be missed. You will not be forgotten.